STAR TREK - VOY - 13 - The Black Shore

VIP免费

2024-12-20 0 0 379.62KB 106 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

CHAPTER 1

Captain's log, stardate 491750.0

We are continuing our travels through what appears to be an unusually barren and desolate sector of the

Delta Quadrant. Little has interrupted Voyager's daily routines for several weeks now-a mixed blessing,

to be sure. With no new dangers or discoveries to command my attention, I find my thoughts drifting

increasingly toward Earth, and the people and lives that we have left behind. The Federation seems

especially far away, and I suspect that I am not the only person aboard this ship that feels that way. . . .

"C'MON, Doc! I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS."

First Officer Chakotay heard Harry Kim's heated complaint the moment he entered the sickbay. He was

struck by the note of genuine irritation in Kim's

voice; the young ensign had always impressed Chako-tay as being relatively even-tempered. I wonder

what's got under his skin, he thought.

The doors slid shut silently behind him. The air in the sickbay had a medicinal odor that Chakotay

associated with disinfectants and sterilization fields. He saw Kim struggling to rise from the medical

biobed on which he was none too happily lying. His upper body was propped up on both elbows, and

his legs were swinging toward the edge of the bed. The Doctor placed a restraining hand against Kim's

chest. "Yes, I'm sure you must have an urgent appointment to play pool in that seedy holographic bar-or

something equally compelling." Although holographic himself, The Doctor's hand was evidently solid

enough to keep the impatient ensign on the bed. "Regular checkups are an essential part of a proper

health regimen for most humanoid species. As the sole medical officer on this improvised expedition

through parts unknown, it is my thankless task to ensure that every member of this luckless crew gets all

the preventive care they require, whether they appreciate it or not." The Doctor sighed theatrically.

"Now, would you please lie back so I can finish recording your vitals?"

Chakotay glanced at the monitor above the biobed. Kim's readings looked normal enough, although his

blood pressure seemed slightly elevated. Kes stood a few centimeters behind The Doctor, holding a

medical tricorder. The Ocampa acknowledged Chakotay's arrival with a nod and a friendly smile. Intent

on his reluctant patient, The Doctor seemed oblivious to the first officer's presence.

"Okay, okay," Kim said, lowering his head onto the cushioned surface of the bed. "Let's just get this over

with. I haven't got all day."

"You're seventy-five years away from civilization as

we know it," The Doctor observed. "How much of a rush can you be in?"

Kim glared at The Doctor with anger in his eyes; The Doctor's tart remark had apparently struck a nerve.

"That's it!" he said, sitting up abruptly. "I may be stuck out here, light-years from anywhere, but I have

better things to do than listen to a holographic lecture on health care." His boots smacked against the

floor as he hopped off the bed, ignoring The Doctor's protests. Chakotay was surprised by the intensity

of Kim's reaction; over the last few years, the crew had largely overcome the homesickness that had

afflicted them at the beginning of their sojourn in the Delta Quadrant. What could have happened to

provoke such a response from Kim now?

"Now wait just one second," The Doctor said indignantly. He laid a hand upon the ensign's shoulder.

"This examination is over when I say it is."

"Please, Harry," Kes added. "This will just take a moment or two." Her tone was softer and more

conciliatory than The Doctor's.

Kim disregarded the young woman's attempt at peacemaking. "No, you wait," he told The Doctor.

"Computer, deactivate emergency medical program. Command priority gamma."

The Doctor's jaw dropped and a look of surprise came over his face a heartbeat before he blinked out of

existence. "What do you-"

Kes appeared both stunned and disappointed by Kim's preemptory dismissal of The Doctor. "Harry,

how could you?" she asked. She glanced upward at the ceiling as she addressed the ship itself.

"Computer, restore medical program immediately."

"-think you are doing?" The Doctor remateri-alized between Kes and Kim, his hand still holding on to the

ensign's right shoulder, his voice picking up exactly where he had been cut off only seconds before.

A puzzled expression crossed his features. His eyes looked slightly more unfocused than usual. "Excuse

me, was I gone for an instant there?"

"Not for long enough," Kim said. He shoved The Doctor's hand away and started to shoulder his way

past Kes and The Doctor. "I'm out of here."

Chakotay decided he had seen enough. "Ensign!" he barked. Kim suddenly became aware of the first

officer's presence. He snapped to attention, a look of embarrassment melting the angry set of his

expression. Kes and The Doctor stepped aside to let Chakotay approach Kim. Body stiff, Kim stared

past Chakotay, unable to meet the first officer's gaze. Chakotay let him stew for a couple of seconds

before speaking again.

"The Doctor's bedside manner may leave something to be desired," Chakotay stated. He heard The

Doctor make a harrumphing sound behind him. "But that's no excuse for insubordination and incivility,

nor for abusing your command priority privileges."

"I apologize, sir," Kim said, still looking straight ahead. Chakotay guessed that the ensign would sooner

face an entire Kazon warrior sect than prolong this encounter one more minute. "I'm afraid I just, well,

lost my temper."

