NEW VOY: Wrong Number (1/3) PG (All, shuttlecraft)
Title: Wrong Number
Author: Dave Rogers
Email Address: daverogers@geocities.com
Series: VOY
Rating: PG
Codes: All, shuttlecraft
Part: 1/3
Date Posted: 19 August 1999
Summary: Late season three, after "Real Life". Three shuttlecraft
are sent out to investigate a nebula; four come back.
Wrong Number
It seemed as though Voyager might survive. Three years had taken their
toll on the ship, her essential stores, and in a few cases on her crew,
but with the Kazon and the Vidiians both far behind and the Borg, for
all the signs of their passing, yet to be actually seen, life in the
usually hostile Delta Quadrant was starting to take on a gentler
aspect. So as Kathryn Janeway finished the last few drops of her
morning cup of coffee - the one cup of the genuine article she
permitted herself each day before showing her solidarity with the crew
by tolerating Neelix's best efforts at a substitute - and left her
ready room, she felt a pleasant sense of anticipation. Days in the
Delta Quadrant were rarely dull, but scientific curiosity was starting
to supplant the survival instinct as the main source of excitement.
From the previous day's sensor readings, in fact, it seemed that today
was a good day for curiosity.
"Good morning, Commander." She greeted Chakotay with a smile as she
sank into the big chair, and he smiled and inclined his head in reply.
"Report, Mr. Kim?"
"I've analysed the region using the ship's sensors, Captain, but the
ion flux appears to be blocking out most of the signal. We're getting
flares from somewhere inside the region every seven minutes, and
they're causing temporary loss of all sensor and viewscreen data." He
paused to read some calculations from his console. "The nebula extends
at least a hundred light years in all directions. Going round it could
add about two months to our journey time, but I can't tell whether
there are any risks if we go through it."
Janeway took a moment to study what lay ahead of them on the main
viewscreen. It was close enough for some details to be visible now,
and what she saw only whetted her appetite for knowledge. Extending
over the entire field of view of the screen was a dull grey cloud,
emitting a faint light that seemed to vary only very slightly from
point to point. No stars were visible through it, so far as she could
tell, but beyond the outer fringes of what appeared to be a normal
dust cloud, bright points of light could be seen, sometimes growing in
brightness, sometimes fading, sometimes disappearing altogether. And
around each point of light, there was a faint, almost imperceptible
swirl of colour, like the surface of a soap bubble, slowly spinning as
the colours split apart and merged again. She thought it might be the
most beautiful stellar phenomenon she'd ever seen.
"I'd prefer not to add to our journey time if possible. Besides, it
would be a shame to pass up on taking a closer look, don't you think?"
She gave Harry Kim the full force of her smile, which grew even more
intense as she watched the young ensign's nervous grin in return.
"Okay, everybody. I need some theories. Any idea what it is, whether
we can go through it unharmed, any ideas for collecting more
information, I want to hear them."
Tuvok clearly had some misgivings. "Captain, the phenomenon that this
most closely resembles is a cluster of protostars - new stars in the
process of formation. It may be that this is a dust cloud that is
beginning to form into new solar systems, and if so, we may experience
unpredictable gravitational effects in traversing it."
"That shouldn't bother us, Captain," chimed in Tom Paris from the conn.
"It can't take more than a week to get through at maximum cruise, and
Voyager's manoeuvrable enough to avoid the worst of it. Anyway, I'm sure
Engineering can keep us in one piece for a few days." He smiled sweetly
in response to the furious glare he received from B'Elanna Torres, at
the engineering station.
"I'm not happy with the idea of blindly rushing in without knowing
what we're going to find when we get there," mused Janeway. She felt it
best not to add a comment about that approach having got them into
enough trouble before, but it seemed from the nods and noises of assent
from around the bridge that the message had got through. "We need to
gather more information. Tom, get us as close as you can without
placing the ship in any danger. B'Elanna, Harry, Tuvok, see if you can
come up with any ideas to enhance the ship's sensors. We'll have a
senior staff meeting at 1400 to discuss our options."
A brief chorus of "Aye, Captain" from round the bridge was the prelude
to a quiet remainder of the shift.
Tom Paris slouched back into his chair and idly picked at his leola
root stew with a fork held in his outstretched right hand. His
attention was elsewhere, however, as he intently studied the padd in
his left. He was so absorbed in his studies that he was taken
completely by surprise when a hand reached over his shoulder and
snatched the padd out of his hand. He turned round with a cry of
protest at the ready, but swallowed it as he saw the exotically ridged
forehead of the offender. Asking B'Elanna Torres not to do something
was, in his experience, probably the best way of ensuring she did it -
unless that was his intention, in which case his reverse psychology
always seemed to fail dismally. In this case, he decided to settle for
a rather weak, but generally safe, "Hey there, B'Elanna," and he was
rewarded by a friendly smile as she sat down opposite him.
"Payback time, Paris," she said with an evil grin.
"I don't know what you mean, Lieutenant," he countered with an innocent
expression.
"Time to take a look at *your* reading tastes, Lieutenant." Tom groaned
silently. He shouldn't have let this happen, not after his comments on
"Warrior Women at the River of Blood". Unfortunately, he suspected
B'Elanna would find his literary tastes just as amusing, if not more
so. His suspicion became grim reality as she started to read.
"Let's see... Emperor Knarr laughed insanely as his army of robot
minions rushed to the attack. Roddy Rockwell fought bravely, but as
his laser pistol sputtered and died, its charge exhausted, he fell
beneath their weight of numbers. Before he passed out, his last words
of defiance rang through the room. You'll never get away with this,
you insane maniac!" She struggled to keep a straight face. "You'll
never get away with this? What an original line."
"Hey, show some respect, Torres. This is history, culture, the
beginning of a great literary tradition..." He stopped before she
laughed out loud. "Okay, it's not great art, but it's genuine mid-
twentieth century pulp science fiction. Haven't you ever heard of
Roddy Rockwell, Rocket Ranger?"
For some reason, the title seemed to plunge Torres into outright
hysterics. "Roddy Rockwell, what?" she finally managed to gasp.
"Rocket Ranger. Rockets, remember? Chemical fuelled reaction motors.
That's how the first spaceships were launched. Didn't you take HSE at
the Academy?"
Torres' laughter stopped suddenly, and Tom mentally kicked himself.
History of Space Exploration was a third year course, and he knew
perfectly well that she had left some time in the second year, though
his most tactful hints had yet to persuade her to explain why. But
just as he was about to make matters worse by apologising, she gave
him an evil grin, and said, "Well, I guess it's my turn to study what
makes *you* tick. You can have this back in a couple of days.
Actually," she corrected, looking through more of the text, "maybe it
won't take that long."
"You know, that's not a technical manual either," Tom feebly called at
Torres' retreating figure as she left the mess hall.
"I can tell," was her parting shot. "They're better written."
There was a full turnout at the senior staff meeting. Neelix was,
perhaps, a little superfluous, but it was hard to resist the Talaxian's
enthusiasm for... well, Janeway had yet to find anything he *wasn't*
enthusiastic about. In this case, his enthusiasm for finding out more
about the region of space ahead of them was as plain to see as was,
unfortunately, his total lack of practical suggestions for doing so.
Kes, on the other hand, was almost apologetic about her presence, yet
was the first person there to come up with any useful information.
"Captain, I can't be certain about this, but I can sense life in the
nebula. It feels very alien, and I can't get a clear impression, but
it feels like there's something in there."
"Sensors aren't detecting any life signs, Captain," put in Harry Kim.
"But then again, they aren't detecting anything much."
"Which brings us back to enhancing the power of the sensors," replied
Janeway. "Did anyone come up with anything?"
"I've tried fine-tuning the sensor emitters," said Kim a little
sheepishly. "I've got about a five per cent improvement, but it's not
much help."
"It is an improvement, however, Mr. Kim," put in Tuvok, to Harry's
eternal gratitude.
"We could re-configure the emitters to produce polaron bursts,"
suggested Torres. "That could cut through the interference. We used
the technique in the Maquis when we were in the badlands..."
"...and blew up the sensor network in the Liberty, if I remember
rightly," interrupted Chakotay with a grin.
"Do you have a better idea?", countered Torres with a touch of anger.
"We can save that for a last resort," put in Janeway quickly, "but I'd
like to have another option, if anyone can come up with one."
"Actually, Captain," said Tom Paris lazily, having carefully chosen
his moment, "there is an idea we could try. It's rather an old one, but
it may be worth it."
"Go on, Mr. Paris," Janeway drawled, trying not to show any signs of
amusement at the surprised look on Harry Kim's face or the irritation
on B'Elanna Torres'.
"Phased sensor arrays," announced Tom proudly. He paused for a moment
for effect, and looked round the room to gauge the response. Chakotay,
Neelix and Kes hadn't reacted, clearly waiting for him to continue.
Kim's look of surprise had taken on an air of puzzlement, and Tom made
a mental note that his friend clearly still considered him an
intellectual lightweight. No cause for offence, of course; just a
useful piece of information to be filed away for future amusement.
Tuvok, of course, showed no reaction at all. The Captain's face showed
a touch of indulgent pride; clearly she had some idea of what he was
getting at, and he tried to pretend he didn't feel an inner glow at
having impressed her. But B'Elanna's face, now that was the most
interesting of all - over and above the fact, of course, that it was
B'Elanna's, and therefore interesting in its own right. Her look of
annoyance faded rapidly, as comprehension dawned; and then her face
lit up with excitement, and Tom's heart leapt as she cast a dazzling,
excited smile in his direction. If this was the effect his bright
ideas had on her, he'd better work on having a few more.
"We can use a shuttlecraft for a base station," B'Elanna replied, her
eyes glazing slightly as her mind started plotting out polar diagrams
and phase responses.
"That's what I thought," replied Paris, returning her smile. "Send out
two shuttlecraft..."
"Three," interrupted B'Elanna. "We'll get full directional coverage..."
"...with two shuttles and Voyager as the bases," continued Tom,
becoming more absorbed as his own excitement started to take over.
"Three shuttles, and Voyager as a central location for data
processing," Torres' breathing seemed to have speeded up now, "then we
get more even signal distribution..."
"...and it's easier to compensate for path differences..." Tom felt a
warmth growing in his face.
"...because there aren't any..." A wisp of hair caught in the light as
it fell across Torres' cheek, and she quickly brushed it aside.
"...and we get enhanced sensor power..." Tom felt his heart racing,
intoxicated by her nearness.
"...and finer resolution..." B'Elanna's eyes had not strayed from his,
and they shone brighter than the stars outside the stern viewports.
"...and a better geometry because we don't have to use back-
scattering..." There was only B'Elanna, filling his world and drowning
his senses...
...and a nervous cough from Harry Kim. Suddenly, both Paris and Torres
looked round in embarrassment, and both faces turned beetroot red.
Janeway's face was half hidden behind her hands, raised above her as if
in prayer with her chin resting on her thumbs. Chakotay was so obviously
not laughing that... he was very obviously not laughing. Kes and Neelix
were both smiling broadly at them, Harry was trying to look just about
anywhere else, and Tuvok's eyebrows appeared to be trying to reach the
top of his head.
"Sounds good to me." Janeway picked up the conversation after a rather
obvious pause. "Harry, how about those flares from the nebula?"
"Voyager can block them out pretty well indefinitely, Captain," replied
Harry with a touch of relief. "The shuttlecraft shields should hold
them off for about five hours. Any more than that and there may be
a radiation hazard for the crew."
"We can live with that," replied Janeway. "B'Elanna, get to work on
three mobile sensor units. How soon can you have them ready?"
