Cohesion

  “So,” she said after pausing to consider his report, “this explains what happened to the ships that preceded yours.”

  Ships that preceded mine? Ziv thought. Most of his crew had heard that the city of the Twelfth Tribe had been working to launch a ship, but he had no idea that they—or someone else—had been successful. Glad that Sem could not see him, Ziv replied flatly, “Yes, though there can be no way to know for certain.”

  “But we have no other theories at this time.”

  Ziv inhaled and tried not to let his thoughts run too far ahead of him. Ships! “The aliens say that the interference from the Blue Eye is strong enough that even their communication systems could not pierce it until we were this close. Perhaps they survived.”

  “Yes, perhaps,” the rih-hara-tan said. “Perhaps. We have no way to know. But would you gamble on the outcome, seeing what you have seen?”

  Nearby, Ziv felt his hara stir uncomfortably. He knew what they would say if pressed to the point. Though a harat cannot actually read his haran’s thoughts, only a fool would ignore their mood: they would elect to dissolve their fellowship rather than risk their fates in space again.

  “But if the aliens are able to pierce this mystery,” Ziv said. “What then? Their captain—I think we may ask her for aid. She is driven by her conscience.”

  “A sharp goad,” Sem said, then fell silent for several moments. Finally, she continued, “Ask their captain to contact the Emergency Council. Better the planetary authority ask her for help than the leader of your tribe.”

  “I understand.”

  “And learn whatever you can about their propulsion systems and their shields.”

  “We’ll try, but it will be the work of many days to even begin to understand it.”

  “True, but we must begin somewhere. We would not even have made it off Monorha if our tribe did not display a talent for unraveling complex technical puzzles.”

  Ziv knew this was true and took some pride in the historical fact that his grandsire had been one of the technical team that had disassembled the alien craft that had landed near their city. If only the aliens who piloted it had survived long enough to explain some of its mysteries or possessed the universal translator the Voyagers treated with such casual disregard. “We will do what we can, my rih,” Ziv said. “Though I do not know what chances we will have. According to my hosts, we will be in orbit in approximately fourteen hours.”

  “And what will happen then?”

  Near a state of complete mental exhaustion, Ziv almost snapped at the rih-hara-tan, What do you mean what will happen?! We will return to our city! We will lie down and die with all our families and friends! Our ship is destroyed and we cannot flee this world even if we wished without risking being turned into slivers of glass! But he was a good haran (or, at least, a fearful one) and did not speak these words. “What would you like to happen?”

  “Ask the aliens to accompany you to our city. If necessary, tell them you are worried about the state of your shuttle—not an entirely unrealistic concern.”

  “If I can, I will.”

  “You can, Ziv, my shi-harat.”

  Ziv squirmed at the use of the term, as Sem no doubt knew he would. He felt his hara stir behind him as they all mentally withdrew from him. He wanted to shout at her, to curse her, to call down the condemnation of the Blessed All-Knowing Light, but instead he said, “Thank you, my rih. I will do what I can.”

  * * *

  Six hours from orbit, after Neelix had conveyed a message from Ziv that he would like the captain to speak to the Monorhan Emergency Council, Janeway had asked Chakotay to bring Lieutenant Dandibhotla to her ready room so he could talk to him about their social structure. Dandibhotla, the only crewman versed in both anthropology and linguistics, had, at Tuvok’s request, been watching and listening to all the recordings made to date and was chomping at the bit to discuss his observations.

  Clustered around the conference room table, Janeway and Chakotay and Neelix gave the small, dapper anthropologist their undivided attention. “Judging from what Neelix has told me and what I’ve seen,” Dandibhotla said, “the Monorhans were divided into tribes or possibly city-states. The hara groupings suggest a modularly hierarchical society. They work in groups, but the groups can be disassembled when necessary. A leader of one group can be a subordinate in another. The fact that Captain Ziv is the harat of his group, but refers to his tribal leader as a rih-hara-tan, makes it sound like we’re talking about someone who performs the function of harat—or, in the case of a female, haras—for perhaps a large group of harai, may be an entire tribe. Just a guess, but there’s probably some kind of religious power backing that up.”

  “So, they might be a religiously organized society?” Janeway asked.

  “Possibly,” Dandibhotla said. “But in the recordings I’ve seen, I’ve only heard Ziv mention what might be a god once or twice. No, more likely, their religion was once much more important than it is now. When a society is placed under the sort of stress the Monorhans are under, old models tend to collapse.”

  “Unless they’re prohibited from mentioning their god’s name in front of outsiders,” Chakotay suggested.

  Dandibhotla nodded. “He’s got me there, Captain. It’s a possibility.”

  “Okay,” Janeway sighed, massaging her temples. “I’ll try to keep all this in mind, but how much of it do we really know is true?”

  Chakotay and Dandibhotla both were silent for several beats, and then the latter shrugged. “None of it. Without time to do a survey or even monitor their electronic broadcasts—assuming they have any—we’re completely making this up as we go along.”

  “Hardly an ideal first-contact situation, Captain,” Chakotay echoed. “But keep this in mind: We’re not coming here with any intention in mind except returning their citizens.”