"That's not enough of an explanation," Chakotay said. "I know you, Harry; you're not usually a hothead.

What's this all about?"

Kim blushed, his face turning almost as red as Chakotay's crimson Starfleet uniform. He lowered his

voice, perhaps hoping that neither The Doctor nor Kes would hear his sheepish confession, "I'm sorry,

sir. It's just that, I guess, today is my birthday and I'm used to spending it with my family, not going

through an annual checkup somewhere in the Delta Quadrant." His eyes finally met Chakotay's. His voice

remained admirably even, despite his humiliation.

"That's no excuse, I know, but it probably has something to do with my-reaction-a few moments ago."

"I see," Chakotay said. Kim's emotional display made a little more sense now; despite the crew's

improved attitude, it stood to reason that birthdays and anniversaries and such would inevitably remind

crew members of the loved ones they'd left behind. "Very well. For today, you are excused from

completing this exam, but I expect you to reschedule a new appointment with The Doctor sometime in

the next seventy-two hours. And no more taking out your bad moods on your fellow officers and crew

members. Do you understand me, Ensign?"

"Yes, sir," Kim said, visibly struggling to conceal his relief. What did he expect, Chakotay wondered, that

I'd have him confined to quarters for blowing off a little steam? "Thank you, Commander."

"At ease, Ensign. You may go now." Kim murmured a few more apologies in the direction of The Doctor

and his assistant, then hurried for the door as quickly as decorum allowed. "And, Harry," Chakotay

called out as Kim stepped out the door, "have a happy birthday."

The sickbay doors slid shut, but not before Chakotay spotted a grin on the ensign's face. Turning away

from the exit, Chakotay faced Kes and The Doctor. "I thought you handled that very well," Kes

commented. "I'm sure Harry didn't mean to cause a disturbance."

"Easy for you to say," The Doctor groused. "You're not the one who was switched off like a light bulb."

He reached over and deactivated the sensor screen above the now-vacant biobed. Chakotay wondered

if it reassured The Doctor to be able to turn off his own equipment at will, asserting his position on

Voyager's technological pecking order, or if it only reminded

him of the transitory nature of his own artificially maintained existence? "Now then, Commander, what

can I do for you?"

Chakotay contemplated the events of the last few minutes. "Actually," he said, "it may have everything to

do with what I just witnessed."

"A morale problem?" Captain Kathryn Janeway asked.

"Exactly," Chakotay said. They were having a private conference in the captain's ready room, located off

the bridge. A porcelain mug full of steaming coffee sat on Janeway's desk in front of her. Due to energy

restrictions on the ship's replicators, she rationed herself one fresh coffee every other morning. Janeway

took a sip of the hot Java, savoring the bracing bitterness of its taste, while Chakotay described a recent

episode in the sickbay. Her first officer sat opposite her in a sturdy duranium chair. According to

Voyager's daily schedule, it was still morning. Jane-way treated herself to another swallow of the

precious coffee, anticipating a much-needed kick from the caffeine.

"Harry Kim, you say?" she echoed Chakotay. "That is disturbing. Without casting too many aspersions

on others in the crew, I wouldn't find it quite so remarkable to hear that B'Elanna or Neelix or even Tom

Paris had thrown a tantrum. But Harry? That's not like him at all."

Chakotay nodded gravely. "The incident with Ensign Kim is just a symptom of a larger problem. The

Doctor confirmed my own observations. Most of the crew are showing signs of stress and fatigue.

Nerves are frayed. Tempers are short. Just the other day, I had to stop B'Elanna from force-feeding

Neelix some particularly unappetizing Talaxian delicacy."

"How odd," Janeway stated. "I was under the impression that the crew's attitude had improved

since we left Kazon space." And none too soon, she thought. Certainly, her own sense of adventure had

grown since they left the Kazon and their dire intrigues behind. It troubled her that her first officer thought

the crew's morale was slipping again.

"In general, the mood had lightened until recently," Chakotay explained, "but now we're flying through

what appears to be the Delta Quadrant equivalent to Death Valley. Adventure and exploration are grea t

antidotes for homesickness, but day after day spent traversing dead, lifeless space would get anybody

down."

"I see," Janeway said. She had to admit she'd been feeling a bit bored herself lately. "So what do you

suggest we do about this outbreak of sour spirits?"

"My own diagnosis," Chakotay said, "is that a bad case of cabin fever is spreading through Voyager.

There's not much we can do about the root causes of any homesickness, but I strongly recommend shore

leave for the crew as soon as a suitable site is found."

"That's an excellent idea," Janeway said. "As you say, the crew's been stuck aboard the ship for weeks

now, without any break." A circular porthole behind her head offered a view of the surrounding space.

Janeway glanced out the window at the stars streaking by. "Unfortunately, we don't seem to be near any

prime vacation spots at present."

"True enough," Chakotay began. "Still-" The commbadges on their uniforms beeped in unison,

interrupting the first officer's comment. Janeway tapped her badge in response while Chakotay listened

in.