"Four hours, Captain," replied B'Elanna, her professional composure
restored now.
"Chakotay, Tom, Tuvok, you can each take one of the engineering staff
in a shuttle. B'Elanna, you're with Chakotay," as she gave Paris and
Torres a quick glance to check for signs of disappointment, "and you can
assign two of your team to go with Tom and Tuvok. Any questions?" After
a more routine few seconds' silence, she continued, "Then let's get to
work. Dismissed."
"It's working, Captain," announced Harry Kim from the Operations
console. "I'm getting full sensor data out to maximum range. I can map
a route right through the nebula from here."
"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Kim," replied Janeway. She hadn't been keen
on the idea of having three shuttlecraft spread out around Voyager all
the way through the nebula; apart from limiting their speed, it would
have left six valuable crew members dangerously vulnerable. "Recall the
shuttlecraft when you've got all the data you need."
"Aye, Captain," replied Harry. "Entering course into the navigation
system now." He tapped his commbadge. "Kim to Chakotay, Tuvok and Paris.
We've got all we need now, you can return to Voyager."
Three replies came: "Thank you, Mr. Kim" from Chakotay, an efficiently
brief "Acknowledged" from Tuvok, and an irreverent "Race you back?"
from Tom Paris.
Janeway's frown had nearly dissipated when, a few minutes later, Harry
Kim stammered out a brief announcement. "Um... Captain, we may have a
problem here."
"What sort of problem?"
"We sent out three shuttlecraft," continued Harry, almost talking to
himself.
"Go on, Mr. Kim," replied Janeway patiently.
"Captain, the shuttlecraft are within range of Voyager's sensors."
"Yes, Mr. Kim?" Janeway's patience was starting to fray a little round
the edges.
"Captain, there are four of them."
As the shuttlecraft made its steady way back towards Voyager, both
B'Elanna Torres and Chakotay found themselves so bored that they
were almost looking forward to whatever Neelix's deranged culinary
imagination had dreamed up for them. The sensor unit had worked
flawlessly, and as a result B'Elanna, in particular, had had
absolutely nothing to do.
"I suppose it's quite pretty to look at," commented B'Elanna,
breaking the silence as she looked at the swirling colours of the
nebula, "but this is the most tedious job I've had in weeks."
"Boredom isn't such a bad thing, Lieutenant," smiled Chakotay. "I
recall a few times in the last three years when I'd have been glad
of a little more boredom."
"I guess so," reflected B'Elanna. "It's just... I don't know, it's
so much simpler when we're fighting to stay alive. There aren't any
difficult decisions to make."
"What decisions would those be?" There he was, obviously not
laughing again.
"You're giving me that look again, Chakotay. The same look you gave
me in the briefing."
"You were pretty impressed by Tom's suggestion." Chakotay's innocent
face clearly denied any implication in the remark, but B'Elanna's
hackles rose almost immediately.
"It's my job to pick up on that sort of thing, isn't it? Anyway, it
seems to have worked," she retorted defensively.
"No arguments there, Lieutenant." Chakotay obviously wasn't going to
say any more, but the innocent look was slipping.
"What? Paris and I discuss engineering, and suddenly the whole ship's
talking about us? He's just a friend."
"Of course he is," replied Chakotay, failing to avoid smiling.
"Some people should just keep their minds on their work," concluded
B'Elanna, turning to switch off the sensor unit. As she did so, a padd
fell to the deck between them. She made a quick grab at it, but
Chakotay was nearer.
"Roddy Rockwell, Rocket Ranger? I thought you preferred more adult
material."
"It's just something of..." B'Elanna tried to think of an excuse, but
failed. "Something of Tom's, okay? I borrowed a padd off him. What's
wrong with that?"
"Should there be anything wrong with it?" replied Chakotay with open
amusement. But B'Elanna suddenly seemed to find something extremely
important to adjust in the sensor unit, and Chakotay realised he'd
caught all he was likely to catch on this particular fishing trip.
"Chakotay to Voyager. Request permission to return to shuttle bay."
"Permission denied, Chakotay," came back Janeway's grimmest voice.
"There's something out there with you, and I'm not letting anyone back
on board until I know they are who they say they are."
B'Elanna was already typing furiously at the shuttle's engineering
control pad. "Sensors show three other shuttles. Where the hell did we
get the fourth one from?"
Janeway's voice continued. "We are reading life signs from all four
shuttles. It appears that there is some shape-shifting life form native
to this region that is imitating one of our shuttlecraft, but with the
current sensor status, we are unable to determine which one it is. All
shuttlecraft, please stand by until further notice."
B'Elanna continued her investigations for a few more minutes, then
tapped her commbadge. "Torres to Janeway. I've checked out all the other
shuttles, and we're not seeing any illusions or sensor reflection
effects. There are enough slight differences between all four to be
certain they're all real, but we don't have a clear enough signal this
close to the nebula to determine which one's the odd one out."
"Okay, let's try something simple," came Janeway's voice. "Voyager to
all shuttlecraft. Execute a one hundred and eighty degree turn to port,
wait five seconds, then reverse turn to face Voyager, on my mark.
Three... two... one... mark!"
The four shuttles, as one, turned away from Voyager, waited, and turned
back again. B'Elanna thought she heard a curse from Chakotay.
"May I make a comment, Captain?" Tuvok's dry tones issued from the
speaker now.
"Go ahead, Tuvok."
"We appear to be faced with a classical problem in logical deduction.
In order to determine which is not a genuine shuttlecraft, we must look
for some property or attribute which a shapeshifting life form cannot
share. Might I suggest..."
"Shut up!" This time it was Tom Paris' voice, with a touch of panic.
There was a silence lasting several seconds, then he continued rather
sheepishly, "Shut up, *sir*?"
"Kindly explain yourself, Mr. Paris," ordered Janeway in a tone of
amused irony.
