Star Trek: Voyager - 041 - The Eternal Tide Read online

  “That’s been my experience,” B’Elanna sighed ruefully, “which is why Starfleet, and the Federation, will always make the peaceful exchange of ideas and information their first priority. The problem comes when you encounter a civilization whose needs or basic nature are incompatible with our ideals. Once in a while, it’s going to be us or them. The Borg taught us that.”

  “The Dominion tried to teach us that too,” Conlon observed.

  “And when that’s the case, better us?” Glenn asked.

  As the face of Miral, sleeping peacefully, flashed through B’Elanna’s mind, she replied, “Don’t you think so?”

  “Of course I do,” Glenn agreed. “Half of my training is in command, but the other is in medicine. You look at the TS Flyers and take comfort in the extra security they provide. I look at them and see all the new ways they can damage a body that I might be asked to put back together.”

  “Holy Rings of Betazed,” Gwyn enthused from the window. “Did you see that?”

  B’Elanna forced herself to hold Glenn’s glance rather than turning to see whatever had thrilled the young pilot. I’m just not going to look anymore, she decided. It was probably the only way she was going to remain married over the next few hours.

  • • •

  “Well, this certainly brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Neelix asked, casting a wide gaze over the festive atmosphere of Voyager’s mess hall. Seven of Nine had to agree. Dozens of individuals were engaged in pleasant conversation. Sipping beverages and nibbling on small edibles, they appeared to be enjoying themselves and the TS Flyers demonstration.

  During the years Seven had served on Voyager—after she had been severed from the Borg Collective—Neelix had become a close friend. A Talaxian—a species originating tens of thousands of light-years from their present position—Neelix had come aboard at the beginning of Voyager’s long trek home and had become the ship’s morale officer, among many other useful things. As the ship’s chef, he had created many gatherings in this very room similar to the present one. Numerous officers in dress uniforms from Voyager, Galen, and Demeter were in attendance, along with representatives from the leadership of New Talax, most of whom were clad in well-worn tunics in somber earth tones. The only individuals conspicuous by their absence, as best Seven could tell, were Captains Eden and Chakotay, Counselor Hugh Cambridge, and the Doctor, Voyager’s original EMH, now serving as CMO aboard Galen.

  “It really does, Neelix,” Lieutenant Harry Kim replied with a wide smile.

  “I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to receive Captain Eden’s proposal,” Neelix continued, his enthusiasm infectious. “Obviously, having a Starfleet medical vessel and a ship specializing in botanical genetics and production will enhance our little colony’s resources tremendously.”

  “They’ll only be here a few weeks, Neelix,” Kim noted, trying to temper his friend’s optimism. “They’re not going to be able to rebuild your facilities in that time.”

  “Of course not,” Neelix agreed readily. “But after your most recent gift of medical supplies, Doctor Hestax is dying to spend as much time with the Doctor and his staff as possible. We’ve already created several hydroponic facilities,” he added in a rough approximation of sheepishness, “but I don’t doubt your people will help us find ways to maximize their output.”

  “I am certain your people will find the next several weeks instructive and productive, Neelix,” Seven offered. “Much more so than the rest of us, I believe.”

  Kim, Voyager’s security chief and tactical officer, asked Seven, “You think the fleet is wasting its time visiting what used to be Borg space?”

  “To look for traces of the Borg or Caeliar, yes,” Seven replied definitively.

  Kim shrugged. “So why don’t you just request shore leave for the next few weeks when Voyager heads out tomorrow, Seven?”

  Neelix’s eyes widened and he appeared ready to second the motion until Seven quickly curbed it. “I have agreed to serve the fleet in whatever capacity Captain Eden sees fit. Her efforts to ensure that the Borg are gone remain a priority. To shirk my responsibilities would be unworthy of the trust she placed in me when she first agreed to allow me to join the fleet.”

  “You weren’t as certain when you first joined the fleet as you are now that the Borg and Caeliar are truly gone,” Kim needled her.

