Star Trek Voyager: Unworthy Page 25

  “No, sir,” T’Pena replied. “The energy signatures suggest significantly more intense firepower. I am also detecting additional phaser banks. If we maintain our position and engage, the odds are eighty-nine point seven nine percent that we will be destroyed. It appears they have learned from our first encounter,” he suggested.

  “They have done more than that, Lieutenant,” Itak corrected him. “They have adapted.”

  “Sir, Voyager has received our message but there is no response from Admiral Batiste,” Bloom reported.

  Itak did not require a response to come to the only logical conclusion.

  “Set course for Voyager, maximum warp,” he ordered.

  Recalculating the odds, Itak determined that even with the flagship’s assistance, the likelihood that any of the Federation vessels would survive the coming encounter was less than thirty-five percent.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Barclay led the Doctor systematically throughout the Galen, one section and room at a time. As they searched each location, Reg deactivated all security holograms in the area and locked out the holographic generators. The Doctor searched in vain for a method to Reg’s madness.

  “Are you certain that Meegan is still onboard?” he asked as the second of Galen’s small cargo holds was cleared. “If she injured you intentionally, perhaps she …”

  “There’s only one way to be certain,” Reg replied.

  “But you are disabling the only systems that will protect us against her,” the Doctor pointed out as they entered engineering.

  There, a dozen emergency holographic engineers were working under the direction of Lieutenant Benoit.

  “At this point I’m tempted to shut the entire propulsion system down and reinitialize,” Benoit said, clearly frustrated. “Reg?” he greeted them. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve got a real mess down here.”

  Reg didn’t hesitate. “Computer, deactivate all holographic personnel and disable all holographic emitters. Lock out changes unless rescinded by Lieutenant Reginald Barclay. Clearance code beta pi delta six one.”

  Benoit’s mouth fell open as his assistants dematerialized. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? We’ve got an emergency and I don’t have the staff to—”

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Reg said more authoritatively than the Doctor ever remembered. Scanning the area visually and with the aid of his tricorder he gave a satisfied nod and continued, “Do the best you can.”

  “But—”

  The Doctor found himself hurrying to keep up the pace with Reg as he quickly departed engineering.

  “Computer, how many holographic personnel are still online?” Reg asked, apparently oblivious of the havoc he was wreaking in his path.

  “Seventeen,” the computer replied.

  “What is the location of any near our current position?” Reg asked.

  “One currently located in transporter room one,” the computer advised. “Two located in section five corridor, deck three.”

  “This way,” Reg said, quickening his pace.

  “Commander Glenn to Lieutenant Barclay.”

  “I’m a little busy right now, Captain,” Reg replied, not breaking stride.

  “ Benoit just advised me that you’ve disabled the Emergency Engineering Holograms—without my authorization,” Glenn said with emphasis.

  “I’ll explain later,” Reg said.

  “ You’ll explain now,” Glenn demanded. “ We’re hanging dead in space until we regain helm control and Voyager has just opened a rift to fluidic space.”

  “ Why would they do that?” the Doctor said, his voice rising in distress.

  “Report to the bridge immediately,” Glenn ordered.

  “I’m on my way,” Barclay replied as he entered the transporter room. “Barclay out,” he added, closing the comm.

  “You heard Commander Glenn,” the Doctor said nervously as he caught sight of two security officers guarding the transporter controls—a human male and a Hirogen hunter who looked up in alarm.

  “Computer, deactivate all holographic personnel and disable all holographic emitters. Lock out changes unless rescinded by Lieutenant Reginald Barclay. Clearance code beta pi delta six one,” Reg said as he raised his phaser toward the holograms.

  The Doctor was about to physically restrain Reg if that was what it took to get some answers when it dawned on him that the computer had indicated that only one holographic officer was located in the transporter room.

  The human man vanished. The Hirogen hunter remained in place, staring coldly at Reg.

  Barclay redirected his weapon to point directly at it.

  “Hello, Meegan,” he said.

  A faint smile flickered around the hunter’s lips. The Doctor suddenly realized that the hunter had a loose bag. The hunter then leapt in two short strides to the transporter padd and disappeared in a shimmer of cascading light.

  Barclay moved to the control panel immediately, presumably to reverse the transport. Shaking his head in frustration, he slammed his fists down on the interface.

  “Where did she go?” the Doctor asked.

  “I don’t know,” Reg replied. “The console deleted her coordinates as soon as the transfer was complete.”

  “What does that mean?” the Doctor demanded.

  “It means we’re not done searching,” Reg said grimly.

  Paris wished that Kim would hurry up and seal the interdimensional rift. He knew it was a delicate procedure and one not best performed under duress, but right now he needed Harry at the top of his game.

  The organic ships used by Species 8472 had populated Tom’s nightmares for years after Voyager’s first encounter with them. The ship had just reached the borders of Borg space. Their best hope of surviving transit through Borg territory had been a small passage completely devoid of cubes. The crew soon discovered that the absence of Borg vessels was due to the fact that it was controlled by hundreds of single-pilot ships. The unique biology of Species 8472 allowed them to link their pilot to the ship and to control the ship telepathically. Their shields and weapons far outstripped Voyager’s and the Borg’s. The Doctor had devised a nanoprobe-based warhead that infected the organic mass of the Species 8472 vessels and literally ate them alive.