"Captain here," she said. "What is it?"

Harry Kim's voice emerged from her badge. "En-sign Kim I think you and Commander Chakotay should

come to the bridge. We've detected a transmission coming from a nearby solar system." A transmission?

Janeway experienced the same

thrill she always felt at the prospect of encountering a new civilization and life-form. This is what Starfleet

is all about, she thought, even when we're in the Delta Quadrant. "Understood, Mr. Kim. We're on our

way."

Chakotay was already rising from his chair. He waited by the closed door for her to join him, then they

entered the bridge together.

An almost palpable aura of excitement suffused the bridge, emanating from the eager expressions and

alert body language of the officers on duty. Lieutenant Tom Paris had the conn, while Harry Kim was

stationed at Ops. Both men looked more upbeat and alive than they had in weeks. Ensign Susan

Tukwila, a promising young officer recently transferred from stellar cartography to the bridge, manned the

port forward science console; like Chakotay, Tukwila was a Native American who had served among

the Maquis renegades before ending up on Voyager. Tukwila appeared just as energized as Paris and

Kim by the discovery of the alien transmission. Only Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, stationed at the

security/tactical console at aft starboard, seemed immune to the urgency and impatience on display

throughout the bridge; his face maintained its customary expression of Vulcan detachment.

Taking her seat in the command area, Janeway glanced toward the starboard engineering station. She did

not see B'Elanna Torres at her usual post. Janeway assumed that Torres was hard at work down in the

main engineering core. Chakotay sat down beside Janeway, a few meters to her left. "Very well," the

captain said. "Let's hear this transmission."

"We have visual as well as audio, Captain," Kim informed her.

"Even better," Janeway said. "Put it on the Main Viewer, Mr. Kim."

The large viewscreen at the front of the bridge lit up. Janeway expected to see the person or persons

responsible for the transmission. Instead the screen offered a panoramic look at an alien landscape. "Oh

my," Janeway said, caught off guard by the breathtaking beauty of the view.

It was a beach scene, actually, but like none that she had ever seen before. The peaceful shore bore little

resemblance to, say, the surging swells that crashed against the rocky coastline beneath Burleigh Manor

in her favorite holo-novel. Instead sparkling golden water rippled beneath a red-hued sky. Saffron foam

crested the gentle waves that broke upon an ebony shore, while small puffy clouds drifted slowly through

the air, doing little to obscure the warm crimson sunlight that illuminated the entire scene. The beach itself

seemed composed of millions of glossy black pebbles the size of small beads. Every pebble shined like

polished obsidian, worn smooth by the ceaseless caress of the waves, so that the shore glittered with

countless dark mirrors. Janeway imagined walking her long-lost dog upon the beach, then chided herself

for daydreaming on duty. She searched in vain for footprints or any other sign of habitation; the beach

looked pristine, untouched.

Rosy sunshine glinted off the gleaming pebbles, but here and there looming trees provided shade from the

sun. Deep purple fronds, streaked with veins of pink, sprouted from the top of each tree, casting shifting

shadows upon the beach as the trees swayed leisurely in response to an unseen breeze. Their slender

trunks were covered by coppery metallic bark. Smaller vegetation grew abundantly along the rim of the

beach; a hundred different shades of green, they resembled sea anemones and living coral, as though

underwater plant life had taken root on dry land. Delicate purple tendrils danced in the breeze, adding a

touch of alien

beauty to the idyllic tableau. "It's lovely," Ensign Tukwila said out loud. "Just gorgeous." Janeway had to

agree.

At first, she could hear only the waves lapping at the shore and the soft rustling of the fronds in the wind.

Then a disembodied voice accompanied the postcard-pretty scenery. The Universal Translator gave the

unseen speaker a deep masculine voice with a distinct but unfamiliar accent.

"Behold Ryolanov," came the voice, "whomever you are. We welcome the opportunity to meet you and

your people. Please consider yourself wholeheartedly invited to share the beauty and hospitality of our

world for as long as you care to visit. Come to Ryolanov. We await you with open arms."

The voice fell silent, leaving only the natural splendor of the alien beach to speak for the source of the

transmission. Janeway tore her gaze away from the ever-so-inviting view and glanced back over her left

shoulder at Harry Kim. "Is that it?" she asked.

"Yes, Captain," Kim answered. "The invitation simply repeats itself at regular intervals, about every five

minutes."

"How long has it been running?" Chakotay asked Kim.

"Uncertain." Kim said. "We detected the transmission as soon as we came within range. For all we can

tell, it's been broadcast continuously for years."

"Is there anyway to respond?" Janeway inquired. She was anxious to establish a dialogue with the

mysterious inhabitants of-what was that name again? She retrieved the unfamiliar word from her memory.

Ryolanov, she repeated silently. The name had a pleasingly exotic sound.