"Captain, this shapeshifter's copied a shuttlecraft so well that we
can't tell it from the real thing. It looks like it's copied our
communicators and universal translators too. If we talk about how to
tell which is which, at best it'll just copy whatever we do. At worst,
we might give it some more ideas. It hasn't made any obvious moves yet,
but if it's hostile we could have a big problem."
After another brief silence, Janeway replied, "Agreed, Mr. Paris.
Here's how we'll do it. Each shuttlecraft crew, try to come up with a
way to demonstrate, clearly and unambiguously, that your shuttle is
genuine. As soon as we get the message, we'll tractor you in." Her
voice faded as the nebula flared, and for a few moments Chakotay and
Torres were flying blind, protected by the safety blackout screen on
the front viewport. Then Janeway's voice came through again. "Make it
good so we're certain. And we can assume that we won't be able to try
anything twice." Harry Kim's voice sounded indistinctly in the
background, then Janeway concluded, "You may be interested to know that
our sensors now show another two shuttlecraft. You'd better hurry
while we're still dealing with manageable numbers."
Tom Paris was, presumably, the first to try to demonstrate his
authenticity. One of the shuttles started to go through a series of
impossibly complex manoeuvres, combining loops, barrel rolls, Immelmann
turns and corkscrew dives in a graceful aerial ballet that clearly
bore the signature of the Best Damn Pilot in the Delta Quadrant.
Chakotay and Torres watched, impressed, until suddenly Torres swore in
Klingon. "Nice try, Tom," she muttered under her breath.
"Something up?" asked Chakotay.
Torres pointed to another section of space nearby. Two other
shuttlecraft were matching the first's moves perfectly, clearly piloted
with the same skill and grace. B'Elanna suddenly found herself
chuckling, despite the gravity of the situation.
"What's funny, Lieutenant?" Chakotay sounded slightly disapproving,
but B'Elanna knew him too well to be concerned.
"Just think what those two are doing to Tom's ego. There are a couple
more Rocket Rangers to compete with." Suddenly an idea struck her.
"Rockets... Chakotay, if the fakes are life forms, they might not be
able to eject any mass!" She tapped a few controls, then said, "Hold
on tight. I'm venting plasma from the warp nacelles."
"Captain, one of the shuttles is ejecting plasma," came Kim's urgent
voice on the bridge. "It must be one of ours - none of the others are
responding."
"Bring them in, Mr. Kim," ordered Janeway. A tractor beam stabbed out
as the shields dropped, and within seconds the shuttle was safe inside
Voyager. But as the shields went back up, Voyager was rocked by a
sudden impact. "Report, Mr. Kim."
"Captain, two of the other shuttlecraft tried to follow ours in." There
was another lurch. "They seem to be trying to batter their way through
the shields!"
"Divert power to strengthen the rear shields, Mr. Kim. Let's hope that's
enough to put them off."
"Captain, I'm sensing some emotion from them," said Kes quietly from
behind. Janeway looked round in surprise; she hadn't realised the
Ocampan was even on the bridge. "They're angry at us. They want to harm
us, but I can't tell why."
"Janeway to Paris and Tuvok," began Janeway as Chakotay and Torres
emerged from the turbolift. "The replica shuttlecraft are to be
considered hostile, repeat..." Her voice faltered as Voyager was shaken
by another impact "...hostile. Voyager is under attack. Raise shields
and prepare to defend yourselves." Then, to Kim, "We can assume that the
two shuttles attacking us are the fake ones. Try to keep track of which
one's which."
The viewscreen suddenly darkened as the nebula flared again. "Sorry,
Captain," said Kim as the screen cleared again. "There are now seven
shuttlecraft in sensor range, and all of them have their shields
raised. And three are venting plasma - they must have brought some
surplus material with them. We won't be able to use that trick again."
"Understood, Harry. B'Elanna, what's the status of the shields?"
"Holding, Captain, and it looks like they're giving up this attack."
"Mr. Kim, see if you can hail them."
"I've been trying, Captain. There's no response."
"Then we'll wait, and hope someone comes up with another idea."
B'Elanna Torres rarely felt uncomfortable on her frequent visits to
sickbay, but since they generally involved maintenance of the EMH
program her perspective was a little different to that of Tom Paris,
who she knew found the place rather oppressive. Now, as she lay on the
biobed with the EMH scanning her, she began to sympathise with his
point of view a little more. Chakotay had been in and out in minutes,
but the EMH had insisted on her staying for more tests, and his
characteristic air of smug superiority had done little to reassure her.
"Unfortunately, Lieutenant, it appears that the Klingon half of your
physiology has made you a little more susceptible to the radiation from
the nebula. There is some cellular damage, which will require some
highly complex intervention to repair."
"Fine," she seethed through clenched teeth. "Get on with it."
""Lieutenant, let me remind you that this procedure requires highly
precise and expert treatment." The EMH almost sounded hurt by her tone.
"I would advise you to relax. Your physical tension may complicate the
treatment required, although," a touch more vanity was evident in his
voice, "still well within my considerable abilities."
"Relax. Great." B'Elanna's voice was dangerously quiet. "How am I
supposed to relax when..." She stopped, wondering exactly why it would
be so difficult.
"When Lieutenant Paris is still in danger?"
"When the whole ship might be in danger! I should be doing something,
not lying here listening to..." She cut herself off again, but for a
different reason. She knew the EMH was only a computer program, but she
thought better about the cutting remark she was about to make because,
irrationally, she didn't want to hurt his feelings. "Tom Paris can look
after himself."
The EMH said nothing more. His subroutines had not originally been set
up to include a high degree of empathy, but he found Lieutenant Torres
a valuable source of data for correcting that lack. The disparity
between her comments and her very obvious feelings was impossible, he
felt, for a program of his sophistication and complexity to miss.
