“But you have spores,” Tom stated flatly.
“Sure. In cryostorage.”
“Could I have some?”
“Perhaps.”
Tom sighed. Shipboard economies could be so trying sometimes. Fortunately, he had something Tak wanted rather badly—holodeck time. A deal was struck and Tom got two tubes of spores. Harry, another mushroom fiend, agreed to let Tom build the racks in his closet in exchange for a percentage of the crop. Harry rated a single room and did not seem to mind the smell, so all went swimmingly. In less than five weeks, the creminis were full and plump. The portobellos were a full thirteen centimeters across and ready for harvesting and stuffing. And tonight, oh, tonight was the night. He had even managed to score five hundred milliliters of deck five cabernet, the kind B’Elanna liked so much. No early shift tomorrow, either, so magic might well be in the air. The portion of his brain that Tom Paris allowed to think about such things rubbed its tiny hands together in anticipation.
Three meters behind his left shoulder, Tom heard an alarming sound: Harry said, “Hmmm.”
He looked at the chronometer on the navigation console and saw that his shift was almost over. If Harry’s “hmmm” meant what it usually did, then Chakotay would insist that Tom end his shift early. “Nobody wants a tired pilot during a crisis.” Even more frustrating, a crisis also meant that B’Elanna could not be pried out of engineering.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Harry was just clearing his throat. Maybe, maybe, maybe…
“Captain?”
Damn!
Tom lost the battle to not look back over his shoulder and saw that Captain Janeway was in the middle of conferring with Chakotay about some changes in maintenance rotations. She didn’t even look up from her padd, but said, “Yes, Mr. Kim? Something?” A beat passed. “Eyes front, Mr. Paris. The unknown is that way.”
Swinging back around, Tom wished that he had looked at Harry instead of the captain. One could determine a lot about his friend’s state of mind from his posture. Risking censure, Tom quickly peeked over his left shoulder and felt mildly reassured. Harry was staring at the long-range-sensor readouts, a small, bewildered notch at the corner of his mouth. This was good: whatever it was he was looking at, Harry didn’t consider it a threat. Tom noted the slight slump in Harry’s shoulders, which was also a good sign. If he was alarmed, he would be standing up straight, ready to leap into action. But that wasn’t what Tom saw. This was Curious Harry; Science Geek Harry had spotted something on the long-range scans that he thought the captain—a science geek of the first order—would find interesting.
“An unusual binary, Captain.”
Tom felt his brow wrinkle. He suspected that if he dared to turn and look at Captain Janeway, he would see the same expression on her face.
Before the captain could respond, another voice—clipped, dry, and devoid of any emotion except for condescension—said, “Binary stars are among the most common phenomena seen in this—or, let me assure you, Ensign Kim—any other galaxy. How is this one unusual?”
Harry glanced up from the scanner. “Hello, Seven,” he said. “I didn’t hear you come on the bridge.” Briefly, several months earlier, Harry had attempted to initiate a romantic liaison with the former Borg drone, a fantasy that Seven had unceremoniously crushed. For a short time thereafter, Harry had felt awkward around her, so Tom was happy to see that this had passed and that Ensign Kim now understood that he was merely another one of the horde to be crushed beneath Seven’s imposing high heel.
“Harry,” the captain called. “You have my attention….”
Harry manipulated controls, and a window opened on the forward viewer, revealing a star system chart. “Here,” he said, and a small red arrow appeared beside two of the circles. “Here’s an ordinary yellow star right in the middle where you’d expect it.”
“Right,” the captain said.
“And here’s the second star—a white dwarf.” The pointer moved out to a point approximately halfway between the central star and the edge of the system. The white dwarf was so small as to be invisible until Harry overlaid an image of the gravimetric and radiation fields it was producing. Also visible was a thin trail of stellar matter drawn from the larger star across the void down into the gravity well around the white dwarf—the accretion disk. Tom was slightly surprised to see a white dwarf pulling material from such a distant source, but a quick mental calculation showed that it was within the realm of possibility—barely. What, he wondered, was the big deal?
