STAR TREK - VOY - 08 - Cybersong

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Star Trek - Voy - 008 - Cybersong
By: S. N. Lewitt
CHAPTER 1
She was lonely and afraid. That had been as bad as the thirst.
The Kazon-Ogla weren't generous with their captives, and their water was their wealth. They didn't
waste it on captive labor.
Once the lot was used up and dead, there would be plenty of others.
Being afraid wasn't good, but she understood that fear didn't mean she didn't have courage as well. Fear
was a warning sign.
There was no shame to it. It was how she acted that mattered, not how scared she was.
Here in the prison camp, there was nothing but fear. She curled on her bunk, if the thin dusty blanket
over a pile of rags could be called that. The rags were clothes other slave laborers had died wearing.
Her own gray tunic was stiff with sweat and old blood. At least she couldn't smell it anymore. After
weeks of captivity she had become inured to the stench of death and excrement in what passed as shelter
for the labor gang.
No, the loneliness was worst of all. That there were no others like her was bad enough. No one who
remembered the ordered courtyards of the Ocampa. Not one of the other prisoners was of her race. But
worse, not one of the other prisoners cared about anything beyond themselves--their next drink, their
hope for escape.
She thought that they must have been different before captivity.
The grinding drudgery of the mines and the unrelenting thirst would drive even the best person to selfish
madness after a time.
She reminded herself of how close she had come to mindless hatred from weariness and anger, how the
thirst had driven her more than any idea had inspired her.
That was what she had feared more than she had feared death, or the mines, or the next morning as a
slave of the Kazon. The capacity for evil was inside her. It was inside everyone. She knew it, she had felt
and tasted it every time she entered the mines.
That fear made her lonely. She couldn't talk to anyone, couldn't share a memory or a song. Nothing
mattered when she was so terribly, frightfully alone. She wasn't even sure she existed anymore...
Kes awoke trembling, clutching a soft blanket around her. It was thick and warm and smelled of soft
purfume, telling her that she was safe.
She hadn't had nightmares in a long time. Immediately she patted the space beside her, and it was empty.
Neelix was gone, then, probably preparing breakfast.
Neelix's absence explained the dream she told herself firmly.
She was never alone on Voyager. Neelix was always there, or The Doctor, or a patient, or someone
who needed her help. And she was glad that she could help, that she was part of the crew.
She had overslept, she realized. Last night she had stayed late after dinner studying respiratory systems
with The Doctor. The differences between humans and Vulcans and Talaxians were so fascinating that
they had completely lost track of time. Kes never would have come to sleep at all if Neelix hadn't found
her in sickbay looking at holograms of various types of lungs and oxygen exchanges.
"Of course, we're only looking at the oxygen-breathing species now," The Doctor had said. "In the Alpha
Quadrant we know of species that breathe methane and chlorine as well, though they are less common
than oxygen breathers."
"I have heard of a race that breathes poison air," Kes had replied.
"Do you have diagrams for these other lung systems as well?"
"Of course," The Doctor told her. "But, it's a completely different biochemistry, and the best way to
approach it would be from a chemical level before looking at gross anatomy."
"The best approach is to get a good night's sleep," Neelix said, coming in to claim Kes from her studies.
"Do you have any idea how late it is? I've been searching all over the ship for you.
I thought something might have happened."
Kes had stood and smiled at him. "It is late. I hadn't realized I was so tired. Doctor, could we continue
this tomorrow?"
"If we don't have six more sprained ankles and wrists from that holodeck adventure," The Doctor said.
Kes laughed softly as Neelix propelled her out of sickbay.
"What was that about?" the Talaxian asked sharply. "Has someone been trying to get you to go off to the
holodeck alone?"
Kes shook her head. "After the injuries I've seen, I wouldn't be interested in trying out this new program,
no matter how much everyone seems to enjoy it. Though when Tom Paris told me what skiing was like, it
did sound like a dream. No wonder everyone is going."
"And when did Mr. Paris talk to you about this new holodeck skiing?"
Neelix asked, his tone tinged with suspicion.
"When The Doctor was taping up his ankle," Kes replied evenly.
"He was one of the first injuries. And he complained the whole time because we weren't using any of the
more sophisticated techniques to repair all the damage. The Doctor thought if they had to feel it a while,
they would be more careful."
Neelix only snorted. Kes sighed and started toward her quarters.
"I'm tired. I've been fixing minor injuries all day and studying half the evening. I don't even remember
having dinner." Her voice was gentle. Neelix followed her to the turbolift.