Kim shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Captain. It's strictly a one-way transmission. The signal wasn't even

aimed at us specifically, Voyager just happened

to be in the right place at the right time." The voice from Ryolanov began to deliver its invitation once

more. Kim cut off the audio transmission, leaving the visuals up on the screen.

"In other words," Janeway concluded, turning back toward the screen, "what we're dealing with is the

subspace equivalent of a message in a bottle."

"Not unlike Earth's SETI program in the late twentieth century," Tuvok commented, referring to the

historic Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence. "Intriguing."

Janeway swung around in her chair to look at the Vulcan. "What's your take on this, Mr. Tuvok?" She

had known Tuvok longer than any other member of her crew and valued his judgment. Indeed, it often

occurred to her that, given the Vulcan's longer-than-human lifespan, Tuvok would probably be in

command of Voyager if and when the misplaced starship found its way home several decades from now.

She found this thought both comforting and, on a personal level, disturbing.

"From a security standpoint," Tuvok said, "it concerns me that our would-be hosts seem unwilling to

show themselves."

"Perhaps they do not wish to be judged by their appearance," Chakotay said. "Given the wide variety of

physical forms throughout the galaxy, this strikes me as a reasonable precaution. After all, not all

spacefaring peoples are as accepting of diversity as the Federation."

And even Starfleet, Janeway thought, has occasionally been known to misjudge an alien species on

account of its appearance. She recalled humanity's tragic first encounter with the Hortas of Janus VI

close to a century ago, not to mention that ugly Romulan witch hunt aboard the Enterprise a few years

back.

"You may be correct, Commander," Tuvok conceded. "Still, I would prefer more data before accepting

Ryolanov's extraordinary hospitality at face value."

"As would we all," Janeway said, "but the advantages of pursuing this invitation further seem to outweigh

the risks involved. As a Starfleet vessel, our fundamental duty must be to seek out unknown alien cultures

and increase the total knowledge of our collective peoples. Someday we will get back to the Federation,

and when we do, we will be the modern-day Marco Polos of the Delta Quadrant, bringing back vital

information about new territory that no human-and no Vulcan-has ever explored."

With luck, she thought, that little pep talk will help perk up the bridge crew's sagging morale. It was

nothing she hadn't said before, but it couldn't hurt to reinforce the higher purpose of their journey every

so often. "Besides," she said, feasting her eyes once more on the spectacular beauty of that unearthly

beach, "this might be just what the doctor ordered."

She shared a sideways glance, and a conspiratorial smile, with Chakotay. "You know," he said, "it might

be at that."

"Mr. Kim," Janeway said firmly. "I assume we can trace the transmission back to its place of origin?"

The young ensign looked up from the monitor at the operations console. "Easily, Captain."

"Transmit the necessary coordinates to the conn," she ordered. "Mr. Paris, set a course for Ryolanov.

Warp factor five."

"Yes, ma'am!" Paris said with enthusiasm. His fingers raced deftly over the controls of the navigation

station. He seemed eager to plant his feet upon that glistening jet-black sand and dive perhaps into that

shimmerin g golden foam. Janeway could hardly blame him.

"Er, Captain?" Kim asked. "Shall I take the visual transmission off the main viewer?"

Janeway sank back into the cushioned padding of the captain's chair. She watched the violet palm trees

away hypnotically above the sunlit beach. "Not just yet, Mr. Kim," she decided. "Leave it up a little while

longer."

She couldn't imagine a more enchanting locale for a shore leave.

CHAPTER

"SO YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT THIS RYOLANOV?" JANE-

way asked Neelix as she, Tuvok, Tom Paris, and Neelix stepped onto the transporter pads. Tuvok had

argued, quite properly, against the captain joining the first mission to the planet's surface, but she had

decided to overrule his objections in this instance. So far, the Ryol had greeted Voyager's initial hails with

nothing but peaceful and friendly overtures, nor had they demonstrated any sign of hostility toward the

visitors from the Federation. They had readily agreed to a meeting between representatives of Voyager

and their own leader and even provided coordinates for a location on the planet's surface.

"Frankly, Captain," Neelix replied, taking his place upon the transporter platform, "I'm more amazed than

any of you to find a flourishing people and planet in the middle of this interstellar wasteland. Every

reputable explorer and trader, and most of the less reputable ones, wrote off this entire region

generations ago. 'Creation's garbage heap,' the early Haak-onian cartographers used to call it. 'Here

there lies . . . nothing,' they inscribed on their maps. Not even the Kazon considered it worth claiming.

There weren't supposed to be any valuable resources or populations anywhere in this sector." Neelix

laughed heartily, shaking the wiry bristles along his jawline. "Who would have ever guessed that a

veritable paradise was hiding amid all this lifeless desolation?"

"Indeed," Tuvok said. "It defies probability that your vaunted familiarity with the Delta Quadrant should

prove incomplete once more."

"That's right!" Neelix cheerfully seconded Tuvok, then mulled over the Vulcan's statement a few more

moments. "Hey, wait, what exactly did you mean by that?"