Ensign Vorik was well trained in the intricacies of sensor systems, and
since Tuvok was piloting one of the shuttles, it had seemed logical that
Vorik accompany him; the two Vulcans could work efficiently together,
without the unpredictable influence of emotions from the less self-
controlled species on Voyager. He was beginning, though, to have doubts
now. He had been told of the danger involved in staying away from
Voyager for more than five hours, and as the shuttle's chronometer
ticked away the last few minutes of the third hour, as the shuttles
around him multiplied, and as he considered the Captain's most recent
orders, he began to feel, irrationally, as though the shuttlecraft's
interior was becoming a little smaller. He carefully applied the correct
emotional control technique, but was disturbed to find that its effect
was insufficient. He decided to broach the matter with his older and
more experienced companion; but this would take considerable tact.
"May I request your opinion on a matter in which your experience is
greater than mine, sir?" Tuvok could not possibly be embarrassed by an
opening like that.
"Go ahead, Ensign."
"It is possible that the humans in the Cochrane are experiencing
difficulty in logical analysis of the tactical situation due to their
emotional responses. In your experience, is this likely to be the case?"
Tuvok considered the question carefully. "In my experience, Ensign, the
emotional responses of humans are somewhat muted compared to," our own,
he was about to say, then realised this was not a subject for polite
discussion. He quickly amended his response to "some other species. In
fact, at times their responses may increase their efficiency, by some
means which remains a mystery to me. That is, at least, typically the
case where Starfleet personnel are concerned."
"But it is possible for an individual's efficiency to be impaired by a
disturbed emotional state, is it not, sir, when that individual is not
trained in emotional control techniques?"
Tuvok nodded. "That is not uncommon, Ensign."
Vorik took a deep breath as he clamped down rigidly, for a moment, on
his rising panic. "Or when that individual is inexpert in certain
techniques?"
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. This was approaching the realms of
tastelessness. "Such inexpertise is generally limited to members of
other species who have attempted to acquire Vulcan techniques." Or, in
simpler terms: Drop this subject. Vorik understood, and fell silent.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Tuvok spoke again. "It is necessary for me to
acquire some knowledge of the sensor systems on this shuttlecraft,
Ensign. Logically, a mind meld would be the most rapid means of
acquisition." In response to Vorik's look of incomprehension - both
of them knew perfectly that Tuvok knew how to use the sensors - he
continued, "That would allow knowledge of the required techniques,"
with a slight emphasis on the last word, "to be transferred rapidly."
Hope flared anew in Vorik. "I agree and consent, sir," he replied, a
little too quickly. Then, after a pause, "I believe that would be a
logical resolution to this situation." Which situation, neither of them
wished to say.
"My mind to your mind." There was no barrier between them. "My thoughts
to your thoughts." There was no Tuvok and no Vorik, as the familiar
chant rang between them. There was a mind with two aspects, a younger,
more volatile yet more flexible aspect, and an older, rigid and durable
aspect, which together made a whole. If some knowledge passed from one
aspect to the other, it was a matter of the utmost privacy what that
knowledge was, and which way it passed; yet the younger aspect of the
group mind lost some sense of agitation, and gained some of the peace
inherent in its other half, and was content.
But there was an unexpected side effect. The group mind, larger and more
powerful than the two individuals who had existed moments before, was
able to reach out into the space around it, and call for a familiar
companion. And with its doubled power, it was able to make that friend
hear, and understand, and act.
"Captain," came Kes' quiet voice on the bridge. "That one." She
indicated one of the growing crowd of shuttlecraft on the viewscreen.
"Tuvok is there."
There was no hint of a pause from Janeway, no request for proof or
explanation. Simply an order. "Mr. Kim, drop the rear shields and beam
them in!"
It seemed like days since the senior staff had last met, but, looking
at the time on her display, Janeway saw it was only some eight hours.
Eventful hours, maybe, but that was hardly unusual in the Delta
Quadrant. What was unusual, though, and disturbing, was the absence of
the cheerful face and irritating remarks of her senior pilot. Out of the
corner of her eye, she could see that B'Elanna Torres was agitated,
although she knew that any suggestion that she was worried over Tom's
predicament would provoke a hot denial.
"Let's get started." Everyone else was here, and Paris wasn't likely to
turn up any time soon. "Our first priority is to recover Lieutenants
Paris and Nicoletti, with or without the Cochrane. After that, we can
decide what to do about these shuttlecraft. Harry, any ideas on how to
tell the real shuttle from the imitations?"
"Nothing we haven't already tried, Captain. Full spectroscopic analysis
shows no difference, warp engine emissions are identical, we can't get
a directional fix on the communications from the Cochrane because of the
interference from the nebula; we've even tried firing a low intensity
phaser beam to look for differences in shield emissions. If our sensors
weren't masked by the nebula we might be able to see something, but
right now they're a good enough copy to fool everything we try."
Janeway grimaced. This wasn't what she'd wanted to hear. "Tuvok, let's
hear your tactical analysis."
"The situation is somewhat ambiguous, Captain," replied Tuvok. "Certain
acts on the part of what, for want of a better term, we may call the
pseudo-shuttles, indicate hostility towards Voyager; however, their
hostile acts have been noticeably ineffectual, and none have been
directed towards the genuine shuttlecraft. Logically, therefore, we
might conclude that..."
Tuvok's conclusions were interrupted by a hail over Janeway's commbadge.
"Lang to Captain Janeway. There's something going on I think you should
see, ma'am."
"On screen." The monitor in the briefing room showed in image of the
main viewscreen. The shuttlecraft, now some twenty-five in number,
appeared to be clustering closely, and even occasionally bumping against
one another. As the senior staff watched, it became clear that the whole
group was moving away from Voyager, into the nebula, and presumably
taking the Cochrane with them. "It appears that the situation has
changed, Mr. Tuvok," commented Janeway.
"Indeed, Captain. However, this development is not inconsistent with my
hypothesis."