  “At the time, I had cause to doubt,” Seven agreed without rising to his bait. “My efforts since then to better understand the nature of the Caeliar’s transformation of the Borg, and its effects on me, have allowed me to remember that experience more clearly than I initially could.” The “transformation” Seven referred to was an overwhelming and awe-inspiring event. It had disintegrated the few Borg implants that had remained in her body after she had been severed from the Collective, replacing them with a form of programmable matter—catoms—that Seven was still struggling to understand. To all appearances, she was fully human. However, as far as she knew, she was the only former Borg now containing Caeliar technology in the entire galaxy. “When the Caeliar welcomed the Borg into their gestalt, they did not coerce anyone. But I can think of no Borg, other than myself, who might have had cause to reject their offer. What I now recall of the event includes a certainty that the Caeliar absorbed or neutralized everything that had once been Borg, and they intended to continue their own ‘great work’ far from the boundaries of our galaxy.”

  “Fair enough.” Kim nodded. “But Starfleet sent us out here to make sure. Assuming you’re right, I guess we can all look forward to several boring weeks ahead.”

  Neelix asked, “Where are the other fleet ships right now?”

  “Our two Vesta-class ships, the Quirinal and Esquiline, with their sister science vessels, Hawking and Curie, have already set course for several distant points in what was formerly Borg territory. Last I heard,” Kim said with a nod to Seven, “they hadn’t found anything worth writing home about, but you never know when that could change.”

  I do, Seven thought, but refrained from saying it aloud.

  “And with Voyager, Achilles, Galen, and Demeter here, that leaves one other, correct?” Neelix asked. “Which one am I forgetting?”

  Kim’s face clouded as Seven replied, “One of the original science vessels, the Planck, was destroyed in a recent encounter with an alien species. I have no doubt this was one of the primary reasons Captain Eden elected to keep both Galen and Demeter out of the fray for this particular exploratory endeavor.”

  “Well, we’re thrilled to have them here,” Neelix replied. “And I’m terribly sorry to hear about the loss of Planck.” Obviously attempting to move to a lighter topic, Neelix went on, “And what will the incredibly large Achilles be up to, while you and the others are chasing down whatever may or may not be left of the Borg?”

  “Achilles will engage in a predetermined flight pattern, making it accessible to all of the fleet ships should they require its particular capabilities,” Harry Kim replied.

  “And what are those again?” Neelix asked.

  “Achilles is another one of our special mission vessels. Apart from housing those incredible new ships,” Kim said, referencing the display that was still capturing the attention of many in the hall, “she contains industrial-size replication and storage facilities. Last month they were able to rebuild the Quirinal even after it had crash-landed on a planet.”

  “Amazing,” Neelix said, shaking his head. “Is there anything Starfleet can’t do?”

  “I hope that is a rhetorical question,” Seven replied. “As you well know, there are many things beyond Starfleet’s current capabilities.”

  Neelix considered her words, then replied, “I spent almost seven years aboard a Starfleet vessel, and found new wonders in it almost daily. The life I’ve lived here on New Talax since then, while incredibly gratifying and fulfilling, sometimes makes me long for the days when few miracles seemed out of reach.”

  “Your people have done extraordinary things,” Kim assure
d Neelix. “To have created a colony inside an asteroid, to have survived as long as you have . . .”

  “Thrived,” Neelix corrected him gently.

  “Of course.” Kim nodded. “You shouldn’t sell yourselves short. All of our technology would be meaningless without the dedicated people who implement it, and in that regard, I’d stack your colonists up against our crews any day. I hope you don’t see our offer of assistance as any sort of suggestion that you aren’t more than capable of getting along without us.”

  “Not at all,” Neelix replied. “I see your offer for the gift it is, in a universe that doesn’t bestow such things frequently.” Turning to Seven, he said, “I haven’t seen the Doctor. Will he be joining us?”

  “I believe so,” Seven replied. “In truth, I cannot account for his absence now. Perhaps a crew member requires his attention.”

  Neelix nodded knowingly. “I don’t doubt for a moment that if he could be here, he would. In the meantime, perhaps you would introduce me to Commander O’Donnell? I imagine he and I will be working quite closely together over the next several weeks.”

