Star Trek: Voyager: A Pocket Full of Lies Read online

“No, sir,” Vincent replied. “I have expanded the transmission to include several frequencies in the outer bands and increased the signal’s power to the broadest possible range.”

  “And still, they ignore us,” O’Donnell said.

  “Assuming they’re out there at all,” Cambridge noted.

  “They are.”

  “You can’t possibly know that.”

  “Unless Mister Neelix’s intelligence was in error, they’re here. We’ve already ruled out the terrestrial planets. I’m guessing they’re hiding inside that gas giant’s outer atmosphere.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s where I would hide if I were them.”

  “Do you have any actual data to support this guess?”

  “Atlee?” O’Donnell asked.

  “We are picking up faint, highly localized tachyons. They could be residue, but more likely they are evidence of phase variance,” Demeter’s XO, Lieutenant Commander Atlee Fife, replied.

  Cambridge turned a blank face to O’Donnell.

  “A gas giant can offer some natural camouflage,” O’Donnell translated. “The deeper you go into the atmosphere, the easier it is to flummox sensors. It’s also harder to survive for any length of time, as the atmospheric composition will degrade most alloys common to hull plating fairly rapidly. But if the Nihydron live here, or spend most of their time here, they’ve solved that, probably with some version of multi-phasic shielding. Calibrated properly, shields like that would render them virtually invisible and bleed highly localized tachyons.”

  “How do we flush them out?”

  O’Donnell shrugged. “It’s a tough call. I don’t want to force their hand.”

  “Because despite all previous evidence to the contrary, you have the patience of a saint?” Cambridge asked.

  “Because it is an act of unwarranted aggression,” O’Donnell corrected him. “It’s rude to strip someone of their defenses when they haven’t demonstrated any hostile tendencies toward you. I’d rather not get off on the wrong foot with these people, especially since we hope to enter into a meaningful dialogue with them.”

  “Instead of transmitting our standard friendship greetings, why don’t we sweeten the pot?” Cambridge suggested.

  O’Donnell smiled. “That’s my instinct as well. Atlee, are you ready to do the thing?”

  “Aye, sir,” Fife replied cheerily. “Ensign Vincent, launch the probe.”

  After a few silent moments Vincent confirmed the launch.

  “The thing?” Cambridge finally asked. “Is that the technical term?”

  A fleeting smile graced O’Donnell’s lips. “We’ve loaded that probe with data on some of our most recent contacts in the Delta Quadrant. Not the whole story, mind you, and nothing that would compromise our security, just enough to pique their curiosity. It will transmit that data on a number of likely bands from within the gas giant’s atmosphere to guarantee the best possible signal strength. If the Nihydron take the bait, we should be in contact with them in the next few minutes.”

  Cambridge considered this. Finally he said, “You’ve had that probe ready to launch since when?”

  “A few hours before we entered the system.”

  “And you’ve been waiting all this time to launch it because . . . ?”

  “We’ve taken some truly spectacular readings of this area over the last few hours and added a great deal of valuable information about this sector to our astrometrics databases,” O’Donnell said, feigning innocence.

  “You did this on purpose,” Cambridge realized. “You were waiting for your fellow captains to lose interest in observing the proceedings, weren’t you?”

  “That’s possible.”

  Had he not been so exhausted, Cambridge would have laughed. When Chakotay had briefed him on this away mission he had noted that most of the fleet’s captains intended to watch O’Donnell’s contact attempt from the Vesta. By now, no doubt all of them had retired for the evening.

  “You’re that shy?” Cambridge asked.

  “Not really. At some point, I’m going to have to develop the self-confidence to initiate diplomatic relations with new species all by myself. No time like the present, right?” When Cambridge did not reply immediately, he added, “You look weary, Counselor. Can we get you a chair?”

  “No, thank you, sir.”

  Vincent interrupted, “Captain, we are receiving a response to the probe’s transmission. A Nihydron shuttle will clear the atmosphere and make orbit within the next two hours.”

  “Imagine that,” O’Donnell said. “Good work, everyone.”