"No more than what I said," Tuvok replied. His phaser was affixed to the right side of his gold-and-black

Starfleet uniform. At the Vulcan's insistence, both he and Tom Paris carried side arms. Janeway

suspected that Neelix probably had a weapon concealed on his person as well; the little Talaxian was too

much of a wily survivor to go into an unknown environment unarmed. She had left her own phaser in her

quarters, largely as a symbolic gesture of good faith. At present, she thought, the Ryol appear to have no

ulterior motives-and little in the way of a military. Preliminary sensor readings taken from orbit had

revealed Ryolanov to be exactly what it appeared to be an M-class class planet inhabited by a peaceful

and orderly society. Voyager's sensors hadn't even detected the presence of a single prison installation,

let alone any battlefields or weapons systems. The Ryol probably have more reason to fear us than we

have to distrust them.

"It's time," she announced, silencing the banter. "Prepare to beam down. B'Elanna?"

Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres had volunteered to personally man the transporter controls, just in case

something went wrong. Although the Ryol appeared friendly, first impressions could be deceptive-as in

the case of the Trabe convoy who had betrayed Voyager a year ago. "The first sign of trouble," the

half-Klingon engineer said grimly, "and I'm beaming you back onto the ship faster than a Cardassian can

violate a treaty agreement."

"I appreciate your concern," Janeway replied. "Trust me, if they start boiling us in cooking pots, you'll be

the first to know."

If Torres was amused by Janeway's quip, she didn't show it. She glowered at the controls as she

activated the transporter. Both Torres and the transporter room itself seemed to fade from view as a wall

of cascading yellow sparks obscured Janeway's vision. In fact, the captain knew, it was she who was

really dissolving into a coruscating pillar of pure energy. Janeway experienced a momentary chill, then the

sparkling distortion cleared from her eyes and she found herself standing, along with the rest of the away

team, on the surface of Ryolanov.

They were outdoors, in the very setting whose beckoning image the Ryol had broadcast to the stars.

Let's hear it for truth in advertising, Janeway thought. The beach was even more breathtaking in reality.

The waves, which she now saw belonged to a spacious harbor, looked like overlapping sheets of molten

gold. There were, if anything, even fewer clouds in the crimson sky. The air was warmer than Voyager's,,

but not uncomfortably so, and fragrant with the aroma of blooming flowers. Janeway took a deep breath,

enjoying the sweetly perfumed air. A breeze blew in from the harbor, carrying the scent of, no, not salt,

but ginger. She could -almost taste the spice upon her lips.

The gravity, as suggested by the planet's size and density, felt perceptibly lighter than Earth's. She could

feel a little extra spring in her step.

They stood upon a level pathway that looked as though it had been created by fusing together hundreds

of the tiny black pellets. A boardwalk of sorts, Janeway guessed, formed from the basic stuff of the

beach itself. From where they now assembled, she could see that the obsidian beach bordered a

well-trimmed garden that eventually gave way to a group of graceful opalescent buildings less than a

kilometer away. A trio of humanoid figures waited in front of a topiary arch. The stems and leaves of the

plants, she noted, were as purple as the drooping fronds of the trees upon the beach. The blooms

themselves displayed every shade of green, from chartreuse to jade. The botanists aboard Voyager will

have a field day here, she guessed.

The Ryol delegation approached them, consisting of two men and one woman. As they came closer into

view, Janeway saw that all three Ryol were extremely attractive by humanoid standards. Their skin was a

uniform reddish brown, almost maroon, while their pale green eyes shone like malachite. Both men had

tawny yellow manes like a lion's, while only a thin layer of blond fur covered the female's scalp. Janeway

noted that Tom Paris's eyes widened significantly as his gaze fell upon the Ryol woman. "My, oh, my,"

Paris said, too quietly to be heard by the oncoming aliens, "I think I'm going to like it here."

Well suited to the tropical environment, the clothing of the Ryol was both lightweight and brief. All three

wore embroidered vests and short skirts that fell to just above their knees. The men's vests were open in

front, exposing hairless chests, while the woman's was tied shut by three scarlet ribbons. Both vests and

skirts seemed made from a thin gauzy fabric that resembled silk. Aside from the fur upon their heads,

the Ryol displayed little hair upon their bodies. Sandals protected the soles of their feet; Janeway noted

that their nails were dark brown and slightly pointed. Delicate pieces of silver jewelry adorned their

fingers and ears. At a quick glance, the craftsmanship appeared exquisite.

"Welcome!" one of the men declared. Janeway recognized his voice and accent from the transmission she

had heard aboard Voyager. "I am Varathael, Eldest of the Ryol." He in fact looked older and more

mature than either of his companions. His mane was fuller and streaked with gray, giving him the look of

an Old Testament patriarch, although he seemed far from infirm. His back was straight, his bearing proud

and dignified. He reminded Janeway a little of Lord Burleigh, the highborn hero of her holodeck

adventures. A silver medallion hung from a chain around his neck. A translucent red gem, its multifaceted

surface reflecting the sunlight, rested at the center of a shining metal disk. A symbol of his authority?

