“They can’t be very comfortable,” Ensign Kim observed.
“No,” Tuvok said. “I believe Lieutenant Torres’s observation is correct: They are motivated by desperation.”
“Any theories as to why they’re constructed this way, Tuvok?” the captain asked. “Why a drive unit drawing the containers?”
“Yes,” the Vulcan said. “Analysis indicates the containers are all based on a similar design, but none is precisely identical. Various groups—perhaps the passengers themselves—built the containers, probably in an orbital work yard. Then, as each unit was completed, it was tethered to the drive unit.”
“So whoever could pull together the resources to create a container could go along for the ride?” Chakotay mused. “That’s rather cutthroat.”
“An emotional supposition, Commander. I could suggest other interpretations.”
Chakotay subsided and the captain interjected. “How about weaponry, Tuvok? Can they defend themselves?”
“The drive unit is equipped with several small missile launchers, probably to be used against large asteroids if they should encounter one. Their ship could not steer around such objects should they encounter them.”
“Any guesses about their destination?”
“I have computed a simple course based on their trajectory. Currently, they are pointed at a small main-sequence star with a Class-M planet in its orbit less than a light-year away. Logic dictates that it is their goal.”
“At their current speed,” Ensign Kim calculated, “it would take them more than three years to get there. Is there any chance they would all make it?”
“Some,” Tuvok judged. “Their resources would have to be carefully managed. But not all.”
“How many are there in the containers, Tuvok?” the captain asked.
“With the level of background radiation from their engines, it is difficult to be precise. Some of the signals we’re reading may be livestock.”
“How many, Tuvok?”
“Seventeen thousand, five hundred and sixty-three life signs. These are mostly adults, though some signals are smaller. I estimate approximately one-fifth of the passengers are children.”
“But no elderly?” the captain asked.
“I cannot say for certain, but, no, I think not.”
“They would all stay behind,” Chakotay said. “Let the children go and their parents to care for them.”
“Not passengers,” Neelix said in muted tones. “Refugees.”
* * *
His recitation completed, Tuvok returned to his seat. Janeway turned to Seven of Nine, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the meeting. Normally by this point, Seven would have interrupted and, drawing on the huge database of information about alien species at her disposal, explained everything there was to know about the situation. “So,” Janeway said. “Your assessment.”
Seven shook her head once. “I believe everything that can be said about the Monorhans to this point has been said, Captain.”
Everyone at the table—even Tuvok—turned to stare at Seven, which, apparently, did not bother her a bit. “Really?” Janeway asked. “No additional information about Species…whatever they are.”
“The Monorhans are not in the Borg catalogue, Captain, and thus have not been assigned a species number. Would you like me to create one?”
Janeway remained silent while waiting for more information, but when she sensed there was no more to come, she said, “No, Seven, that’s all right. I know we left the densest part of Borg space behind us, but I thought they had mapped this area in some detail. The Monorhans must be from nearby, from this system, in all likelihood.”
“Your suppositions are logical, Captain, and your assessment correct. Borg probes have been through this sector within the past decade, but they did not detect this species.”
“Because they only recently became space travelers?” Harry Kim asked uncertainly.
“Unlikely. A probe would have detected any form of electromagnetic activity.”
“What about if the white dwarf was putting out a lot of radiation at the time a probe came through?” Kim asked. “Would that have masked the planet’s electromagnetics?”
Seven considered the idea, then concluded, “It is possible, but there is no way to know for certain.”
A new thought struck Janeway. “The trace radiation you detected, Seven. You said it was similar to the Borg transwarp conduits. Maybe the Monorhans used an ancient jumpgate and are only passing through this area.”
Seven shook her head. “A transwarp conduit is detectable across vast distances. Even the radiation from the white dwarf would not mask it. If such technology existed here, the Borg would have invaded this system immediately.”
Janeway’s combadge chirped, interrupting the conversation. “Janeway here.”
“Captain, this is Knowles. The Monorhans just launched a shuttle. At their current rate, they’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
“Acknowledged,” Janeway said, and signed off. “All right, people. We have five more minutes and then we have to go down to the shuttlebay. Let’s set aside this issue for now. Captain Ziv will probably be able to fill in all the holes for us anyway. Now, what about the warp engines? B’Elanna, can you tell me what’s happening?”
“Not yet, Captain. Diagnostics say the engines are functioning properly, but we can’t form a stable subspace bubble. Every time we try, the field collapses. Your mentioning the Hekaras Corridor got me to thinking there might be damage to local subspace.”
“The white dwarf,” Kim said.
“There are lots of white dwarves out there, Harry,” B’Elanna responded. “I’ve never heard of one affecting subspace before.”
“And I’ve never heard of complex life forming so close to a white dwarf,” Harry countered. “This can’t be a coincidence.”
“Begin your investigation with that theory, Harry,” Janeway said. “You and Seven start working on the problem in astrometrics. I’ll join you after I greet our guests.” She turned to Chakotay and Neelix. “Gentlemen, I’m going to put you in charge of the Monorhans. Find out what you can from them. Be diplomatic, unless diplomacy isn’t getting you anywhere. Then…be less diplomatic.”