  Seven turned to comply, but as she searched the crowd, she could not locate the captain.

  • • •

  Commander Liam O’Donnell, Demeter’s captain in all but rank, had searched diligently throughout the hall for the most inconspicuous spot he could find in which to endure the next hour. Few men hated a party the way he did. Even had the room been filled with the handful of beings in the galaxy who shared his passion and expertise for botanical genetics, he would have found it torturous in the extreme to endure the painful introductions (No, I haven’t heard of you or your research), awkward attempts at small talk (The weather? We’re on a starship, aren’t we?), or the gentle prods to draw one out about one’s own work (Trust me, you wouldn’t understand). He would have skipped his own wedding reception had his dear and now sadly deceased wife, Alana, not been as good as her word to stand by his side the entire time and deflect any comment or query that went beyond the vaguest of congratulations on the happy event.

  O’Donnell was simply not a people person—at least, not in this context. Bring the same people together in a room with a problem to solve and he’d know what to do, what to say. Here, showered, shaved, and dressed in his best uniform, all he wanted was to become invisible.

  Directly across from the small alcove at the mess hall’s entrance was a low bench attached to the bulkhead. The majority of those entering the room ignored it, casting their eyes toward the crowd, searching for a friendly face or a tray of beverages. Here, Liam made camp, gauging the smallest number of minutes he would have to remain without giving offense to Captain Eden, who had “advised” him to attend.

  The commander was almost forced to reconsider his deployment when, six minutes and twenty-eight seconds after he had made himself comfortable, a lean, middle-aged lieutenant, who didn’t even appear to realize O’Donnell was there, nervously checked the crowd and darted with apparent relief toward the unoccupied portion of the bench. Only when an earnest crewman appeared before them both and offered them a frothy pink drink did the lieutenant, who had been muttering quietly to himself, notice O’Donnell.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he began, visibly checking O’Donnell’s collar for pips before adding, “Commander.”

  “As you were, Lieutenant,” O’Donnell quickly replied, hoping that would put an end to it.

  “Barclay, sir,” the lieutenant added, “Reginald Barclay.”

  This gave O’Donnell pause, not because he had the faintest idea who Barclay was, but because even he didn’t seem to experience this man’s amount of trepidation.

  “Liam O’Donnell,” he said, taking Barclay’s clammy hand and, immediately upon its release, covertly wiping the lieutenant’s sweat on his pant leg.

  A pause followed, which O’Donnell fervently hoped would continue indefinitely, before Barclay said, “I just don’t have time for this.”

  O’Donnell wasn’t a hundred percent certain Barclay was even talking to him. “Please don’t feel you need to stay on my account.”

  Barclay’s head turned sharply, and again O’Donnell got the impression that in the minute that had passed since Barclay had sat, he had forgotten he was not alone.

  “No, sir,” Barclay began, “I mean, yes, sir.”

  O’Donnell would gladly have let it go at that.

  “What I mean, sir, is that my work right now is of such pressing urgency that this sort of recreational activity is . . . ,” Barclay said, and then began to gesticulate nervously as he searched for the right description of the event that was clearly tormenting him almost as much as it was the commander.

  O’Donnell realized, to his surprise, that this was perhaps the only thing the lieutenant might have said that would endear him to his benchmate.

  “You serve aboard Voyager?” O’Donnell asked.

  “The Galen,” Barclay replied. “I’m a holographic design specialist.”

  O’Donnell nodded, though he knew little and cared less about holographic creation and implementation. After giving it a moment’s thought, he found himself genuinely curious as to what momentous problem would so distract Barclay.

  “What’s the issue?” O’Donnell asked, actually grateful for a conversation that had nothing to do with him.

  Barclay’s eyes bugged and for a moment he reminded O’Donnell of his first officer, Atlee Fife. “The issue?” Barclay came just short of demanding incredulously. “Meegan, of course.”