Apparently the captain felt the same way. “I’m waiting, Harry.”
The pointer clicked on three dully glowing blue spots between the two stars. “These planets: I’m reading life-forms on all of them.”
Tom felt everyone on the bridge pause. Some—like him—were mentally consulting their Astronomy 101 notes and realizing, that, yes, this was a big deal. Planets situated between a binary pair would be bombarded with exotic radiation from up and down the spectrum. On his console, Tom punched up the sensors and saw that the accretion disk around the white dwarf, though still relatively small, was chocked to the gills with lethal X-rays. The more scientifically inclined—that is, everyone else on the bridge—were no doubt already trying to figure out how this was possible. The silence stretched out uncomfortably. Even Seven seemed stymied.
Finally, as much to break the uncomfortable silence as for any other reason, Tom said, “Now, that’s interesting.”
Captain Janeway shifted her weight, cleared her throat, then said, “When you say ‘life-forms,’ Harry, what do you mean? Viruses? Single-cell organisms?”
Giant radioactive cockroaches? Tom wondered, thinking back to one of the films he had watched earlier that week.
“On two of the worlds, yes, simple life-forms, all in the oceans or under the ice caps, all small.”
Tom felt all the science types exhale. The universe was once again a sensible place. Harry let everyone relax for two seconds, then continued on. “But look at the third planet,” he said, “the one closest to the white dwarf.” The pointer blinked on the third world as the scanners zoomed in on it. Readouts danced as the circle of light grew larger and took on detail. “I’m picking up oceans, complex vegetation, animals in all the representative phyla…”
Tom forgot himself and looked back over his shoulder. Fortunately, the captain wasn’t paying attention to him. An expression of mild incredulity creased her brow. “You’re right, Mr. Paris,” she said. “This is interesting.”
Harry asked. “Worth a quick look?”
Behind him, Tom felt the war begin: Janeway the former science officer battling with Janeway the captain. Under different circumstances, Tom knew, she wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment. Not long ago, she had told them all that as long as they were in a Starfleet ship, they would act like a Starfleet crew; their mission was to seek out new life, new civilizations, et cetera.
But after their encounter with Arturis and the bogus Dauntless, the captain was feeling wary. Some miracles, no matter how wonderful, had to be ignored or they would never get home. The captain sighed, and Tom knew that Janeway the science officer had lost. “It’s tempting, Harry, but not this trip. Take readings as we pass by and send them to astrometrics. Maybe they’ll be able to make sense of what we’re seeing.”
Harry nodded and, a little flatly, said, “Yes, ma’am.” The system map disappeared from the main viewer. All around him, Tom heard the bridge crew relax and make itself ready for the end of shift. As his fingers danced across the console, securing it for the next shift, his thoughts returned to grilled mushrooms by candlelight, soft music, and B’Elanna.
“Captain, you are being too hasty.”
Tom cringed. He hit a wrong key and the console blurped at him. He corrected his mistake and waited for the other shoe to drop. Anyone else—anyone—would have couched their concern in less hostile terms, but oh, no, not Seven of Nine.
“Why do you say that, Seven?”
The former Borg st
ood at the secondary science station, the one usually reserved for mapping missions, staring at the scans. Something had caught her attention, but she decided to start with a critique: “Ensign Kim did not review all the data. Look at this.” Unbidden, she threw up a new overlay of the binary system on the main monitor.
“What are we looking at?” the captain asked.
“I do not know,” Seven said. “Not precisely, which is remarkable in itself. But these spikes in the EM spectrum—here, here, and here—are similar to the readings left behind by Borg wormholes.”
Tom winced in pain. His mushrooms, his lovely mushrooms. He could see them in his mind’s eye, all of them withering, shriveling unattended, unharvested, unloved. All because Seven got a bug up her—
“Assuming you’re correct,” Janeway said, “Is it your opinion that we’re seeing evidence of a Borg presence?”
“No,” Seven said. “I merely note that the situation is peculiar, especially in conjunction with the unexplained presence of life on the planets.”
Chakotay asked, “You’re recommending that we investigate?”
“I am merely making an observation so that the captain has all the available data necessary to make an informed decision.”
“Thank you, Seven,” Janeway said. The rustle of fabric told Tom that the captain was sitting back in her chair and leaning toward the first officer. “What do you think, Chakotay?” Rapidly opening and closing turbolift doors meant that the beta shift’s crew was on deck and waiting for permission to move to their stations. Tom felt their uneasiness as they awaited the outcome of the senior officers’ discussion.
“I’m inclined to up the status from ‘interesting’ to ‘peculiar,’” Chakotay said softly. “Your decision should be based on how comfortable you are with something like these energy readings at your back. We could drop out of warp, take a quick look, then get out fast if something…”
Alarm klaxons blared. Emergency lights flickered on. Tom’s world narrowed down to his station. Practically every indicator on his console had flipped from cheerful green to angry red. What the hell…?
“Our warp field is collapsing, Captain,” Tuvok called, then turned off the klaxon.
“Engine room!” Janeway shouted. “B’Elanna! What just happened?”
“No idea, Captain. I’ll let you know as soon as I have one,” the chief engineer called. “Torres out.”
In his mind’s eye, the last coal of the charcoal brazier in his imagination flickered and died. Maybe, Tom pondered, maybe I’ll be able to trade the mushrooms for some avocados. B’Elanna loves avocados….
* * *
Cutting the comm to the bridge, B’Elanna turned back to the controlled chaos of the engine room and watched as her technicians diagnosed the latest disaster. For a brief moment, she permitted herself to think about the thing she laughingly called her “personal life,” then sighed. Tom and his mushrooms: he had been planning to seduce her tonight and she had been planning to let him. Oh, well.
“What have we got, Joe?” B’Elanna called as she headed for the warp core. Joe Carey, the assistant chief engineer and her right-hand man, fell into step beside her. Once, four years ago, B’Elanna had beat out Joe for the job of chief despite the fact that he was an Academy graduate, a good officer, and a damned fine man with a wrench. Joe’s problem had been—still was—that he relied too much on precedent. Back in those days, if the solution to a problem wasn’t in the all-purpose, ever-ready Starfleet Big Book of Engineering Exercises, he had been at a loss. Indeed, until they arrived here in the fun quarter of the galaxy called the Delta Quadrant, Joe hadn’t believed there could be such a thing as a problem the book hadn’t addressed.
Of course, if that were true, they wouldn’t be where they were, which was sixty thousand light-years from the edge of what had once been laughingly called Known Space. B’Elanna was chief engineer because she knew that out here there was no book but the one you wrote yourself.
Fortunately, in addition to all his other qualities, Joe was a realist and, trained as an officer, understood the chain of command. When Janeway had made B’Elanna the top dog, Joe quickly fell into line. While he had never said to B’Elanna, “You were the right choice,” there had been more than one disaster that never would have been averted if not for B’Elanna’s quick wits and unconventional solutions. Still, despite all this, there were days when B’Elanna wished she felt like she and Carey worked together rather than that he worked for her. She was always “Lieutenant,” and not “B’Elanna,” or, even more preferably, “Chief.”
Handing her a padd, Carey had to bark to be heard over the thrum of the core. “All the initial diagnostics have come back normal, Lieutenant,” he said. “The problem isn’t with the engines.”
B’Elanna scanned the readings on the padd. “If we’re putting out this many megajoules, why does the warp bubble want to collapse?”
“I don’t know,” Joe said, enunciating each word carefully. “But I’m happy to be able to say this isn’t an engineering problem.”
“I doubt if the captain will see it that way.”
Joe grinned sardonically. “Which is your problem, Lieutenant.”
B’Elanna chose to ignore the mild jab. “If you had to explain what was happening—not an engineering problem, I know—what would you say?”
Flattered, Carey became expansive. “Here’s how I see it: We’re producing as much energy as we usually do to move at warp six and barely managing to keep up the bubble. What does that mean? That we’re not producing energy?”
