Star Trek: Voyager: Children of the Storm Read online

  “She has,” Chakotay assured him, “and I’m sure they’re not the only ones who would love a chance to catch up.”

  “With your permission, Afsarah,” Neelix requested.

  “Of course.” She smiled. “Welcome aboard, and consider yourself our honored guest for as long as you wish to stay. If you have some time later, I would appreciate receiving a formal briefing about the events in this area since Voyager was last here. Although the Federation fleet was sent here to establish new diplomatic relations with any species we may encounter, we will always appreciate the efforts of the first ambassador to the quadrant. I anticipate that this area will frequently be used as a regrouping point for the fleet, and we would very much like to continue to make regular contact with you in the future. I do not doubt that any ongoing intelligence you can provide will be most valuable to our efforts, Mister Ambassador.”

  The dark spots that lined Neelix’s forehead and ran down his neck darkened visibly with what Eden could only assume was happiness.

  Lieutenant Nancy Conlon, Voyager’s chief engineer, caught up with B’Elanna Torres—the fleet’s chief engineer and her new boss—outside the mess hall. She and B’Elanna had been responsible for shanghaiing Harry and Tom for Cambridge’s holodeck counseling session a full day earlier. With no word from either of them since, Conlon was beginning to wonder if she’d made a mistake trusting the counselor. Her friendship with Harry was something new and something she hoped wasn’t going to end when he emerged from the holodeck.

  “Any word?” Conlon asked B’Elanna without preamble. The half-Klingon’s slight scowl was the answer she didn’t want to see.

  “No,” B’Elanna replied. “And I told Cambridge that if they’re not out today, I’m going in after them. I don’t care what he says.”

  Conlon took some comfort in this thought. Formidable as the counselor might be, she couldn’t imagine the consequences of crossing B’Elanna.

  “You don’t think anything could have happened to them?”

  “I’ve been monitoring their life signs,” B’Elanna said. “They’re perfectly healthy, and probably still holding tight to their respective grudges. I can’t believe I let Cambridge talk me into this ridiculous excuse for counseling.”

  “I thought you said it was a good idea.”

  “Sure, yesterday morning,” B’Elanna allowed. “But they can both be stubborn as targs.”

  “Let’s hope for the best until we know better,” Nancy suggested.

  B’Elanna offered a wan smile. “You’re not going to get perky on me, are you?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Good.”

  “Have Esquiline, Achilles, and Curie begun work yet on their new benamite recrystalization matrices?” Conlon asked, shifting to a safer subject. She knew that B’Elanna had intended to forward them the specs as soon as they were in range. Only days into the mission, the fleet had discovered that the precious crystals that powered their slipstream drives had begun to show microfractures. If the problem had gone unsolved for too long, their supplies would have been diminished well before the end of the fleet’s three-year mission. B’Elanna’s design of the matrix that solved this problem had confirmed, in Conlon’s eyes, Voyager’s former chief engineer’s fabled ingenuity.

  “They have.” B’Elanna nodded.

  “Commander Drafar will probably have them at maximum capacity by the end of the day,” Nancy mused.

  “He’s that good?” B’Elanna asked.

  “Yep,” Nancy replied. “The Lendrin work ethic is a sight to see. I’m sure that’s part of the reason he was given command of Achilles.”

  “I’ve never met a Lendrin,” B’Elanna mused. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them.”

  “They joined the Federation while you were, uh, missing,” Nancy replied delicately.

  “Which time?” B’Elanna asked lightly, probably wondering if Nancy was referring to Voyager’s first stint in the Delta Quadrant, or her travels of the last couple of years.

  “The first time,” Nancy said.

  “Well, I guess I’m in for a treat tomorrow morning, then,” B’Elanna said. “I’m scheduled to tour Achilles first thing.”

  “Oh,” Nancy said, her eyes widening a bit.

  “What does that mean?” B’Elanna asked warily.

  “Nothing.” Conlon tried to shrug it off. “I guess it didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t have met Drafar yet, but of course, there’s no way you could have.”