  Cambridge sighed. “With your permission, sir, I think I’ll retire to that supply closet Mister Fife assigned me for a short nap. I’d appreciate it if you’d wake me when the Nihydron make contact.”

  “You don’t want to stick around? After all, I could still screw this up between now and then.”

  Cambridge chuckled. “I should live so long.”

  “Sleep well, Counselor.”

  VOYAGER

  Doctor Sharak, Voyager’s CMO and the first Tamarian to ever serve in Starfleet, had returned to the Delta Quadrant only a few weeks earlier. To his surprise, it had felt like coming home. He had left the planet of his birth, his family, and his friends for Earth to learn Standard and help further relations between the Children of Tama and the Federation. He had served with the Full Circle Fleet for a year. His heart would long for the golden plains and bright constellations burning above Sigma Tama IV to the end of his days. But, he had built new relationships, particularly with Miss Seven and Commander Paris, that felt as essential and significant as those he enjoyed with his Tamarian kin.

  After dispatching a letter to Lieutenant Commander Samantha Wildman and her family on Ktaria, Sharak had begun his review of the crew’s medical issues that had arisen during his absence. He had taken special care with the file of Lieutenant Conlon. She had just endured a serious physical trauma involving alien possession of her body. Initially she had been treated by the Galen’s CMO, the Doctor, formally an emergency medical hologram on Voyager. Nancy Conlon was once again Sharak’s responsibility, and while he marveled at the speed of her recovery, there were a number of recent test results that concerned him.

  He had contacted the Doctor before coming on duty this morning. Sharak was having some difficulty re-acclimating to starship time after his lengthy stay on Earth and often woke well before the start of alpha shift. The Doctor did not require sleep and had been happy to discuss Sharak’s concerns about Conlon.

  “You don’t consider the slight elevation in AFP levels cause for alarm?” Sharak asked.

  “They would be, were she still a child,” the Doctor replied. “They might indicate any number of potential immunological disorders. But the lieutenant has enjoyed excellent physical health her entire life.”

  “There is nothing in your treatment regimen that might have caused the elevation. And some of her immunoglobulins and lymphocytes remain low.”

  “They have almost returned to normal levels,” the Doctor countered, “and no doubt will in the next several weeks. I can’t explain yet why the transfer of Xolani’s essence into Lieutenant Conlon prompted such a severe immunological response, but it’s not really surprising. Her body appears to have marshaled every available defense against the invading consciousness. I intend to study this further. But I do not believe it is cause for concern at this time.”

  Sharak nodded. “I will, of course, continue to monitor her and advise you of any further issues.”

  “I would appreciate that,” the Doctor said. “Galen out.”

  Sharak terminated the contact and immediately sent out another transmission to the Vesta. Within a few minutes, the face of Doctor El’nor Sal, a human woman in her eighties, appeared on the screen.

  “Good morning, Doctor Sal,” Sharak greeted her.

  “If you say so,” Sal replied.

  “There is a notation in our database about a contagion first encountered
by Starfleet on Stardate 26484.”

  “Is this a quiz, Doctor?” Sal asked.

  “No,” Sharak replied. “I would not trouble you except that the virus was first identified by you when you served aboard the Thetis.”

  Sal’s face hardened visibly. For the briefest of moments, her eyes betrayed her, allowing Sharak to glimpse an old wound that had clearly never properly healed.

  “You’re talking about Vega Nine?”

  “The virus in question is listed as Vegarus Axilataria—”

  “Vega Nine for short.”

  “It attacked multiple systems, but began by damaging the patient’s DNA, did it not?” Sharak asked.

  “Vega Nine is the most complex DNA damage repair syndrome I’ve ever seen, and the only one like it transmitted virally rather than inherited. It was caused by an insect bite. Its effects were horrific. Patients lost mobility, vision, their immune response. It opened the door to a variety of secondary infections. Twenty-three officers died before we cured the damn thing.” Sal paused, shaking off the memories. “Why?”

  “Would it be possible for you to forward me all of your records on Vega Nine?”

  “Yes. But why?”

  “Research.”

  “For whom?”