She remembered going to sleep immediately, and then there was the dream. The dream was more real
than the conversation about the skiing program, more real than anything she had encountered on the
holodeck.
Voyager itself was enough of a fantasy for her. Being rescued from the Kazon would have been enough.
To live free among the stars, to have the luxuries of learning and friendship aboard Voyager, was far
more than Kes had ever dreamed.
She thought of all these things as she got washed. She thought of the good friends she had made here, the
kind and warm people who had become her world.
And still she couldn't shake off the fear and loneliness from the dream. No matter how firmly she told
herself that it was nothing, she couldn't rinse away the lingering shreds of anxiety and isolation with soap.
No, she thought as she put on her rust-colored tunic, she would talk to The Doctor about this. He had
been programmed with the entire history of psychological inquiry. He had access to the records of
Betazoid healers who understood empathic gifts.
Though Kes had never really defined her knowing as empathy.
She combed her short blond hair quickly and turned from the mirror.
She wasn't immediately hungry, but if the nightmare had come from skipping dinner, then she knew she
should eat something. Neelix had put a bowl of Iobrian bluefruit on the main table. Kes picked one up
and nibbled at it as she considered further.
While The Doctor might have the information to test her and even train her, she was not Betazoid. There
was no reason to assume that their methods would be useful to Kes, or even applicable.
And besides, Kes had no desire to interrupt her obviously necessary and endlessly fascinating medical
studies for something that might be of limited value.
But she could still tell The Doctor everything, and perhaps one of them could determine whether it was
just a particularly bad nightmare she had had, or whether it was something more.
CHAPTER 2
Captain, tachyon density in this region is two point three times normal," Ensign Harry Kim said. He had
just reported to his station and run his normal check-in routine.
"Check the log, Mr. Kim," Captain Janeway ordered. "How long have we noted elevated levels?"
He queried the night's logs and studied the readout for a moment before answering. "It's been a steady
rise since approximately zero two hundred hours. Slow, but increasing regularly. If this keeps up, it's
going to interfere with ship's systems in another four hours."
Captain Kathryn Janeway sat forward and stared at the screen.
Space before them was black and empty. The few distant stars shone dull at the edges of the display and
were the only indication that the viewer was functioning at all.
"Plot the vector of the tachyon density and see if it's emanating from any object in this area, Mr. Kim,"
the captain ordered.
"And check for debris. This could just be the signature of an old event that shouldn't be a problem. If you
find something, let's take a look at it."
"Yes, Captain," the young officer replied, and immediately bent his head over his console once more.
"There's something out there, but the heavy tachyon concentration is making it hard to get a decent
image."
The large viewscreen on the bridge stuttered with static.
Between bursts of gray interference, the vague likeness of several ships appeared. They were exotic in
form, and the few that could be seen together looked different from each other as well. Even though
Janeway had seen all manner of spacecraft from myriad races, she was hard-pressed to identify the hulks
that flickered in the badly resolved picture. The torn fragments mostly showed the regular ewes of formed
materials. And from the dull glow where the light hit them, it appeared that most of the pieces were
refined metals.
"There seems to be some kind of communications band emanating from that source," Lieutenant Tuvok,
the Vulcan security officer said. "But I cannot get it to resolve."
"I could try filtering out some of the heavy tachyon interference," Harry Kim offered.
"Thank you, Mr. Kim," the Vulcan replied. "However, I have already attempted that and have made the
adjustments necessary to boost the signal as well. I cannot get anything... We've lost it."
"Have they stopped transmitting?" Lieutenant Paris asked.
"If I knew that the transmission had stopped, or been interrupted, I would have indicated that
information," the Vulcan said dispassionately. "In fact, what we did manage to intercept was data-dense
computer relay protocols."
"So they're more interested in talking to our computer than talking to us," Tom Paris noted aloud. "Sound
like real hospitable folk."
Harry Kim shook his head slightly at Paris's comment. They were good enough friends that no more was
needed to remind them both of their encounter with the Sikarians, the most hospitable folk in the Delta
Quadrant. The people who had technology to help them get at least a good way closer to home had
downright refused. The word "hospitable" had had a double-edged meaning aboard Voyager ever since.
"Shall we investigate further, Captain?" the Vulcan asked.
Captain Janeway watched the display screen. Her wary eyes remained calm and her mouth set firm,
giving away nothing. She remained silent for a moment, considering her options. She had insisted that
Voyager fulfill all of Starfleet's objectives, even though the ship was farther from Federation space than
any starship had ever been; that included scientific investigation and contact with new races.
But that objective didn't require her to study everything in the Delta Quadrant. There were plenty of
planets and peoples here they couldn't avoid, restocking stops that had to be made on the long journey
home.
They didn't need to go poking around what appeared to be a junk heap, not unless there was some very
good reason to think that it would help them get home.
"It does not have any of the characteristics of the Array or the Caretaker," Mr. Tuvok said. "There is no
indication that this is anything more than a garbage dump."
The captain smiled slightly. "I don't believe we need a detour," she said. "Steady as she goes, Mr. Paris."
There was an air of calm on the bridge. The monitors glowed amber, red, green, and blue, turning palms
into brilliant array as skilled hands hovered over control panels. The hush of concentration was reinforced
by the silence from the screen.
Janeway stared into the darkness displayed before them.
The captain didn't say that there was no place to stop for provisions for a very long time. She was
worried about stores.
Without the replicators working at full capacity, there was a chance that they would be running low on
food before they found the next planet where they could stop for supplies.
There was no reason for the crew to know about the potential shortage in too much detail. Everyone
knew that food and power couldn't be wasted. That was enough.
She only hoped that the information Neelix had provided was correct.
He hadn't wanted to come this way in the first place.
But the other routes were much longer and not reliably stocked, either.
"I've never been there myself," he had told her when they had discussed the route. "But this planet is
inhabited and their people are spacefaring. Not much, you understand. They're generally known to be
rather insular, and their religion is very demanding. You can't ever tell when they'll be in the mood to
trade, but I know they're there and that they grow crops of things we can eat."
"Sounds like a better alternative than the others," Janeway had replied. She hadn't really liked any of the
choices available.
But this sector of the Delta Quadrant was one of the "bubbles" in space, a fairly large area with few stars.
"Let's take a look at that computer transmission," Janeway ordered.
"If it's anything interesting, we could look further.
But without more data, we can ignore this."
Now she was curious, but even with communication from somewhere in here, she disliked this empty
sector. And she didn't want to linger here. Not while their food supply was running low and there was
nothing at all for weeks away.
"Computer, give the text of latest transmission," the captain said in an even voice.
"There was no text in that transmission," the computer's mechanical voice replied.
Janeway shook her head slightly. Computers could be maddeningly literal and needed to be prodded
every step of the way. Janeway carefully kept the frustration out of her voice as she queried for further
information.
Frustration at the computer was as useless as frustration at their situation.
She remembered a leadership course at the Academy where the psychologists in charge had instructed
the cadets to use their anger, to turn that energy into something productive.
Kathryn Janeway did not agree, not anymore. That was useful for planetside problems that hard work
and determination could solve.
Those psychologists had never been stuck on the other side of the galaxy, responsible for a crew torn
from their families, their lives, from all humanity they had known or expected to know.
"Dataset includes target coordinates," the computer said emotionlessly.
"Voyager is instructed to arrive at zero point seven three vector six, warp three."
"That's the middle of that thing," Tom Paris said.
"Computer, is there any further information?" the captain asked.
"Additional data is not available," the computer voice replied.
"Then we have no reason to suspect going here will do anything but waste time," Janeway said. She
didn't add the phrase "and resources," though she couldn't avoid the thought. "Mr. Paris, ignore the
computer coordinates and remain on course." She touched her commbadge and spoke quietly. "Mr.
Neelix, meet me in my ready room." Then the captain left the bridge.
***
When Neelix arrived in the ready room, Captain Janeway was staring at an inventory list. She didn't
switch off the display when the Talaxian arrived, dressed in his usual brightly colored motley attire that
clashed with the restful tones around him. He sat in one of the high-back upholstered chairs and waited
until the captain was ready to acknowledge him.
"Mr. Neelix, I have a question for you about this region.
However, before we begin I would like you to look at this listing from stores. According to this morning's
tally, we have less than half the Grolian flour and pineapples left. Our estimates last month were for us to
have at least seventy percent of those items remaining before we entered this zone."
Neelix stared at the figures displayed before him and shook his head.
"I don't know, Captain. I was certain we had more than that."
"You didn't move any to a place the provisions officer wouldn't find it?" Janeway asked. "You didn't take
supplies down to your galley, or maybe put them elsewhere?"
The Talaxian shook his head. "No, Captain. There was some mold in the flour. I put it in the freezer
where it would be killed.
And I threw out the molded bags. But freezing generally keeps the rest from going bad."
"And the apples?" Janeway asked, refusing to react until she had a complete report.