“Understood,” Chakotay said.
“Tuvok, I want you to continue monitoring their drive section and the containers. If you start to see problems with life support, get repair crews over there. Ask Captain Ziv if you can beforehand, but if a disaster is about to occur, don’t wait.”
Tuvok nodded.
“Captain?”
“Yes, B’Elanna?”
“You told Captain Ziv we might be able to give him a tow.”
“Yes.”
“Have you considered what trying to move something that big might do to our engines, to the tractor beams?”
“I didn’t say everything all at one time, B’Elanna.”
“But still, Captain,” B’Elanna said, rising to her feet, her tone sharpening, “I think you need to rethink…”
“Stand down, Lieutenant,” Chakotay snapped. Then, more softly, he continued, “We can discuss this later.”
The corner of Torres’s eye twitched, but she slowly sat back down in her chair. “Yes, Commander. Sorry, Captain.”
Janeway smiled softly. “Not necessary, B’Elanna. I’m not worried. I would never promise anything I didn’t think you could deliver.”
B’Elanna nodded, but Janeway could see from her demeanor that the engineer wasn’t convinced. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time for a discussion now. As a concession, she offered, “I’ll drop by engineering later and we can spec out some options. All right?”
Torres nodded again, but this time the lines around her mouth were smoothed out.
“Any more questions?” Janeway asked. “No? Then, go to work.”
Chapter 3
Disaster minus 244 minutes
Captain Ziv was pleased with how quickly his hara had coordinated their activi
ties, both on the ship and in the shuttle. In times of extreme stress, even the most disciplined group found it difficult to maintain a link, but the bond between Ziv the harat and his four haran remained strong. After strapping himself into the uncomfortable shuttle seat, Ziv folded his arms, closed his eyes, and felt peace descend as his companions fell to their assigned tasks. The only distraction was the sore on the palm of his hand, which, despite the medic’s ardent attention, still itched and oozed a thin stream of yellow pus. The urge to scratch was almost overpowering.
Beside him in the pilot’s couch, Jara, his second, sat up straight, passed a hand over the control console, nudged the thruster lever, and guided the tiny craft out of its slip. Ziv pressed his chin against his chest as the shuttle nosed into space. He disliked traveling in small ships. Cramped confines were troubling to most Monorhans, especially those with more than three in their hara.
The proximity sensor told Jara that he was clear of the slip. Jara fed the directional thrusters a small burst, and the shuttle lurched forward with a sputter. Rattling his tongue against his palate in annoyance, Jara muttered, “I’m out of practice.”
“We have to wonder about your determination to collide with the stranger’s ship,” Ziv remarked, for it had been Jara at the pilot’s console when the alien vessel appeared from out of nowhere. “If you try again, they might think we do not like them.” Behind them, Mol, Diro, and Shet all clicked with amusement. Jara popped his tongue against his cheek—a rude sound in such a small place, but acceptable given his rank, both as an officer and in the hara.
Moving out of the shadow of the transport’s hull, Ziv found himself thinking about the thousands of souls packed into the ship’s containers. Had his announcement that they had temporarily halted made its way down into the deeper recesses? More important, would knowing what was happening—even the small amount of information he had released—relieve any of the stress they must all be feeling, or only make their lives more miserable? The very thought of those cramped quarters, of being so unnaturally pressed shoulder to shoulder in the echoing holds, made Ziv shudder. Even with the tranquilizers every passenger had been issued, he wondered how the haras could continue to function.
How would his passengers—even his crew—react if they knew the ship’s engines had stalled, that they were now reliant on the goodwill of strangers to get them on their way? He would like to think that most of them would understand, that they had always understood, how slim their chances of success really were, but only Ziv and his hara knew the entire truth. Most of his passengers believed they had only to be patient, to remain calm, and they would be delivered to a new world, a clean world, where they could begin their lives anew. If only this were true, the captain thought.
Jara adjusted their flight path so that they were now pointed at the alien vessel and skillfully guided the shuttle into a smooth, slow, unthreatening arc toward the rear of the ship’s large primary hull.
“What do you think?” Ziv clicked to the hara.
Jara, preoccupied with his task, had no words to spare, but made an appreciative noise. Mol, ever the most verbose of the quint, said, “It looks more like a living thing than a vessel, like something that should live in deep water.”
Shet asked, “Their captain said this tiny thing could tow our ship?” He shook his head in wonder. “I am not sure I believe them, but why would they lie to us?”
“To lull us into a trap?” Mol wondered aloud. “To trick us into letting them on our transport and plundering it?”
“Plunder what?” Shet asked. “Dried beans? The kilotons of steel and plastic we’ll use as shelters when we land?”
“If they were going to fight us,” Shet observed, “they would have done so by now. If their ship is as powerful as its captain claims, they could have destroyed us ten times over already. These people are not warriors—they are explorers.”
“And now they wish to explore us,” Ziv said, then turned to Diro, the youngest of the hara. “You have been silent, Diro,” Ziv said. “Nothing to offer?”
Stirring in his chair, uncrossing then recrossing his long legs, Diro remarked, “I was thinking about how calm we all are being. We are…these are visitors from the stars and we act like the hara down the lane has dropped in for a light lunch and a swim.”