The Ryol appeared unfazed by the away team's sudden materialization on their beach, which Jane-way

took as a good sign. She had warned the inhabitants of the planet of what to expect during their

preliminary discussions regarding this meeting, but less technologically advanced cultures sometimes

reacted with surprise and alarm anyway. Perhaps Ryo-lanov was more scientifically advanced than it

appeared on first glance. After all, she reminded herself, they knew enough to transmit an invitation out to

the stars.

Varathael gestured toward his younger associates. "This is Laazia, my daughter and heir, and Naxor, my

personal aide."

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance," Laazia said warmly. Her voice, surprisingly deep, had a

slight vibrato quality. A wide smile revealed rows of pearly white teeth. Long black lashes curled above

exotic green eyes. "Your arrival is the most exciting thing to happen on this planet in ages."

"Most stimulating, yes," Naxor agreed, although he seemed to be controlling his ebullience easily enough.

The young Ryol male struck Janeway as aloof and a bit full of himself. A thin white scar, running from the

corner of his mouth to below his chin, marked his handsome features. Janeway wondered how he had

obtained the scar, even as Naxor declined to establish eye contact with her when he spoke. Still, she

reminded herself, compared to a typical Kazon warrior or Vidiian organ snatcher, Naxor was practically

overflowing with hospitality. In the Delta Quadrant, she thought, I'll take whatever friends I can find.

"I want to thank you all for your gracious invitation to visit this extraordinarily beautiful world," she said,

"I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager." She introduced each member of the

away team by name. "We look forward to learning more about you and your people."

"No more than we wish to share our blessings with you," Varathael said. "We have been radiating our

message of welcome out into the ether for many years now, but yours is the first vessel to respond." He

eyed the away team with unconcealed fascination. "So many shapes and colors," he marveled. "From

whence, Captain, did you say your ship originated?"

"The United Federation of Planets," she explained, "which represents many races and worlds working

together in cooperation and harmony. Mr. Paris and I both come from a planet known as Earth, while

Mr. Tuvok is a Vulcan. Only Mr. Neelix is a native of this region of space, which we call the Delta

Quadrant. He is a Talaxian."

"No doubt you have heard of us," Neelix said. He puffed out his chest, preening in his garish motley

attire. "We Talaxians are descended from a noble breed of explorers and adventurers."

"Alas, no," Varathael answered, "although I am sure your people are quite remarkable in their own way."

He returned his attention to Janeway. "Earth, Vulcan . . . your Federation sounds most colorful and

intriguing. I hope I shall have the opportunity to visit it myself someday, and behold your people in all

their rich variety."

Janeway shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid the Federation is very far away." Much too far from here, she

thought.

"But surely your magnificent starship, your Voyager, can traverse such distances in a twinkling?"

Varathael said. "After all, look how far you have come."

"That was something of a fluke," Janeway stated.

She looked for a way to broach the subject gracefully. "I am curious, Elder," she said. "You have not

encountered the Talaxians before, yet the Ryol are clearly comfortable with the concept of other worlds

and other forms of intelligent life. How far have your own people traveled beyond this planet?"

He looked up at the beckoning heavens. "To be honest, we have devoted few resources to the

exploration of space. Look around you why ever would we want to leave such a natural paradise? It

always seemed easier, I suppose, to invite other races to visit us here."

Janeway could see why crossing the void to explore worthless and unexciting lumps of dirt might end up

a low priority for the Ryol. If humanity had not been born with some sort of incurable wanderlust

hardwired into our genetic makeup, she thought, then we might have grown discouraged as well by the

harsh conditions we encountered throughout Earth's solar system. Janeway felt a tiny surge of pride at

humanity's stubborn persistence in the face of a seemingly hostile universe, although she diplomatically

kept such sentiments to herself.

"This is undeniably a beautiful world," she said. "I

can readily see why you love it so." She hoped it would be possible to allow her crew some shore leave

here. She wouldn't mind a little vacation herself.

"Excuse me, Captain," Tuvok interrupted. The Vulcan security chief joined her beside Varathael and his

entourage. "Commander Chakotay is awaiting a report on the status of the away team."

"Tell him that everything is fine," she instructed, "and that we will be staying a little while longer." She

looked at Varathael. "Assuming that is acceptable to you, of course."

"Absolutely!" Varathael said, beaming, bright green eyes welcoming them. His smile was as bright and

flawless as his daughter's. "Why, you haven't even seen our city yet. Come, let us stroll through this public

garden. I confess, we are quite proud of our lovely flora."

Sure beats crawling through the mud during a firefight, Janeway thought, or trying to hold a collapsing

warp core together. "On behalf of the U.S.S. Voyager and the United Federation of Planets, I accept

your most appealing offer."