  It had been more than seven years since Paris had laid eyes on the vessels, but he had never forgotten the elegant sleekness of their design, a cylindrical body with a forward array of extended prongs from which concentrated energy could strike with devastating force. Several ships could converge in an attack, joining their weapons’ energy beams and then focusing them into a single strike that had the ability to destroy a Borg cube in one shot.

  Captain Janeway had formed an uneasy alliance with the Borg by offering to share the nanoprobe-based torpedoes. All Janeway had demanded in return for sharing this technology was safe passage. It had been an uneasy alliance. Janeway had been forced to confront the unpleasant reality that the Borg had begun the conflict. Still, Voyager had emerged relatively unscathed. Species 8472 had been driven back to their home in fluidic space.

  A little more than a year later, Voyager once again encountered Species 8472. This time, Janeway’s diplomatic aplomb had resulted in a peaceful resolution.

  A single vessel, its forward array locked on Voyager, emerged from the rift. Paris found himself wondering if Voyager’s winning streak with Species 8472 was about to come to an end.

  “Mister Kim, never mind closing the rift now,” Paris said sharply. “Prepare to engage.”

  “Shields are up and weapons are armed,” Kim replied.

  “Gwyn, move us into position to defend the Galen,” Paris added.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Ensign Lasren, open a channel.”

  “Channel open, sir,” Lasren replied as the small but deadly craft made a beeline for Voyager.

  “Organic ship, this is Commander Tom Paris of the Federation Starship Voyager. We mean you no harm.”

  The image on the mai
n viewscreen was replaced by a familiar face. Paris almost smiled in relief until he realized that the alien genetically altered to look like a human female didn’t look happy to see him.

  “I should hope not, Commander,” the woman replied.

  “If you’d give me the chance, I’ll be happy to explain,” Paris offered.

  “I have been authorized to negotiate only with Captain Janeway,” the woman said. “Please contact her immediately.”

  Tom’s shoulders slumped involuntarily.

  “Captain Janeway is no longer aboard Voyager,” Tom replied. “She was killed in the line of duty more than a year ago.”

  The woman’s face softened. “I am sorry to hear that. She was a unique individual and exceedingly competent for a human.”

  “We all miss her,” Tom agreed.

  “In her absence, I will speak with Commander Chakotay,” the woman said obligingly.

  Tom didn’t even blink.

  “I will contact him immediately,” Paris replied. “A moment, please.”

  The woman nodded warily. “I assume you know better than to play games with us, Commander Paris.”

  You bet I do, Tom thought.

  Turning to Lasren he said softly, “Drop shields, lock on to Chakotay’s signal aboard the Galen, and transport him directly to the bridge.”

  “Commander Paris,” Kim interjected from tactical, in two words and five syllables communicating his forceful disapproval of the course the first officer had settled on.

  “Later, Mister Kim,” Paris said grimly, “assuming any of us live through this.”

  Paris counted every pounding beat of his heart between the moment he gave the order and the moment a confused Chakotay materialized by his side.

  “Commander?” Chakotay immediately asked.

  Tom didn’t say a word, but simply directed Chakotay’s eyes toward the main viewscreen. Tom was relieved to immediately see a wide grin break open on Chakotay’s concerned face.

  “Hello, Valerie,” Chakotay said warmly.

  Eden led the security team into the shuttlebay, her phaser at the ready. It had been a long time since she had engaged in a combat scenario that wasn’t a simulation, but her body remembered what her mind would have preferred to forget.

  She directed the eight officers with her to fan out, surrounding the shuttle in which Batiste was waiting. Then, in a loud, steady voice, she commanded the shuttle’s occupant to open the aft hatch and surrender.

  After a tense minute, during which she debated forcing Batiste’s hand, a hiss and a clank signaled the shuttle occupant’s intention to comply. The rear door of the small vessel swung gracefully up and Eden watched in horror as Admiral Batiste strode gracefully down the short ramp.

  Batiste’s face retained its haughty, rugged charm. But his eyes did something Eden could never remember seeing before. They pleaded with her. Whether it was for mercy or understanding, was hard to tell.

  “You’ve locked out my command codes,” Batiste said as he approached her position casually.

  “Stop right there,” she ordered.

  He paused.

  “If I may ask, how long have you known?”

  “Not long,” Eden confirmed.

  “And what gave me away?”

  “The Maquis encryption was laying it on a little thick, I thought,” Eden replied.

  “Hm.”

  “It might have been a little less obvious if you hadn’t spent the better part of our honeymoon locked in the hotel suite analyzing Cardassian and Maquis intercepts.” Cryptography had been a specialty in Willem’s early years, and a hobby in his latter ones.

  “And I should have realized the moment you refused to leave the Indign system that something more than outrage was keeping you here.”

  “I did worry you might,” he agreed.

  “The last straw was your willingness to wait until you could interrogate Chakotay and Seven.”

  “Really?”