  “For my own edification.”

  “Doctor, we eradicated every known source of Vega Nine thirty years ago.”

  “I know. I am not suggesting that we have encountered a new strain. I am interested in learning more about your methodology.”

  “Very well,” Sal said. “I’ll get you those records right away. Do yourself a favor. Read them on an empty stomach.”

  “I will,” Sharak said.

  VESTA

  Ensign Icheb had spent most of the previous afternoon observing Lieutenant Phinnegan Bryce at work. His second meeting with Commander O’Donnell had shaken him, and he had not yet devised a new approach to the problem. He hoped that observing Lieutenant Bryce might prove helpful.

  Thus far it had been interesting. Bryce was one of the youngest chief engineers Icheb had ever encountered. His manner was so relaxed it belied the vigorous intellect at work. Bryce was regularly several steps ahead of those he commanded, but he never flaunted his intellectual capacity. He listened attentively to his engineers’ suggestions, possessed enviable amounts of patience, and accepted bad news with grace and good cheer. His crew seemed to genuinely enjoy serving with him.

  Bryce was running engineering for a vessel only recently refitted that had yet to take any serious damage during combat. Like Lieutenants Conlon and Elkins, Vesta’s chief clearly did not take to heart many of Starfleet’s regulations regarding routine maintenance. Icheb had found over a hundred efficiency citations in just a few hours. By this day’s end, he would likely have noted twice that many. The thought of presenting these flaws to Bryce turned Icheb’s stomach.

  Which was ridiculous.

  Icheb had a duty to perform. He did Bryce no favors by ignoring his lapses. Commander Torres was counting on him.

  But a small voice buried deep in Icheb’s subconscious insisted strenuously every time the ensign noted another transgression that he tread lightly with Bryce. Icheb could not precisely name the hesitation, or the odd and intense emotional responses observing Bryce conjured within him. He only knew that even after a few hours, he liked Bryce very much. Here was a fellow officer not that much older than himself, one whose manner quickly gained the confidence and respect of those around him. While Icheb doubted his ability to emulate Bryce, he certainly hoped to eventually share a similar rapport with those he supervised.

  Icheb knew it was wrong for him to worry about offending or injuring Bryce. Still, his failure to make any progress with Commander O’Donnell coupled with his growing admiration for Bryce immobilized the ensign.

  VOYAGER

  Lieutenant Harry Kim was exhausted by the time he stumbled into his quarters an hour before gamma shift ended. Commander Paris, who was not going to be sleeping regular hours for several days to come, had relieved him two hours before his watch was to end, and after managing only a short nap during beta shift, Kim was happy to accept Tom’s offer to turn in early.

  Kim didn’t even bother to raise the lighting in his cabin. Instead, he moved directly to the ’fresher, took the briefest sonic shower in history, and quickly donned his preferred nightwear, shorts and a tank top, before slipping into his rack. He reached automatically for the sleeping mask he wore to eliminate any ambient starlight that might disturb his rest. He had barely settled it into place and released a deep sigh when he was startled by a faint motion to his left.

  “What the . . . ?” he began as a warm hand grazed his cheek.

  “Shhh,” a soft, feminine voice ordered.

  Kim might have argued were it not for the fact that his nose quickly identified his companion. This unique combination of wildflowers and spice belonged to Nancy Conlon.

  He immediately lifted a hand to remove the mask, but Nancy simultaneously kissed his cheek softly while taking that hand and placing it somewhere infinitely more pleasant.

  “Leave it,” she whispered.

  Harry Kim had imagined this moment, or one like it, for a long time. He and Nancy had engaged in their fair share of explorations, but theirs had been a slow dance, interrupted by duty and limited by their mutual desire to proceed slowly.

  Apparently that part of their relationship was now over. Kim didn’t mind, but part of him would have enjoyed seeing her face. That imperative vanished in an overwhelming rush of sensations too intoxicating to ignore as Nancy’s hands and lips began to move over his body.

  “Don’t you want to . . . ?” Kim began.

  The moment he spoke, Nancy paused. Kim cursed himself silently for his obvious error.

  “Harry,” she finally said. “I have to be on duty in two hours. You want to spend that time talking?”

  It wasn’t a difficult question.

  “No.”

  VESTA

  Kathryn Janeway stood in the Vesta’s briefing room with Captains Farkas and Chakotay, Commander Glenn, and Seven. Her personal aide, Lieutenant Decan, was already seated at the large table. The admiral approved of Farkas’s choice to remove two of the three smaller conference tables the room usually held. The third had been pushed to the far wall and generously heaped with several plates of appetizers Doctor Sal had confirmed would be compatible with the Nihydron’s digestive systems.

  Janeway had opted to forgo the formality of full dress uniforms for this combined reception and negotiation. In addition to transmitting all of the sensor logs Demeter had already compiled about the Nihydron during their initial encounter, Commander O’Donnell and Counselor Cambridge had assured the admiral that their guests did not prefer ceremony.

  Chakotay came to her side and faced her with a knowing smile. “Nervous?”

  “Excited,” she replied.

  “If the Nihydron know as much about local politics as Neelix’s report suggested, this could be a long day.”

  “I’m just glad we managed to contact them.”

  “Did you ever find out why it took O’Donnell so long to draw them out?”

  “He followed all of our standard protocols,” Janeway replied, then added, “But according to Counselor Cambridge, the commander might have extended the process a bit for the benefit of his fellow captains.”

  “Admiral?”

  A long look into the admiral’s steel blue eyes brought a touch of chagrin to Chakotay’s face.

  “We were just curious,” he finally offered.

  “You, Farkas, and Glenn?”

  Chakotay nodded.

  “Why wasn’t I invited to that party?” Janeway asked with mock disappointment.

  Before Chakotay could answer, the doors to the briefing room opened. O’Donnell and Cambridge led a delegation of three humanoid aliens inside, each wearing variations of the Nihydron uniform: deep brown suits with long overcoats and wide, bright-orange belts. Clusters of small colored sto
nes covered the long sleeves of each. According to Cambridge, the number and arrangement of the stones indicated rank.

  Seven had reported that the Nihydron possessed well-developed frontal lobes. She had not exaggerated. Their waxy flesh was a deep rouge color, and their small translucent eyes, wide noses, and thin-lipped mouths were overshadowed by two large, rounded protrusions where a human’s forehead would be. Their skulls likely held more than twice the gray matter of anyone else present. They stood at least half a meter shorter than an average human. For once, Janeway and Farkas would not be the shortest people in the room.

  The group ambled toward the fleet commander. Cambridge and O’Donnell continued whatever conversation had likely begun in the transporter room. The brief moment she’d had to observe them as they entered suggested that the Nihydron were already quite comfortable with O’Donnell and Cambridge. They listened attentively to Cambridge until the leader of the three aliens caught sight of the admiral and stopped short. This created a slight traffic jam for those behind him, but they quickly adjusted.

  “Admiral Kathryn Janeway, it is my honor to introduce you to Adatoir Tesh, and his diplomatic advisors, Bedtens Yil and Gral,” Commander O’Donnell said warmly.

  “It is my pleasure to meet all of you and to welcome you aboard the Federation Starship Vesta,” Janeway said, matching O’Donnell’s tone. When the three Nihydron continued to stare, almost rudely, at Janeway, the admiral attempted to cover. “Permit me to introduce the other commanders of our exploratory fleet, Captain Regina Farkas of the Vesta, Captain Chakotay of Voyager, and Commander Glenn of the Galen. Seven is one of the fleet’s mission specialists, and Lieutenant Decan is my diplomatic aide.”

  Tesh turned sharply toward O’Donnell, who stood at his left hand. “Is this meant to be a form of amusement?” he asked without moving his lips. Janeway was startled by the distant, tinny sound of Tesh’s voice.

  When Yil spoke from behind his leader, the admiral realized that their “voices” were reverberating through some sort of voder, a distinct small set of silver stones set in the base of the Nihydron’s necks that Janeway had initially assumed were merely decorative. “A joke, perhaps, Adatoir?”