The heady aroma of the lush green blossoms was almost overwhelming as Varathael led them through an

intricate floral maze composed of coral-like bushes that rose well above their heads. Tuvok kept close to

Janeway, his somber features unmoved by the beauty and tranquillity of the garden. Predictably, Paris

dropped back to mingle with Laazia, while Neelix attached himself to Naxor, who looked none too

pleased by this turn of events. "You have really never met a Talaxian before?" she heard Neelix say.

"How astounding! Let me tell you all about us. . . ."

Small birds, looking much like sparrows, chirped in the spreading branches of the coral-bushes, Janeway

observed, while carefully avoiding the waving tendrils of the anemone-plants. Hundreds of shiny black

pebbles paved the path beneath her feet, and the sun was

warm upon her face. I could get used to this, she thought.

Laazia spoke softly behind Janeway, laughing at some joke of Paris's. Watch it, Lieutenant, Janeway

thought sternly, wishing she were telepathic. Let's not charm the locals too much. She still recalled the

trouble Paris's wandering eye had gotten him into on the Banean homeworld. What had that young

woman's name been again? Ah, yes, she remembered. Lidell. She glanced back over her shoulder.

Laazia was already holding on to Paris's arm as they shared another laugh. Not far away, Naxor glared

at the couple with a scowl on his face while Neelix babbled on, oblivious to the Ryol male's apparent

anger. Janeway wondered what exactly Naxor's relationship to Laazia was. This could be a problem, she

thought.

"Is anything wrong?" Varathael asked.

"Not at all," she lied, looking away from the simmering triangle behind her. "I was merely admiring your

daughter. She is quite charming. You must be very proud of her."

Varathael nodded. "Laazia possesses a keen mind and laudable ambition. She is already a skilled

arbitrator, adept at mediating whatever small disputes arise among my fellow Ryol. I fully expect her to

lead our people when I have grown too old to look out for our welfare."

Janeway noted the lines upon his face. He seemed only a few years older than she. "Surely that day must

be far way," she said.

"Quite," he agreed. "Ours is a very long-lived race."

She wondered how a Ryol's lifespan compared to that of a human or a Vulcan. By Ocampa standards,

she remembered, ten years was an unbelievably long time to live. In any event, the Elder appeared

healthy enough. He walked at a vigorous pace through the

garden. Janeway had to hurry to keep up with him, grateful for the slightly diminished gravity.

She gave up trying to figure out the maze herself, content to follow Varathael's lead. In the unlikely event

that she found herself stranded in the maze later on, she could always be beamed back to the ship from

any point within the maze. Laazia and Paris spoke to each other too softly to be overheard, but Janeway

caught snatches of Neelix's ongoing monologue.

"The really astounding thing," he told the unfortunate Naxor, "about Talaxian hair pasta is the way a true

gourmet can tell in just one bite what year the hair was cut and during what phase of the moon. Why, I

remember one time I was dining at an asteroid colony outside the Revodro System when the proprietor

actually had the nerve to insist he was serving full-moon follicles even though the fibers were stringy and

the texture was as coarse as the hide of a Lapinkan gorzehop deep in the grip of rigor mortis! I mean,

really! Can you believe it?"

"I suppose I must," Naxor said coldly. Janeway thought she overheard a trace of irritation in the younger

Ryol's tone.

Neelix appeared oblivious to his escort's surly manner, or perhaps, Janeway speculated, he was simply

determined to improve Naxor's mood through sheer force of personality. She suspected the latter,

although she feared that her morale officer may have, in this particular instance, overestimated the

capabilities of his distinctive charisma.

"I say, this is a spectacular garden, Mr. Naxor," he said, pausing to contemplate an immense anemone

whose swaying violet tendrils stretched well above Neelix's head. "What sort of plant nutrients do you

use? My Kes is quite a gardener in her own right. You should see some of the floral masterpieces she's

caused to bloom in Voyager's hydroponics labs. She

has what the humans call a 'green thumb,' not that she's literally green of course, not like the Emerald

Priestesses of Msyamysa. Now those are really green! My Kes, on the other hand, is more of a pinkish

shade____"

"I'm sure she is," Naxor said curtly, his fraying patience too obvious to be missed. "Perhaps you would

prefer to contemplate the splendors of our garden in silence." Janeway hoped that Neelix would take this

none-too-subtle hint and leave Naxor alone. Was there anyway she could signal Neelix without attracting

undue attention from Varathael?

Neelix seemed to regard Neelix's ill temper as a challenge to be overcome. "Well, enough about me and

my travels, fascinating though they may be to some. I want to know all about Ryolanov. Tell me about

everything! How's the cuisine around here. I fancy myself something of a gourmet, but I'm always open to

new culinary experiences. Tell me all about your food. What's the planetary specialty? What sort of

exotic repast really whets your appetite?"

"Silence!" Naxor snapped at Neelix. The pupils of his eyes expanded dramatically. "Must you prattle on

endlessly?" He raised his hand above his head, his fist clenched as if to strike the Talaxian.