Mildly exasperated by the pedantic tone, but willing to play along if the lesson would end in a concrete point, B’Elanna held up the padd. “Not according to this.”
“Right. So we’re pushing as hard as we can. But what if we’re not pushing at the right thing? Or, put another way, what if the thing we’re trying to push against isn’t what we think it is?”
The idea made B’Elanna’s head hurt. “We’re pushing against space, Joe. That’s all there is out here….” But as soon as she said the words, she knew she was wrong. Space wasn’t empty. Different kinds of space had different properties, especially when you started dealing with the special composition of subspace…“Scratch that. I get you.” She looked at the padd one more time. “But whatever else is happening, we have to get out of here. The engines won’t hold up against this effect much longer….”
Speak the devil’s name and he will come. Her father used to say that. Say the words and they will have power over you. Tell the engines what they cannot do and, naturally, they decide you’re right.
Alarms blared. Lights flashed. Vents whooshed as automatic systems dumped coolant into the core. Engineers and technicians scurried like ants under the glare of a magnifying glass. And B’Elanna, queen of the hive, could do nothing but find the biggest problem and start to work.
* * *
To say that the warp field had collapsed without warning would be a mistake. Voyager’s crew had received plenty of warning; what they lacked was an explanation. The streaks of blue-shifted light on the main monitor dilated into pinpoints, and Tom experienced the familiar shift as the impulse engines kicked in, deck plates vibrating under his feet.
The captain, predictably, was on the comm to B’Elanna within seconds: “What’s happened to my ship?”
Voice rough-edged with resentment, B’Elanna said, “It’s not the engines, Captain. I’m not an astrophysicist, so I’m not going to pretend I understand the readings we’re getting, but engines have to have something to push against. Is there something about the region of space we just entered?”
“We’re trying to determine that now, B’Elanna, but in the meantime try to get me something more definitive than ‘There’s nothing to push against.’”
“Understood, Captain. Torres out.”
Tom looked around at the crowded bridge. The ship was still on red alert, but there did not seem to be any immediate threat for the first-shift crew to respond to. Protoc
ol dictated that the crew on deck when the alert was called should stay at their stations unless otherwise ordered. Unfortunately, for them as for the engines, there didn’t seem anything to push against. Chakotay, sensing everyone’s discomfort, stood and announced, “First shift, stand down. Second shift, assume your stations.”
Grateful crew members logged out of their stations, then slid out of their seats. As they always did, Tom and his relief, Ensign Clarice Knowles, spent two minutes reviewing their status and exchanging information that was not available on the status board, such as the general mood on the bridge.
“Keep your head down, Knowles,” Tom muttered. “The captain hasn’t had a cup of coffee in more than four hours and I don’t see her leaving the bridge any time soon.”
“Maybe someone should mention this to Neelix,” Knowles replied under her breath.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Tom turned to find Chakotay standing less than six inches behind him. How does he do that? Tom thought.
“Double cream in mine,” the first officer said. “Bring it to the ready room. And bring a cup for yourself. We need to figure out what’s going on here.”
Tom sighed. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Should I swing by the engine room and get B’Elanna?”
Chakotay shook his head. “No. Let her do her job. She’ll report in when she has something. We’re going to spend our time checking the navigation logs to see when this effect started.”
“All right. I’ll be ten minutes.”
“Make it five, Lieutenant.”
Nodding (and biting his tongue), Tom stepped around the first officer. He was headed for the turbolift door when the deck seemed to abruptly spasm under his feet, pitching him headlong into midair.
* * *
Proximity alarms blared in tandem with the red-alert Klaxon. Janeway picked herself up off the deck and felt the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. Bit my tongue, she thought while wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Pressing herself back into her chair, she felt the ache of a torn ligament in her shoulder, but forced the pain from her mind. All around her, the bridge crew was responding to emergency calls from around the ship, every member of the command center skillfully dealing with the most pressing situations, alternately reassuring rattled crewmen and barking orders. Meanwhile, at the security console, Tuvok was performing quick scans and feeding data to Janeway’s command station.