  “And offering help,” Janeway added.

  “If we can,” Chakotay said.

  “There’s always something we can do.”

  Chakotay met her eyes, and Janeway could see he was still thinking about their earlier talk. This conversation isn’t over, his gaze said.

  Perhaps not yet, she thought, but in the end, the decision is mine.

  Chapter 7

  “Shalla Kiiy is from a different district of my city-state, Captain,” Ziv explained shortly before the meeting was scheduled to begin. “And speaks a different dialect. I have found I have difficulty understanding her, and your translator may experience the same problems.” His long neck curled to one side in a movement Seven of Nine now recognized as the Monorhan equivalent of a human shrug. Seven had decided some time ago that the shrug was an eloquent gesture and had practiced the necessary movements in private, though thus far she had not found an opportunity to try it. The one who shrugged, she knew, was attempting to communicate a degree of uncertainty, which was a condition Seven rarely experienced. She had considered feigning uncertainty just to see how effectively she could perform, but ultimately could not bring herself to be so duplicitous.

  “We appreciate the warning, Captain Ziv. Just to be certain I understand the circumstances, she is not a rih-hara-tan?”

  “No. Shalla Kiiy is a member of the Emergency Council, the body that organizes the efforts to save the people of my planet.”

  Seven watched Captain Janeway give Tuvok and Chakotay a sidelong glance. This is new information, she thought.

  “A planetwide organization?”

  Ziv’s head bobbed, his long neck waving back and forth. “Citywide, yes. There are only thirteen cities. Perhaps it would make a difference if you understood there are less than six million people left on Monorha.”

  This, too, was a surprise to the captain and her advisors, though Seven didn’t understand why. How could they have missed the signs?

  “What was your population at its peak?”

  Ziv looked at Jara, the only member of his hara to accompany him to the meeting. Jara responded with a brief burst of tongue clicking. Z
iv clacked back, then said, “I am not an expert on these things, Captain, but my guess would be, at its peak, perhaps sixty million.”

  “You’ve lost nine-tenths of your population in a century?” Janeway asked.

  Ziv nodded impassively.

  Chakotay whispered a word Seven did not recognize and filed it away for later research. Likely the name of some deity, she decided.

  “My sympathies, Captain,” Janeway said. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  “You’ve already helped us more than anyone could have expected,” Ziv said. “As my rih-hara-tan pointed out, we would not even know what happened to ships sent out by the other cities if not for you. Now, perhaps, we can develop some method for protecting ourselves when we cross the threshold out of Monorhan space.”

  Seven privately doubted that this would be possible unless something was done about the radiation from the white dwarf, but she kept this opinion to herself. A minute and forty-five seconds later, the image of a Monorhan female appeared on the main viewer. Without anyone else nearby to compare her with, Seven could not judge how tall Shalla Kiiy was, but her body seemed more slender, with smaller forearms than Captain Ziv or any of his hara. Her hair was not so thick as Ziv’s, nor as curly, and Seven saw streaks of gray, perhaps indicating advanced years. Alarmingly, though not unexpected, Kiiy also had a generally unhealthy appearance: pallid skin, rheumy eyes, and a large, irritated red patch on her left cheek. When she spoke, Seven noted, her left eye occasionally twitched spasmodically.

  Like Ziv and his associates, Kiiy’s clothes were utilitarian and without ornament, though the midsection was not so tightly fitted as the males’. Evidence of reproductive organs? It seemed likely, though Seven had not as yet accessed the medical scans. For all she knew, the Monorhans budded like potatoes to reproduce. A quick consultation of the Borg database she retained showed that fewer than one-tenth of one percent of the known sentient species reproduced in this manner.

  “Captain Ziv,” Kiiy said with a peculiar buzz in the words. “Introduce me to your friends.” (Introduzzze me to your frienzzz.)

  “Shalla Kiiy,” Ziv said, touching his knuckles to the ground and lowering his head formally. “This is Captain Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager. They name their ships, Councilwoman. The word means…”

  “I hear the meaning of the word in my head, Captain,” Kiiy said, bowing in return. “Quite a remarkable devizzze. How long did it take for you to become comfortable wiz it?”

  “Not long, Shalla. In a short time, you will not even notice the difference.”

  “Azztonishing. And what is a Federation, Captain?”

  Janeway assumed her most bright, diplomatic tone to answer. “The United Federation of Planets is an alliance of worlds in my region of the galaxy that works for the mutual protection and advancement of its members. Currently, the Federation includes approximately one hundred and fifty planetary civilizations and their colonies, all of them a considerable distance from Monorha.”

  “Yes, you have been out of touch for some time, haven’t you? Ziv says your ship was thrown across almost the entire width of the galaxy.”

  “That’s correct,” Janeway said. “Although the exact circumstances that brought us that great distance are beyond our ability to duplicate, our vessel is capable of limited transluminal velocity.”

  “We understand that idea here on Monorha, Captain, but were given to understanding that light speed was an absolute, that nothing could travel faster.”

  “In normal space, no,” Janeway explained. “But there are ways around these absolutes.”