  “What do I need to know about him that you’re not telling me?” B’Elanna asked with more concern.

  “Nothing,” Conlon attempted again, though the smile that was lifting the corners of her mouth was probably not helping her convince B’Elanna. “Just be sure and tell me how it goes,” she added, moving toward the mess hall doors.

  B’Elanna stared after her, clearly aware that Nancy was enjoying herself immensely. Nancy wondered if B’Elanna was considering pulling rank and demanding to know Nancy’s impressions of Drafar. The engineer hurriedly ducked into the busy dining room to avoid the possibility. Much as she had grown to like and respect B’Elanna, Nancy didn’t want to poison Drafar’s well. If Nancy knew him at all, he’d do just fine on his own, and watching B’Elanna work with him would be well worth the price of admission.

  Heaven help her, Nancy thought as she replicated her breakfast. Then, thinking better of it, she revised her assessment.

  Heaven help him.

  U.S.S. GALEN

  “I trust you have experienced no further side effects from your catoms since we left the Indign system?” the Doctor asked Seven of Nine. He assumed if she had, she would not have waited to inform him, but she’d seemed a little distant this morning during her scheduled checkup, and her reticence could be cause for concern.

  “No,” Seven replied simply, pushing herself off the edge of the biobed, clearly preparing to depart.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” the Doctor said sincerely. When she had rejoined the fleet, Seven had been deeply troubled by a “voice” in her head. A product of her transformation by the Caeliar, the voice seemed intent on forcing her to abandon her identity as a former Borg. The Doctor had wondered if she would ever again be the calm, confident woman he had known, but ongoing work with Counselor Cambridge and her recent experiences with the Indign appeared to have eliminated the voice, and she seemed completely restored to health.

  “Unless there is something else …” Seven began somewhat absently.

  “Seven?” the Doctor asked in a tone that seemed to bring her more fully into the present moment.

  “Yes?”

  “You seem somewhat distracted. Is something troubling you?”

  “I am fine,” she replied with a brisk sigh.

  “Seven?”

  “I have a great deal of work to complete before assuming care of Miral Paris this afternoon.”

  The Doctor stepped back a few paces and crossed his arms over his chest. She withered slightly under his knowing stare.

  “I do,” she attempted.

  “I don’t doubt it,” he replied without relenting.

  Finally Seven rested her lower back against the biobed and said, “I honestly don’t know why, but for the last few days I can’t seem to focus.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” the Doctor suggested.

  “It’s difficult to say,” Seven said, at something of a loss.

  The Doctor registered an uncomfortable twinge in his interpersonal relationship subroutines. He had taken Seven’s friendship and trust for granted for so long now, it was impossible to imagine a subject she would be unwilling to discuss.

  “Perhaps it’s something you would prefer to share with Counselor Cambridge?” he ventured, knowing in advance that he would be crushed were this the case.

  “No,” Seven insisted immediately, her eyes widening briefly.

  The Doctor instantly registered relief. Confusion and deep curiosity, however, quickly repla
ced that more pleasant sensation.

  “Then, I don’t understand,” he said.

  “Neither do I,” Seven replied. “I have found it difficult to concentrate for several days now. As soon as I begin a project, my mind begins to wander.”

  “Down what path?” the Doctor asked gently.

  “The past,” Seven said thoughtfully.

  “It’s understandable,” the Doctor suggested. “The transformation you endured has started you on a course of deep introspection. You have, no doubt, in your work with the counselor explored many aspects of your past that might have unsettled you. It is quite normal under the circumstances, and will pass in time.”

  Seven looked at him dubiously. “But the events I seem to return to in my mind are of a decidedly personal nature.”

  “Personal as in …?” the Doctor asked.

  “Interpersonal,” Seven finally said.

  “Oh,” the Doctor said as his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  When it came to Seven’s past interpersonal relationships, they were relatively few. Seven hadn’t made a great deal of time in her life for liaisons of the heart, but as the Doctor well knew, the impression such experiences could leave behind were not a matter of quantity but of quality.