"Let's hear it, then, Tuvok. But make it quick."
Tuvok paused briefly to choose his words. "I believe that the pseudo-
shuttles believe our shuttle to be one of their species, and Voyager to
be some other species - possibly a predator."
"Why wouldn't they just see Voyager as a ship?" asked a puzzled Torres.
"Because, Lieutenant, these beings appear not to utilise technology.
Indeed, considering their ability to navigate space unaided, it seems
unlikely that they would need any technological aids. The concept of a
ship may well be quite unknown to them."
"But why would they see us as a threat?" added Chakotay.
"They have observed us, in their eyes, literally swallowing two of their
number, and are now attempting to protect a third. If this is the case,
we need merely to explain our genuine nature to them, and they will
presumably desist."
"Not that easy if we can't communicate with them," replied Janeway.
"Harry, still no response to our hails?"
"Nothing, Captain."
"Broadcast a standard first-contact greeting on all Starfleet channels
until further notice. They may not be talking, but let's at least hope
they're listening."
"Aye, Captain."
"Now, how do we retrieve our people, or at least find out which ones
they are?"
"If we sent out another shuttlecraft," began Torres.
"No," interrupted Janeway. "No more shuttlecraft. That'll only make
things worse."
"Chronoton emissions," said Kes in a faraway voice. "Voyager's shuttles
may be emitting a residual chronoton signature, since the Krenim..."
She paused in confusion, and the room fell silent around her. At last,
she recovered, and continued, "Forgive me, Captain. That hasn't happened
yet."
Janeway gently laid a hand on Kes' arm. "It's all right, Kes. We all
understand. There are some things it's better to wait to find out."
"I could divert full sensor capability to lifesign discrimination,"
said Kim. "We might be able to tell them apart if we can get them to
spread out."
"Any ideas how we can do that?" Janeway looked at Tuvok.
"None at present short of mounting an attack on them, Captain," admitted
Tuvok. In response to Janeway's look of concern, he continued, "All
the pseudo-shuttles appear to have effective shields, no doubt mimicked
from the originals. If we carry out a mock attack, using low-intensity
phaser blasts, it should be possible to scatter them without causing
damage. There is, however, one other option. I suggest we give
Lieutenants Paris and Nicoletti more time to give us a signal. At the
present rate of movement, it will be another hour before the radiation
level presents a serious danger to them."
"I don't want to leave it that long," replied Janeway. "Even if we can
split them up, we want some leeway in case there's more trouble."
"Then, Captain, I recommend we wait another thirty minutes, then make
a simulated attack on the pseudo-shuttlecraft. If we can create
sufficient confusion among them, we should be able to isolate each
one in turn for an individual scan."
"Thirty minutes more, then," decided Janeway. "Dismissed."
Aboard the Cochrane, Tom Paris was starting to regain some of his
characteristic cockiness. He still regretted his earlier throwaway
comment of "No problem!" before starting his futile aerobatic display,
and the memory of the patronising glance from Nicoletti had been a
subduing influence for a couple of hours. But now, he felt his mind was
beginning to work again.
"So let's think what we know about them. They're alive, they can mimic
our shuttlecraft, they understand our communications and they seem to be
intelligent."
"And they're capable of high-gee manoeuvres," added Nicoletti without a
perceptible hint of sarcasm.
"They can live and move in zero-gee and vacuum, so they don't need
starships of their own," continued Tom doggedly. "They probably think
the Cochrane's a single life form, same as them. Right?"
"Right." Nicoletti started to take an interest in Tom's musings now.
"So the last thing they'll be expecting is for one of us to go EVA. It'd
be like, I don't know, your stomach going for a walk on its own."
"Don't remind me. Mine nearly did when you did that outside loop." She
clearly wasn't going to let him forget.
"Sue, I'm serious. Here, you take the controls while I suit up. Once
Voyager sees us they'll know we're..." His words tailed off as the
nebula flared again.
"Right, Tom. If that happens while you're out there, they'll be pulling
in one shuttle, one engineer and a piece of toast."
"Do you have a better plan?"
"Yes. Let me go." As Paris started to protest, Nicoletti raised her
voice. "Voyager needs a good pilot more than it needs another engineer.
Besides, if I left you out here, the chief would kill me."
"Damn. Is there *anyone* on board who doesn't know about us?"
Nicoletti smiled. "Just the chief, I think."
"Okay, you go," Paris relented. "But take care."
"I will," replied Nicoletti as she rapidly suited up. "See you in
Sandrine's."
The airlock cycled, and Paris was alone.
"Captain, someone's just gone EVA from one of the shuttles," reported
Harry Kim. "I've identified the shuttle, and the computer's tracking
it."
"Can you beam it in, Harry?" asked Janeway.
"Negative, Captain. The others are crowding round it more closely now.
But I've got a lock on the person in the EVA suit."
"Drop shields and beam them in." There was a silent pause on the bridge,
then Janeway's commbadge chimed.
"Transporter room two to Captain Janeway. Lieutenant Nicoletti is
safely on board, Captain, and reporting to sickbay."
Janeway looked round at her chief engineer. B'Elanna made no comment,
and her face kept its composure, but her hands were gripping the front
edge of the engineering console, and her white knuckles gave her face
the lie. "We'll get him back, B'Elanna," murmured Janeway softly, but
made sure it was too soft for Torres to hear. Then, turning back to
face the viewscreen, she felt the familiar tone of command enter her
voice as she rapped out, "This has gone on long enough. Red alert."
"Phasers set to 5%, Captain," reported Tuvok as the siren sounded.
"Thank you, Mr. Tuvok. Prepare to open fire. Mr. Culhane, take us
towards the centre of the group of shuttlecraft, half impulse. Harry,
keep a tracker on the Cochrane and be ready to beam her aboard.
B'Elanna... Damn it! Where did they go?"