  “Part of me understood your concern that their old friends weren’t the best interrogators. But your willingness to give it four or five hours before they were even questioned? You should have ordered Voyager to intercept them. But you weren’t in any hurry because there was nothing to learn.

  “Plus, your right eye twitches when you lie.”

  Batiste spread his arms wide. “Well done.”

  Damn you, Willem, Eden swore to herself as pain she thought she was long past feeling welled in her chest.

  This time she was the one with the power. She was going to get answers.

  “I can explain, Afsarah,” Willem offered.

  “Do so, quickly,” she said in a voice near freezing.

  Batiste cast a troubled glance at the other officers who were still leveling their weapons in his direction, despite the disbelief on their faces.

  Eden knew what he wanted, and she was tempted to give it to him. He clearly read her hesitation and shook his head, almost sadly.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked.

  “Now you care about what I want?” Eden replied, astonished. “I don’t think so.”

  Batiste took a deep breath, then turned briefly back toward the interior of the shuttle. Eden’s arm automatically tensed but she was unprepared for the suddenness of his next move. In an instant he bounded from the ramp toward her, forcing her to the deck as a high-pitched whine filled the bay. She struggled beneath him as he wrestled her weapon from her hands and once it was secured, he helped her up from the floor, pinning her arms to her sides with a strength she had never before felt from him. Eden instantly looked to her security team and saw all of them lying motionless on the floor.

  “They’re only stunned,” he assured her.

  “Let go of me!” she shouted, still struggling against his iron grip.

  He did so, only to pluck her combadge from her chest and toss it to the floor.

  “Listen to me,” he demanded. “We don’t have time for this.”

  Furious with herself, Eden ceased her struggle and glared at Batiste with eyes that would have immolated him on the spot were such things possible.

  “I promise you, Afsarah, I had my reasons.”

  Eden felt her strength fleeing, replaced by shock. She tried to imagine what those reasons could possibly be, tried to remember the last time she had seen him so filled with purpose and so certain of himself. She was surprised by the memory that came immediately to mind—Willem seated in his apartment almost three years ago, arguing the necessity of sending Voyager back to the Delta quadrant.

  But that makes no sense. Why would he fight so long and hard to bring us here, only to scuttle the mission after just a few weeks?

  His eyes followed the working of her mind and a soft crease formed at the edge of his lips.

  “You had to get to the Delta quadrant, to an area where subspace was destabilized by the Borg’s use of transwarp to easily access fluidic space,” Eden said as the truth began to coalesce in her mind. “Your command codes are the only ones that could have compromised so many of Voyager’s and Galen’s systems. You set all of this in motion and made it look like Chakotay was to blame. But if you thought the Borg were dangerous, you know they’re nothing compared with Species 8472. Why antagonize them intentionally? You don’t seek out conflict any more than I do. That’s not your nature. You can’t want another war.”

  “Of course not,” he replied gently. “I only want to go home.”

  Chakotay had believed he was ready for anything. His years of service to Starfleet had taught him how quickly things could change. He was reeling from the disquieting shock of being accused of sabotage, confined, and wondering what he would have to do to convince Captain Eden that he was not responsible. Then a transporter beam had taken ahold of him.

  He sensed the tension on Voyager’s bridge the moment he materialized. He turned to see the beautiful, aqua blue eyes and loosely upswept auburn hair of the creature he had known as Valerie Archer.

  The first time they�
�d met, she had been his assignment. Voyager had discovered that Species 8472 had constructed an exact duplicate of Starfleet Headquarters. They didn’t know why. As the aliens had perfected a means of genetically altering their bodies to appear human, Chakotay was able to pass among them undetected. He found that despite their obvious differences, there was much that he and Valerie shared in common, not the least of which was genuine curiosity about each other.

  She had kissed him once, to test him. A bond had formed between them, and he found that it had not diminished over the years.

  “To what do we owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?” Valerie asked, clearly responding to his obvious warmth.

  “I’m not certain,” he replied sincerely. “What I can tell you is that we’ve been experiencing a number of technological failures. We suspect that someone onboard might be attempting to reach fluidic space, though we cannot guess why.”

  Confused consternation spread over Valerie’s face. She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them in alarmed discovery.

  “What is it?” Chakotay asked immediately.

  “I believe you have a stowaway onboard, Commander,” Valerie replied.

  “What kind of stowaway?” he asked.

  “It’s surprising,” she went on, “because we did not detect his presence the first time we encountered your vessel .”

  “A lot has happened since then,” Chakotay admitted, well aware of how greatly he was understating the case.

  “You made it home, didn’t you?” she asked, smiling in realization. “How did you manage it? ”

  “We had help,” Chakotay admitted. “We actually made it back to the Alpha quadrant almost three years ago. We’ve returned to continue our exploration and diplomatic efforts.”

  “Then this makes a great deal more sens e,” she replied.

  “Not to me,” he said.

  Valerie paused. He knew her well enough to understand that she was struggling against her desire to trust him and distrust the Federation.

  “ The last time we met, we advised you that we were able to construct our simulations using only information we retrieved from your databases,” Valerie began.