  Finally he decided to fish a little. “You did end your relationship with Chakotay rather abruptly. Are you reconsidering that choice?”

  “No,” Seven replied, her sincerity evident. “Chakotay and I function much more efficiently as friends.”

  “I hardly think efficiency is the point, Seven.”

  She flushed faintly. “What I meant to say is that I do not believe Chakotay would be a wise choice in a partner.”

  “Have you met someone who you believe might be?”

  Seven’s cheeks grew visibly hotter.

  “No,” she finally replied.

  “Seven?”

  “Please excuse me, Doctor. I must return to Voyager. I’m sorry to have troubled you,” she added as she quickly left the medical bay.

  The Doctor found himself smiling faintly once she had gone. Despite her protestations, he did not believe she would have raised the subject had there not been someone that had piqued her interest. He also knew, after his recent experiences with Meegan McDonnell, that passion could flame in unexpected quarters. Given all Seven had been through of late, however, he worried that she might not be ready for any new relationship, and that bothered him. She was an extraordinary individual, and as best the Doctor could tell, the man who could meet her as an equal and stable partner was not on anyone’s current sensor readings.

  Chapter Two

  TWENTY-ONE DAYS EARLIER

  U.S.S. QUIRINAL

  The swirling miasma of distorted energy that had formed the visual representation of a slipstream corridor looked as if it was going to collapse into itself. Captain Farkas had seen this sight dozens of times already, but it still made her feel ever so slightly like ducking.

  As if it would help. She chuckled inwardly.

  “Exiting synchronous slipstream flight in five, four, three, two …” Ensign Jepel Omar advised the bridge crew from ops.

  Like storm clouds suddenly dissipating, the screen before Farkas’s eyes cleared, revealing calm, untroubled stars.

  “Are we all present and accounted for, Commander Roach?” Farkas asked of her first officer.

  Malcolm Roach cleared his throat and replied, “Confirming Planck and Demeter have safely arrived.”

  “Excellent,” Farkas remarked. “Ensign Hoch, job well done,” she commended her helmsman.

  Krim Hoch seemed to sit a little straighter in his chair as he acknowledged the captain’s compliment with a subtle nod.

  Tapping the control panel in the arm of her chair lightly, Farkas opened the shipwide comm. “Attention, all hands. We have arrived at our intended coordinates and will begin implementation of special security protocols immediately. This channel will be kept clear for Commander Roach. Please stand by.”

  And welcome to a piece of sky only a handful of Federation eyes have ever gazed on before, she thought, unable to repress the tingle of excitement that had always accompanied such moments for her.

  “Roach to security, supplemental officers report to stations on decks one and seventeen. Lieutenant Ganley, begin segregation of bioneural systems. Transporter room one, stand ready to receive incoming crew.”

  “Acknowledged,” the transport officer was the last to reply. Ensign Genevieve, Farkas reminded herself, still working hard after only a few weeks commanding Quirinal to remember names, faces, ranks, and positions. Like too many of the over six hundred Starfleet personnel now under her command, Farkas had only met Genevieve a handful of times. There were plenty more she had yet to meet. Her ship held the largest crew complement of any in the fleet, with Esquiline, the fleet’s other Vesta-class starship, coming in second.

  “Ensign Jepel, please open a channel to Planck and Demeter,” Roach requested placidly. Her first officer was fastidious and all-business when he was on duty. Farkas sincerely hoped to see him relax a little when the occasion presented itself. Though she appreciated his professionalism and discipline, in her experience, springs wound that tight usually popped at the most inconvenient times.

  “Channel open, sir,” Jepel indicated.

  “Lieutenant Tregart, Commander Fife,” Roach called, addressing his counterparts on Planck and Demeter, respectively. “We are ready to receive designated crewmen.”