"Oh, the apples were used," Neelix said, rubbing his hands. "My apple pie last week. Everyone loved it.
They talked about it for days. Why even yesterday Mr. Kim asked me if I was going to make more."
The captain stared coolly at the cook. "Those apples have exceptional longevity, or so you told me. We
don't have the luxury of desserts using up provisions that we could well need before we can replenish our
supplies. And in the case of the tainted grain, you have to inform me and the provisions officer
immediately. I can't make good decisions with bad information."
Neelix rose and pulled himself to his full inconsiderable height.
"Captain, as this ship's morale officer, I decided that desserts are an important part of our diet and
routine. I do not make extravagant meals all the time, but after something traumatic, well, the crew needs
a pick-me-up. And we'll get to Tsrana in less than three weeks. As long as the Tsranans are willing to
trade, we won't have any trouble at all."
"As long as the Tsranans are willing to trade?" Janeway asked, her hopes sinking.
"Oh, I'm sure we can work something out, as long as it isn't one of their closed days."
Captain Janeway sighed. Closed days. She had heard of cultures in the Alpha Quadrant like this,
semi-isolationists who wanted the goods trade brought but didn't want to interact with aliens.
They were never easy to get along with, and trade was always troublesome at best.
"Don't give it a second thought, Captain. I know a great deal about the Tsranans. I'm sure we can
arrange a very reasonable trade," Neelix tried to reassure her.
There were times when the Talaxian deeply tried Captain Janeway's patience. He said he knew this
sector, but much of his knowledge was based on hearsay and rumor, and often his estimates were more
optimistic than pragmatic.
"If we get to Tsrana on time, we'll still be cutting it close," Janeway said. "We don't have any reserves in
case of a delay or an emergency, and as it is, we're going to be down to Meezian stew for the last three
days as it is."
"I make wonderful Meezian stew," Neelix said, rubbing his hands together. "And it's very nutritious."
"That's not the point, Mr. Neelix," the captain said crisply.
"The point is, we are very low on supplies, and it's a long way until we get provisions. So I want to see
some real economy in our use of what we have. Do you understand?"
"Will that be all?" Neelix asked. "I have to go start the vegetables for dinner. We're having a new
creation. Mr. Paris told me about pot pies, and while I don't have a recipe or the traditional ingredients
he mentioned, I think I have an idea to make it even better."
It took all of the captain's training, experience, and natural reserve not to wince. What Neelix did to
native Earth dishes was best left unimagined, not to mention what he did to plomeek soup.
"There is something else," the captain said. "Please sit back down.
You told me when we discussed courses several weeks ago that there was some danger in the region,
but you never specified what it was. I would like to hear it, and I would like to know how you know."
Neelix cleared his throat and stroked the dark glass of the table before him. "Well, Captain, everyone
knows there is something lurking here that lures in ships and leaves them. It's an old story. My
grandmother told me when her grandfather was on a ship that passed close to the Singing Quarter they
took on a passenger who had escaped from the trap. The singing is the trap, the passenger said. I don't
know what that means, precisely, but a lot of ships have been lost, never traced and never found. Like a
black hole swallowed them up."
"Our readings show no indication of any black holes for light years in any direction," Janeway said,
musing. "But those hulks out there in the tachyon field... Computer, display the image we picked up of the
transmitting ship."
As the computer promptly recreated the picture on the small personal screen in the ready room, Janeway
told Neelix to look at it. "Is there anything here you can identify?" she asked as Neelix studied the
remains of spacecraft displayed before him.
"That one," he said, jabbing his finger at an indistinct object in the array.
"Full magnification," the captain ordered.
What had been little more than a vague shadow filled the screen with detail. Red marks, presumably
writing, marched down one side of the craft to where it had been ripped open. A few small tendrils of
dead wire drifted out the open lock.
Neelix trembled.
"Mr. Neelix, you look like you've seen a ghost," the captain said.
"Yes, Captain," Neelix replied. "I have."
CHAPTER 3
"Mr. Paris, check your headings," Commander Chakotay, the first officer said. "The captain said that we
are not investigating this phenomena."
"Yes, sir," Tom Paris replied. "I've been keeping us on a steady course, headed around the tachyon
cloud."
"I suggest that you check that again," Chakotay said dryly.
Paris ran his fingers over his instruments as if he didn't have to watch to know exactly what he would find.
"No, sir, according to all my readouts, there is no course deviation."
Chakotay stared at the main screen without seeing the display.