“There have been other visitors from the stars,” Shet said. “They are not the first.”
“They are the first in a very long time,” Diro countered. “And the first who lived.”
“We will not speak of this to the aliens,” Ziv said sharply. Then, softening his tone, he said, “As harat, I ask that none of you speak to them unless I give permission.” He was certain the rest of the quint was already in agreement, but he felt that the formality was required. Each of the hara clicked their assent.
With agreement reached, Diro asked, “Did you contact the rih-hara-tan with details of our situation?”
“I sent a message,” Ziv said, secretly glad that the time lag made conversations impossible. Sem—the tribe’s spiritual leader—would undoubtedly have taken the opportunity to insinuate that the problems Ziv’s ship was experiencing were entirely the captain’s fault. “The rih-hara-tan will contact the Emergency Council. It will take time for them to reach a consensus and respond. By the time they do, I hope we will be back under way.”
“And if these strangers wish to visit our home?” Diro asked.
Turning to look at his youngest haran, he held up the hand with the sore and asked, “Why would anyone wish to visit Monorha?” Diro reached up and touched the bandaged patch on his own throat and, beside him, Shet unconsciously touched the still-raw scar tissue on his face.
“I see your point,” Diro said.
* * *
Jara guided the shuttle closer to the ship’s curved primary hull and skimmed close to the skin. Ziv detected a faint blue glow at the upper range of his vision and wondered what he was looking at. “Do you see it?” he asked the others.
“A forcefield of some kind,” Shet said.
“But so well-modulated. No distortion effect at all. And look how close we are to the hull.”
“Impressive. Frighteningly impressive.” The hull was made of metal—Ziv could see the seams between the plates—but the surface was smooth and, in sharp contrast to the hull of the transport, unpitted by any kind of micrometeor strikes. Who are these strangers? he wondered. And why, with such marvels at their command, have they stopped here? Simply to aid us? Ziv hated to admit it, but he did not believe in altruism.
“Locked on to their beacon,” Jara said. Pressing a final series of controls, he pushed himself away from the console, saying, “Surrendering the conn.” The shuttle bounced once, like a wagon rolling over a bump, and the engine’s hum faded.
The launch bay doors of the strangers’ ship loomed in their viewport. Moments later, a thin crack appeared at their center and the doors parted. A bright blue light surrounded the opening and, despite himself, Ziv gasped when he realized that in addition to the expected ships and machinery within the cavernous space, he was also looking at five tall, lanky beings, none of whom seemed in the least fretful that they were exposed to hard vacuum.
Diro said, “An atmospheric forcefield…”
Ziv relaxed back into his chair. Of course.
“Incredible.” Shet, normally very difficult to impress, was leaning out over the control panel to get an arm’s-length-closer look. “Such control! And it must be permeable to allow ships to pass without compromising the atmosphere.”
Unable to fight off the urge, Ziv flinched as their craft’s nose touched the blue field.
“Think of what we can learn from them!” Diro whispered.
“Best not to speak of such things,” Ziv said. “Best not to hope too much.” He spoke these words knowing that they were wise and sensible, that he was fulfilling his role as the leader of the hara and the captain of his vessel. Deeper in, down past wisdom and common sense, Ziv was shouting to a god he was no lon
ger certain he trusted, Do not make a fool of me! Do not let me hope too much!
* * *
The moment the Monorhans stepped from their vessel, Neelix was struck by how different they were from any species Voyager had encountered. Though shorter than an average human (most of whom Neelix had to look up at), the Monorhans were half again as wide at the shoulders, with torsos that tapered down into narrow hips. Their arms were quite long in comparison with their legs and so thickly muscled that he was not in the least surprised when the first one to exit the hatch leaned forward and rested his gigantic hands on the deck.
“Gorillas,” Chakotay whispered behind him.
“What?” Neelix asked.
“Sorry. Terran primate species. They’re built like that: short, but broad.” He clenched his fist and flexed his upper arm. “Powerful. They nearly became extinct.”
“Interesting,” Neelix said, and meant it. He considered asking “How did that happen?” but bit his tongue. Humans tended to be sensitive about this kind of thing and he made a small, cryptic note on his padd to look up the topic on the library computer at a less busy moment.
As soon as the five Monorhans were clear of their ship, they arranged themselves into a wedge with their leader at the point, then shifted their weight so their heads were held high, shoulders back, eyes forward. They were, Neelix decided, standing at attention. While moving, they held their heads close to their shoulders, but as soon as the leader had settled into place, he relaxed, revealing a neck longer than Neelix was expecting.
Their baggy uniforms were drab and utilitarian, each one distinguishable only by strips of color around the forearms and small metallic squares on the collars, which Neelix decided were rank insignia. The leader—Ziv, according to Tuvok’s report—also wore a thin scarf around his shoulders, though Neelix judged that this had nothing to do with his military service. An indication of religious affiliation, perhaps? Neelix made a note on his padd. These were the sorts of things he knew he tended to notice that the others sometimes missed. The trader’s eye, he thought proudly.