  As both officers acknowledged Roach’s instruction, Farkas couldn’t help but think that “designated crewmen” was a diplomatic way of phrasing what under normal circumstances might be taken as an alarming example of discrimination. These personnel, who would soon be joined by several of Quirinal’s crew, all possessed some form of psionic abilities. Vulcans, Betazoids, Deltans, Cairn, and, if memory served, a Kazarite, were now boarding her ship and in an orderly fashion, one assumed, moving to cargo bay three, where they would enter stasis for the duration of this mission. Once they were secured, the bay would be shielded by a newly developed psionic force field. This special protocol, along with several others, was being implemented to protect all of them in the event they encountered the alien species they had come to investigate in this part of the Delta Quadrant.

  The first time the Federation had encountered the Children of the Storm, the Aventine’s Ullian helmsman had been briefly and unexpectedly possessed by one of the aliens in order to facilitate communication. Little was known about these “Children.” They were noncorporeal, traveled through space in what had been dubbed “thought bubbles”—vessels filled with toxic atmosphere apparently propelled by thought alone—and had managed to destroy thousands of Borg ships without firing a single conventional weapon. Neither Admiral Batiste nor the commanders leading this expedition—Farkas, Captain T’Mar of the Planck, and Demeter’s Commander O’Donnell—had been willing to risk suddenly losing any of their crew to alien possession. The xenobiologists who had reviewed Aventine’s data all concluded that only species with telepathic or empathic abilities were likely to be vulnerable to the Children of the Storm. Farkas had her doubts, but she approached all such situations with a healthy skepticism.

  Which reminds me, Farkas thought.

  “Farkas to sickbay.”

  “Go ahead, Captain,” the gravelly voice of her chief medical officer, Doctor El’nor Sal replied.

  “How is our volunteer doing?”

  Doctor Sal considered the petite junior science officer, Ensign Ti’Ana, seated on the biobed before her, looking peaceful as a dead sea, and said, “Why don’t you tell the captain yourself, Ensign?”

  “I am prepared to do my duty, Captain,” Ti’Ana replied with a serenity Sal was certain she had never experienced, let alone would have been able to muster in Ti’Ana’s boots.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Ensign,” Farkas replied. Sal was pretty sure her old friend was smirking and equally sure that Ti’Ana couldn’t tell. As was usually the case in Sal’s exp
erience with Vulcan hybrids, the ensign’s Vulcan half seemed to trump her Betazoid half, so it was hard to tell how much appreciation she had for subtlety. “You’ll be advised when we near the system we are going to study. In the meantime, try and get some rest. Farkas out.”

  Sal bit back a smile as Ti’Ana turned disarmingly intense black eyes toward her. “I do not require rest at this time, Doctor, but if you feel it necessary, I will accept a sedative.”

  Like the captain, Doctor Sal was in her mid-seventies and had probably forgotten more about life than Ti’Ana had yet to learn. Every year the new kids seem younger than I remember ever being, she thought a little sadly. Surely there had been a time when she had approached her work with Ti’Ana’s earnestness. Thank heavens that time has long since past. Both life and work were a great deal more rewarding when you didn’t take them quite so seriously.

  Sal had served with Farkas on four different vessels and had been one of her closest friends since before Ti’Ana was born. There was simply no way, however, to impart to the ensign the common sense that only came with experience.

  “I’m pretty sure the captain meant that as a suggestion, not an order, Ensign,” she said evenly. “Now I’m going to step outside and check on the rest of my staff. I’ll activate the psionic field around this room, and you just let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Ti’Ana replied, lifting the corners of her mouth a hair, suggesting that perhaps not all of her father’s DNA had been wasted on her.

  Sal really hoped that was the case. She didn’t know—and didn’t really want to know—what it would be like to be possessed by an alien life-form, but the presence of another in her mind would have scared the hell out of her. For someone accustomed to telepathic communication, it might be less traumatizing, and the doctor had suggested Ti’Ana for this assignment because of her unique dual heritage. Vulcan discipline combined with Betazoid empathy might ease whatever was to come for the young woman who had volunteered to act as a conduit for the Children of the Storm, should they make contact with Quirinal.