As Voyager moved forwards, the swirling cloud of shuttles had at first
started to spread out slightly, but as the distance between them closed
the group had bunched together even more tightly. But as Voyager moved
into firing range, there was a sudden blue glow from dozens of small
warp engines, and in an instant the whole group was gone.
"Captain, the nebula's masking their warp signature," said Harry Kim in
a desperate voice. "I can't trace their course. We've lost them."
Janeway thought she heard Torres breathe a half-stifled "No!" from her
right, but when she looked round the engineer was working at her panel.
She looked back ahead, and tried to keep her voice steady. "Mr. Kim,
keep scanning the nebula. They must have gone in there somewhere. We'll
find out where, somehow."
Meanwhile, for Tom Paris, a bad day was continuing to get worse. He'd
seen Nicoletti dematerialise in the transporter beam, and the fair
certainty that she was safe seemed some kind of consolation; but then,
moments later, the Cochrane had been caught up in the warp envelope of
two dozen passable imitations of Federation shuttlecraft, and now he
was... where? Outside the forward viewport, there was nothing to be
seen but a swirling grey emptiness, reminiscent of some of the quieter
regions of the Badlands from his brief Maquis days. As he pondered the
question, though, there was a sudden swirl of faint colour ahead of the
Cochrane, and a faint light began to pulsate in its centre. He watched,
fascinated, as the light changed colour and its intensity grew, and then
gradually saw it begin to take on a shape. It was a hauntingly familiar
shape, even before he could fully recognise it; a shape that had been
a vital part of his life since childhood, and was irrevocably associated
with his greatest triumph and deepest shame. More prosaically, he
realised as recognition dawned, it was a shape that had been annoying
him in its multiplicity for the last five hours. It was yet another of
those infernal shuttlecraft!
A shuttlecraft with a difference, though, as it turned out. As its final
form took shape, the communicator on the Cochrane activated, and a
voice sounded over the speakers. The voice, in its way, was as familiar
to him as the shape of the unformed shuttlecraft had been, but this time
recognition was slower to dawn.
"That's better," said the voice. "Now we've got you in here I can get
a better look at some of the details." The voice was human, male, North
American and rather flippant in tone. "Do you always make it this
tough on people who try to rescue you?"
"What do you mean, rescue me?" He still couldn't quite pin down that
voice.
"Come on, Paris, that thing was trying to eat you alive! It got both of
your friends, and we barely got you away in time."
Suddenly, recognition dawned. "That's my voice! You're talking to me in
my own voice! What the hell are you?"
"My apologies, Mr. Paris" came the a different voice from the speaker.
He nearly burst out laughing - it was Tuvok to the life, right down to
the turn of phrase. "If my original choice of address causes you any
discomfort, I will employ this one," the voice changed, "this one," in
Chakotay's voice this time, "this one" - B'Elanna's voice coming from an
alien in the shape of a shuttlecraft was strangely unsettling - "or this
one," and he nearly jumped out of his seat at Janeway's dry tones.
"The first one will do fine, thanks," Tom stammered in surprise. "I may
just take a while to get used to it. I don't hear my own voice that
often." He thought for a moment longer. "How did you know my name?"
"We scanned that thing inside you - I guess that must be your brain,
right? We got the name, the language and the voice. It's easier now
we're back home, and we're only getting one set of thoughts now." The
voice suddenly sounded rather worried. "Hey, that bit that fell off you,
that looked like another brain - is that where the other set was coming
from? Are you okay? You're not going to die on me, are you?"
Suddenly, Tom found himself relaxing, as what had been a threatening
situation turned into rather an amusing one. The alien seemed to have
picked up some of his personality along with the language. "Oh boy,
have I got some explaining to do," he laughed. "Where do I start? Hey,
how about telling me your name?"
"We don't use them," replied - this was crazy, but how else could he
think of it - replied the shuttlecraft. "They seem like fun, though.
We might give them a try. Can I use yours?"
"Too confusing. Everybody needs a different one. Can't you get some
other name out of my memory, or something?"
"Got it!" replied an excited shuttlecraft. "Roddy Randall, Rocket
Ranger. It's right at the front of your mind. Is that OK?"
"Perfect," said Tom with a mischievous smile. "Let me suggest a few more
for your friends..."
Harry Kim and B'Elanna Torres were fast running out of ideas. The nebula
remained as stubbornly impenetrable, given only a single sensor site, as
it had for the whole day, and both were conscious that Tom Paris' margin
of safety from the radiation had only a few minutes left to go. Both
were so deeply embroiled in the business of trying to amplify, boost,
clarify or define the sensor readings that neither grasped the full
significance of Tuvok's announcement.
"Seven shuttlecraft have just emerged from the nebula, Captain. Their
leader is hailing us."
"On screen, Mr. Tuvok."
The grey, swirling expanse on the viewscreen faded to reveal the
grinning face of Tom Paris. "Shuttlecraft Cochrane here, Captain -
the real one this time."
"Report, Mr. Paris." Janeway frowned at her helmsman's flippancy.
Tom Paris made a visible effort to look serious. "Captain, I've
established contact with the inhabitants of the nebula. Now that they
understand the difference between a life form and a starship, they seem
to be very friendly, but," his face took on a rather strained,
conspiratorial look, "ot-nay oo-tay ight-bray." He winked at Janeway,
and while she tried to decipher the backslang he continued, "Let me
introduce my friends. From left to right, meet Buck Rogers, Flash Gordon,
Roddy Randall, Kimball Kinnison, Captain Proton and Jim DiGriz."
"Captain, another shuttlecraft is hailing us, voice only," broke in
Tuvok. "From the voice, however, it also appears to be Mr. Paris." He
gave the helmsman a disapproving glare.
"Hey there, Captain Janeway," said the voice, and everyone on the bridge
looked closely at the viewscreen. Tom Paris' lips appeared not to be
moving. "This is Flash Gordon speaking. Mr. Paris has explained all
about these ships you use. They sound like a lot of fun." On the
viewscreen, Paris' face took on a helplessly apologetic look, but
Janeway suspected there was more than a hint of amusement behind it.
"Sorry we got mixed up there. I hope we didn't hurt anyone."
Janeway took a few deep breaths. If this is some sort of joke, Paris,
she thought, you're a dead man. Although she was no telepath, she could
sense that, behind her, B'Elanna Torres was thinking much the same
thing. Keeping a steady voice, she replied, "No harm done, Mr. Gordon."
"Please, call me Flash," replied the shuttlecraft. Janeway turned away
from the viewscreen for a moment. When she turned back, her face was
frozen in a most unnatural expression.
"No harm done, *Flash*," she continued in a slightly shaky voice.
"Since Mr. Paris," she tried to give Tom an angry look, but realised
she wasn't up to it, "has already explained all about us, I have a
favour to ask of you. Would you and your people..."
"Quagaars," interrupted the shuttlecraft. "We got that from Mr. Paris'
mind too. With a double A," it added proudly. Janeway wondered idly
what the origin of that ridiculous name might be; from what little she
knew of the individual names they had taken, she suspected the worst.
"Captain," Tuvok quietly interjected, "May I speak privately with you?"
"Excuse me one moment... Flash," said Janeway, and motioned for Harry
to mute the transmission. "Yes, Tuvok?"
"Captain, there is the question of the Prime Directive. The Quagaars
appear to have replicated Federation technology. It is unclear what
effect this could have on their cultural development."
"True, Tuvok, but it looks like there's not much we can do about it.
We'll just have to live with it on our consciences." Tuvok gave a nod
of acknowledgement. From the smile on Janeway's face, her conscience on
this matter wasn't going to cost her any sleep.
Janeway motioned to Harry to reopen the speech channel. "Janeway to -"
She gritted her teeth, not for the first time, "Flash. As I was saying
- would you and the Quagaars allow us to travel through your space?"
"Oh yeah, Tom explained," replied the shuttlecraft. "You can take a
short cut through the nebula, sure, no problem. We'll even show you the
way across. In fact, if you don't mind, we'll come along for the ride.
To tell you the truth, it gets a bit boring round here. You're the first
aliens we've ever had pass through."
"Thank you, Mr... Flash. Mr. Paris," she said in the best I'll-talk-to-
you-later voice she could manage, "we're dropping shields. Return to the
shuttle bay, and report to sickbay for a check-up."
"Aye, Captain," concluded an amused, but exhausted Tom Paris.
His visit to sickbay was to be delayed a little, as it turned out. As he
left the shuttle bay, Tom Paris was confronted by a furious B'Elanna
Torres.
"Damn it, Paris, what the hell did you mean by pulling that stunt? The
Captain was worried sick about you!"
The Captain, right, thought Tom. "Pulling what stunt? The Quagaars went
to warp and dragged me with them. I didn't have much choice."
"You could have... I don't know, you could have done something. And what
about Harry? He's been worried too. You just don't think!"
"The Captain and Harry. Anyone else worried about me?" asked Tom with a
broad grin.
"You just... you're..." B'Elanna realised she wasn't making much sense.
Suddenly, it struck her how ridiculous she must look. More calmly, she
continued, "You're back, and you're okay. That's what matters." And for
one glorious moment, Tom found his arms full of half-Klingon engineer.
"Go on, get to sickbay," she said softly as she pulled away from him.
As she rushed off in the general direction of Engineering, Tom watched
her for a moment. Where had that little outburst come from, he
wondered? It looked like he was getting through to her at last. And with
a hopeful smile, he turned and headed light-heartedly for his least
favourite location on the ship.
The Quagaars stayed in constant contact with Voyager for the days it
took to traverse the nebula, and at times their constant questions, and
their ebullience every time they learned something new, made Janeway
wish for the gentle, quiet, reflective calm of Neelix's kitchen. But as
a consolation, there were the aerobatic displays that groups of them
would indulge in from time to time. Tom Paris had begged, pleaded,
nagged, complained and eventually volunteered for a month of double
shifts in sickbay just to be allowed to join in occasionally, and
eventually she had relented and allowed him an hour of what her logs
simply referred to as refamiliarisation training; what aspect of shuttle
piloting could possibly be unfamiliar to Paris, her logs shrouded in a
tactful silence. The cheerful shapeshifters had the intelligence, and to
a large degree the temperament, of Terran dolphins, and when at last
Voyager reached the far side of the nebula, many of the crew felt a
sense of - not exactly loss, but perhaps a slight regret.
Only Tom Paris seemed unwaveringly cheerful, as they left behind them a
thriving community of sentient shuttlecraft. He explained it away, to
anyone who asked, with some explanation about the aerobatic display;
and, in truth, he was more than a little pleased that his piloting was
good enough to keep up with the Quagaars, who were quite literally born
to it.
But there was another reason, one he felt it might be wiser to keep to
himself. The Quagaars had not only mimicked every detail of Voyager's
shuttles, they'd done a pretty good job of imitating the crews as well.
Confronted with twenty-four shuttles crewed by himself and Nicoletti,
though, he'd felt rather odd about the pairing. Try as he might, he'd
been unable to persuade the Quagaars to dispense with crews altogether,
but in the end he'd worked out a solution he felt happy with. He'd also
managed to keep the communications between them limited to voice only,
so nobody on Voyager - and particularly, not one specific person on
Voyager - would find out.
It was quite a romantic thought, really, Tom felt, especially from him.
The Quagaars were not prone to death as Humans understood it, creating
themselves from the energy field in the nebula or returning themselves
into it as and when it suited them. So left behind Voyager, a host of
Tom Parises sat at the controls of their shuttles, each with B'Elanna
Torres forever by his side.
He'd never tell her. She'd kill him.
THE END
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