He didn't really trust Paris, and he didn't have any choice but to trust him. Every day on Voyager he had
to rely on a man who had betrayed him.
For some people this would be impossible. For Chakotay it was merely difficult. And he had done far
more difficult things before.
Right now was not one of those times. Right now Chakotay knew that something was wrong. Something
subtle and slippery, something that he couldn't immediately identify.
He knew they weren't on the right course. Everything looked right.
The forward display was mostly dark broken by a few steady stars in the distance and glints off objects
that looked like space junk--random rocks or bits of water vapor that froze in absolute zero to become
beautiful reflectors. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary at all.
But Paris wasn't lying. The computer gave out data that confirmed their current course. The screen
before him showed empty space with just a few distant stars. There was no reason for him to suspect a
problem--except for the intuition that he had trusted all his life, the sixth sense that had rarely been wrong
before.
He had no evidence to bring to the captain, who was busy in conference with Neelix. But he knew he
had to do something, and soon, before irreparable damage was done.
He knew that even a small alteration of course could destroy them. The captain had not shared her
concern about supplies with him, but that didn't mean he wasn't aware of both the problem and her
doubt. He had seen enough of the stores and the calculations over this part of the journey to know that
the two matched far too closely for comfort.
Chakotay rose warily from the captain's chair and moved toward Ensign Kim's station. Harry did not
notice the commander's approach. His fingers danced across the board and his eyes remained fixed on
the monitor.
"Mr. Kim, how are those tachyon readings? Is the bombardment still high, or have we already passed
into a lower range?" he asked, careful to keep his voice controlled as if he merely wanted additional data.
The young ensign looked up, startled. He studied his board once more and his face became tense.
"That's odd," he said, and checked again before making a formal report. "The tachyon bombardment has
increased, even though we should be pulling away from the cloud."
The commander nodded. "Mr. Paris, according to your readings, should we have emerged from the
bombardment by now?"
But before the question was out of Chakotay's mouth, Tom Paris was shaking his head vigorously in
response. "No, this is just wrong," Paris said.
Chakotay strode toward the helmsman's station, put his hand on the back of the chair, and looked over
Paris' shoulder. At least there should be some drop in the readings. Certainly it shouldn't have gotten
worse, Chakotay thought as Paris' monitor beeped at him mockingly.
"We should have passed out of the field six minutes ago," Paris reported. "There is still tachyon activity at
the edges of the cloud, but it doesn't make any sense for it to be increasing, sir."
"No," Chakotay agreed. "It doesn't make sense." The executive officer felt a chill. Janeway was still
closeted with their Talaxian guide.
He could call her, but he decided to test further.
If they lost half an hour, he would take the responsibility.
Captain Janeway expected her officers to be able to act independently, to make decisions. She relied on
him most of all for this quality.
After all, he had been a commanding officer himself once, and not so long ago. Command was not an
easy habit to acquire, but once learned it was never entirely laid aside.
"As an experiment, Mr. Paris, take us about to mark seven point zero two three. And Mr. Kim, watch
those tachyon readings and report any change immediately."
The entire staff on the bridge looked at him. Only the Vulcan security officer nodded once, signaling his
comprehension of the tactic. The others merely turned to their work.
"Ready to bring her about on mark seven point zero two three, warp three. Now," Tom Paris said,
indicating the course change.
The bridge was silent. Everyone waited, eyes on Harry Kim. The young ensign said nothing, his eyes
glued to his console, his mouth frowning with tension.
Chakotay waited. Ten minutes, he decided. He would wait that long.
In ten minutes at warp three they should be well gone. In ten seconds at warp three there should be
changes, he knew. And as the silence grew he knew there was something very wrong indeed.
Ten minutes? He cut it in half. Five. There had to be some change.
Something. Maybe he hadn't been entirely clear. The minutes moved slowly. His breathing sounded loud
and harsh.
"Mr. Kim?" he asked over half a minute early.
"No change, sir," the helmsman replied promptly. "Maybe getting a little heavier, but with this much
interference it's difficult to calibrate as precisely as we might like.
摘要：

StarTrek-Voy-008-CybersongBy:S.N.LewittCHAPTER1Shewaslonelyandafraid.Thathadbeenasbadasthethirst.TheKazon-Oglaweren'tgenerouswiththeircaptives,andtheirwaterwastheirwealth.Theydidn'twasteitoncaptivelabor.Oncethelotwasusedupanddead,therewouldbeplentyofothers.Beingafraidwasn'tgood,butsheunderstoodthatf...

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