  “And is this something you could teach us, Captain?” Kiiy asked. “You know of our plight, do you not? Traveling to another world at faster-than-light speeds—we would be saved. Do you understand?”

  Seven saw Janeway sag slightly, shoulders drooping forward. “I understand, Shalla. May I call you that? What does it mean?”

  This was a clever ploy, interrupting the flow of the conversation. Kiiy was temporarily thrown off her stride for politeness’ sake and to respond to the captain’s question.

  “‘Shalla’? It means…” She turned to Ziv. “Captain, help me. What is another word for shalla?”

  Ziv mouthed a couple of words that the translator rebroadcast as “overseer” or “boss.”

  “I understand,” Janeway said. “I can call you Shalla, then?”

  “Of course. It is not a title many have, but I am far from the only one. Not so much an honor as a burden, eh?”

  Janeway smiled. Seven could see that the captain was coming to like this Shalla Kiiy. Potentially a dangerous decision, the Borg decided. “But to get back to your question, yes, we could possibly teach you the theory behind faster-than-light travel, but there are laws concerning such exchanges in my culture.”

  “Laws?” Kiiy asked, raising her arms. “Who cares for laws here? You are far from home. Who would know?”

  “We would know, Shalla, and we police ourselves, but that’s beside the point. Even if we had time to teach you even the basics, they would do you no good. Building the drive would require years, special materials, and even more specialized tools. We don’t have them here with us on Voyager. The crystalline substance we use to control the extremely powerful energy generated by our engine core is very rare and we have no evidence that there is any on your world or those nearby. Worst of all, there is something about your system, about the dead star, that inhibits the formation of the field that allows us to make the jump to transluminal speeds.”

  “So you are trapped here with us, then?” Shalla Kiiy asked, her voice evincing what Seven took for genuine concern.

  “No,” Janeway said, and Seven was surprised that she was being so honest. If anyone had asked her, she would have advised the captain to keep some information private. Though they appeared peaceful, the Monorhans might turn violent at any moment. Though few in comparison to one hundred years ago, there were forty thousand Monorhans for every member of the crew of Voyager, which were not good odds. “We could get out of the system and then engage the engines in a short time. We’re not trapped. In fact, I do not wish to stay long if we can avoid it. The radiation from the dead star, what you call the Blue Eye, is the problem. Or part of it, anyway. We do not understand every aspect of the problem yet, but continue to investigate.”

  “Sem,” Kiiy continued, “Ziv’s rih-hara-tan, told me that the ships launched before his may have been destroyed, too. Can you confirm this?”

  “No,” the captain said. “Again, the radiation from the Blue Eye makes this difficult; however, what we have learned about the unique physical properties of your system makes it unlikely anyone else survived.” Captain Janeway hesitated for a moment, a sign that Seven recognized and that meant she was about to shift to a difficult topic. “You’ll forgive me for bringing up a delicate topic, Shalla, but I must ask…”

  “Why we launched more than one ship without knowing the fate of the first?”

  “Yes,” the captain said. “And without telling Captain Ziv.”

  Seven noted that the buzz in Shalla Kiiy’s voice had almost entirely disappeared, a sign that the translator had mastered her accent. “What else would you have us do, Captain?” Kiiy asked. “We have no other options at this time. If it had been up to me, everyone would know everything, but it is not. I am only one of thirteen on the council—one for each city.”

  “We can see them now that we’re in orbit,” Janeway said. Seven glanced at her scanner and saw the Monorhan world map stretched out flat, each of the cities a tiny jewel nestled along one of the coastlines of Monorha’s four minute continents. Though sixty million was a tiny number compared with the billions on Earth, the planet could not have supported much more. Much of the world was covered in shallow seas, another factor that accounted for how the biosphere could absorb so much radiation. If the landmass-to-water ratio had been higher, Monorha would have died long ago.

  “So now that you are here,” Kiiy asked,
“what will you do? Ziv has indicated that you might be able to help us in some other manner. If not by giving us the transluminal drive, then how?”

  “First,” the captain said, “by examining the Blue Eye. Perhaps we can learn something about the link between its properties and the other peculiarities we’re finding here in this system.”

  “You do not think it is a causal relationship?” Kiiy asked, a question Seven found to be insightful. Obviously, the shalla was not a simple, self-centered politician.

  “It seems likely,” Captain Janeway replied, “but we’ve learned not to make assumptions about such things. A closer examination is required.”

  “Very well,” Kiiy replied. “But are there any other, more practical recommendations you can make?”

  “On a more practical level,” the captain continued, “we would like to send some engineers down to your planet so they can study the energy shields you’ve erected around your cities. We may be able to offer some suggestions that would make them more effective.”

  “Ah,” Shalla Kiiy said. “Then I take it that Ziv has already told you about our shields.”

  “He has not,” Captain Janeway said. “But as soon as we were in orbit we detected them with our sensors.” Though she did not need to refamiliarize herself, Seven pulled up the scans in case the captain wished to review them. The shield generators were, in a word, ineffective. Given the general level of technology the Monorhans exhibited, the design was clever, perhaps even inspired, but against the radiation levels the Blue Eye emitted, the citizenry might have been just as well protected if they were walking around sheathed in metal foil.