Amid the diplomatic pleasantries of the Ryol's meeting with the away team, Naxor's angry words erupted

like a thunderclap out of a clear blue sky. Other conversations hushed abruptly as all eyes turned toward

the ugly scene. Paris dropped Laazia's arm as his hand drifted toward his phaser. Janeway started to

intervene, but Varathael spoke first. "Naxor!" he barked. Janeway heard a harshness in the Elder's tone

that had not been there before. His own pupils seemed to expand somewhat. A sign of anger, Janeway

speculated, or simply strong emotion?

His leader's voice seemed to cool Naxor's fury by several degrees. His raised arm drooped limply to his

side. His pupils shrank to mere pinpricks in the malachite brilliance of his eyes. "Elder," he said. "I am

sorry. I did not mean-"

"These people are our guests," Varathael declared, "and they have not traveled so far to be insulted by

such as you. Apologize to them , not me."

Tension descended over the garden. Even the chirping birds seemed to have fallen silent. Naxor

glowered at Paris through half-lowered lids. Laazia reclaimed Paris's arm, making a bad situation worse.

Varathael stood stiffly beside Janeway, impaling Naxor upon a icy stare.

"Really, there's no harm done," Neelix insisted, clearly hoping to defuse the crisis. "It's all my fault. I

always talk too much. Sometimes even I get tired of listening to me. . . ."

"That's enough, Mr. Neelix," Janeway said quietly. As nearly as she could tell, this was an internal matter

now, something for the Ryol to work out among themselves. The best thing they could do now was stay

out of it-and hope that this awkward incident did not permanently sour their relations with the Ryol. So

much for shore leave, she thought, glancing over at Tuvok. The Vulcan stood by attentively, one hand

poised above his commbadge, ready to have the entire team beamed back to Voyager if the situation got

out of hand. She exchanged a meaningful look with Tuvok, shaking her head slightly. Not just yet, she

signaled. Let's see how this plays out.

"Well?" Varathael demanded. "Apologize!"

Naxor clenched his fists at his side, his sharp nails digging into his palms. Janeway was surprised to see

an inky black fluid drip from his hands onto the walkway. Blood? She noted again the scar upon his face.

The legacy, she wondered, of some past battle or brawl? The imperious young Ryol seemed capable of

violence. Even now, he seemed only slightly cowed by Varathael's displeasure.

He looked away from Paris and Laazia, staring instead at the fused black paving. "I apologize, Captain

Janeway," he said, hesitating a beat before including the bewhiskered Talaxian, "and to you as well, Mr.

Neelix."

He did not, Janeway noted, offer any explanation for his behavior. Still, it appeared the situation could be

salvaged after all. "I accept your apology," she said, stepping forward. "First contact with representatives

from another civilization is always stressful. I'm just glad we can put this little misunderstanding behind

us."

"Yes, of course! My sentiments exactly," Neelix added. "I promise not to bore you again-unless I can't

help it."

"Frankly, I'd put my money on the latter," Paris joked. He extended a friendly hand toward Naxor.

"Trust me on this, I've known Neelix a lot longer than you have."

Janeway admired Paris's initiative, but questioned his timing, especially since Laazia was still beaming her

incandescent smile in the young lieutenant's direction. Naxor peered disdainfully at Paris's proffered hand.

His gaze slid sideways to lock with Varathael's. The Elder nodded. Naxor shook Paris's hands.

Jane-way saw Paris wince slightly as the Ryol squeezed his hand; she guessed Naxor's grip was none too

gentle.

"I can tell you are a sociable sort, Mr. Paris," Naxor said. He glared at Laazia. "Very sociable."

The Elder's daughter ignored Naxor's pointed remark. She kept her malachite eyes focused on Paris as

she spoke. "I do hope you will all be able to stay with us a while. There is so much I want to learn about

you." Letting go of Paris's arm, she stepped between Naxor and Neelix. "About all of you," she added

diplomatically. "I couldn't help overhearing your remarks about the hair pasta, Mr. Neelix. It sounds quite

extraordinary. As much as I revere our society

and its traditions, I have often thought that we might benefit from an infusion of new blood and new

ideas-not to mention some new recipes!" Her laughter acted as a salve over the raw feelings exposed a

few moments before. Janeway recalled the Elder's praise for his daughter's skills as a mediator.

"Yes," Varathael seconded his heir. "Perhaps we can arrange an program of social and cultural

exchange."

Sounds like shore leave to me, Janeway thought. "I would like nothing better," she said sincerely. So why

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

CHAPTER1Captain'slog,stardate491750.0WearecontinuingourtravelsthroughwhatappearstobeanunusuallybarrenanddesolatesectoroftheDeltaQuadrant.LittlehasinterruptedVoyager'sdailyroutinesforseveralweeksnow-amixedblessing,tobesure.Withnonewdangersordiscoveriestocommandmyattention,Ifindmythoughtsdriftingincre...

展开>> 收起<<

STAR TREK - VOY - 13 - The Black Shore.pdf

共106页,预览22页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

STAR TREK - VOY - 13 - The Black Shore

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: