Rocketship Voyager
- Thread starter Odon
- Start date
Chapter IX: THE CARETAKER
It was some time before Chakotay and Nee'Lix found their captain and TuV'k on the shore of a sparkling ocean that stretched to the horizon under the radiance of twin suns.
"What the...?" Chakotay turned to stare in astonishment at the door he had just passed through and saw the bustling Junkers Market. Then the entrance faded to a translucent archway and his boots were sinking into a beach of varicolored sand. Where the door had once been, a greenish-purple rainforest ran all the way to the slopes of a distant mountain range, where light flashed on the wings of ornithopters hovering and swooping in the thermal updrafts.
"Sikaris, the Planet of Pleasure!" Nee'Lix threw off his jacket and rolled on the beach with glee. "It's been a while since I had a good sand scrub!"
"What in Space is this, Nee'Lix? We can't be on a planet, surely?"
"Oh no!" exclaimed Nee'Lix. "It's just like your Illusionarium! Well, not like it actually... a bit more advanced. A lot more advanced. In fact, it's so advanced it's not like your Illusionarium at all. But the concept is the same."
Chakotay crouched down and scooped up a handful of sand. He let the multi-hued grains trickle through his fingers, watching as they changed into a fine grey powder that somehow turned back into sand the moment it touched the beach.
"Resequenced photons," said Nee'Lix, brushing the same type of powder from his fur. "Shaped energy fields. And don't ask me how it works, Mr. Chakotay..."
"...because I'm not an engineer!" they chorused in unison. It had been a familiar refrain over the past few hours. There had been plenty of traders willing to sell technology whose effects were indistinguishable from miracles, but those few who claimed to be familiar with their workings were tight-lipped on the subject.
'We can add this to the million other things we'd like to study here,' Chakotay thought, 'if only we had a couple of decades, a team of eggheads, and one of those Electronic Minds that take up an entire megacity block.'
Their shipmates could be seen as distant figures a mile down the beach, but when Chakotay and Nee'Lix began to walk in their direction they found themselves on top of them much sooner than expected. When Chakotay glanced behind him he saw it was now the entrance arch that appeared far away, due to some kind of optical illusion.
"Did you find anything interesting?" asked Janeway. The two officers were sitting on a slab of limestone that hung out over the water. The captain had removed her jackboots and was dangling her toes in the ocean; Chakotay paid discreet attention to her bare ankles and sand-speckled feet. "Death ray, spacewarp drive, biologically-compatible extraterran?" She cast a coy smile at TuV'k who was seated in a posture of Contemplation, naked in his undershirt with his cap and tunic neatly placed on the rocks beside him. "Space Commander Chakotay thinks we should settle down on a planet with a harem of cute aliens."
"Well that one has nice legs," said Chakotay, pointing at a ten-foot insectoid stalking through the shallows. He dropped his haversack in the sand and sat alongside the captain. Janeway had been keeping a frustrating distance after what happened in the wardroom. Every time he tried to get her alone, TuV'k always seemed to be hovering around. "B'Elanna and Carey found some items that might be useful. A graviton compensator that we can use for anti-acceleration if we can make it work with our technology, and a pressor dish that projects a reverse gravity field to deflect space-dust and meteorites from the path of a spaceship even at supra-light speed. Don't ask me how 'reverse gravity' even exists; I guess if you can generate artificial gravity you can use it to do anything. I had them haul it all back to the shuttleboat."
"You did better than us," griped Janeway. "All we have are beads and baubles. Some huckster tried to sell me a 'replicator' that he said could make water from thin air, but it was just an atmospheric water condenser like we have on Voyager. And once word got round that we were seeking faster-than-light technology we were besieged by salesmen peddling investments in 'quantum slipstream drive' or 'transwarp thresholds'."
"The Briori sell their graviton technology to anyone with the money," said Nee'Lix. He unsealed Chakotay's haversack and rummaged through it without invitation. "I have an acquaintance in the K'Zon-Pommar sect who owes me a favor or three. He can get you a good deal on anti-gravity deckplates." He removed a tin of Alkian confectioneries and sniffed it.
"They weren't willing to sell to us," said Chakotay, plucking the tin from Nee'Lix paws—he'd bought the sweets as a present for the captain. "We had to get that graviton compensator second-hand from the Junkers Market. No-one knows where the Briori manufacture them, and no-one understands the principles behind their gravity manipulation technology... or perhaps they didn't think we would understand. Half of the people we talked to treated us like dim-witted barbarians because we're from some planet they've never heard of."
"We are barbarians," said Janeway, splashing the ocean with her toes. "This is supposed to be a tri-vid illusion but it feels like real water... TuV'k actually went swimming in it! There are people out there fishing, and eating what they catch! How is that possible?" A trio of amphibians lifted their heads up from under the water, studying Janeway with plaintive expressions. She quickly withdrew her feet. "Shoo! I told you before, I'm not your mother!"
"I think I know how Chief Sitting Bull felt when he toured the cities of pre-Atomic America," said Chakotay. "We're too far behind these people; we need to catch up fast. With this kind of technology these extraterrans could conquer Earth without breaking a sweat."
TuV'k's eyes were closed but his sharp ears must have been taking in every word because the Martian put in his own two cents. "The xenophobic response of a species that assumes its technological and cultural supremacy is an innate characteristic instead of a fleeting moment in history."
Janeway tossed her head. "So says the man who told me he joined Spacefleet to defend his world from a race of implacable aliens bent on conquest and assimilation."
"Jovians?" asked Chakotay.
"Humans," replied TuV'k. The Martian opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. On the beach a dozen fleshy pyramids whirled and spun in an intricate dance, watched by a crowd of onlookers who clacked tusks or clicked mandibles in time to a baroque beat. What looked like a trunkless elephant with six legs was splashing about in the shallows, trying to push a large floating ball against a pole defended by a team of gillmen. In the distance a spider-like creature and a writhing mass of tentacles worked the sails of a multi-hulled hydrofoil. "You see threats where I see diversity, monstrosity where others see endless possibility."
"Few of these people are here by choice," said Nee'Lix. "Most were abducted by the Briori, others are refugees from cataclysm or persecution, some just have nowhere else to go. They get sold and used and discarded... but they adapt, survive, form communities... thrive even."
"That's something to consider," said Janeway. "We could be looking at the future of the Federation. Not just three worlds, but many! Hundreds of species, thousands of cultures, living and working together in harrrrrgggggghh!"
The world around them vanished for black walls that were suddenly too close for comfort. Avians screeched in panic as they found their airspace restricted, weaving and diving to escape collision. Bathers and sailors found themselves thrashing about on a hard metal deck, gillmen choking and convulsing in the shock of exposure to air. Janeway was struggling to pull on her jackboots while TuV'k was trying to retrieve his tunic from under the feet of a bellowing hexapod. The air filled with cries in a hundred languages that were quelled as abruptly as they had begun, and every eyeball and eyestalk turned in the same direction.
A pair of seven-foot high reptilians filled the entrance archway. Toothed and clawed like the dinosaurs of primeval Earth, their scaled bodies were decorated with warpaint and bone fetishes, yet girded with plastimetal armor and sophisticated electronic sensors. Heavy-caliber rifles mounted with blacklight scopes were clasped in their talons. Their unblinking gaze tracked across the room until it locked onto the three Spacefleet officers.
"Uh-oh, trouble." Chakotay helped the captain to her feet, then casually placed a hand on his holster. It unlocked on sensing his palmprint, pushing the butt of the Colt recoilless into his hand. TuV'k followed suit, moving several yards to the left to divide their attention.
"Who are they, Nee'Lix?" Janeway put on her officer's cap and stood with her hands resting on her hips, a position that put them conveniently close to her own sidearm.
"Hirogen hunters," whispered Nee'Lix, pressing low against the deck as if gripped by a genetic instinct to burrow for safety. "The Briori pay them to capture other life-forms and bring them back to the Array for study and enslavement. Otherwise they kill those they hunt: for sport, prestige, breeding rights, training for war. They've been doing it for centuries."
With claws scraping on the metal deckplates and spiked tails lashing from side to side, the two Hirogen stalked through the crowd which quickly made way for them. One kept his eyes fixed on TuV'k while the other stared at Chakotay, who could not suppress a shudder of revulsion at being caught in that reptile gaze. He dropped his eyes in apparent submission, but actually so he could watch their weapons for any aggressive move.
The Hirogen stopped a couple of feet away. The larger of the two took out a tubular device and hissed at length into an inset grill. As he did so, words in Traben emerged from the device in a harsh electronic tone.
"We hunt/seek [ambiguous syntax] Alpha/Captain of space-vessel from planet Ground/Earth [ambiguous syntax] of solar system How In Hubbard's Name Would I Know. As client [emphasis], not food/trophy/captive. The Caretaker orders/requests [ambiguous syntax] your immediate attendance."
"Looks like we've been moved to the front of the line." Janeway stepped forward, though her head only went up to the Hirogen's chest. "I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the planet Earth, commander of the United Nations Rocketship Voyager."
"You [emphasis] Alpha/Captain [question fact]?" scoffed the Hirogen, staring down its snout at the short Terran.
"Me, Alpha Captain, confirm fact," said Janeway, glaring right back at him. "Now take me to your leader."
"I can't believe you actually said that," muttered Chakotay.
Any feelings of technological inferiority felt by the Spacefleet officers was soon offset by the convoluted path they had to take to their destination. In contrast to the efficient mass transit systems of Earth, travel through the maze of reconditioned spacecraft-turned-habitats involved an endless number of air-locks, transfer tunnels, maglevators and conveyor strips, or long waits at vacuum-tube stations while their Hirogen escort growled with impatience and commuters stared at them in idle curiosity.
"Roll up, roll up!" quipped Janeway. "See strange anthropoids from the other side of the galaxy!"
"Makes a change from you Terrans gawking at my ears," said TuV'k.
A long silver pod slid along the vacuum tube until it locked into place opposite them like a bullet loaded into the chamber of a gun. Doors slid aside and the crowd pushed forward, only to back away when the Hirogen snarled and brandished their weaponry. They took their seats and the transit pod set off the moment the doors were sealed. There was no feeling of acceleration; the view through the convex windows flashed past faster and faster until it merged into a grey blur which abruptly changed to total blackness.
It took them a moment to realize they were looking at Outer Space from an armorglass tunnel that ran along the exterior of the Array. Janeway and Chakotay could not hide their shock. No Terran engineer would build this way; exposure to the infinity of the void without mental preparation risked the onset of space madness. They gripped the armrests with white-knuckle intensity, eyes casting about in desperation for something (anything!) to focus upon. What they saw only convinced them they had indeed lost their minds.
It was some time before Chakotay and Nee'Lix found their captain and TuV'k on the shore of a sparkling ocean that stretched to the horizon under the radiance of twin suns.
"What the...?" Chakotay turned to stare in astonishment at the door he had just passed through and saw the bustling Junkers Market. Then the entrance faded to a translucent archway and his boots were sinking into a beach of varicolored sand. Where the door had once been, a greenish-purple rainforest ran all the way to the slopes of a distant mountain range, where light flashed on the wings of ornithopters hovering and swooping in the thermal updrafts.
"Sikaris, the Planet of Pleasure!" Nee'Lix threw off his jacket and rolled on the beach with glee. "It's been a while since I had a good sand scrub!"
"What in Space is this, Nee'Lix? We can't be on a planet, surely?"
"Oh no!" exclaimed Nee'Lix. "It's just like your Illusionarium! Well, not like it actually... a bit more advanced. A lot more advanced. In fact, it's so advanced it's not like your Illusionarium at all. But the concept is the same."
Chakotay crouched down and scooped up a handful of sand. He let the multi-hued grains trickle through his fingers, watching as they changed into a fine grey powder that somehow turned back into sand the moment it touched the beach.
"Resequenced photons," said Nee'Lix, brushing the same type of powder from his fur. "Shaped energy fields. And don't ask me how it works, Mr. Chakotay..."
"...because I'm not an engineer!" they chorused in unison. It had been a familiar refrain over the past few hours. There had been plenty of traders willing to sell technology whose effects were indistinguishable from miracles, but those few who claimed to be familiar with their workings were tight-lipped on the subject.
'We can add this to the million other things we'd like to study here,' Chakotay thought, 'if only we had a couple of decades, a team of eggheads, and one of those Electronic Minds that take up an entire megacity block.'
Their shipmates could be seen as distant figures a mile down the beach, but when Chakotay and Nee'Lix began to walk in their direction they found themselves on top of them much sooner than expected. When Chakotay glanced behind him he saw it was now the entrance arch that appeared far away, due to some kind of optical illusion.
"Did you find anything interesting?" asked Janeway. The two officers were sitting on a slab of limestone that hung out over the water. The captain had removed her jackboots and was dangling her toes in the ocean; Chakotay paid discreet attention to her bare ankles and sand-speckled feet. "Death ray, spacewarp drive, biologically-compatible extraterran?" She cast a coy smile at TuV'k who was seated in a posture of Contemplation, naked in his undershirt with his cap and tunic neatly placed on the rocks beside him. "Space Commander Chakotay thinks we should settle down on a planet with a harem of cute aliens."
"Well that one has nice legs," said Chakotay, pointing at a ten-foot insectoid stalking through the shallows. He dropped his haversack in the sand and sat alongside the captain. Janeway had been keeping a frustrating distance after what happened in the wardroom. Every time he tried to get her alone, TuV'k always seemed to be hovering around. "B'Elanna and Carey found some items that might be useful. A graviton compensator that we can use for anti-acceleration if we can make it work with our technology, and a pressor dish that projects a reverse gravity field to deflect space-dust and meteorites from the path of a spaceship even at supra-light speed. Don't ask me how 'reverse gravity' even exists; I guess if you can generate artificial gravity you can use it to do anything. I had them haul it all back to the shuttleboat."
"You did better than us," griped Janeway. "All we have are beads and baubles. Some huckster tried to sell me a 'replicator' that he said could make water from thin air, but it was just an atmospheric water condenser like we have on Voyager. And once word got round that we were seeking faster-than-light technology we were besieged by salesmen peddling investments in 'quantum slipstream drive' or 'transwarp thresholds'."
"The Briori sell their graviton technology to anyone with the money," said Nee'Lix. He unsealed Chakotay's haversack and rummaged through it without invitation. "I have an acquaintance in the K'Zon-Pommar sect who owes me a favor or three. He can get you a good deal on anti-gravity deckplates." He removed a tin of Alkian confectioneries and sniffed it.
"They weren't willing to sell to us," said Chakotay, plucking the tin from Nee'Lix paws—he'd bought the sweets as a present for the captain. "We had to get that graviton compensator second-hand from the Junkers Market. No-one knows where the Briori manufacture them, and no-one understands the principles behind their gravity manipulation technology... or perhaps they didn't think we would understand. Half of the people we talked to treated us like dim-witted barbarians because we're from some planet they've never heard of."
"We are barbarians," said Janeway, splashing the ocean with her toes. "This is supposed to be a tri-vid illusion but it feels like real water... TuV'k actually went swimming in it! There are people out there fishing, and eating what they catch! How is that possible?" A trio of amphibians lifted their heads up from under the water, studying Janeway with plaintive expressions. She quickly withdrew her feet. "Shoo! I told you before, I'm not your mother!"
"I think I know how Chief Sitting Bull felt when he toured the cities of pre-Atomic America," said Chakotay. "We're too far behind these people; we need to catch up fast. With this kind of technology these extraterrans could conquer Earth without breaking a sweat."
TuV'k's eyes were closed but his sharp ears must have been taking in every word because the Martian put in his own two cents. "The xenophobic response of a species that assumes its technological and cultural supremacy is an innate characteristic instead of a fleeting moment in history."
Janeway tossed her head. "So says the man who told me he joined Spacefleet to defend his world from a race of implacable aliens bent on conquest and assimilation."
"Jovians?" asked Chakotay.
"Humans," replied TuV'k. The Martian opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. On the beach a dozen fleshy pyramids whirled and spun in an intricate dance, watched by a crowd of onlookers who clacked tusks or clicked mandibles in time to a baroque beat. What looked like a trunkless elephant with six legs was splashing about in the shallows, trying to push a large floating ball against a pole defended by a team of gillmen. In the distance a spider-like creature and a writhing mass of tentacles worked the sails of a multi-hulled hydrofoil. "You see threats where I see diversity, monstrosity where others see endless possibility."
"Few of these people are here by choice," said Nee'Lix. "Most were abducted by the Briori, others are refugees from cataclysm or persecution, some just have nowhere else to go. They get sold and used and discarded... but they adapt, survive, form communities... thrive even."
"That's something to consider," said Janeway. "We could be looking at the future of the Federation. Not just three worlds, but many! Hundreds of species, thousands of cultures, living and working together in harrrrrgggggghh!"
The world around them vanished for black walls that were suddenly too close for comfort. Avians screeched in panic as they found their airspace restricted, weaving and diving to escape collision. Bathers and sailors found themselves thrashing about on a hard metal deck, gillmen choking and convulsing in the shock of exposure to air. Janeway was struggling to pull on her jackboots while TuV'k was trying to retrieve his tunic from under the feet of a bellowing hexapod. The air filled with cries in a hundred languages that were quelled as abruptly as they had begun, and every eyeball and eyestalk turned in the same direction.
A pair of seven-foot high reptilians filled the entrance archway. Toothed and clawed like the dinosaurs of primeval Earth, their scaled bodies were decorated with warpaint and bone fetishes, yet girded with plastimetal armor and sophisticated electronic sensors. Heavy-caliber rifles mounted with blacklight scopes were clasped in their talons. Their unblinking gaze tracked across the room until it locked onto the three Spacefleet officers.
"Uh-oh, trouble." Chakotay helped the captain to her feet, then casually placed a hand on his holster. It unlocked on sensing his palmprint, pushing the butt of the Colt recoilless into his hand. TuV'k followed suit, moving several yards to the left to divide their attention.
"Who are they, Nee'Lix?" Janeway put on her officer's cap and stood with her hands resting on her hips, a position that put them conveniently close to her own sidearm.
"Hirogen hunters," whispered Nee'Lix, pressing low against the deck as if gripped by a genetic instinct to burrow for safety. "The Briori pay them to capture other life-forms and bring them back to the Array for study and enslavement. Otherwise they kill those they hunt: for sport, prestige, breeding rights, training for war. They've been doing it for centuries."
With claws scraping on the metal deckplates and spiked tails lashing from side to side, the two Hirogen stalked through the crowd which quickly made way for them. One kept his eyes fixed on TuV'k while the other stared at Chakotay, who could not suppress a shudder of revulsion at being caught in that reptile gaze. He dropped his eyes in apparent submission, but actually so he could watch their weapons for any aggressive move.
The Hirogen stopped a couple of feet away. The larger of the two took out a tubular device and hissed at length into an inset grill. As he did so, words in Traben emerged from the device in a harsh electronic tone.
"We hunt/seek [ambiguous syntax] Alpha/Captain of space-vessel from planet Ground/Earth [ambiguous syntax] of solar system How In Hubbard's Name Would I Know. As client [emphasis], not food/trophy/captive. The Caretaker orders/requests [ambiguous syntax] your immediate attendance."
"Looks like we've been moved to the front of the line." Janeway stepped forward, though her head only went up to the Hirogen's chest. "I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the planet Earth, commander of the United Nations Rocketship Voyager."
"You [emphasis] Alpha/Captain [question fact]?" scoffed the Hirogen, staring down its snout at the short Terran.
"Me, Alpha Captain, confirm fact," said Janeway, glaring right back at him. "Now take me to your leader."
"I can't believe you actually said that," muttered Chakotay.
Any feelings of technological inferiority felt by the Spacefleet officers was soon offset by the convoluted path they had to take to their destination. In contrast to the efficient mass transit systems of Earth, travel through the maze of reconditioned spacecraft-turned-habitats involved an endless number of air-locks, transfer tunnels, maglevators and conveyor strips, or long waits at vacuum-tube stations while their Hirogen escort growled with impatience and commuters stared at them in idle curiosity.
"Roll up, roll up!" quipped Janeway. "See strange anthropoids from the other side of the galaxy!"
"Makes a change from you Terrans gawking at my ears," said TuV'k.
A long silver pod slid along the vacuum tube until it locked into place opposite them like a bullet loaded into the chamber of a gun. Doors slid aside and the crowd pushed forward, only to back away when the Hirogen snarled and brandished their weaponry. They took their seats and the transit pod set off the moment the doors were sealed. There was no feeling of acceleration; the view through the convex windows flashed past faster and faster until it merged into a grey blur which abruptly changed to total blackness.
It took them a moment to realize they were looking at Outer Space from an armorglass tunnel that ran along the exterior of the Array. Janeway and Chakotay could not hide their shock. No Terran engineer would build this way; exposure to the infinity of the void without mental preparation risked the onset of space madness. They gripped the armrests with white-knuckle intensity, eyes casting about in desperation for something (anything!) to focus upon. What they saw only convinced them they had indeed lost their minds.
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An ancient castle, alien in architecture yet unmistakable in grandeur, had been erected on the hull under a huge transparent dome. Battlements to defend against obsolete weapons of war, roofs steepled against rain and snow that no longer fell, flagstaffs where there was no wind to billow standards. As they closed with the anachronistic structure, they could see gun barrels protruding from embrasures of armorglass and plastimetal, brick-faced spires concealing sensor dishes and broadcasting antennae. Yet the appearance remained of an edifice uprooted from the earth to be transplanted in its current location regardless of design or logic.
"How in Space did that get here?" exclaimed Janeway. "They can't have hauled that thing in the cargo hold of a rocketship, unless they did it brick by brick!"
"That castle is nothing," whispered Nee'Lix. Their guide had fallen unusually quiescent as they neared their destination. "The Briori used to lift entire cities into Space with spindizzy drives, tear them apart for their technology and dump the remains, sometimes with the populace still in them. I've seen vast craters and empty roads that are all that's left of global empires. They regret such actions now, of course. Far too wasteful. These days when their pirates turn up in orbit, everyone just hands over whatever they demand to make them go away. It's all very civilized."
The pod shot through an air-lock that opened and closed without the slightest pause in their passage, then slowly slid to a halt amid an overcrowded reception area where hundreds of life-forms argued, pleaded, blustered and truckled with a stolid panel of Overlookers. Their Hirogen escort bulldozed a path through the throng, making a bee-line for a security-locked maglevator which climbed a hundred feet in less than a second and opened onto a banquet hall where they were gruffly told to help themselves until the Caretaker was ready to meet them. It appeared that an official wanting to see someone 'immediately' had the same connotations here that it would back home.
The hall was octagonal in shape and surmounted by a vaulted ceiling; such a waste of usable area on a space station far more evocative of wealth and power than the expensive appointments. Micratomic lights added a harsh radiance to artwork designed for more primitive forms of illumination, and the walls were lined with alcoves displaying ornate sculptures, arcane technological devices, fauna and flora preserved in transparent cylinders.
Dominating the hall was a triangular table, laden with a feast inconceivable on famine-wracked Earth. On the right, the Hirogen tore at their food with savage teeth and quaffed from skulls that had been fashioned into drinking cups. On the left were the first anthropoids they had seen on the Array, though a serrated ridge of bone divided their foreheads and their hair grew in thick clumps instead of strands. Every man wore an armored cuirass under a fur-trimmed vest, with a pistol and short sword in crossdraw rigs for ready access while seated. Bodyguards prowled behind the diners, and no-one seemed willing to sit with their back to the door, as the side of the table facing the maglevator was lined with ornate yet empty chairs.
"I doubt this lot would be willing to embrace a Federation of Worlds," said Janeway. "Who am I looking at, Nee'Lix?"
"That's Imperator Jabin of the K'Zon-Ogla," whispered Nee'Lix, pointing with a surreptitious twitch of his tail. "Officially he's the ruler of all K'Zon, but that only applies as long as he can keep his sect strong and his rivals at bay. That man there—First Major Cullah of the K'Zon-Nistrim sect—has his own ambitions to be Imperator, as does Legate Haron of the K'Zon-Relora. Those Hirogen I'm not acquainted with, but the one seated on the chair made from the bones of his prey will be the Hirogen Alpha. I don't know his name—an Alpha will only reveal it to worthy prey, and that's an honor I'd rather avoid."
"They don't sound very friendly."
"The K'Zon were perpetually-warring barbarians on some insignificant planet on the outskirts of the galaxy when they were conquered by the Traben. As outsiders with no connection to the ruling elite they made useful recruits for the Emperor's Guard, and some of their officers became quite influential. After the Traben Empire collapsed they declared themselves its inheritors, but all they do is bully former subjects and fight each other for the title of Imperator—it's thanks to them this quadrant is in the mess it's in today. As for the Hirogen, their ruling matriarchy expels the males from their homeworld as soon as they come of age. They're allowed to return once every seven years with their hunting trophies as proof of their right to take a mate. The Hirogen believe that only the strongest among them should be allowed to breed."
"Sounds like the Bureau of Eugenics," Chakotay joked. "It's not a bad idea though. How about we arm-wrestle for the right to be captain of Voyager?"
"Excuse me, Space Commander, but whose shipbuilder plate is mounted in whose wardroom?"
Janeway strode over to the table and pulled out a chair. Chakotay sat down next to her, as did Nee'Lix after some hesitation. TuV'k remained standing in imitation of the other bodyguards, his hand resting conspicuously on his sidearm. Naked servants rushed up bearing trays of food and goblets of wine, a sight that might have been titillating had they looked remotely human.
"By what right do you sit at our table, woman?" growled the man that Nee'Lix had identified as First Major Cullah.
"By what right do you sit at mine?" replied Janeway, causing the First Major to go purple with rage.
Affecting nonchalant indifference, Janeway picked up a knife and fork and carved off a slice of meat that had been set before her on a silver plate. Careful to mask any distaste at eating unprocessed food, she popped it into her mouth and chewed avidly, surprised at its taste and freshness. Non-irradiated meat on a space station? She examined the cutlery she was holding. The fork was handcrafted gold, with a weight that suggested more than gilding. The knife on the other hand was precision-engineered from stainless alloy, its handle had the warmth that came from a radiothermal power source and the edge of the blade glowed with a razor-thin beam of light. She looked around at the glittering array of dinnerware and realized that none of it matched. Exquisite craftsmanship both artistic and technological had been thrown together at random like the jumble sale of a mad millionaire.
"We're here by invitation of the Caretaker," Chakotay replied to Cullah. "We are representatives of the Tri-World Federation."
"Never heard of it," scoffed Cullah, "and I have raided worlds across the entire galaxy! This wine I am drinking is from the only bottle of Malkothian spirits in a thousand light-years! Those silver plates I seized from the Palace of the Moons in the Alsur Realm. And this female..." He seized the arm of the servant pouring the wine, causing her to cry out in pain. "She is the daughter of some high-and-mighty Archon! When the Turei refused to pay tribute, we bombarded their cities from orbit and took a thousand of them as slaves!"
"Trophies of the hunt!" The words were sibilant yet recognizable Traben. Unlike the hunters who had brought them here, the Hirogen Alpha appeared to be fluent in the language. "But was the hunt fair?"
"Fair?" Cullah scowled, as if uncertain of the meaning of the word. "We take these trophies by right of conquest, as do you Hirogen!"
"You entered their cities with superior firepower against a weakened prey," hissed the Alpha. "Do you really deserve these... trophies?"
"Why should we take the trouble to create such luxuries when we can seize them from others?" said Imperator Jabin. "We are K'Zon! We feast on the wealth and culture of other worlds! These people once kneeled to the Traben, so it is right they now pay tribute to us."
"Of what right do you speak?" asked the Alpha. "Are you stronger than the beings who inhabit these worlds? More cunning, more fearless, more determined in the face of adversity?"
"Of course," said Cullah. "Unlike some, we are not ruled by our women." He cast a contemptuous look in Janeway's direction, though the barb was clearly aimed at the Alpha.
The Alpha continued unabated. "And if you were alone on these worlds without your warships supporting you from orbit, would you continue the hunt? If your prey were armed instead of defenceless, what then?" A claw gouged splinters from the priceless wooden table. "You are superior to no one, K'Zon! Never underestimate your prey or disrespect its abilities! If you do, then you will become the hunted!"
"Enough!" said a voice from behind them. "I apologize for the manner of my business associates, Captain Janeway. They insist on maintaining the cultural values of their primitive ancestors. We Briori have more sophisticated tastes."
Janeway turned in her seat. From the maglevator floated a discoid vehicle piloted by a slightly-built figure, anthropoid in appearance but for his grey pallor and oversized cranium. He sat within an armorglass dome enclosing a green-tinged atmosphere, and his frail arms were inserted into waldo gloves for a ring of prosthetic manipulators racked around the outside of the hover-craft. It was a sight alien yet oddly familiar, and then Janeway remembered the ancient superstitions of Earth: the Grey Men who would come in the night on flying dinnerware to abduct naughty children, or the UFO cults that flourished before Humanity encountered extraterrans for real and found them a lot more mundane.
She rose to her feet, Chakotay and Nee'Lix following suit. "The Caretaker, I presume?"
"That is my title," he replied, making no effort to introduce himself by name. "I understand that you seek passage for your space-vessel, to a planet you designate as Earth."
"That's correct. Thank you for agreeing to see us so soon. I'm told you're a busy man."
"Your request aroused my curiosity. It took some time for my staff to find your homeworld in the data-files." Projectors arrayed across the discoid sent a tri-vid image shimmering into existence before them: a blue-green world with all-too familiar continents. The scattering of lights on the nightside showed the population were not yet concentrated in megacities, and there was no sign of the extensive changes to the Mediterranean that had occurred after the damming of the Straits of Gibraltar, but Janeway still felt a pang of yearning at the sight.
"That's Earth, all right. How long ago was this image taken?"
"According to our records the last expedition to your world arrived in your Terran Year 1937. Eight sentient biological specimens were taken for study. Autonomous aero-drones were left behind to conduct a detailed survey over the next two decades, but found little of value. No further expeditions have been authorized."
"Well someone brought us here." Janeway held up a stereograph of the cube-ship. "This wouldn't be one of your raiders, by any chance?"
The Caretaker stared unblinking at the image. "This vessel is not known to the Briori."
'He's lying,' thought Janeway. It was a reckless thought when dealing with extraterrans, whose unfamiliar culture and mannerisms often led to misunderstanding. But Janeway had learned to rely on her gut instinct; it had saved her life too many times. "Yet you say the Briori have taken 'biological specimens' from Earth before. What happened to them?"
"One specimen was retained for my personal archive, the others sold on to our clients. Their fate is unknown. What others do with their property is not our concern."
"I do not understand," said TuV'k. "You have the ability to cross the entire galaxy, yet your mercenaries boast of seizing treasure and taking sentient life-forms as slaves. What possible use could they be to an advanced technological society?"
"They serve many uses," replied the Caretaker. "Clients like the Srivani and Vidiians, who have moral qualms about medical experimentation or organ-trading, find it more acceptable if practiced on species they regard as inferior. For cultural reasons the Hirogen require a constant supply of sentient prey. Unique life-forms are sought by scientific researchers and procurers for pleasure worlds alike. And there are always those who enjoy the subjugation and service of others for its own sake. Societies that have advanced beyond the day-to-day struggle for survival are easily bored and seek diversion. Thanks to the constant brigandage of the K'Zon, the collection of esoterica from far-off worlds has become what you Terrans call a 'fad' among my wealthier clients. Even we Briori are not immune to such petty distractions. Some of my people collect priceless artifacts, while others are obsessed with frivolous entertainment. I pride myself on making a virtue of my hobby, by advancing the study of Science and Culture. Allow me to show you."
The ducted fans on the hover-craft whirred, propelling him in the direction of the surrounding alcoves. Captain Janeway and her officers followed, trailed by Nee'Lix and a couple of Hirogen bodyguards breathing down their necks and scratching at their heels with clawed feet. 'Mind games', thought Janeway dismissively. This was not the first dodgy character she had negotiated with in her career as a Spacefleet officer.
"Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations," said the Caretaker, gesturing at a sculpture that looked more incomprehensible than the technology on display. "A fractal maze by the sophists of Vulca, taken by the K'Zon-Pommar in the Scouring of Zentar IV. Here we have a beryllium crystal interface, one of the Lost Treasures of Abaddon. These notations are the only extant writings of the scientist-philosopher Chachiin, regretfully slain by some fool of a K'Zon during their punitive expedition against the Tara-Phen. This clay tablet is all that remains of the once powerful Malkoth race. This is the electronic brain of the God-Machine of Vaal—its confiscation caused their society to collapse into barbarism, but our psychohistorians said that would have happened anyway in a few centuries. And this device was captured from the Royal Laboratories of the Rom-Ylan Star Empire. According to legend it could cloak the user from the gaze of others."
"And does it?"
"It works too well. Once the cloaking field is activated no person or electronic sensor can see in or out, making it useless for any practical application and rather difficult to study. Nevertheless, our scientists will soon penetrate its secrets."
"Not while it's stuck in your archive they won't," muttered Nee'Lix.
The Caretaker turned a cold gaze upon him. "Perhaps you will appreciate this next item then. A reproduction of the Great Tree of Rynax in the bonsai style, using a cutting taken from the original before it was sterilized."
A convulsive shiver ran through Nee'Lix's body. Janeway reached down and stroked the fur on his head.
"Save your sympathy, Captain. You should not trust these creatures. Beggars and thieves the lot of them, always lying and scheming, getting into places where they do not belong. We should have exterminated them when we scoured their world." Nee'Lix screeched something in his own language but the Caretaker was unperturbed. "I was born in a cloning tank so I have no maternal ancestor."
"I think we've seen enough," said Chakotay.
"Not quite. There is one more item I wish to show you." The discoid whirred across the hall to another alcove, this one hosting a tall transparent cylinder whose contents were illuminated as they approached. A young girl in her late teens floated inside, stark naked and unmistakably human. Blonde hair drifted around a face of delicate beauty, the eyes cornflower blue and fixed in a permanent look of terror.
"You wanted to know the fate of the biological specimens taken from your world. This female was one of the first exhibits in my archive. At the time I was quite young, a mere 153 of your Terran years, so I admit I lacked experience in the subjugation of sentients. I tried to enforce compliance via pain stimulation and pleasure addiction, but the specimen proved a disappointment. She attempted self-termination and I was required to preserve her existence in this suspended-animation tank. It is just as well, as your species is so short-lived."
"She's... still alive?" gasped Janeway.
"Her biological functions are being maintained. Suspended animation preserves the body, but the isolation from physical sensation is more than most sentient beings can cope with. She has been inside that tank for eighty of your Earth years and would have long since succumbed to insanity. And now down to business," he continued without pause. "Travel though the Universal Portal Network is expensive; the energy requirements for a journey across the entire galaxy, considerable. Do you have means of payment?"
Janeway felt Nee'Lix tugging on her arm and wrenched her gaze from the girl in the tank. She looked around for support. Chakotay was still transfixed in horror. TuV'k was facing down their Hirogen escort who were leaning close, teeth bared in unmasked hunger. Across the hall First Major Cullah watched her reaction with a smirk that reminded her of that lecherous swine Qu on the Valkyrie all those years ago. She pulled herself together with a visible effort. "Of course we do. Voyager is not a trading vessel but we have gold, tungsten, high-grade steel, lead-pressed uranium..."
"Gold is useful in electrical conduction, but the adoption of the electronic monetary system has reduced its value as currency. Steel and tungsten have long since been superseded by molecular-bonded alloys such as Tritanium and Duranium, while nuclear fusion has greatly reduced our need for fissionable material."
'Well something we have has got your attention, or we wouldn't be here.'
"Anti-matter," said Janeway. Spacefleet had seized every gram they could get their hands on during the Asteroid Resettlement, and Voyager had an electromagnetic field-trap in Cargo Bay One holding enough refined contraterrene to power a megacity. She was loath to surrender it now the Jovians had taken over the asteroid mines; it would be badly needed until an alternate source could be found. But she had no illusion their passage back would be cheap.
The Caretaker flinched. "I trust you are following the safety procedures set out under the GY74656 Interstellar Transport Agreement (Revised)?"
"I've no idea. We haven't blown ourselves to spacedust, if that's what you mean. You're welcome to visit Voyager and examine our confinement system yourself."
"I shall pass on your invitation," he said dryly. "As it happens, I have another form of payment in mind. A modest one, well within your means."
"That's very generous of you," said Janeway, waiting for the punchline.
"I require another sentient biological specimen like this one," said the Caretaker. "Female, Terran, of a fertile age. You have several among your crew, I understand."
Chakotay spoke for all of them. "Eat radioactive slag!"
"It would be unwise to refuse my offer."
"You know, I'm really easy to get along with most of the time," said Janeway in an overly calm tone, "but I don't like bullies, I don't like threats, and I don't like you. We'll take our business elsewhere."
"There is no-one else who can return you to your homeworld," said the Caretaker. "Perhaps you could buy passage on a vessel equipped with a spacewarp drive, but how far would they take you? Do you intend to cross the entire galaxy that way, a crew of itinerants going from one starship or star system to the next? Refugees and vagrants soon outlive their welcome. How long before you are sold to the Vidiians for your organs, or hunted down for sport by my Hirogen? How long before circumstances break up your crew and they come to grief in a hundred different ways?"
"Then we will take this to a higher authority."
"I am the Caretaker of the Array. I control all passage through the black star portal. There is no higher authority."
"Really? You refer to yourself as the Caretaker. That implies you're caring for that portal on behalf of someone else."
The Caretaker's eyes narrowed, slowly like those of a cat. "An error in translation. This language we are using is imprecise. I will have an answer from you, Captain Janeway."
Janeway placed her hands on her hips, feeling the holster unlock under her palm.
"I'll be precise then. The answer is no."
She drew her pistol and fired in a single fluid movement. Flame spurted from the recoil ports, holding the barrel on target despite the massive kick of the .51 caliber bullet. A large hole appeared in the suspended-animation tank and a shower of glutinous liquid sprayed across the floor, freshly tinged with red. Hirogen and K'Zon alike leapt to their feet, their bodyguards waving guns and trying to figure out whether to shoot Janeway or each other.
"Vandals!" screeched the Caretaker, the discoid bearing him up to the vaulted apex of the hall. "You shall pay for that!" His voice switched to a loudcaster. "Guards, I want this accursed female and her entire crew thrown off the Array! Their trading rights are hereby rescinded!"
"Looks like I'll be the one scrubbing those waste vents." Janeway holstered her pistol and turned to the others, ignoring what looked like several handheld artillery pieces being brandished in her direction. "Gentlemen, let's get the Manhattan Crater out of here."
"Agreed," said TuV'k. He and Chakotay flanked the captain, and with Nee'Lix following they walked straight to the exit, avoiding eye contact with the agitated mercenaries. They had just reached the maglevator when the Hirogen Alpha spoke, causing the entire hall to fall silent.
"My name is Karr D'knn. You are worthy prey, Captain Janeway. I shall hunt you down, and your bones will adorn the bulkhead of my ship."
"You're welcome to try," was Janeway's retort. "There's room for another shipbuilder plate in my wardroom."
"How in Space did that get here?" exclaimed Janeway. "They can't have hauled that thing in the cargo hold of a rocketship, unless they did it brick by brick!"
"That castle is nothing," whispered Nee'Lix. Their guide had fallen unusually quiescent as they neared their destination. "The Briori used to lift entire cities into Space with spindizzy drives, tear them apart for their technology and dump the remains, sometimes with the populace still in them. I've seen vast craters and empty roads that are all that's left of global empires. They regret such actions now, of course. Far too wasteful. These days when their pirates turn up in orbit, everyone just hands over whatever they demand to make them go away. It's all very civilized."
The pod shot through an air-lock that opened and closed without the slightest pause in their passage, then slowly slid to a halt amid an overcrowded reception area where hundreds of life-forms argued, pleaded, blustered and truckled with a stolid panel of Overlookers. Their Hirogen escort bulldozed a path through the throng, making a bee-line for a security-locked maglevator which climbed a hundred feet in less than a second and opened onto a banquet hall where they were gruffly told to help themselves until the Caretaker was ready to meet them. It appeared that an official wanting to see someone 'immediately' had the same connotations here that it would back home.
The hall was octagonal in shape and surmounted by a vaulted ceiling; such a waste of usable area on a space station far more evocative of wealth and power than the expensive appointments. Micratomic lights added a harsh radiance to artwork designed for more primitive forms of illumination, and the walls were lined with alcoves displaying ornate sculptures, arcane technological devices, fauna and flora preserved in transparent cylinders.
Dominating the hall was a triangular table, laden with a feast inconceivable on famine-wracked Earth. On the right, the Hirogen tore at their food with savage teeth and quaffed from skulls that had been fashioned into drinking cups. On the left were the first anthropoids they had seen on the Array, though a serrated ridge of bone divided their foreheads and their hair grew in thick clumps instead of strands. Every man wore an armored cuirass under a fur-trimmed vest, with a pistol and short sword in crossdraw rigs for ready access while seated. Bodyguards prowled behind the diners, and no-one seemed willing to sit with their back to the door, as the side of the table facing the maglevator was lined with ornate yet empty chairs.
"I doubt this lot would be willing to embrace a Federation of Worlds," said Janeway. "Who am I looking at, Nee'Lix?"
"That's Imperator Jabin of the K'Zon-Ogla," whispered Nee'Lix, pointing with a surreptitious twitch of his tail. "Officially he's the ruler of all K'Zon, but that only applies as long as he can keep his sect strong and his rivals at bay. That man there—First Major Cullah of the K'Zon-Nistrim sect—has his own ambitions to be Imperator, as does Legate Haron of the K'Zon-Relora. Those Hirogen I'm not acquainted with, but the one seated on the chair made from the bones of his prey will be the Hirogen Alpha. I don't know his name—an Alpha will only reveal it to worthy prey, and that's an honor I'd rather avoid."
"They don't sound very friendly."
"The K'Zon were perpetually-warring barbarians on some insignificant planet on the outskirts of the galaxy when they were conquered by the Traben. As outsiders with no connection to the ruling elite they made useful recruits for the Emperor's Guard, and some of their officers became quite influential. After the Traben Empire collapsed they declared themselves its inheritors, but all they do is bully former subjects and fight each other for the title of Imperator—it's thanks to them this quadrant is in the mess it's in today. As for the Hirogen, their ruling matriarchy expels the males from their homeworld as soon as they come of age. They're allowed to return once every seven years with their hunting trophies as proof of their right to take a mate. The Hirogen believe that only the strongest among them should be allowed to breed."
"Sounds like the Bureau of Eugenics," Chakotay joked. "It's not a bad idea though. How about we arm-wrestle for the right to be captain of Voyager?"
"Excuse me, Space Commander, but whose shipbuilder plate is mounted in whose wardroom?"
Janeway strode over to the table and pulled out a chair. Chakotay sat down next to her, as did Nee'Lix after some hesitation. TuV'k remained standing in imitation of the other bodyguards, his hand resting conspicuously on his sidearm. Naked servants rushed up bearing trays of food and goblets of wine, a sight that might have been titillating had they looked remotely human.
"By what right do you sit at our table, woman?" growled the man that Nee'Lix had identified as First Major Cullah.
"By what right do you sit at mine?" replied Janeway, causing the First Major to go purple with rage.
Affecting nonchalant indifference, Janeway picked up a knife and fork and carved off a slice of meat that had been set before her on a silver plate. Careful to mask any distaste at eating unprocessed food, she popped it into her mouth and chewed avidly, surprised at its taste and freshness. Non-irradiated meat on a space station? She examined the cutlery she was holding. The fork was handcrafted gold, with a weight that suggested more than gilding. The knife on the other hand was precision-engineered from stainless alloy, its handle had the warmth that came from a radiothermal power source and the edge of the blade glowed with a razor-thin beam of light. She looked around at the glittering array of dinnerware and realized that none of it matched. Exquisite craftsmanship both artistic and technological had been thrown together at random like the jumble sale of a mad millionaire.
"We're here by invitation of the Caretaker," Chakotay replied to Cullah. "We are representatives of the Tri-World Federation."
"Never heard of it," scoffed Cullah, "and I have raided worlds across the entire galaxy! This wine I am drinking is from the only bottle of Malkothian spirits in a thousand light-years! Those silver plates I seized from the Palace of the Moons in the Alsur Realm. And this female..." He seized the arm of the servant pouring the wine, causing her to cry out in pain. "She is the daughter of some high-and-mighty Archon! When the Turei refused to pay tribute, we bombarded their cities from orbit and took a thousand of them as slaves!"
"Trophies of the hunt!" The words were sibilant yet recognizable Traben. Unlike the hunters who had brought them here, the Hirogen Alpha appeared to be fluent in the language. "But was the hunt fair?"
"Fair?" Cullah scowled, as if uncertain of the meaning of the word. "We take these trophies by right of conquest, as do you Hirogen!"
"You entered their cities with superior firepower against a weakened prey," hissed the Alpha. "Do you really deserve these... trophies?"
"Why should we take the trouble to create such luxuries when we can seize them from others?" said Imperator Jabin. "We are K'Zon! We feast on the wealth and culture of other worlds! These people once kneeled to the Traben, so it is right they now pay tribute to us."
"Of what right do you speak?" asked the Alpha. "Are you stronger than the beings who inhabit these worlds? More cunning, more fearless, more determined in the face of adversity?"
"Of course," said Cullah. "Unlike some, we are not ruled by our women." He cast a contemptuous look in Janeway's direction, though the barb was clearly aimed at the Alpha.
The Alpha continued unabated. "And if you were alone on these worlds without your warships supporting you from orbit, would you continue the hunt? If your prey were armed instead of defenceless, what then?" A claw gouged splinters from the priceless wooden table. "You are superior to no one, K'Zon! Never underestimate your prey or disrespect its abilities! If you do, then you will become the hunted!"
"Enough!" said a voice from behind them. "I apologize for the manner of my business associates, Captain Janeway. They insist on maintaining the cultural values of their primitive ancestors. We Briori have more sophisticated tastes."
Janeway turned in her seat. From the maglevator floated a discoid vehicle piloted by a slightly-built figure, anthropoid in appearance but for his grey pallor and oversized cranium. He sat within an armorglass dome enclosing a green-tinged atmosphere, and his frail arms were inserted into waldo gloves for a ring of prosthetic manipulators racked around the outside of the hover-craft. It was a sight alien yet oddly familiar, and then Janeway remembered the ancient superstitions of Earth: the Grey Men who would come in the night on flying dinnerware to abduct naughty children, or the UFO cults that flourished before Humanity encountered extraterrans for real and found them a lot more mundane.
She rose to her feet, Chakotay and Nee'Lix following suit. "The Caretaker, I presume?"
"That is my title," he replied, making no effort to introduce himself by name. "I understand that you seek passage for your space-vessel, to a planet you designate as Earth."
"That's correct. Thank you for agreeing to see us so soon. I'm told you're a busy man."
"Your request aroused my curiosity. It took some time for my staff to find your homeworld in the data-files." Projectors arrayed across the discoid sent a tri-vid image shimmering into existence before them: a blue-green world with all-too familiar continents. The scattering of lights on the nightside showed the population were not yet concentrated in megacities, and there was no sign of the extensive changes to the Mediterranean that had occurred after the damming of the Straits of Gibraltar, but Janeway still felt a pang of yearning at the sight.
"That's Earth, all right. How long ago was this image taken?"
"According to our records the last expedition to your world arrived in your Terran Year 1937. Eight sentient biological specimens were taken for study. Autonomous aero-drones were left behind to conduct a detailed survey over the next two decades, but found little of value. No further expeditions have been authorized."
"Well someone brought us here." Janeway held up a stereograph of the cube-ship. "This wouldn't be one of your raiders, by any chance?"
The Caretaker stared unblinking at the image. "This vessel is not known to the Briori."
'He's lying,' thought Janeway. It was a reckless thought when dealing with extraterrans, whose unfamiliar culture and mannerisms often led to misunderstanding. But Janeway had learned to rely on her gut instinct; it had saved her life too many times. "Yet you say the Briori have taken 'biological specimens' from Earth before. What happened to them?"
"One specimen was retained for my personal archive, the others sold on to our clients. Their fate is unknown. What others do with their property is not our concern."
"I do not understand," said TuV'k. "You have the ability to cross the entire galaxy, yet your mercenaries boast of seizing treasure and taking sentient life-forms as slaves. What possible use could they be to an advanced technological society?"
"They serve many uses," replied the Caretaker. "Clients like the Srivani and Vidiians, who have moral qualms about medical experimentation or organ-trading, find it more acceptable if practiced on species they regard as inferior. For cultural reasons the Hirogen require a constant supply of sentient prey. Unique life-forms are sought by scientific researchers and procurers for pleasure worlds alike. And there are always those who enjoy the subjugation and service of others for its own sake. Societies that have advanced beyond the day-to-day struggle for survival are easily bored and seek diversion. Thanks to the constant brigandage of the K'Zon, the collection of esoterica from far-off worlds has become what you Terrans call a 'fad' among my wealthier clients. Even we Briori are not immune to such petty distractions. Some of my people collect priceless artifacts, while others are obsessed with frivolous entertainment. I pride myself on making a virtue of my hobby, by advancing the study of Science and Culture. Allow me to show you."
The ducted fans on the hover-craft whirred, propelling him in the direction of the surrounding alcoves. Captain Janeway and her officers followed, trailed by Nee'Lix and a couple of Hirogen bodyguards breathing down their necks and scratching at their heels with clawed feet. 'Mind games', thought Janeway dismissively. This was not the first dodgy character she had negotiated with in her career as a Spacefleet officer.
"Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations," said the Caretaker, gesturing at a sculpture that looked more incomprehensible than the technology on display. "A fractal maze by the sophists of Vulca, taken by the K'Zon-Pommar in the Scouring of Zentar IV. Here we have a beryllium crystal interface, one of the Lost Treasures of Abaddon. These notations are the only extant writings of the scientist-philosopher Chachiin, regretfully slain by some fool of a K'Zon during their punitive expedition against the Tara-Phen. This clay tablet is all that remains of the once powerful Malkoth race. This is the electronic brain of the God-Machine of Vaal—its confiscation caused their society to collapse into barbarism, but our psychohistorians said that would have happened anyway in a few centuries. And this device was captured from the Royal Laboratories of the Rom-Ylan Star Empire. According to legend it could cloak the user from the gaze of others."
"And does it?"
"It works too well. Once the cloaking field is activated no person or electronic sensor can see in or out, making it useless for any practical application and rather difficult to study. Nevertheless, our scientists will soon penetrate its secrets."
"Not while it's stuck in your archive they won't," muttered Nee'Lix.
The Caretaker turned a cold gaze upon him. "Perhaps you will appreciate this next item then. A reproduction of the Great Tree of Rynax in the bonsai style, using a cutting taken from the original before it was sterilized."
A convulsive shiver ran through Nee'Lix's body. Janeway reached down and stroked the fur on his head.
"Save your sympathy, Captain. You should not trust these creatures. Beggars and thieves the lot of them, always lying and scheming, getting into places where they do not belong. We should have exterminated them when we scoured their world." Nee'Lix screeched something in his own language but the Caretaker was unperturbed. "I was born in a cloning tank so I have no maternal ancestor."
"I think we've seen enough," said Chakotay.
"Not quite. There is one more item I wish to show you." The discoid whirred across the hall to another alcove, this one hosting a tall transparent cylinder whose contents were illuminated as they approached. A young girl in her late teens floated inside, stark naked and unmistakably human. Blonde hair drifted around a face of delicate beauty, the eyes cornflower blue and fixed in a permanent look of terror.
"You wanted to know the fate of the biological specimens taken from your world. This female was one of the first exhibits in my archive. At the time I was quite young, a mere 153 of your Terran years, so I admit I lacked experience in the subjugation of sentients. I tried to enforce compliance via pain stimulation and pleasure addiction, but the specimen proved a disappointment. She attempted self-termination and I was required to preserve her existence in this suspended-animation tank. It is just as well, as your species is so short-lived."
"She's... still alive?" gasped Janeway.
"Her biological functions are being maintained. Suspended animation preserves the body, but the isolation from physical sensation is more than most sentient beings can cope with. She has been inside that tank for eighty of your Earth years and would have long since succumbed to insanity. And now down to business," he continued without pause. "Travel though the Universal Portal Network is expensive; the energy requirements for a journey across the entire galaxy, considerable. Do you have means of payment?"
Janeway felt Nee'Lix tugging on her arm and wrenched her gaze from the girl in the tank. She looked around for support. Chakotay was still transfixed in horror. TuV'k was facing down their Hirogen escort who were leaning close, teeth bared in unmasked hunger. Across the hall First Major Cullah watched her reaction with a smirk that reminded her of that lecherous swine Qu on the Valkyrie all those years ago. She pulled herself together with a visible effort. "Of course we do. Voyager is not a trading vessel but we have gold, tungsten, high-grade steel, lead-pressed uranium..."
"Gold is useful in electrical conduction, but the adoption of the electronic monetary system has reduced its value as currency. Steel and tungsten have long since been superseded by molecular-bonded alloys such as Tritanium and Duranium, while nuclear fusion has greatly reduced our need for fissionable material."
'Well something we have has got your attention, or we wouldn't be here.'
"Anti-matter," said Janeway. Spacefleet had seized every gram they could get their hands on during the Asteroid Resettlement, and Voyager had an electromagnetic field-trap in Cargo Bay One holding enough refined contraterrene to power a megacity. She was loath to surrender it now the Jovians had taken over the asteroid mines; it would be badly needed until an alternate source could be found. But she had no illusion their passage back would be cheap.
The Caretaker flinched. "I trust you are following the safety procedures set out under the GY74656 Interstellar Transport Agreement (Revised)?"
"I've no idea. We haven't blown ourselves to spacedust, if that's what you mean. You're welcome to visit Voyager and examine our confinement system yourself."
"I shall pass on your invitation," he said dryly. "As it happens, I have another form of payment in mind. A modest one, well within your means."
"That's very generous of you," said Janeway, waiting for the punchline.
"I require another sentient biological specimen like this one," said the Caretaker. "Female, Terran, of a fertile age. You have several among your crew, I understand."
Chakotay spoke for all of them. "Eat radioactive slag!"
"It would be unwise to refuse my offer."
"You know, I'm really easy to get along with most of the time," said Janeway in an overly calm tone, "but I don't like bullies, I don't like threats, and I don't like you. We'll take our business elsewhere."
"There is no-one else who can return you to your homeworld," said the Caretaker. "Perhaps you could buy passage on a vessel equipped with a spacewarp drive, but how far would they take you? Do you intend to cross the entire galaxy that way, a crew of itinerants going from one starship or star system to the next? Refugees and vagrants soon outlive their welcome. How long before you are sold to the Vidiians for your organs, or hunted down for sport by my Hirogen? How long before circumstances break up your crew and they come to grief in a hundred different ways?"
"Then we will take this to a higher authority."
"I am the Caretaker of the Array. I control all passage through the black star portal. There is no higher authority."
"Really? You refer to yourself as the Caretaker. That implies you're caring for that portal on behalf of someone else."
The Caretaker's eyes narrowed, slowly like those of a cat. "An error in translation. This language we are using is imprecise. I will have an answer from you, Captain Janeway."
Janeway placed her hands on her hips, feeling the holster unlock under her palm.
"I'll be precise then. The answer is no."
She drew her pistol and fired in a single fluid movement. Flame spurted from the recoil ports, holding the barrel on target despite the massive kick of the .51 caliber bullet. A large hole appeared in the suspended-animation tank and a shower of glutinous liquid sprayed across the floor, freshly tinged with red. Hirogen and K'Zon alike leapt to their feet, their bodyguards waving guns and trying to figure out whether to shoot Janeway or each other.
"Vandals!" screeched the Caretaker, the discoid bearing him up to the vaulted apex of the hall. "You shall pay for that!" His voice switched to a loudcaster. "Guards, I want this accursed female and her entire crew thrown off the Array! Their trading rights are hereby rescinded!"
"Looks like I'll be the one scrubbing those waste vents." Janeway holstered her pistol and turned to the others, ignoring what looked like several handheld artillery pieces being brandished in her direction. "Gentlemen, let's get the Manhattan Crater out of here."
"Agreed," said TuV'k. He and Chakotay flanked the captain, and with Nee'Lix following they walked straight to the exit, avoiding eye contact with the agitated mercenaries. They had just reached the maglevator when the Hirogen Alpha spoke, causing the entire hall to fall silent.
"My name is Karr D'knn. You are worthy prey, Captain Janeway. I shall hunt you down, and your bones will adorn the bulkhead of my ship."
"You're welcome to try," was Janeway's retort. "There's room for another shipbuilder plate in my wardroom."
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And the three amphibians?
Yes I was hoping someone would spot that one. I originally had Tom mentioning a sci-fi B-movie he saw where a rocketship travelled faster-than-light and the crew turned into amphibians, but I had to cut the line.
Anyway, here's the rest of Chapter IX
Am I the only one who's picturing the castle in that old matte painting from the TOS credits? Somehow I think not! In any event, loving all the references to familiar planets and peoples from other iterations of Trek. I wouldn't be surprised if, in this universe, humans got their image of the Greys from glimpses of the Caretaker's people; they seem to have had a fair presence in our part of the galaxy.
I love Janeway's attitude, by the way. She may be a "barbarian" in this alternate universe, but she's a stone-cold badass barbarian. Deadlier than the male, indeed....
I love Janeway's attitude, by the way. She may be a "barbarian" in this alternate universe, but she's a stone-cold badass barbarian. Deadlier than the male, indeed....
Well I did say it was a post-atomic melancholy...
You did. Guess I was thinking more in the style of Rhysling, who I remembered for more cheerful, and even bawdy, material. Also: nice touch with Also sprach Zarathustra, even if B'Elanna doesn't get it....
Chapter X: THE NEEDS OF THE MANY
The next few hours were the longest of Captain Janeway's life. The worst moment had been when they returned to the landing dome to find the shuttleboat missing, Tom Paris having taken it for a joyride. Janeway suspected that something illicit was involved, but on discovering that B'Elanna Torres and Seska Pamyatnykh were also on board she had ordered him to return the girls to Voyager at once while the Aeroshuttle was sent to pick them up instead.
The rest of their shipmates had arrived under escort by Pralor robots, several on stretchers thanks to food poisoning or excessive alcohol consumption. Ensign Kim had been bundled off to a decontamination ward after picking up a disease that made his skin glow, and Lon Suder had been arrested due to an altercation in a bar, but her fear that the Caretaker might hold them hostage had been averted when the overly-logical androids had removed them from the Array as well.
They had remained at General Quarters until it was evident the Hirogen and K'Zon warships prowling nearby had no intention of attacking. Guessing that the Caretaker did not want a conflict erupting so close to the Array, Janeway had Voyager moved to a geostationary position a few hundred feet above his castle before standing down half the crew so they could get some sleep. Let the Caretaker sweat about all that contraterrene they were carrying.
But it was Janeway's own dreams that were disturbing, as often happened when she had gone too long without sleep. She saw the girl floating in the suspended-animation tank but this time it was Eve from the Valkyrie, her body burnt and blackened yet her eyes open and accusing. Every alcove held someone she knew: Tu'Vix, Cavit, Fitzgerald, Star'Di, Lang, Mbuangi, Ziegler, Horvat, Tran, Jetal, Ballard, Darwin and Li—all the men and women who had died due to her actions, while Qu's mad taunting echoed around the Caretaker's hall: "But isn't that why they made you captain? To handle those really tough decisions? My, my; I guess now we get to find out whether the pants really fit!"
When the harsh blare of the intercraft woke her up, she was grateful.
"Radio Room to Captain Janeway."
The captain groped for the handset, locating it by touch in the darkened capsule. "Janeway here."
"Tech Lieutenant Nicoletti, ma'am. We were able to find only two starships large enough to transport Voyager in its entirety. A generation ship for a species called the Varro, and a city-ship of the Voth. Both refuse to answer our hails. The Caretaker is broadcasting a message saying that any vessel that aids us will be denied passage through the portal network and protection from the K'Zon or Hirogen."
"Thank you, Sparks. Tell the xenolinguists they can stand down." She clicked off the intercraft. What now? Form an alliance with one of the K'Zon sects, then storm the castle and strongarm the Caretaker into sending them home? But the Briori would be expecting treachery from that quarter; that was why they kept the Hirogen on hand and the sects at each other's throats. And how many innocents would die if it came to a shoot-out on the Array?
She had no desire to return to her dreams, so Janeway opened her sleeping capsule, grabbed a null-gee rail and propelled herself out the door and down the passageway. It was nighttime on Voyager, an artificial distinction in the darkness of Space that was necessary for psychological reasons. Though watch stations were still manned, red filters had been placed over the light-tubes and the crew talked in whispers. But the noise of the ship continued unabated: humming busbars and clicking relays, gurgling pipes and bubbling algae tanks, the chug-chug of pumps and the whirr and clank of robotic machinery. If you wanted silence on a spaceship, you suited-up and went for a walk on the hull.
Janeway did not want silence. It was a bad time to be alone with her thoughts. As usual at such times she found herself heading for the Air Garden, their oasis in a desert of metal. When the crew tired of grey bulkheads or the artificial pleasures of the Illusionarium, they visited the hydroponics garden to gaze upon growing things and hash over their troubles with the ship's gardener. Tech Lieutenant Hansen might rule the astrodome as her private domain, but Agritech Keshari did nothing to discourage visitors. She said talking helped the plants grow.
Janeway floated into the antechamber and made sure to dog the hatch behind her before opening the interior door. A blast of warm moist air enveloped her, bringing memories of humid summers back home in Indiana. She took in the greenery arrayed around the glowing suntubes, some familiar from the farm-factories of her childhood, others exotic hybrids from Venus or the top-secret laboratories of the Lysenko Institute. Condensation drifted through the garden in a gentle mist, drawn toward the languidly-rotating fans that took oxygen from the room and replaced it with carbon dioxide exhaled by the crew.
"Those monkeys are stealing my mangoes!" cried a girl's voice.
'Monkeys?' Janeway pushed through the foliage, moving carefully so as not to damage the plants.
"But the mangoes didn't belong to him!" Nee'Lix's voice now.
"Well Brahmadatta was a king. For a man with that power, to see something is to own it."
"I've known people like that." Nee'Lix was gripping the treillage with his prehensile tail leaving his paws free to pick tomatoes, placing them into an elastic string bag that was strapped to his chest. Above him floated a dusky bare-footed waif in a blue coverall and matching turban. She was sliding a probe into a rack of hydroponic trays, the results displayed on the EC meter strapped to her slim wrist.
"King Brahmadatta ordered his archers to surround the mango tree and shoot the monkeys as soon as it became light enough to see," said the young Indian girl. "The monkeys knew the dawn would bring their doom, for there was no tree close enough for them to escape to."
'I know this tale', thought Janeway. It was in one of the books displayed in her wardroom.
"But the chief of the monkeys was strong and bold." Keshari plucked a stray leaf from Nee'Lix's whiskers, making him purr just like a Terran cat. "He found a long reed, and tied one end to his ankle and the other to the tallest branch of the mango tree. Then he leapt across the river to a tree on the opposite bank. But the reed was not quite long enough and he was barely able to grab hold of the closest tree branch. So the chief bade his monkeys to run across the reed and over his back to get to safety. This they did, but the last monkey to cross jumped onto his back too hard and broke it. The chief of the monkeys fell to the ground, and as he lay there, broken and dying, King Brahmadatta approached him. "You made your body a bridge for others to cross," said the king. "Why did you give your life for theirs?" And the chief replied__"
"ARRRGGGHHH!"
Keshari and Nee'Lix turned in alarm to see their captain enmeshed in the tendrils of a large purplish plant. It took them some time to untangle Janeway and remove the myriad barbs that were stuck in her hair and clothing.
"I didn't know it was prehensile, Keshari. I got too close and it grabbed me!"
"Sorry, Captain. Those Soviet triffidus can be quite aggressive. They were designed to compete with native plant life on Venus, so they have high energy requirements. You don't get that from photosynthesis alone."
"A carnivorous plant!" exclaimed Nee'Lix. "Is it dangerous?" After a moment of thought he added, "Is it good to eat?"
"They're used to much smaller prey," said Keshari. "Tree snakes and small birds, for the most part." She reconnected a hose that had come loose in the struggle, then removed her turban and used it to soak up the droplets of water floating in the air. Sweat glistened on her bald scalp, and she wrapped the damp turban around her head again to cool it. "They're useful for pest control and CO2 conversion, but you have to keep an eye on them."
"As long as that thing doesn't pull up its roots and go prowling around my ship."
"Nee'Lix was telling me about the Great Tree of Rynax," said Keshari. "It sounds beautiful."
"So I saw," said Janeway. "Mr. Nee'Lix, when I asked to meet the Briori you didn't mention that they were the ones who invaded your homeworld. I'm sorry I put you through that."
Nee'Lix was checking his fur for stray triffidus barbs and didn't answer for a while.
"Well, that's all in the past," he said eventually. "And you were a long way from home yourself..." All of a sudden he plunged his paws into his chest bag, producing a ripe tomato. A farmer of the previous century would scarcely have recognized it, swollen as it was to twice its natural size by cobalt irradiation. "Speaking of which, Keshari says you need someone to run your messdeck! I can do wonderful things with vegetables, Captain! Take these tomatoes... am I saying it right? Is it pronounced 'tomayto' or 'tomahto'?"
"It's eether, I mean either... never mind. We already have a cook." Janeway had no intention of hiring Nee'Lix to take over the Commissary. These extraterrans had strange ideas of cuisine: meat from animals instead of synthetic food vats, and unprocessed fruit with the seeds still in them! Martian beef and vegetables were good for an occasional treat, but these all-natural foods were not healthy in the long run. "And this won't be a very safe place when the Caretaker decides to let his pirates off the leash. Your friend Wix'Iban has found you a berth on an Ubean freighter. We just need to find a way of slipping you off the ship when no-one's looking."
"I heard what happened on the Array," said Keshari.
"I don't know what I was thinking, trying to bargain with that kind of scoundrel. Did I seriously believe that just because a species has advanced technology, they're going to have advanced morals as well?" 'And now I've made things worse', thought Janeway. If she had just stonewalled for a few months, the Caretaker might have lost interest and taken his payment in contraterrene. Now he had been humiliated in front of his men and could not afford to back down.
Keshari picked up her EC probe and went back to checking the nutrient salts. "My father was an agronomist," she said. "He wanted to feed the starving people of India. He said that science could offer salvation, a Green Revolution that would feed the world. But research takes time and people want quick solutions, so they looked to a military strongman who seized power and declared himself Khan. He offered a solution. Depopulation via germ warfare on those people he said were our enemies. It wasn't long before the whole world was our enemy."
"I remember," said Janeway. It was a Spacefleet orbital platform that had destroyed the Khan's palace in Chandigarh. Keshari was just one of the thousands of innocent casualties, slowly dying of radiation poisoning. She could have prolonged her life in a null-gee hospital, but Keshari had joined Spacefleet because she wanted to see other worlds in the time she had left.
"He said the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few."
"They always say things like that," muttered Nee'Lix. "Funny how the people who make these decisions are never among the few."
"Sacrifice must be voluntary," agreed Keshari. "Or it's not a sacrifice, but murder. Captain, I'd like to offer myself to this Caretaker. If he has suffering in mind for me, then I will not suffer long. The doctors say I'll be dead in eight or nine years, and then my soul will be reincarnated in a better life. It would be my gift to this crew, who have given me so much love."
"Oh Keshari...," sighed Janeway.
"NO!" shouted Nee'Lix. "Such a sweet person handed over to those... monsters! How could your friends live with themselves, knowing they had bought their passage home at the price of your freedom?"
"It's not going to happen," Janeway assured him. "There are three things to remember about being a Spacefleet captain, Mr. Nee'Lix. Always keep your coverall zipped up, go down with the ship, and never abandon a member of your crew. Speaking of which..." She zipped up her uniform, which had become somewhat disarrayed. "I'd like you to accompany me to the Hangar Deck. You've been a great help, but it's time Voyager was on her way. Feel free to keep those tomatoes as a parting gift, compliments of the captain."
"But I was hoping to join your crew!" Nee'Lix cast an appealing look at Keshari. "Besides, I want to know how the story of the monkey bridge ends."
'I know how it ends,' thought Janeway. 'There's only one way this can end.'
The next few hours were the longest of Captain Janeway's life. The worst moment had been when they returned to the landing dome to find the shuttleboat missing, Tom Paris having taken it for a joyride. Janeway suspected that something illicit was involved, but on discovering that B'Elanna Torres and Seska Pamyatnykh were also on board she had ordered him to return the girls to Voyager at once while the Aeroshuttle was sent to pick them up instead.
The rest of their shipmates had arrived under escort by Pralor robots, several on stretchers thanks to food poisoning or excessive alcohol consumption. Ensign Kim had been bundled off to a decontamination ward after picking up a disease that made his skin glow, and Lon Suder had been arrested due to an altercation in a bar, but her fear that the Caretaker might hold them hostage had been averted when the overly-logical androids had removed them from the Array as well.
They had remained at General Quarters until it was evident the Hirogen and K'Zon warships prowling nearby had no intention of attacking. Guessing that the Caretaker did not want a conflict erupting so close to the Array, Janeway had Voyager moved to a geostationary position a few hundred feet above his castle before standing down half the crew so they could get some sleep. Let the Caretaker sweat about all that contraterrene they were carrying.
But it was Janeway's own dreams that were disturbing, as often happened when she had gone too long without sleep. She saw the girl floating in the suspended-animation tank but this time it was Eve from the Valkyrie, her body burnt and blackened yet her eyes open and accusing. Every alcove held someone she knew: Tu'Vix, Cavit, Fitzgerald, Star'Di, Lang, Mbuangi, Ziegler, Horvat, Tran, Jetal, Ballard, Darwin and Li—all the men and women who had died due to her actions, while Qu's mad taunting echoed around the Caretaker's hall: "But isn't that why they made you captain? To handle those really tough decisions? My, my; I guess now we get to find out whether the pants really fit!"
When the harsh blare of the intercraft woke her up, she was grateful.
"Radio Room to Captain Janeway."
The captain groped for the handset, locating it by touch in the darkened capsule. "Janeway here."
"Tech Lieutenant Nicoletti, ma'am. We were able to find only two starships large enough to transport Voyager in its entirety. A generation ship for a species called the Varro, and a city-ship of the Voth. Both refuse to answer our hails. The Caretaker is broadcasting a message saying that any vessel that aids us will be denied passage through the portal network and protection from the K'Zon or Hirogen."
"Thank you, Sparks. Tell the xenolinguists they can stand down." She clicked off the intercraft. What now? Form an alliance with one of the K'Zon sects, then storm the castle and strongarm the Caretaker into sending them home? But the Briori would be expecting treachery from that quarter; that was why they kept the Hirogen on hand and the sects at each other's throats. And how many innocents would die if it came to a shoot-out on the Array?
She had no desire to return to her dreams, so Janeway opened her sleeping capsule, grabbed a null-gee rail and propelled herself out the door and down the passageway. It was nighttime on Voyager, an artificial distinction in the darkness of Space that was necessary for psychological reasons. Though watch stations were still manned, red filters had been placed over the light-tubes and the crew talked in whispers. But the noise of the ship continued unabated: humming busbars and clicking relays, gurgling pipes and bubbling algae tanks, the chug-chug of pumps and the whirr and clank of robotic machinery. If you wanted silence on a spaceship, you suited-up and went for a walk on the hull.
Janeway did not want silence. It was a bad time to be alone with her thoughts. As usual at such times she found herself heading for the Air Garden, their oasis in a desert of metal. When the crew tired of grey bulkheads or the artificial pleasures of the Illusionarium, they visited the hydroponics garden to gaze upon growing things and hash over their troubles with the ship's gardener. Tech Lieutenant Hansen might rule the astrodome as her private domain, but Agritech Keshari did nothing to discourage visitors. She said talking helped the plants grow.
Janeway floated into the antechamber and made sure to dog the hatch behind her before opening the interior door. A blast of warm moist air enveloped her, bringing memories of humid summers back home in Indiana. She took in the greenery arrayed around the glowing suntubes, some familiar from the farm-factories of her childhood, others exotic hybrids from Venus or the top-secret laboratories of the Lysenko Institute. Condensation drifted through the garden in a gentle mist, drawn toward the languidly-rotating fans that took oxygen from the room and replaced it with carbon dioxide exhaled by the crew.
"Those monkeys are stealing my mangoes!" cried a girl's voice.
'Monkeys?' Janeway pushed through the foliage, moving carefully so as not to damage the plants.
"But the mangoes didn't belong to him!" Nee'Lix's voice now.
"Well Brahmadatta was a king. For a man with that power, to see something is to own it."
"I've known people like that." Nee'Lix was gripping the treillage with his prehensile tail leaving his paws free to pick tomatoes, placing them into an elastic string bag that was strapped to his chest. Above him floated a dusky bare-footed waif in a blue coverall and matching turban. She was sliding a probe into a rack of hydroponic trays, the results displayed on the EC meter strapped to her slim wrist.
"King Brahmadatta ordered his archers to surround the mango tree and shoot the monkeys as soon as it became light enough to see," said the young Indian girl. "The monkeys knew the dawn would bring their doom, for there was no tree close enough for them to escape to."
'I know this tale', thought Janeway. It was in one of the books displayed in her wardroom.
"But the chief of the monkeys was strong and bold." Keshari plucked a stray leaf from Nee'Lix's whiskers, making him purr just like a Terran cat. "He found a long reed, and tied one end to his ankle and the other to the tallest branch of the mango tree. Then he leapt across the river to a tree on the opposite bank. But the reed was not quite long enough and he was barely able to grab hold of the closest tree branch. So the chief bade his monkeys to run across the reed and over his back to get to safety. This they did, but the last monkey to cross jumped onto his back too hard and broke it. The chief of the monkeys fell to the ground, and as he lay there, broken and dying, King Brahmadatta approached him. "You made your body a bridge for others to cross," said the king. "Why did you give your life for theirs?" And the chief replied__"
"ARRRGGGHHH!"
Keshari and Nee'Lix turned in alarm to see their captain enmeshed in the tendrils of a large purplish plant. It took them some time to untangle Janeway and remove the myriad barbs that were stuck in her hair and clothing.
"I didn't know it was prehensile, Keshari. I got too close and it grabbed me!"
"Sorry, Captain. Those Soviet triffidus can be quite aggressive. They were designed to compete with native plant life on Venus, so they have high energy requirements. You don't get that from photosynthesis alone."
"A carnivorous plant!" exclaimed Nee'Lix. "Is it dangerous?" After a moment of thought he added, "Is it good to eat?"
"They're used to much smaller prey," said Keshari. "Tree snakes and small birds, for the most part." She reconnected a hose that had come loose in the struggle, then removed her turban and used it to soak up the droplets of water floating in the air. Sweat glistened on her bald scalp, and she wrapped the damp turban around her head again to cool it. "They're useful for pest control and CO2 conversion, but you have to keep an eye on them."
"As long as that thing doesn't pull up its roots and go prowling around my ship."
"Nee'Lix was telling me about the Great Tree of Rynax," said Keshari. "It sounds beautiful."
"So I saw," said Janeway. "Mr. Nee'Lix, when I asked to meet the Briori you didn't mention that they were the ones who invaded your homeworld. I'm sorry I put you through that."
Nee'Lix was checking his fur for stray triffidus barbs and didn't answer for a while.
"Well, that's all in the past," he said eventually. "And you were a long way from home yourself..." All of a sudden he plunged his paws into his chest bag, producing a ripe tomato. A farmer of the previous century would scarcely have recognized it, swollen as it was to twice its natural size by cobalt irradiation. "Speaking of which, Keshari says you need someone to run your messdeck! I can do wonderful things with vegetables, Captain! Take these tomatoes... am I saying it right? Is it pronounced 'tomayto' or 'tomahto'?"
"It's eether, I mean either... never mind. We already have a cook." Janeway had no intention of hiring Nee'Lix to take over the Commissary. These extraterrans had strange ideas of cuisine: meat from animals instead of synthetic food vats, and unprocessed fruit with the seeds still in them! Martian beef and vegetables were good for an occasional treat, but these all-natural foods were not healthy in the long run. "And this won't be a very safe place when the Caretaker decides to let his pirates off the leash. Your friend Wix'Iban has found you a berth on an Ubean freighter. We just need to find a way of slipping you off the ship when no-one's looking."
"I heard what happened on the Array," said Keshari.
"I don't know what I was thinking, trying to bargain with that kind of scoundrel. Did I seriously believe that just because a species has advanced technology, they're going to have advanced morals as well?" 'And now I've made things worse', thought Janeway. If she had just stonewalled for a few months, the Caretaker might have lost interest and taken his payment in contraterrene. Now he had been humiliated in front of his men and could not afford to back down.
Keshari picked up her EC probe and went back to checking the nutrient salts. "My father was an agronomist," she said. "He wanted to feed the starving people of India. He said that science could offer salvation, a Green Revolution that would feed the world. But research takes time and people want quick solutions, so they looked to a military strongman who seized power and declared himself Khan. He offered a solution. Depopulation via germ warfare on those people he said were our enemies. It wasn't long before the whole world was our enemy."
"I remember," said Janeway. It was a Spacefleet orbital platform that had destroyed the Khan's palace in Chandigarh. Keshari was just one of the thousands of innocent casualties, slowly dying of radiation poisoning. She could have prolonged her life in a null-gee hospital, but Keshari had joined Spacefleet because she wanted to see other worlds in the time she had left.
"He said the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few."
"They always say things like that," muttered Nee'Lix. "Funny how the people who make these decisions are never among the few."
"Sacrifice must be voluntary," agreed Keshari. "Or it's not a sacrifice, but murder. Captain, I'd like to offer myself to this Caretaker. If he has suffering in mind for me, then I will not suffer long. The doctors say I'll be dead in eight or nine years, and then my soul will be reincarnated in a better life. It would be my gift to this crew, who have given me so much love."
"Oh Keshari...," sighed Janeway.
"NO!" shouted Nee'Lix. "Such a sweet person handed over to those... monsters! How could your friends live with themselves, knowing they had bought their passage home at the price of your freedom?"
"It's not going to happen," Janeway assured him. "There are three things to remember about being a Spacefleet captain, Mr. Nee'Lix. Always keep your coverall zipped up, go down with the ship, and never abandon a member of your crew. Speaking of which..." She zipped up her uniform, which had become somewhat disarrayed. "I'd like you to accompany me to the Hangar Deck. You've been a great help, but it's time Voyager was on her way. Feel free to keep those tomatoes as a parting gift, compliments of the captain."
"But I was hoping to join your crew!" Nee'Lix cast an appealing look at Keshari. "Besides, I want to know how the story of the monkey bridge ends."
'I know how it ends,' thought Janeway. 'There's only one way this can end.'
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Interesting version of Kes -- so changed externally, but in personality still so similar.
Triffids, eh? Yeah, let's keep those fellows on a short leash, and I don't care how good the vegetable oil is....
You are serving up some pretty strong hints on how "this can end," but I don't think Chakotay or T'Vuk will care too much for Janeway's proposed course of action -- not that they will necessarily get a say!
Fascinating serial. Thanks again for sharing!
Triffids, eh? Yeah, let's keep those fellows on a short leash, and I don't care how good the vegetable oil is....
You are serving up some pretty strong hints on how "this can end," but I don't think Chakotay or T'Vuk will care too much for Janeway's proposed course of action -- not that they will necessarily get a say!
Fascinating serial. Thanks again for sharing!
Never fear. The Soviets were spurred to create a stingless variant of Triffidus after an outbreak of mass blindness caused by black market vodka led to the escape of man-eating Triffids from a biofuel facility on the outskirts of Pripyat in 1986--the worst agricultural accident in history since the Attack of the Killer Tomatoes in 1978. It is this stingless variant that is used on Spacefleet vessels. The safety of the giant mutant tomatoes however...
Chapter XI: BEYOND THE BLACK STAR
A docking between two space-vessels of alien design is a maneuver fraught with danger, especially when the crews have itchy trigger fingers. When the rocket-propelled mooring lines shot across to the Hirogen warship and the purple flash of a brush discharge lit up the hull, only the self-enforced discipline of the spacefarer prevented both ships from blowing each other to atoms. The tension was not eased by the slow process of warping the vessels together. Peering through the armorglass viewport, Captain Janeway could see every detail of the extraterran warship exposed under their searchlights: gun barbettes, missile tubes, magnetic grapples, energy projectors to blind sensors and TV eyes, squat breaching pods poised on their launch cradles. This was a vessel made to board and storm.
"Docking ring engaged," blared the bullhorn above her head. "Pressurizing transfer tunnel."
Janeway pulled tight the shoulder strap of her kitbag, then spun herself round to face Chakotay. Her First Officer was floating above an autocannon that had been dismounted from a gun blister and lashed to the deckplates, its deadly cluster of barrels aimed at the air-lock hatch. His face was as unreadable as those of the oxymasked gun crew strapped in behind it. Was he glad to be rid of her? Janeway could only imagine what Spacefleet Command would say about her placing a CT-powered warship in the hands of a Maquis renegade. She would just have to hope that Chakotay still thought seizing Voyager by force was too great a risk.
"I'm turning over command of the ship to you, Space Commander. Your orders are to resume course for the Solar System and hand over Voyager to the Martian government, whereupon all former members of the Maquis will be released from their obligations. I've entered their pardons in the ship's log, witnessed by Tech Lieutenant TuV'k."
Chakotay opened his mouth as if to reply, then tightened his jaw and gave a curt nod. On impulse she let go of the null-gee cable to reach over and grip his shoulders.
"I'm placing my crew in your hands, Chakotay. Get them home."
"Synthetic atmosphere optimum. Pressure optimum. With your permission, ma'am."
"Do it." She pushed hard on Chakotay's shoulders, forcing herself back into the air-lock. The inner hatch sealed and the armored outer hatch swung aside to show an accordion tube spanning the gap between the two vessels. As she drifted through the transfer tunnel, Janeway tried not to think about how thin the material was between her and the vacuum of Space, or what would happen if either vessel started their engines while she was still inside.
At the far end of the tunnel, an oversized docking ring had clamped around the Hirogen air-lock with powerful electromagnets, an inflatable gasket of silicone-rubber expanding to form an atmospheric seal despite its extraterran design. As Janeway approached the hatch unscrewed and withdrew inside the vessel like a huge plug. The humid atmosphere of an alien world enveloped her, and as she floated into the air-lock she was slammed to the deck, caught in the pull of that artificial gravity they used. Sharp talons seized her arms and dragged her painfully upright.
"I should not have given you my name," the Hirogen Alpha snarled in her face. His breath reeked of raw meat and fresh blood. "A worthy prey would never have surrendered."
"What makes you think I have?" asked Janeway.
There was a muffled clunk as Voyager's transfer tunnel detached from the hull.
"Besides that..."
She tried not to flinch as the Hirogen guards tore off her rank insignia and sliced open every pocket to search for weapons or suicide pills. The kitbag was ripped from her grasp and looted. Discovering her thermos, the Alpha twisted off the cap and guzzled the contents in just a few gulps.
'I hope you choke!' thought Janeway, as she watched the last coffee in 70,000 light-years vanish before her eyes.
"Warrior's drink!" roared the Alpha, thrashing his tail in approval.
They frog-marched Janeway down corridors lined with rib-like arches that she belatedly realized were ribs—the osseous matter of once-mighty leviathans, stripped of flesh and displayed as grim trophies, the hunts that placed them there depicted on the bone in exquisite scrimshaw. Skulls stared through empty eye sockets and glowlights cast a lustrous gleam on racked weapons ranging from flint-headed spears to portable atom bombs. And there were things that surprised her. Shrines to the trinkets of children, and murals of an alien world depicted with the nostalgia of exile: desert flowers around an obsidian monolith, sunsets made radiant by volcanic ash, iridescent eyes peering through a veil of filigreed gold. Despite her fear Janeway kept her thoughts focused, memorizing the twists and turns of the warship's construction. Hope died when she was dragged into a torpedo room to find the Caretaker hovering there like an expectant vulture.
"If you want to put me on display in your banquet hall, you might let me fix my hair first."
"It appears you are to be spared that fate." The Caretaker gestured to where the Hirogen were hooking up a crude life support system in an autonomous cargo rocket. The loading hatches were splayed open, showing a space as inviting and roomy as a coffin. "Your act of self-sacrifice has proven an annoyance, Captain Janeway. I had planned to deliver Voyager to the beings who brought you here, while retaining a specimen from your crew for my own archive. Unfortunately they have no interest in your ship, only its captain. They have learned of our arrangement and insist that you be handed over. Refusal would be... unwise."
"So, you have a higher authority after all."
The Caretaker gave an irritated hiss. "Just as these Hirogen must be placated with live prey, so must... certain clients whose identity is best kept secret. They are the source of our graviton devices, and in payment I provide them with sentient specimens and advanced technology plundered by my mercenaries." His cold eyes turned to the Hirogen guards. "Wait until Voyager has entered the portal network before launching her into the black star. I want no last-minute interference from her crew."
"How is crushing me down to my component atoms going to make your clients happy?" asked Janeway.
"The workings of the black star portal are beyond your comprehension."
"Beyond yours too, I'll bet."
The Caretaker's lipless mouth compressed to a thin line. He made a curt gesture to his guards and intense agony shot through Janeway's body, her legs buckled and she fell to the deck. When the fog cleared from her mind, she was inside the cargo rocket and the hatches were being welded shut with an atomic lance, the Caretaker staring at her through the inspection window with the detached interest of a scientist studying the contents of a petri dish.
"A terrible fate awaits you. You may well regret not choosing to die alongside your crew."
Janeway's voice was calm and steady. "And the monkey chief said to King Brahmadatta: I am their chief and their guide; I lived with them in this tree and I loved them. I do not suffer in leaving this world for I have gained my subjects' freedom. And if my death may be a lesson to you, then I am more than happy. It is not your sword that makes you a king; it is love alone."
"What are you ranting about, Terran?"
"Something beyond your comprehension, 'Caretaker'."
The rocket slid into the launch tube plunging Janeway into darkness. She felt bile rise in her throat and bit her lip to distract herself from the nausea; the old spacer trick for dealing with weightlessness and then Janeway realized she WAS weightless, floating free in the void outside the spaceship! She gasped for air, struggled against her claustrophobic prison, her eyes casting desperately for something to focus on: a star, an asteroid, a flaw in the armorglass window but there was nothing an infinity of nothingness for ever and ever exposed to the naked Universe in all its terror close your eyes but it makes no difference in the blackness of Space so breathe-breathe-breathe-in-out, in-and-out sloooowly innn-and-ouuut reMEMber what PEACE there MAY be in Silence reMEMber what PEACE there MAY be in Silence remember what peace there may be in silence remember what peace...
Her breath caught as something finally captured her gaze, a mere speck against the blackness but those Spacefleet navigation lights were unmistakable. The Hirogen had launched her too soon—Voyager hadn't entered the portal after all! The crew kept a constant meteorite watch... surely they had picked her up on radar? But something was wrong; the navigation lights should be flashing blue and green but they were frozen in place, slowly changing to a blurred red afterimage which faded from existence before her horrified eyes.
"No-no-no-no-NO!" Janeway hammered her fists again and again against the inspection window, at first in anger and then in a futile attempt to shatter the armorglass; better a quick death in the vacuum of Space than whatever fate the Caretaker had in mind but there was no room to deliver an effective blow because the rocket was shrinking and her entire body was being squeezed with iron clamps a blinding pain like hot needles driving into her skull! Her vision blurred and everything was turning red...
Afterwards Janeway could not be sure what she witnessed inside the black star portal and what had been the phantasmagoria of space madness. Stars and nebulae and entire galaxies reduced to streaks of light in nameless colors, centuries that passed in an eyeblink, the Universe fractured into divergent paths of possibility. She stood alone on a burning Bridge, a Hirogen warship filling the telescreens in the seconds before impact. She cradled a child to her breast, watching Chakotay plow the earth under the light of an alien sun. She was plunging to her death over a vast industrial city, until the ground opened beneath her and she fell screaming into a cyclopean Hades. And it was at that moment that Janeway heard the mocking taunt of Captain Qu as clear as if he was standing right behind her, in the place where insanity lurks in every spacer. "It's not very safe, out here in Outer Space. It can be wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross. But it's not for the timid."
A docking between two space-vessels of alien design is a maneuver fraught with danger, especially when the crews have itchy trigger fingers. When the rocket-propelled mooring lines shot across to the Hirogen warship and the purple flash of a brush discharge lit up the hull, only the self-enforced discipline of the spacefarer prevented both ships from blowing each other to atoms. The tension was not eased by the slow process of warping the vessels together. Peering through the armorglass viewport, Captain Janeway could see every detail of the extraterran warship exposed under their searchlights: gun barbettes, missile tubes, magnetic grapples, energy projectors to blind sensors and TV eyes, squat breaching pods poised on their launch cradles. This was a vessel made to board and storm.
"Docking ring engaged," blared the bullhorn above her head. "Pressurizing transfer tunnel."
Janeway pulled tight the shoulder strap of her kitbag, then spun herself round to face Chakotay. Her First Officer was floating above an autocannon that had been dismounted from a gun blister and lashed to the deckplates, its deadly cluster of barrels aimed at the air-lock hatch. His face was as unreadable as those of the oxymasked gun crew strapped in behind it. Was he glad to be rid of her? Janeway could only imagine what Spacefleet Command would say about her placing a CT-powered warship in the hands of a Maquis renegade. She would just have to hope that Chakotay still thought seizing Voyager by force was too great a risk.
"I'm turning over command of the ship to you, Space Commander. Your orders are to resume course for the Solar System and hand over Voyager to the Martian government, whereupon all former members of the Maquis will be released from their obligations. I've entered their pardons in the ship's log, witnessed by Tech Lieutenant TuV'k."
Chakotay opened his mouth as if to reply, then tightened his jaw and gave a curt nod. On impulse she let go of the null-gee cable to reach over and grip his shoulders.
"I'm placing my crew in your hands, Chakotay. Get them home."
"Synthetic atmosphere optimum. Pressure optimum. With your permission, ma'am."
"Do it." She pushed hard on Chakotay's shoulders, forcing herself back into the air-lock. The inner hatch sealed and the armored outer hatch swung aside to show an accordion tube spanning the gap between the two vessels. As she drifted through the transfer tunnel, Janeway tried not to think about how thin the material was between her and the vacuum of Space, or what would happen if either vessel started their engines while she was still inside.
At the far end of the tunnel, an oversized docking ring had clamped around the Hirogen air-lock with powerful electromagnets, an inflatable gasket of silicone-rubber expanding to form an atmospheric seal despite its extraterran design. As Janeway approached the hatch unscrewed and withdrew inside the vessel like a huge plug. The humid atmosphere of an alien world enveloped her, and as she floated into the air-lock she was slammed to the deck, caught in the pull of that artificial gravity they used. Sharp talons seized her arms and dragged her painfully upright.
"I should not have given you my name," the Hirogen Alpha snarled in her face. His breath reeked of raw meat and fresh blood. "A worthy prey would never have surrendered."
"What makes you think I have?" asked Janeway.
There was a muffled clunk as Voyager's transfer tunnel detached from the hull.
"Besides that..."
She tried not to flinch as the Hirogen guards tore off her rank insignia and sliced open every pocket to search for weapons or suicide pills. The kitbag was ripped from her grasp and looted. Discovering her thermos, the Alpha twisted off the cap and guzzled the contents in just a few gulps.
'I hope you choke!' thought Janeway, as she watched the last coffee in 70,000 light-years vanish before her eyes.
"Warrior's drink!" roared the Alpha, thrashing his tail in approval.
They frog-marched Janeway down corridors lined with rib-like arches that she belatedly realized were ribs—the osseous matter of once-mighty leviathans, stripped of flesh and displayed as grim trophies, the hunts that placed them there depicted on the bone in exquisite scrimshaw. Skulls stared through empty eye sockets and glowlights cast a lustrous gleam on racked weapons ranging from flint-headed spears to portable atom bombs. And there were things that surprised her. Shrines to the trinkets of children, and murals of an alien world depicted with the nostalgia of exile: desert flowers around an obsidian monolith, sunsets made radiant by volcanic ash, iridescent eyes peering through a veil of filigreed gold. Despite her fear Janeway kept her thoughts focused, memorizing the twists and turns of the warship's construction. Hope died when she was dragged into a torpedo room to find the Caretaker hovering there like an expectant vulture.
"If you want to put me on display in your banquet hall, you might let me fix my hair first."
"It appears you are to be spared that fate." The Caretaker gestured to where the Hirogen were hooking up a crude life support system in an autonomous cargo rocket. The loading hatches were splayed open, showing a space as inviting and roomy as a coffin. "Your act of self-sacrifice has proven an annoyance, Captain Janeway. I had planned to deliver Voyager to the beings who brought you here, while retaining a specimen from your crew for my own archive. Unfortunately they have no interest in your ship, only its captain. They have learned of our arrangement and insist that you be handed over. Refusal would be... unwise."
"So, you have a higher authority after all."
The Caretaker gave an irritated hiss. "Just as these Hirogen must be placated with live prey, so must... certain clients whose identity is best kept secret. They are the source of our graviton devices, and in payment I provide them with sentient specimens and advanced technology plundered by my mercenaries." His cold eyes turned to the Hirogen guards. "Wait until Voyager has entered the portal network before launching her into the black star. I want no last-minute interference from her crew."
"How is crushing me down to my component atoms going to make your clients happy?" asked Janeway.
"The workings of the black star portal are beyond your comprehension."
"Beyond yours too, I'll bet."
The Caretaker's lipless mouth compressed to a thin line. He made a curt gesture to his guards and intense agony shot through Janeway's body, her legs buckled and she fell to the deck. When the fog cleared from her mind, she was inside the cargo rocket and the hatches were being welded shut with an atomic lance, the Caretaker staring at her through the inspection window with the detached interest of a scientist studying the contents of a petri dish.
"A terrible fate awaits you. You may well regret not choosing to die alongside your crew."
Janeway's voice was calm and steady. "And the monkey chief said to King Brahmadatta: I am their chief and their guide; I lived with them in this tree and I loved them. I do not suffer in leaving this world for I have gained my subjects' freedom. And if my death may be a lesson to you, then I am more than happy. It is not your sword that makes you a king; it is love alone."
"What are you ranting about, Terran?"
"Something beyond your comprehension, 'Caretaker'."
The rocket slid into the launch tube plunging Janeway into darkness. She felt bile rise in her throat and bit her lip to distract herself from the nausea; the old spacer trick for dealing with weightlessness and then Janeway realized she WAS weightless, floating free in the void outside the spaceship! She gasped for air, struggled against her claustrophobic prison, her eyes casting desperately for something to focus on: a star, an asteroid, a flaw in the armorglass window but there was nothing an infinity of nothingness for ever and ever exposed to the naked Universe in all its terror close your eyes but it makes no difference in the blackness of Space so breathe-breathe-breathe-in-out, in-and-out sloooowly innn-and-ouuut reMEMber what PEACE there MAY be in Silence reMEMber what PEACE there MAY be in Silence remember what peace there may be in silence remember what peace...
Her breath caught as something finally captured her gaze, a mere speck against the blackness but those Spacefleet navigation lights were unmistakable. The Hirogen had launched her too soon—Voyager hadn't entered the portal after all! The crew kept a constant meteorite watch... surely they had picked her up on radar? But something was wrong; the navigation lights should be flashing blue and green but they were frozen in place, slowly changing to a blurred red afterimage which faded from existence before her horrified eyes.
"No-no-no-no-NO!" Janeway hammered her fists again and again against the inspection window, at first in anger and then in a futile attempt to shatter the armorglass; better a quick death in the vacuum of Space than whatever fate the Caretaker had in mind but there was no room to deliver an effective blow because the rocket was shrinking and her entire body was being squeezed with iron clamps a blinding pain like hot needles driving into her skull! Her vision blurred and everything was turning red...
Afterwards Janeway could not be sure what she witnessed inside the black star portal and what had been the phantasmagoria of space madness. Stars and nebulae and entire galaxies reduced to streaks of light in nameless colors, centuries that passed in an eyeblink, the Universe fractured into divergent paths of possibility. She stood alone on a burning Bridge, a Hirogen warship filling the telescreens in the seconds before impact. She cradled a child to her breast, watching Chakotay plow the earth under the light of an alien sun. She was plunging to her death over a vast industrial city, until the ground opened beneath her and she fell screaming into a cyclopean Hades. And it was at that moment that Janeway heard the mocking taunt of Captain Qu as clear as if he was standing right behind her, in the place where insanity lurks in every spacer. "It's not very safe, out here in Outer Space. It can be wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross. But it's not for the timid."
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There are gaps in my knowledge of classic sf, so I'm going to assume there are some references I'm missing in this chapter. But the descriptions are vivid and Janeway's experience is intense, and "Captain Qu" definitely speaks with the voice of John deLancie. As he should, and I recognize that last quote too.
Can't wait to see where Janeway ends up!
Can't wait to see where Janeway ends up!
Janeway quotes from the Jataka Tales and Desiderata, but that's it. There aren't any sci-fi references in this chapter (except for Worf and Q, of course). I was always a bit disappointed that ST: Voyager never really lived up to Q's quote.
Chapter XII: THE PSIBORG COLLECTIVE
Captain Janeway awoke to find herself still trapped inside the cargo rocket, her head throbbing and her limbs like lead weights. Gravity held her within its grasp again, and through the window she could see a surprisingly mundane deckhead lined with pipes and glowing tubules of tritium gas. She recalled a white light at the end of a tunnel of stars, but this was definitely no afterlife. There had been something rushing towards her... a black monolith in the blinding glare until it was close enough to make out what looked like a vast city before a hatchway had opened like a giant iris and drew her inside... the cube-ship! It had to be!
"HELLO! IS ANYONE THERE?" Janeway shouted, only to start coughing and gasping in the stagnant air. She rapped on the metal of her prison and winced as a stabbing pain shot through her knuckles, raw and bleeding from her earlier efforts. She kept knocking regardless; it was either escape or die. "I'M TRAPPED! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
Some... thing entered her field of view, peering through the inspection window at her. For a moment she thought it was the Caretaker but this Briori was very different, the grey skin turned a pallid white and the body modified with artificial prosthetics. Instead of a hover-craft he stood on a spidery cluster of metallic legs; instead of waldo gloves a mane of varicolored wires emerged from the back of his skull and plugged into his artificial limbs like literal nerves of steel.
Janeway craned her head and saw two more figures staring down at her, both radically different in appearance. One was a large crustacean, the thorax covered by a transparent casing beneath which she could see organs pulsating with the aid of tiny mechanical pumps and a micratomic engine for a heart. The third figure might well have been human: a six-foot Adonis with handsome features, encased in a metallic silver garment that clung to his well-muscled body like a second skin, making it evident—as Janeway saw with horror—that the surgeons had rendered him genderless. The only thing that all three had in common was a copper skullcap, strikingly similar in appearance to the encephalo-adjuster caps used for the melding-of-minds.
The trio stepped forward in unison. While the Briori held the rocket steady with his many appendages, the others proceeded to dismantle it around her using tools attached to their prosthetic limbs. Janeway scrambled to her feet the moment she was free but they showed no interest in her, continuing to break the rocket down into components: metal, plastic, electronics—even the remaining fuel was syphoned off into bottles. Everything was placed on a robot trolley, the tools were detached and neatly racked, then the whole lot marched off down the corridor, leaving Janeway alone and somewhat nonplussed.
"Aren't you going to take me to your leader? Or at least a tour guide?"
There was no reply, so Janeway set off in the opposite direction in case they returned to dissect her as well. It made little difference as she discovered there were more of those beings wherever she went; some wired into alcoves like trophies in the Caretaker's archive, others laboring with ant-like regimentation on mysterious tasks, ignoring any attempt she made to speak to them. But her progress did not pass unobserved; there always seemed to be one of them looking in her direction every time she entered a chamber or a corridor. Back-tracking did no good, nor trying to outrun their gaze. She even tried clambering through one of the larger ventilation ducts, only to find them waiting patiently wherever she emerged. Yet she could sense no animation behind those watching eyes; neither hostility nor curiosity, not even the amoral scientific detachment of the Caretaker. It was like they were dead inside.
It was not as if the concept of Homo Artificialis was unknown to her, not with Annika Hansen as a member of her crew. But the Spaceborn surgeons who modified her astrogator had sought a balance between practicality and aesthetics; the ability to live in Space with the need to interact with others. Hansen was Spaceborn, but still human and unmistakably feminine. These beings seemed emotionless, androgynous; even (to use the archaic Christian term) soulless. Some of the species she recognized from the Array: Ovion hexapods, saurian Voth, an insectile race that had only been described as The Swarm. There were anthropoids and octopods, avians and simians and gillmen, sentient plants and silicon-based life-forms and others she could not even categorize given the extensive alterations made to their bodies. 'I provide them with sentient specimens and advanced technology,' the Caretaker had said, and it had all ended up in this mad scientist laboratory writ large. But why had these beings tried to seize Voyager in the first place? A rocketship was hardly advanced technology to a civilization with the power to stride the galaxy.
After what felt like hours of exploration Janeway felt herself starting to flag. The adrenaline rush of survival had long since passed and she had no salt tablets or Dexedrine pills to sustain her. Janeway wondered grimly if she was doomed to wander this metal labyrinth until she died of thirst or exhaustion. It was not just a spaceship but an entire city, one unlike any she had ever seen. There was organization but no apparent means of organizing: no control-rooms or supervisors, no bureaucrats or police, no signs to label or indicate direction. She saw giant protein tanks and algae farms but no mess halls, workers but no recreation areas or sleeping quarters. There was sound—steam hissing from ventilators, busbars humming with power, strange energies that crackled and coalesced within stranger machines—but not the background hubbub of conversation. At times Janeway thought she heard whispers carried on the slight breeze of the air-renovators, but wherever she turned to look she saw no-one.
It was while following such a phantasm that Janeway rounded a corner no different from a thousand others and found herself looking into open air. A vast docking bay over a mile in length, with what appeared to be model spacecraft hanging on cradles over the chasm—but Janeway had seen similar craft passing through the Array and knew they were arkships that would have dwarfed Voyager. Tiny mites buzzed around them: avians whose wings had been replaced with surgically-implanted jetpacks, other life-forms with prosthetic limbs attached to contra-rotating rotor blades. A shuttleboat rocketed past just a few yards away, flown not by a pilot but a living brain floating inside a transparent ovoid. Wisps of cloud drifted across the bay; the condensation formed by the breath of tens of thousands of living beings. Janeway looked up and saw a sky speckled with stars that she gradually realized were the lights of alcoves, entire levels of them, row upon row filling her field of vision. The sheer scale of it all was mind numbing.
"Who in Space are you people?" she wondered aloud.
"We..."
A whisper so faint, Janeway could not be sure it wasn't her imagination again.
"We... are..."
It was unmistakable now. The whispers came from no particular direction; they were echoes inside her mind, rising and falling in volume, a multitude of voices merging into one.
"We... we... WE... are... are... ARE... one... one... ONE..."
"I am Captain Kathryn Janeway!" she shouted. "I speak as a representative of the Tri-World Federation!" She spoke in Traben, then realized the voice was speaking in Terran-English. How did they know her native language? "Identify yourself!"
"WE ARE ONE." The voice spoke in her mind, loud and clear like a radio that had been tuned to the correct frequency. "WE ARE THE PSIBORG COLLECTIVE. WE ARE ONE MIND, ONE VOICE, ONE WILL. ONCE WE WERE MANY: INDIVIDUAL MINDS OF DIFFERENT SPECIES, DIFFERENT WORLDS, DIFFERENT THOUGHTS. NOW WE ARE ONE."
A psychic gestalt, thought Janeway; a so-called hive-mind. She was not 'hearing' the voice of the Psiborg Collective; they were using some kind of telepathy. She tried talking instead of shouting. "First you tried to seize my ship, then you had the Caretaker bring me here. What do you want with me?"
They had no trouble hearing her because the answer came right back. "WE GATHER SPECIMENS OF SENTIENT RACES FROM THROUGHOUT THE GALAXY TO JOIN THE COLLECTIVE. WE ACT THROUGH THE ONE YOU KNOW AS THE CARETAKER TO CONCEAL OUR INVOLVEMENT, BUT THE METHODS EMPLOYED BY HIS MERCENARIES ARE INEFFICIENT. WE CHOSE TO ACT DIRECTLY TO SECURE A SPACEFLEET CAPTAIN, ONE WHO IS AUTHORISED TO SPEAK AS A REPRESENTATIVE OF YOUR TRI-WORLD FEDERATION."
"If you just wanted to make First Contact you could have said so from the start, instead of dragging us across the entire Milky Way!"
"YOUR ARCHAIC THOUGHT PROCESSES RESIST ASSIMILATION INTO THE COLLECTIVE WILL. KNOWLEDGE OF THE COLLECTIVE CREATES FEAR. FEAR BECOMES RESISTANCE. IN THE PAST WE WERE FORCED TO SEEK REFUGE IN DEEP SPACE, HIDING FROM THOSE WHO WOULD DESTROY US. WE HAVE REFINED OUR TECHNOLOGY AND INCREASED OUR NUMBERS OVER THE CENTURIES. SOON WE SHALL COMMENCE THE ASSIMILATION OF EVERY SPECIES IN THE GALAXY INTO A SINGLE OVERMIND. THERE WILL BE NO MORE WAR, NO MORE CONFLICT, NO MORE INEQUALITY. WE SHALL UPLIFT YOU TO A HIGHER STATE OF EXISTENCE."
Janeway saw an image in her mind, as real as any tri-vid: the giant cube-ships of the Psiborg Collective hovering effortlessly over the megacities of Earth. The reactions of the humans below: panic, fear and awe building to a crescendo until—at a time calculated for maximum psychological impact—she would speak to the world as the voice of the Collective. A speech of such wisdom and insight that any counter-argument was futile, any resistance inconceivable. All Humanity would join together in a melding-of-minds that would spread across the Solar System and eventually the entire galaxy. Many would die in the process but their deaths were irrelevant as their minds would live forever in the Overmind, whose nature was as inconceivable to the Collective now as her form would have been to the single-celled organisms from which she had evolved.
"YOUR SOLAR SYSTEM IS ISOLATED FROM THE REST OF THE GALAXY; THE FIRST STAGE OF OUR PLAN CAN PROCEED THERE UNOBSERVED. EARTH IS OVERPOPULATED YET HIGHLY INDUSTRIALISED; IT SHALL PROVIDE THE BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL MATERIAL REQUIRED FOR OUR ARMY OF ASSIMILATION. YOUR MIND HAS KNOWLEDGE OF EARTH'S DEFENCES, THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ITS INHABITANTS. YOU SHALL BECOME ONE WITH THE COLLECTIVE AND THAT KNOWLEDGE SHALL BE OURS."
Janeway shook her head, as much to drive the images from her mind as in negation. "No...," she gasped, then much louder: "No! I refuse!"
"IRRELEVANT. YOU WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. YOU MUST COMPLY."
"That's what Qu said, and he was nuts!"
The hellish glare of coal-red eyes lit up the nearest alcove. Restraints snapped open, wires reeled back into sockets, umbilical cords disconnected with explosive force, filling the corridor with vaporizing steam as a nightmarish parody of a Hirogen hunter stepped from the alcove: photocells for eyes, armor grafted onto skin, claws replaced by pincers, the tail a metallic coil. Janeway turned to run and found her escape blocked by an Ovion whose six-legged bulk filled the corridor. A Briori rode on its back like an ancient hag, the control wires from its skull plugged into the hexapod's spine. Cradled in his fragile arms was a copper skullcap that looked a perfect fit for a human head.
"YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE."
Without hesitation Janeway swung a leg over the railing to throw herself into the chasm, only to feel cold pincers snap shut around her ankle. She kicked and felt ligaments tear in an unyielding grip, not the strength of mere muscles but of servo-mechanisms powered by atomic energy—Janeway knew her ankle would give way before the Psiborg would. She lashed out with her fists aiming for photocells, control wires, anything she could reach. Her arms were pinioned, her head seized in a vice-like grip so she couldn't even flinch as she heard the shriek of a powered cutting tool. Something soft brushed past her cheek, and despite her terror Janeway could not help feeling incredulous as she saw auburn strands falling onto the deckplates.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me... you're cutting off my hair? You... Venerian swamp-rats!"
"YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE."
"I heard you the first time!"
"RESISTANCE IS FUTILE..." the voice of the Collective continued unabated, seeming to drill right inside her skull. "RESISTANCE IS FUTILE... RESISTANCE IS FUTILE... RESISTANCE IS FUTILE... ("Captain...") RESISTANCE IS FUTILE... ("Captain Janeway...") RESISTANCE IS FUTILE... ("Captain, can you hear my thoughts?") INTRUSION... ("My thoughts to your thoughts...") UNAUTHORISED VESSEL EXITING PORTAL 4-2-4 GRID 1-1-6... ACTIVATE GRAVITY TRACTION BEAM... SUBJUGATE... ASSIMILATE..."
A thunderclap like a bolt of the Olympians echoed throughout the docking bay as a vast cyclopean iris began to open in the hull. Janeway felt her ears pop and a rush of air tugging on her body, heard the familiar whoosh of decompression as the clouds were whipped away and the airborne Psiborgs scattered, racing to land before the air vanished from under their 'copter blades. The Ovion and its macabre rider lumbered through a doorway that sealed shut behind them but the Hirogen made no effort to release her. Liquid gel flowed across its snout to seal the mouth and nostrils, twin tubules erupted from an air-tank on its back and plunged vampire-like into the Hirogen's neck.
Resisting the instinctive urge to hold her breath, Janeway took rapid gulps of air to saturate her blood with oxygen, her hyperventilation aided by the sight of the silver rocketship plunging through the dilating iris. Voyager was not waiting to be dragged in by the traction beam but was coming in with thrusters blazing. No sight had inspired such joy and terror in her at the same time.
("Captain Janeway...") came TuV'k's voice again in her mind, stronger than the thousand voices of the Collective. ("Give us your location...")
"800 yards port on your axis of thrust!" Janeway shouted against the whirlwind rushing out into the void, though she knew her Psionics Officer was not listening to her verbally. "Declination... minus fifteen! Inhabitants hostile!"
("Seen") was the reply, then the calmly-stated command: ("Commence firing.")
Captain Janeway awoke to find herself still trapped inside the cargo rocket, her head throbbing and her limbs like lead weights. Gravity held her within its grasp again, and through the window she could see a surprisingly mundane deckhead lined with pipes and glowing tubules of tritium gas. She recalled a white light at the end of a tunnel of stars, but this was definitely no afterlife. There had been something rushing towards her... a black monolith in the blinding glare until it was close enough to make out what looked like a vast city before a hatchway had opened like a giant iris and drew her inside... the cube-ship! It had to be!
"HELLO! IS ANYONE THERE?" Janeway shouted, only to start coughing and gasping in the stagnant air. She rapped on the metal of her prison and winced as a stabbing pain shot through her knuckles, raw and bleeding from her earlier efforts. She kept knocking regardless; it was either escape or die. "I'M TRAPPED! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
Some... thing entered her field of view, peering through the inspection window at her. For a moment she thought it was the Caretaker but this Briori was very different, the grey skin turned a pallid white and the body modified with artificial prosthetics. Instead of a hover-craft he stood on a spidery cluster of metallic legs; instead of waldo gloves a mane of varicolored wires emerged from the back of his skull and plugged into his artificial limbs like literal nerves of steel.
Janeway craned her head and saw two more figures staring down at her, both radically different in appearance. One was a large crustacean, the thorax covered by a transparent casing beneath which she could see organs pulsating with the aid of tiny mechanical pumps and a micratomic engine for a heart. The third figure might well have been human: a six-foot Adonis with handsome features, encased in a metallic silver garment that clung to his well-muscled body like a second skin, making it evident—as Janeway saw with horror—that the surgeons had rendered him genderless. The only thing that all three had in common was a copper skullcap, strikingly similar in appearance to the encephalo-adjuster caps used for the melding-of-minds.
The trio stepped forward in unison. While the Briori held the rocket steady with his many appendages, the others proceeded to dismantle it around her using tools attached to their prosthetic limbs. Janeway scrambled to her feet the moment she was free but they showed no interest in her, continuing to break the rocket down into components: metal, plastic, electronics—even the remaining fuel was syphoned off into bottles. Everything was placed on a robot trolley, the tools were detached and neatly racked, then the whole lot marched off down the corridor, leaving Janeway alone and somewhat nonplussed.
"Aren't you going to take me to your leader? Or at least a tour guide?"
There was no reply, so Janeway set off in the opposite direction in case they returned to dissect her as well. It made little difference as she discovered there were more of those beings wherever she went; some wired into alcoves like trophies in the Caretaker's archive, others laboring with ant-like regimentation on mysterious tasks, ignoring any attempt she made to speak to them. But her progress did not pass unobserved; there always seemed to be one of them looking in her direction every time she entered a chamber or a corridor. Back-tracking did no good, nor trying to outrun their gaze. She even tried clambering through one of the larger ventilation ducts, only to find them waiting patiently wherever she emerged. Yet she could sense no animation behind those watching eyes; neither hostility nor curiosity, not even the amoral scientific detachment of the Caretaker. It was like they were dead inside.
It was not as if the concept of Homo Artificialis was unknown to her, not with Annika Hansen as a member of her crew. But the Spaceborn surgeons who modified her astrogator had sought a balance between practicality and aesthetics; the ability to live in Space with the need to interact with others. Hansen was Spaceborn, but still human and unmistakably feminine. These beings seemed emotionless, androgynous; even (to use the archaic Christian term) soulless. Some of the species she recognized from the Array: Ovion hexapods, saurian Voth, an insectile race that had only been described as The Swarm. There were anthropoids and octopods, avians and simians and gillmen, sentient plants and silicon-based life-forms and others she could not even categorize given the extensive alterations made to their bodies. 'I provide them with sentient specimens and advanced technology,' the Caretaker had said, and it had all ended up in this mad scientist laboratory writ large. But why had these beings tried to seize Voyager in the first place? A rocketship was hardly advanced technology to a civilization with the power to stride the galaxy.
After what felt like hours of exploration Janeway felt herself starting to flag. The adrenaline rush of survival had long since passed and she had no salt tablets or Dexedrine pills to sustain her. Janeway wondered grimly if she was doomed to wander this metal labyrinth until she died of thirst or exhaustion. It was not just a spaceship but an entire city, one unlike any she had ever seen. There was organization but no apparent means of organizing: no control-rooms or supervisors, no bureaucrats or police, no signs to label or indicate direction. She saw giant protein tanks and algae farms but no mess halls, workers but no recreation areas or sleeping quarters. There was sound—steam hissing from ventilators, busbars humming with power, strange energies that crackled and coalesced within stranger machines—but not the background hubbub of conversation. At times Janeway thought she heard whispers carried on the slight breeze of the air-renovators, but wherever she turned to look she saw no-one.
It was while following such a phantasm that Janeway rounded a corner no different from a thousand others and found herself looking into open air. A vast docking bay over a mile in length, with what appeared to be model spacecraft hanging on cradles over the chasm—but Janeway had seen similar craft passing through the Array and knew they were arkships that would have dwarfed Voyager. Tiny mites buzzed around them: avians whose wings had been replaced with surgically-implanted jetpacks, other life-forms with prosthetic limbs attached to contra-rotating rotor blades. A shuttleboat rocketed past just a few yards away, flown not by a pilot but a living brain floating inside a transparent ovoid. Wisps of cloud drifted across the bay; the condensation formed by the breath of tens of thousands of living beings. Janeway looked up and saw a sky speckled with stars that she gradually realized were the lights of alcoves, entire levels of them, row upon row filling her field of vision. The sheer scale of it all was mind numbing.
"Who in Space are you people?" she wondered aloud.
"We..."
A whisper so faint, Janeway could not be sure it wasn't her imagination again.
"We... are..."
It was unmistakable now. The whispers came from no particular direction; they were echoes inside her mind, rising and falling in volume, a multitude of voices merging into one.
"We... we... WE... are... are... ARE... one... one... ONE..."
"I am Captain Kathryn Janeway!" she shouted. "I speak as a representative of the Tri-World Federation!" She spoke in Traben, then realized the voice was speaking in Terran-English. How did they know her native language? "Identify yourself!"
"WE ARE ONE." The voice spoke in her mind, loud and clear like a radio that had been tuned to the correct frequency. "WE ARE THE PSIBORG COLLECTIVE. WE ARE ONE MIND, ONE VOICE, ONE WILL. ONCE WE WERE MANY: INDIVIDUAL MINDS OF DIFFERENT SPECIES, DIFFERENT WORLDS, DIFFERENT THOUGHTS. NOW WE ARE ONE."
A psychic gestalt, thought Janeway; a so-called hive-mind. She was not 'hearing' the voice of the Psiborg Collective; they were using some kind of telepathy. She tried talking instead of shouting. "First you tried to seize my ship, then you had the Caretaker bring me here. What do you want with me?"
They had no trouble hearing her because the answer came right back. "WE GATHER SPECIMENS OF SENTIENT RACES FROM THROUGHOUT THE GALAXY TO JOIN THE COLLECTIVE. WE ACT THROUGH THE ONE YOU KNOW AS THE CARETAKER TO CONCEAL OUR INVOLVEMENT, BUT THE METHODS EMPLOYED BY HIS MERCENARIES ARE INEFFICIENT. WE CHOSE TO ACT DIRECTLY TO SECURE A SPACEFLEET CAPTAIN, ONE WHO IS AUTHORISED TO SPEAK AS A REPRESENTATIVE OF YOUR TRI-WORLD FEDERATION."
"If you just wanted to make First Contact you could have said so from the start, instead of dragging us across the entire Milky Way!"
"YOUR ARCHAIC THOUGHT PROCESSES RESIST ASSIMILATION INTO THE COLLECTIVE WILL. KNOWLEDGE OF THE COLLECTIVE CREATES FEAR. FEAR BECOMES RESISTANCE. IN THE PAST WE WERE FORCED TO SEEK REFUGE IN DEEP SPACE, HIDING FROM THOSE WHO WOULD DESTROY US. WE HAVE REFINED OUR TECHNOLOGY AND INCREASED OUR NUMBERS OVER THE CENTURIES. SOON WE SHALL COMMENCE THE ASSIMILATION OF EVERY SPECIES IN THE GALAXY INTO A SINGLE OVERMIND. THERE WILL BE NO MORE WAR, NO MORE CONFLICT, NO MORE INEQUALITY. WE SHALL UPLIFT YOU TO A HIGHER STATE OF EXISTENCE."
Janeway saw an image in her mind, as real as any tri-vid: the giant cube-ships of the Psiborg Collective hovering effortlessly over the megacities of Earth. The reactions of the humans below: panic, fear and awe building to a crescendo until—at a time calculated for maximum psychological impact—she would speak to the world as the voice of the Collective. A speech of such wisdom and insight that any counter-argument was futile, any resistance inconceivable. All Humanity would join together in a melding-of-minds that would spread across the Solar System and eventually the entire galaxy. Many would die in the process but their deaths were irrelevant as their minds would live forever in the Overmind, whose nature was as inconceivable to the Collective now as her form would have been to the single-celled organisms from which she had evolved.
"YOUR SOLAR SYSTEM IS ISOLATED FROM THE REST OF THE GALAXY; THE FIRST STAGE OF OUR PLAN CAN PROCEED THERE UNOBSERVED. EARTH IS OVERPOPULATED YET HIGHLY INDUSTRIALISED; IT SHALL PROVIDE THE BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL MATERIAL REQUIRED FOR OUR ARMY OF ASSIMILATION. YOUR MIND HAS KNOWLEDGE OF EARTH'S DEFENCES, THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ITS INHABITANTS. YOU SHALL BECOME ONE WITH THE COLLECTIVE AND THAT KNOWLEDGE SHALL BE OURS."
Janeway shook her head, as much to drive the images from her mind as in negation. "No...," she gasped, then much louder: "No! I refuse!"
"IRRELEVANT. YOU WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. YOU MUST COMPLY."
"That's what Qu said, and he was nuts!"
The hellish glare of coal-red eyes lit up the nearest alcove. Restraints snapped open, wires reeled back into sockets, umbilical cords disconnected with explosive force, filling the corridor with vaporizing steam as a nightmarish parody of a Hirogen hunter stepped from the alcove: photocells for eyes, armor grafted onto skin, claws replaced by pincers, the tail a metallic coil. Janeway turned to run and found her escape blocked by an Ovion whose six-legged bulk filled the corridor. A Briori rode on its back like an ancient hag, the control wires from its skull plugged into the hexapod's spine. Cradled in his fragile arms was a copper skullcap that looked a perfect fit for a human head.
"YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE."
Without hesitation Janeway swung a leg over the railing to throw herself into the chasm, only to feel cold pincers snap shut around her ankle. She kicked and felt ligaments tear in an unyielding grip, not the strength of mere muscles but of servo-mechanisms powered by atomic energy—Janeway knew her ankle would give way before the Psiborg would. She lashed out with her fists aiming for photocells, control wires, anything she could reach. Her arms were pinioned, her head seized in a vice-like grip so she couldn't even flinch as she heard the shriek of a powered cutting tool. Something soft brushed past her cheek, and despite her terror Janeway could not help feeling incredulous as she saw auburn strands falling onto the deckplates.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me... you're cutting off my hair? You... Venerian swamp-rats!"
"YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE."
"I heard you the first time!"
"RESISTANCE IS FUTILE..." the voice of the Collective continued unabated, seeming to drill right inside her skull. "RESISTANCE IS FUTILE... RESISTANCE IS FUTILE... RESISTANCE IS FUTILE... ("Captain...") RESISTANCE IS FUTILE... ("Captain Janeway...") RESISTANCE IS FUTILE... ("Captain, can you hear my thoughts?") INTRUSION... ("My thoughts to your thoughts...") UNAUTHORISED VESSEL EXITING PORTAL 4-2-4 GRID 1-1-6... ACTIVATE GRAVITY TRACTION BEAM... SUBJUGATE... ASSIMILATE..."
A thunderclap like a bolt of the Olympians echoed throughout the docking bay as a vast cyclopean iris began to open in the hull. Janeway felt her ears pop and a rush of air tugging on her body, heard the familiar whoosh of decompression as the clouds were whipped away and the airborne Psiborgs scattered, racing to land before the air vanished from under their 'copter blades. The Ovion and its macabre rider lumbered through a doorway that sealed shut behind them but the Hirogen made no effort to release her. Liquid gel flowed across its snout to seal the mouth and nostrils, twin tubules erupted from an air-tank on its back and plunged vampire-like into the Hirogen's neck.
Resisting the instinctive urge to hold her breath, Janeway took rapid gulps of air to saturate her blood with oxygen, her hyperventilation aided by the sight of the silver rocketship plunging through the dilating iris. Voyager was not waiting to be dragged in by the traction beam but was coming in with thrusters blazing. No sight had inspired such joy and terror in her at the same time.
("Captain Janeway...") came TuV'k's voice again in her mind, stronger than the thousand voices of the Collective. ("Give us your location...")
"800 yards port on your axis of thrust!" Janeway shouted against the whirlwind rushing out into the void, though she knew her Psionics Officer was not listening to her verbally. "Declination... minus fifteen! Inhabitants hostile!"
("Seen") was the reply, then the calmly-stated command: ("Commence firing.")
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Lines of crimson death shot from the gun blisters like the colored rays of science-fiction. The fragmentation shells would have barely scratched the double-armored hull of a rocketship—they were designed to protect Voyager when landed on a planet's surface, or as a last-ditch defense against missiles. But inside the cube-ship the rapid-fire guns wrecked bloody devastation. Autoloaders slammed a relentless stream of ammunition into the hot breeches, powered traverse mechanisms smoothly tracked their targets, electro-mechanical predictors linked to gunlaying radar enabled deadly accuracy. A hail of cannisters ripple-fired from the ejector tubes and burst to form a billowing smokescreen and clouds of radar-reflecting 'window', and as armed figures in dirigible space armor spilled from the air-locks all Janeway could think was: 'So much for a peaceful First Contact!'
Her legs were yanked out from beneath her, Janeway's face smashing against the deckplates as she was dragged into the labyrinthian interior of the cube-ship. She clutched a floor grating in a death grip but found herself gasping for breath; there was an intense pain in her ears that almost drowned the nightmare howl of escaping air. A Psiborg bent over her, guiding the whirling blades of a circular saw towards her fingers. "RESISTANCE IS FUTILE!" warned the Collective. "YOU WILL__" and then an atom bomb exploded.
It was only a micratomic grenade but the blast wave knocked the Psiborgs down like skittles even with the fading air pressure. Janeway turned her face from the heat and tucked her hands beneath her body, instinctively adopting the Duck & Cover position drilled into every schoolchild. When she looked up again everything had turned red, but that was because someone was shoving her head-first into a decompression shelter-balloon.
"Oh no, you don't!" Janeway protested. "I want a gun and space armor!"
"There's no time!" shouted B'Elanna, planting a magheel against the captain's behind and booting her inside. She fumbled with the clumsy pincers of her space armor to seal the gasket, then reeled out the tow rope, looking around for help. Sergeant VanBuskirk was swinging a rescue axe into the Hirogen Psiborg, the tungsten-carbide blade smashing metal and bone like glass. Lon Suder crouched beside him firing carefully-aimed shots with his rifle. Kurt Bendara and a Spacefleet ensign she knew only as Bennet hovered over the docking bay in their jetpacks, shooting a stream of explosive bullets directly upward at an unseen target. The surrounding alcoves and corridors were being mopped up by a scratch squad of UN space marines, Maquis rebels and Spacefleet personnel. As she watched a door dilated to reveal a half-dozen Psiborgs clustered around a semi-portable energy projector; its nucleo-electric power pack, liquid-helium cooling coils and radiation-proof gunshield a stark contrast to the handheld rayguns of space western tri-vids. Before they could fire the cumbersome weapon, Corporal Rico had turned his atomic burner on them and the door deliquesced into a molten slurry along with everything behind it.
"The captain's secure! Someone give me a hand here!"
Michael Hogan activated his jetpack and flew across to her. Taking care to avoid the red-hot venturi and radiator fins, B'Elanna clipped the tow rope to his space armor, then grabbed a handle on the shelter-balloon and keyed her own thrusters. Together they lifted Captain Janeway over the smoldering wreckage, and B'Elanna started to breathe easier until she looked out into the docking bay and saw what awaited them.
Voyager was at the epicenter of a swirling hurricane of airborne Psiborgs. The autocannons were spraying shells in wild random bursts, unable to track the multitude of moving targets. Gravity traction beams and energy projectors drilled visible paths through the smoke and radioactive ash. A dirigible torpedo blasted from its tube and an eye-searing flash sent everything dark as her helmet glass polarized with the rad-snoopers crackling in mad chorus. When her vision returned, B'Elanna could see Voyager's thruster rings flaring as the helmsman struggled to skew-flip the thousand-foot rocketship to face the entry iris, only for another traction beam to latch on as the Collective repaired or replaced whatever damage had been inflicted.
"You're supposed to be the smart one," said Hogan. "Any ideas?"
B'Elanna shook her helmet. If she was an engineer in a space opera, she'd babble something technical about running a feedback pulse through a transmission dish to overload their collective psi-brains, but right now she couldn't think of anything that would actually work.
Rico unslung his bazooka and loaded an A-rocket. "Well, we have to clear those gnats away if we want to get back."
"NO!" shouted B'Elanna. "Voyager is surrounded by an electromagnetic field to keep out cosmic radiation! If you detonate an atom bomb within that field, it traps and concentrates the radiation inside. It'll irradiate us as we fly through it!"
The space marine looked unimpressed, though that might have been due to his prescribed ration of Benzedrine Sulfate. "So it's a choice between dying now, or dying of cancer in a few decades. Do you want to live forever?"
"No thanks," came Janeway's voice—she must have found the radio in the shelter-balloon's survival kit. "I've already had that offer today."
"Atomics won't be much use," said VanBuskirk. "There's no air left to create a pressure wave. If you want to shoot something, Rico, take out the hydraulics of that entry iris before they shut us in here."
Rico leaned out over the railing with the bazooka, making sure to point the venturi where no-one would be hit by the backblast. He squeezed one trigger to lock on the target, the second to launch, ducking behind cover as a false dawn lit up the docking bay, followed by a hailstorm of debris that noticeably thinned the swarm of flying Psiborgs.
VanBuskirk used his formidable jaw to press down the chin-switch for the all-hands circuit. "All right you apes, stand by to jump! Durst, set a micratomic demolition charge on a twenty-second timer. Torres and Hogan, in the center with the captain; I want 360-degree protection around them. Put your Y-racks on automatic, dispersal pattern Sierra. Corporal Rico and I will take up the rear. Any questions?"
"What's an 'ape', Sarge?"
"An extinct animal—like you all will be if you don't watch your six, high and low. Remember we're fighting in three dimensions. Is everyone ready?"
They answered with a war cry that would have sounded impressive if their voices weren't so squeaky from the oxy-helium mix. For the tenth time, B'Elanna checked her tommy gun was loaded and the trigger guard folded back so her pincers could engage the trigger. She knew she should object to being downgraded to baggage hauler but remained guiltily silent. She had volunteered for this caper on the spur of the moment, and the men had only let her come because she was supposed to be one of the legendary women warriors of Venus. But she felt as terrified now as when her mother first pressed a scimitar into her trembling hands. She tried to think of an inspiring prayer, something from Psalm 23:4, but she forgot the words halfway and ended up mumbling a distorted version of Ezekiel 25:17 instead.
VanBuskirk stepped to the edge of the walkway. "Roughnecks and rockriders, launch on my mark! One-two-LAUNCH!"
B'Elanna hit her firing stud a fraction too late, nearly yanking her arm off as Hogan shot into the air with the shelter-balloon trailing behind on its tow rope. She could hear Janeway cursing them over the radio then she was too busy to care as Psiborg were flying at them from every direction, heedless of bullets and bomblets and the hellfire of nuclear-powered flamethrowers. She saw Bennet die when a shuttleboat kamikazed into him, Durst get his face sliced off by a grotesque horror, Suder shot in the back by a Psiborg he thought he had killed. The worst thing was it all happened in silence, with only the hiss of air-tanks and the panicked sound of her breathing.
Their guns were firing in support, bright-red droplets drifting languidly towards them until they were suddenly shooting past her helmet, far too close and impossibly fast. Stray shrapnel bounced off her tungsten-alloy space armor and B'Elanna hugged the shelter-balloon close, knowing a single shard puncturing the skin could doom its occupant. Her rad-snooper crackled in warning; someone was shooting at her but she was moving too fast and the energy beam was diffused by smoke and distance. The crackling stopped as they flew through Voyager's electromagnetic field and then the hull was coming up and she fired the jets to cushion her landing, stumbling forward until her magheel boots locked on. B'Elanna turned to see the walkway they had launched from erupt in a noiseless fireball and realized to her shock that only twenty seconds had passed.
Voyager was no sanctuary. Kamikazes had followed in behind them where the guns could not fire and were now slamming into gun blisters and torpedo hatches, geysers of exploding rocket fuel lighting up the hull. B'Elanna and Hogan dragged the shelter-balloon to the nearest air-lock, then Hogan unclipped the tow rope and threw it to B'Elanna. He hit the thrusters and leapt across the hull in a huge bound, a sheet of white flame shooting fifty feet from his burner. B'Elanna clipped the rope to her armor and then hammered on the air-lock hatch. "Open up, d**n you!"
The hatch remained firmly shut and she couldn't see anyone through the viewport. The locking handle that had been built to withstand the impact of a meteorite had been torn clean off. B'Elanna keyed her chin-switch. "Torres to Control, open Docking Port Bravo!"
A blast of static was her only response, whether due to enemy jamming or radiation interference she had no idea. The next closest air-lock was two hundred feet along the dorsal spine but with the guns knocked out the Psiborg were now swarming everywhere, the others falling back on her position in an ever-shrinking circle, their burners scorching nightmare shadows into the hull. B'Elanna wished she'd kept her mouth shut about using A-bombs—she no longer cared about radiation poisoning, she just wanted to live through the next few minutes. She was an engineer not an Amazon, no matter what her mother thought...
'Well if you're an engineer, get that hatch open!'
B'Elanna yanked a tri-meter from her bandoleer and powered up its fluoroscope. The ghostly X-Ray image kept flickering from stray bursts of radiation, but she could still make out the locking latches—all undamaged, praise the Lord! She drew a power-wrench from her pistol holster and used it to detach the electromagnets from the docking ring. Hooking their power cables up to a micratomic battery, B'Elanna clamped them around the rim of the hatch mounting where the fluoroscope had shown the latches were, then pushed hard on the hatch.
It swung open with ease just as the hatchway became very crowded. Two marines were supporting a Maquis she recognized as Chell—his face was blue from cyanosis and hull-sealant had been sprayed over punctures in his space armor. Ayala was giving them covering fire. Summing up the situation at a glance, he yanked the D-ring to detach his jetpack and Y-rack discharger, threw aside his rifle and bundled Chell and the shelter-balloon inside. The others followed suit with unseemly haste, half-a-dozen people crammed into an air-lock that was only designed to fit two in full space armor. B'Elanna's helmet was jammed against Ayala's so she could hear him even without the radio working. "Close the hatch!" he was shouting. "We can't open the inner door until the outer hatch is shut!"
B'Elanna groped for the red-painted handle, clasped it in her pincers and turned. Under control of its electric motor, the hatch swung out from the bulkhead until it struck their bodies and stopped. The men pushed and shoved against unyielding space armor and the amorphous bulk of the shelter-balloon, shouting: "Make room!" and "Out of my way, you idiot!" Using her smaller frame to advantage, B'Elanna was able to wriggle free of the crush, pushing herself through the outer hatchway which then shut smoothly behind her. For a terrifying moment she was sliding off the hull to her doom before Rico grabbed hold of her until her magheel boots could get a grip.
Her death had only been delayed a few minutes, B'Elanna knew. By the time they pressurized the air-lock, got everyone out, closed the inner hatch and pumped out the air so they could open the outer hatch again it would be too late. She felt a surprising sense of calm, observing the chaos of battle around her with detachment. She saw Hogan clasped in the jaws of a giant lizard-creature, biting and rending until his air-tanks burst and blew them both to pieces. Bendara was feeding an ammunition belt into a recoilless machine gun that VanBuskirk had clamped under his arm, ten-inch flames spurting from the muzzle and recoil ports. Rico's burner had run dry with no more hydrogen to fuel the atomic chamber; he tossed it aside and reverted to his rescue axe until something monstrous rose from the Psiborg corpses piled about him: severed heads with living brains whose control wires had inserted into mammalian vertebrae and the mandibles of crustaceans, the eyes of insectoids and the claws and teeth of reptilians—an amalgamation of terrors that rolled over Rico like a nightmarish tumbleweed, drawing his body into itself, harvesting flesh and metal alike for its unstoppable onslaught. B'Elanna screamed and pulled the trigger of her submachine gun, emptying an entire clip of explosive bullets to no avail. She hit the firing stud but nothing happened; she had thrown away her jetpack and there was nowhere left to run...
A rocket-propelled mooring line shot past B'Elanna and slammed into the creature, the writhing sparks of the brush discharge lighting up the abomination in all its horror. Convulsing from the shock, it lost its grip on the hull and plunged into the depths of the docking bay, still throwing out control wires in a futile attempt to assimilate anything in reach.
Captain Janeway was leaning out of the air-lock hatch, the crimson shreds of the decompression balloon streaming around her like tattered banners, an oxymask her only protection. She dropped the rocket launcher, fumbling with swollen fingers as the fluids inside her body boiled in the vacuum. B'Elanna shoved her back inside then nearly fell off the hull again as something slammed into Voyager like the hammer of Vulcan, crushing Terran and Psiborg alike with the irresistible force of a pressor beam. B'Elanna dived into the air-lock and yanked the red-handled lever, and as the outer hatch slid shut she witnessed a final horror—the crushed remnants of Bendara and VanBuskirk rising into the air only to slam down on the hull again, over and over, the entire vessel ringing with each impact.
Even in the depths of Voyager they could feel the pounding, the Bridge crew shaking in their couches, held in place only by their safety webbing. The air was stifling as heat built up inside the hull with no means of purging it. Every alarm would be clamoring if they hadn't already been switched off, but no-one could silence the shriek of tortured metal or TuV'k's mad ranting as he convulsed at his station: "Resistance is futile... resistance is futile... resistance is futile..."
"Someone shut him up!" shouted Chakotay, showing none of his usual reserve. It looked like his command of Voyager was going to be short and final. The repeaters on his lap console warned of temperature overloads, radiation leaks and an ammunition count that was getting lower by the second. "Ensign Vor'K, take over at Tactical Psionics! Get me a firing solution on whatever's projecting those gravity beams!"
"I can't lock on!" the young ensign stammered. "Resistance is futile... resistance is futile..."
"Ops, get me a target! Radar, gravimeters, anything!"
"Sensory instruments are down!" Kim's face was pale, and from the way he cradled his right arm he appeared to have broken it. "The transistors on the Computer Deck have fused... some kind of electromagnetic pulse..."
"So much for modern technology. Sparks, get through to those marines! I need a target spotter!"
"Sir, I'm not receiving telemetering from any spacesuit outside the hull."
Chakotay's hands clenched on his armrests. They were all dead: Janeway, Torres, the gunners and marines and the Maquis soldiers he had sent with them. They'd done their best, but now he had to save whatever crew he had left. He could see the gaping iris on the forward-view telescreen, still glowing from the atomic explosion, Psiborgs swarming to repair the damage heedless of the radiation. If only they could get free of those traction beams...
"Mr. Paris, engage the Cochrane Drive!" Chakotay ordered. He jammed down the PA toggle. "This is the captain! All hands, brace for immediate acceleration!"
"Is he crazy?" gasped Kim. "We're still inside the cube-ship!"
Paris gave a mirthless laugh. "Hyun, let me show you what I found out the hard way on Deimos. Every reaction drive makes an equal and opposite weapon!"
He slammed the levers past the safety stops and a lance of pure white flame shot out from the rocket-tubes, punching clean through the side of the cube-ship. Voyager sprang free and it was only the finely-honed reflexes of their helmsman that saved them from disaster as the rocketship flashed across the docking bay and through the entry iris into Outer Space.
Their relief was short-lived. No sooner were they clear of the cube-ship when another gravity beam seized hold of Voyager.
"Resistance is futile," intoned TuV'k and Vor'K in unison. "You will be assimilated."
"You would think they'd have had enough," said Chakotay through gritted teeth. "Paris, maximum thrust! Give it everything we have!"
"That could tear the hull apart!" Kim protested.
"Then tear it apart!"
"Chakotay," said a quiet voice beside him, "purge Cargo Bay One."
Chakotay turned his head to stare in astonishment at the woman clambering through the tween-deck scuttle. Janeway was barely recognizable, her face bruised and swollen and her head looking like one of his ancestors had taken a scalping knife to it.
"Do you realize what you're saying? That cube is not just a spaceship; it's an entire city... maybe an entire civilization!"
"Better than an entire galaxy," said Janeway, strapping herself into an acceleration couch. "Do it."
Not trusting himself to speak, Chakotay nodded to Ensign Kim, who used his undamaged hand to flick several switches on his console. On Voyager's outer hull, a loading hatch slid aside and pneumatic rams forced the contents of the cargo bay into the void: a blue sphere bound in the interwoven coils of an electromagnetic field generator. Grim warnings in a dozen languages were stamped on every surface: DANGER: CONTRATERRENE, NO STEP MAGNETIC BOOTS, and MAINTAIN POWER: FAIL-DEADLY SYSTEM. Without any thrusters to resist the pull of the gravity beam, the sphere shot back towards the cube-ship, its electromagnetic fields shutting down one after the other as they rapidly drained the power of the micratomic backup battery.
"Resistance is futile," TuV'k and Vor'K were saying, "Resistance is__" and then they stopped as a savage jolt hurled everyone back into their couches.
By the time Paris was able to skew-flip Voyager to begin the process of deceleration, and the blast shield on the astrodome was retracted so their electronic telescopes could see what had happened to the cube-ship, they were thousands of miles away and unable to make out much. Radar detected an extensive field of debris, but there was no thermal signature from power or life support systems.
No-one suggested they go back and look for survivors.
Her legs were yanked out from beneath her, Janeway's face smashing against the deckplates as she was dragged into the labyrinthian interior of the cube-ship. She clutched a floor grating in a death grip but found herself gasping for breath; there was an intense pain in her ears that almost drowned the nightmare howl of escaping air. A Psiborg bent over her, guiding the whirling blades of a circular saw towards her fingers. "RESISTANCE IS FUTILE!" warned the Collective. "YOU WILL__" and then an atom bomb exploded.
It was only a micratomic grenade but the blast wave knocked the Psiborgs down like skittles even with the fading air pressure. Janeway turned her face from the heat and tucked her hands beneath her body, instinctively adopting the Duck & Cover position drilled into every schoolchild. When she looked up again everything had turned red, but that was because someone was shoving her head-first into a decompression shelter-balloon.
"Oh no, you don't!" Janeway protested. "I want a gun and space armor!"
"There's no time!" shouted B'Elanna, planting a magheel against the captain's behind and booting her inside. She fumbled with the clumsy pincers of her space armor to seal the gasket, then reeled out the tow rope, looking around for help. Sergeant VanBuskirk was swinging a rescue axe into the Hirogen Psiborg, the tungsten-carbide blade smashing metal and bone like glass. Lon Suder crouched beside him firing carefully-aimed shots with his rifle. Kurt Bendara and a Spacefleet ensign she knew only as Bennet hovered over the docking bay in their jetpacks, shooting a stream of explosive bullets directly upward at an unseen target. The surrounding alcoves and corridors were being mopped up by a scratch squad of UN space marines, Maquis rebels and Spacefleet personnel. As she watched a door dilated to reveal a half-dozen Psiborgs clustered around a semi-portable energy projector; its nucleo-electric power pack, liquid-helium cooling coils and radiation-proof gunshield a stark contrast to the handheld rayguns of space western tri-vids. Before they could fire the cumbersome weapon, Corporal Rico had turned his atomic burner on them and the door deliquesced into a molten slurry along with everything behind it.
"The captain's secure! Someone give me a hand here!"
Michael Hogan activated his jetpack and flew across to her. Taking care to avoid the red-hot venturi and radiator fins, B'Elanna clipped the tow rope to his space armor, then grabbed a handle on the shelter-balloon and keyed her own thrusters. Together they lifted Captain Janeway over the smoldering wreckage, and B'Elanna started to breathe easier until she looked out into the docking bay and saw what awaited them.
Voyager was at the epicenter of a swirling hurricane of airborne Psiborgs. The autocannons were spraying shells in wild random bursts, unable to track the multitude of moving targets. Gravity traction beams and energy projectors drilled visible paths through the smoke and radioactive ash. A dirigible torpedo blasted from its tube and an eye-searing flash sent everything dark as her helmet glass polarized with the rad-snoopers crackling in mad chorus. When her vision returned, B'Elanna could see Voyager's thruster rings flaring as the helmsman struggled to skew-flip the thousand-foot rocketship to face the entry iris, only for another traction beam to latch on as the Collective repaired or replaced whatever damage had been inflicted.
"You're supposed to be the smart one," said Hogan. "Any ideas?"
B'Elanna shook her helmet. If she was an engineer in a space opera, she'd babble something technical about running a feedback pulse through a transmission dish to overload their collective psi-brains, but right now she couldn't think of anything that would actually work.
Rico unslung his bazooka and loaded an A-rocket. "Well, we have to clear those gnats away if we want to get back."
"NO!" shouted B'Elanna. "Voyager is surrounded by an electromagnetic field to keep out cosmic radiation! If you detonate an atom bomb within that field, it traps and concentrates the radiation inside. It'll irradiate us as we fly through it!"
The space marine looked unimpressed, though that might have been due to his prescribed ration of Benzedrine Sulfate. "So it's a choice between dying now, or dying of cancer in a few decades. Do you want to live forever?"
"No thanks," came Janeway's voice—she must have found the radio in the shelter-balloon's survival kit. "I've already had that offer today."
"Atomics won't be much use," said VanBuskirk. "There's no air left to create a pressure wave. If you want to shoot something, Rico, take out the hydraulics of that entry iris before they shut us in here."
Rico leaned out over the railing with the bazooka, making sure to point the venturi where no-one would be hit by the backblast. He squeezed one trigger to lock on the target, the second to launch, ducking behind cover as a false dawn lit up the docking bay, followed by a hailstorm of debris that noticeably thinned the swarm of flying Psiborgs.
VanBuskirk used his formidable jaw to press down the chin-switch for the all-hands circuit. "All right you apes, stand by to jump! Durst, set a micratomic demolition charge on a twenty-second timer. Torres and Hogan, in the center with the captain; I want 360-degree protection around them. Put your Y-racks on automatic, dispersal pattern Sierra. Corporal Rico and I will take up the rear. Any questions?"
"What's an 'ape', Sarge?"
"An extinct animal—like you all will be if you don't watch your six, high and low. Remember we're fighting in three dimensions. Is everyone ready?"
They answered with a war cry that would have sounded impressive if their voices weren't so squeaky from the oxy-helium mix. For the tenth time, B'Elanna checked her tommy gun was loaded and the trigger guard folded back so her pincers could engage the trigger. She knew she should object to being downgraded to baggage hauler but remained guiltily silent. She had volunteered for this caper on the spur of the moment, and the men had only let her come because she was supposed to be one of the legendary women warriors of Venus. But she felt as terrified now as when her mother first pressed a scimitar into her trembling hands. She tried to think of an inspiring prayer, something from Psalm 23:4, but she forgot the words halfway and ended up mumbling a distorted version of Ezekiel 25:17 instead.
VanBuskirk stepped to the edge of the walkway. "Roughnecks and rockriders, launch on my mark! One-two-LAUNCH!"
B'Elanna hit her firing stud a fraction too late, nearly yanking her arm off as Hogan shot into the air with the shelter-balloon trailing behind on its tow rope. She could hear Janeway cursing them over the radio then she was too busy to care as Psiborg were flying at them from every direction, heedless of bullets and bomblets and the hellfire of nuclear-powered flamethrowers. She saw Bennet die when a shuttleboat kamikazed into him, Durst get his face sliced off by a grotesque horror, Suder shot in the back by a Psiborg he thought he had killed. The worst thing was it all happened in silence, with only the hiss of air-tanks and the panicked sound of her breathing.
Their guns were firing in support, bright-red droplets drifting languidly towards them until they were suddenly shooting past her helmet, far too close and impossibly fast. Stray shrapnel bounced off her tungsten-alloy space armor and B'Elanna hugged the shelter-balloon close, knowing a single shard puncturing the skin could doom its occupant. Her rad-snooper crackled in warning; someone was shooting at her but she was moving too fast and the energy beam was diffused by smoke and distance. The crackling stopped as they flew through Voyager's electromagnetic field and then the hull was coming up and she fired the jets to cushion her landing, stumbling forward until her magheel boots locked on. B'Elanna turned to see the walkway they had launched from erupt in a noiseless fireball and realized to her shock that only twenty seconds had passed.
Voyager was no sanctuary. Kamikazes had followed in behind them where the guns could not fire and were now slamming into gun blisters and torpedo hatches, geysers of exploding rocket fuel lighting up the hull. B'Elanna and Hogan dragged the shelter-balloon to the nearest air-lock, then Hogan unclipped the tow rope and threw it to B'Elanna. He hit the thrusters and leapt across the hull in a huge bound, a sheet of white flame shooting fifty feet from his burner. B'Elanna clipped the rope to her armor and then hammered on the air-lock hatch. "Open up, d**n you!"
The hatch remained firmly shut and she couldn't see anyone through the viewport. The locking handle that had been built to withstand the impact of a meteorite had been torn clean off. B'Elanna keyed her chin-switch. "Torres to Control, open Docking Port Bravo!"
A blast of static was her only response, whether due to enemy jamming or radiation interference she had no idea. The next closest air-lock was two hundred feet along the dorsal spine but with the guns knocked out the Psiborg were now swarming everywhere, the others falling back on her position in an ever-shrinking circle, their burners scorching nightmare shadows into the hull. B'Elanna wished she'd kept her mouth shut about using A-bombs—she no longer cared about radiation poisoning, she just wanted to live through the next few minutes. She was an engineer not an Amazon, no matter what her mother thought...
'Well if you're an engineer, get that hatch open!'
B'Elanna yanked a tri-meter from her bandoleer and powered up its fluoroscope. The ghostly X-Ray image kept flickering from stray bursts of radiation, but she could still make out the locking latches—all undamaged, praise the Lord! She drew a power-wrench from her pistol holster and used it to detach the electromagnets from the docking ring. Hooking their power cables up to a micratomic battery, B'Elanna clamped them around the rim of the hatch mounting where the fluoroscope had shown the latches were, then pushed hard on the hatch.
It swung open with ease just as the hatchway became very crowded. Two marines were supporting a Maquis she recognized as Chell—his face was blue from cyanosis and hull-sealant had been sprayed over punctures in his space armor. Ayala was giving them covering fire. Summing up the situation at a glance, he yanked the D-ring to detach his jetpack and Y-rack discharger, threw aside his rifle and bundled Chell and the shelter-balloon inside. The others followed suit with unseemly haste, half-a-dozen people crammed into an air-lock that was only designed to fit two in full space armor. B'Elanna's helmet was jammed against Ayala's so she could hear him even without the radio working. "Close the hatch!" he was shouting. "We can't open the inner door until the outer hatch is shut!"
B'Elanna groped for the red-painted handle, clasped it in her pincers and turned. Under control of its electric motor, the hatch swung out from the bulkhead until it struck their bodies and stopped. The men pushed and shoved against unyielding space armor and the amorphous bulk of the shelter-balloon, shouting: "Make room!" and "Out of my way, you idiot!" Using her smaller frame to advantage, B'Elanna was able to wriggle free of the crush, pushing herself through the outer hatchway which then shut smoothly behind her. For a terrifying moment she was sliding off the hull to her doom before Rico grabbed hold of her until her magheel boots could get a grip.
Her death had only been delayed a few minutes, B'Elanna knew. By the time they pressurized the air-lock, got everyone out, closed the inner hatch and pumped out the air so they could open the outer hatch again it would be too late. She felt a surprising sense of calm, observing the chaos of battle around her with detachment. She saw Hogan clasped in the jaws of a giant lizard-creature, biting and rending until his air-tanks burst and blew them both to pieces. Bendara was feeding an ammunition belt into a recoilless machine gun that VanBuskirk had clamped under his arm, ten-inch flames spurting from the muzzle and recoil ports. Rico's burner had run dry with no more hydrogen to fuel the atomic chamber; he tossed it aside and reverted to his rescue axe until something monstrous rose from the Psiborg corpses piled about him: severed heads with living brains whose control wires had inserted into mammalian vertebrae and the mandibles of crustaceans, the eyes of insectoids and the claws and teeth of reptilians—an amalgamation of terrors that rolled over Rico like a nightmarish tumbleweed, drawing his body into itself, harvesting flesh and metal alike for its unstoppable onslaught. B'Elanna screamed and pulled the trigger of her submachine gun, emptying an entire clip of explosive bullets to no avail. She hit the firing stud but nothing happened; she had thrown away her jetpack and there was nowhere left to run...
A rocket-propelled mooring line shot past B'Elanna and slammed into the creature, the writhing sparks of the brush discharge lighting up the abomination in all its horror. Convulsing from the shock, it lost its grip on the hull and plunged into the depths of the docking bay, still throwing out control wires in a futile attempt to assimilate anything in reach.
Captain Janeway was leaning out of the air-lock hatch, the crimson shreds of the decompression balloon streaming around her like tattered banners, an oxymask her only protection. She dropped the rocket launcher, fumbling with swollen fingers as the fluids inside her body boiled in the vacuum. B'Elanna shoved her back inside then nearly fell off the hull again as something slammed into Voyager like the hammer of Vulcan, crushing Terran and Psiborg alike with the irresistible force of a pressor beam. B'Elanna dived into the air-lock and yanked the red-handled lever, and as the outer hatch slid shut she witnessed a final horror—the crushed remnants of Bendara and VanBuskirk rising into the air only to slam down on the hull again, over and over, the entire vessel ringing with each impact.
Even in the depths of Voyager they could feel the pounding, the Bridge crew shaking in their couches, held in place only by their safety webbing. The air was stifling as heat built up inside the hull with no means of purging it. Every alarm would be clamoring if they hadn't already been switched off, but no-one could silence the shriek of tortured metal or TuV'k's mad ranting as he convulsed at his station: "Resistance is futile... resistance is futile... resistance is futile..."
"Someone shut him up!" shouted Chakotay, showing none of his usual reserve. It looked like his command of Voyager was going to be short and final. The repeaters on his lap console warned of temperature overloads, radiation leaks and an ammunition count that was getting lower by the second. "Ensign Vor'K, take over at Tactical Psionics! Get me a firing solution on whatever's projecting those gravity beams!"
"I can't lock on!" the young ensign stammered. "Resistance is futile... resistance is futile..."
"Ops, get me a target! Radar, gravimeters, anything!"
"Sensory instruments are down!" Kim's face was pale, and from the way he cradled his right arm he appeared to have broken it. "The transistors on the Computer Deck have fused... some kind of electromagnetic pulse..."
"So much for modern technology. Sparks, get through to those marines! I need a target spotter!"
"Sir, I'm not receiving telemetering from any spacesuit outside the hull."
Chakotay's hands clenched on his armrests. They were all dead: Janeway, Torres, the gunners and marines and the Maquis soldiers he had sent with them. They'd done their best, but now he had to save whatever crew he had left. He could see the gaping iris on the forward-view telescreen, still glowing from the atomic explosion, Psiborgs swarming to repair the damage heedless of the radiation. If only they could get free of those traction beams...
"Mr. Paris, engage the Cochrane Drive!" Chakotay ordered. He jammed down the PA toggle. "This is the captain! All hands, brace for immediate acceleration!"
"Is he crazy?" gasped Kim. "We're still inside the cube-ship!"
Paris gave a mirthless laugh. "Hyun, let me show you what I found out the hard way on Deimos. Every reaction drive makes an equal and opposite weapon!"
He slammed the levers past the safety stops and a lance of pure white flame shot out from the rocket-tubes, punching clean through the side of the cube-ship. Voyager sprang free and it was only the finely-honed reflexes of their helmsman that saved them from disaster as the rocketship flashed across the docking bay and through the entry iris into Outer Space.
Their relief was short-lived. No sooner were they clear of the cube-ship when another gravity beam seized hold of Voyager.
"Resistance is futile," intoned TuV'k and Vor'K in unison. "You will be assimilated."
"You would think they'd have had enough," said Chakotay through gritted teeth. "Paris, maximum thrust! Give it everything we have!"
"That could tear the hull apart!" Kim protested.
"Then tear it apart!"
"Chakotay," said a quiet voice beside him, "purge Cargo Bay One."
Chakotay turned his head to stare in astonishment at the woman clambering through the tween-deck scuttle. Janeway was barely recognizable, her face bruised and swollen and her head looking like one of his ancestors had taken a scalping knife to it.
"Do you realize what you're saying? That cube is not just a spaceship; it's an entire city... maybe an entire civilization!"
"Better than an entire galaxy," said Janeway, strapping herself into an acceleration couch. "Do it."
Not trusting himself to speak, Chakotay nodded to Ensign Kim, who used his undamaged hand to flick several switches on his console. On Voyager's outer hull, a loading hatch slid aside and pneumatic rams forced the contents of the cargo bay into the void: a blue sphere bound in the interwoven coils of an electromagnetic field generator. Grim warnings in a dozen languages were stamped on every surface: DANGER: CONTRATERRENE, NO STEP MAGNETIC BOOTS, and MAINTAIN POWER: FAIL-DEADLY SYSTEM. Without any thrusters to resist the pull of the gravity beam, the sphere shot back towards the cube-ship, its electromagnetic fields shutting down one after the other as they rapidly drained the power of the micratomic backup battery.
"Resistance is futile," TuV'k and Vor'K were saying, "Resistance is__" and then they stopped as a savage jolt hurled everyone back into their couches.
By the time Paris was able to skew-flip Voyager to begin the process of deceleration, and the blast shield on the astrodome was retracted so their electronic telescopes could see what had happened to the cube-ship, they were thousands of miles away and unable to make out much. Radar detected an extensive field of debris, but there was no thermal signature from power or life support systems.
No-one suggested they go back and look for survivors.
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Great story, but one question; why is speculative fiction like The Wizard of Oz and (superhero) comic books banned on Earth?