  O’Donnell’s stomach fell. If this was a personal or interpersonal issue with another crewman, he might just have to find a phaser and point the business end at his own head before the conversation was over.

  “Meegan?” O’Donnell asked.

  “You haven’t been briefed?” Barclay asked.

  O’Donnell didn’t think so, but on any given day it could be hard to say which bits of interfleet trivia would actually find a place to stick in his normally very full head.

  “Meegan McDonnell,” Barclay attempted to clarify. “The hologram I created—well, Doctor Zimmerman and I created—the one that was possessed by one of eight Neyser consciousnesses and departed with one of the fleet’s shuttles when Admiral Batiste was making his escape to fluidic space?” he finished.

  Now that he mentioned it, the story did ring a bell.

  “You’re . . .” O’Donnell began.

  “Trying to track her movements, of course,” Barclay replied, as if it should have been obvious. “Naturally I was thrilled when the shuttle was recovered by Ambassador Neelix and returned to us, but the logs have been corrupted. More than that, I just can’t imagine why she would have abandoned the Starfleet shuttle, one of our most advanced, really, for a mining vessel.”

  “Did she have a choice?” O’Donnell asked.

  “Oh, yes.” Barclay nodded fervently. “According to Nacona, the representative of the mining consortium whose vessel she stole, she initiated the hostilities between the two ships. She wanted that mining vessel, but I can’t imagine why. Its systems are outdated, at least comparatively speaking, and its defenses are minimal. It’s true that by changing ships, she is now much more difficult to track, but still it seems the rewards pale in comparison.”

  O’Donnell gave the situation, as he understood it, his consideration. Finally he replied, “Maybe she really needed to dig a hole.”

  Barclay opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short. He then favored O’Donnell with a look alight with inspiration. Without another word, Barclay rose and immediately left the hall without a backward glance.

  O’Donnell sighed and sipped at the sticky-sweet pink beverage, grateful that by his chronometer, he now had eleven fewer minutes to spend in peace before he could follow Barclay’s example and make his own retreat.

  GALEN

  This is impossible.

  The Doctor had processed the data before him several times already. After the first round had been completed, he had instigated a discre
et diagnostic of his subroutines to run continuously while he repeated the analysis. When the diagnostic confirmed that all of his systems were functioning optimally, he considered contacting Reg and asking that he be taken off line for a deeper diagnostic, but opted not to for the moment. Instead, he completed his evaluation a third time, and then a fourth for good measure.

  During his relatively brief though very full existence, he had encountered all manner of odd, illogical, irritating, and incredibly challenging problems. A hologram who had surpassed his initial programming through years of continuous operation, the Doctor contained the collected brilliance of the best medical minds the Federation had produced. He had rarely, however, come across something so unusual that his subroutines could not calculate an explanation for them.

  Today, he had been asked to study the genome of the fleet’s commanding officer, Captain Afsarah Eden. She had already briefed him on the few details of her past of which she was aware. Eden had been told a pair of eclectic scientists, Carson Tallar and Miles Jobin, had found her on a distant and unnamed planet. Tallar had been a geneticist, among other things. Both had served briefly in Starfleet but had resigned long before they encountered Eden. Every other member of her race had supposedly perished, and Eden’s “uncles” had nursed her back to health and unofficially adopted her. She had traveled with them until she was fifteen, leading a vagabond life every child would treasure but few parents would willingly inflict upon their offspring. Eventually, her uncles bowed to her need of a formal education and brought her to Earth. She was enrolled in an elite preparatory school that, combined with her stellar record, guaranteed her admission to Starfleet Academy.

  Though Eden had questioned her uncles as a child and later in their infrequent correspondence until their presumed deaths, they had been evasive about her past and her people. All Eden knew for certain was that her uncles, though deeply devoted to her, had lied to her on numerous occasions about their mutual history. The planet they said was her place of origin was an anagram of “Jobin’s folly.” The uncles had insisted they had never served in Starfleet. But Eden discovered that both of them had served in their early twenties. Their service records were unhelpful. A complete analysis of the sparse Federation records of their travels yielded no additional information.