Chapter 6 – Out of the Void
The transport operator, a Bajoran crewman on her first deep-space assignment, instinctively ducked behind her console as the ship's Chief of Security, barely materialized, jumped off his pad with the coiled force of a jungle cat, twisted in mid-air and pulled out his phaser to point it at the platform.
"Sir?" she asked, the confusion evident in her voice as it echoed in the nearly empty room. "Is something wrong?"
Ayala's phaser was pointed at thin air, or rather at Voyager's First Officer as he, in turn, stepped off the platform. Tervellyan's hands went up in mock surrender.
"Hey, what's up, Mike? Too much of that synthehol? What'd you expect – a stowaway?"
Ayala stood up from his fighting crouch and scrutinized the empty pad for a minute before holstering his weapon.
"Yes, sir," he said simply. "Someone jumped me just as the transport beam engaged. I thought they'd come out with me, and be here."
"That is impossible," Crewman Cor Zelis stated, as firmly as she dared in front of two of Voyager's senior officers, and seemingly contradicting one of them. "We set the transport for two, with the signal trained on your comm badges, so that's all the transporter would grab."
"Yeah," Tervellyan's smile had dissolved into a light frown. "You must have been mistaken, Mike. Nothing can get through the transporter unless it's set for it."
But Ayala knew what he had felt, and in the face of that dead certainty he wasn't particularly interested in being told that he was imagining a potential security breach, commanding officer or not. "With your permission, sir, I'd like a second opinion on that."
He tapped his comm badge without awaiting a response. "Transporter Room Two to Engineering. Commander Torres, would you mind coming up here? We need some advice."
Tervellyan clenched his jaw. He really was getting tired of these 'old Voyagers', as he had started to think of them, running their own channels of communications around him. If they were doing so right in front of him, just what might be going on behind his back that he, as the Executive Officer, should be aware of?
"I don't think you need to engage the Chief on this, Ayala. You heard the operator. She's the expert. The transporter wouldn't have grabbed anyone else, when it was set for two."
Ayala considered his XO briefly, but stood his ground. "Captain Riker went into a transporter and got split into two identical halves. I've seen it set to retrieve two people and spit out one, spliced," he said simply. "And not even the same total body mass. We sent that one guy back into the buffer and got two people back out – complete as before, no bits missing. Personally, I have no idea what happened to them in between, like to the mass we didn't retrieve when the spliced guy came out. Stands to reason it can be set for one, and pick up two. Just a question of where the other body is being kept until someone asks for it. I don't understand this stuff, but Commander Torres sure does."
He paused after this unusually long speech, and looked at his XO expectantly. Tervellyan's jaw clenched a little, but he had to admit the man had a point. Besides, he couldn't very well take the position that having the Chief check out the transporter was in any way problematic. Deciding to put the best face on the matter, he nodded and informed the bridge that he and Ayala were back on board as ordered, and were investigating a possible security breach during their return. He even managed to muster a smile when B'Elanna spilled out of the turbolift and into the transporter room with her usual energetic stride.
She listened attentively to Ayala's description of what had happened to him in the bar, and to Zelis' theory on the limitations of transporters. Tervellyan made the obvious connection, essentially putting his seal of approval on Ayala's out-of-turn request.
"So in other words, Commander, we'd like your view of whether this … alleged passenger could be stuck somewhere in the pattern buffer."
B'Elanna's thoughtful gaze flitted from one to the other. "Of course they could," she replied, carefully schooling her voice to be free of any tone that could be interpreted as anything sounding like a 'duh'. If there was one thing she prided herself on, it was the fact that however impatient she could be with people who did not perform to their abilities, she would never berate anyone for a mere lack of knowledge.
Transporter technology, like temporal dynamics, was a fairly niche specialty even for the geekiest of physicists and engineers, and it was really only due to the many malfunctions Voyager had experienced in the Delta Quadrant - and the odd uses to which they had at times been forced to put the device - that she had acquired any expertise in it. Even an engineer by training, like Tervellyan had been before he switched to the command stream, could be forgiven for not knowing its intricacies.
"The rule about 'one in, one out' is a matter of expectations and statistics, not physics," she explained. "When it comes to the standard transporter models, any unexpected bio signs that invade a previously-set transport matrix are stored in the pattern buffer for a limited period of time. That's essentially how we filter out bacteria and undesirable parasites, from people we send on away missions. The retention is so that we can get a sample if we need one; usually those impurities or byproducts of transport just get deleted from the buffer on a twenty-four hour cycle. On the other hand, if the transporter hasn't read a given matrix before, and gets told to bring up a life form whose data it hasn't stored, in the absence of a tag or a comm badge it assumes you want the closest humanoid to the coordinates. So the basics is that, no - transporters don't just bring up what they're told."
"But what if it wasn't told to take up two, wouldn't it just take one, especially if that person had a comm badge, and leave the other behind?" Zelis was intrigued. While she had been trained in in transporter physics and mechanics, like most transport operators, the education had been basic and she was expected to learn on the job – and obviously eager to do so. B'Elanna made a mental note to mention this to Tom. Maybe they should have the occasional evening or lunchtime seminar, to give their younger and less experienced crew members some pointers on the crap that could and did happen in the real world? Tales from the Delta Quadrant, as learning opportunities? The idea had potential.
"Normally, yes. But if the proximity is extreme, the transporters take up the whole mass but filter out the un-stored matrix as unwanted biomatter, like it would a … a leech. And if the transporter is programmed differently, like that one-way gizmo of LaForge's, it catches everybody within a certain radius, and spits them all out at destination. That doesn't apply here, but the point is, it's not all in the setting."
"How long before a stored extraneous pattern decays?" Tervellyan asked.
"Twenty-four standard hours are the official safety margin," B'Elanna replied as she headed over to the console. "Same time as the regular purge. We used that as a guide when we hid some telepaths in the pattern buffers against detection by a bunch of xenophobes. But Will Riker once told Tom and me about the Enterprise finding a guy who'd been in a buffer for seventy-five years, and all he needed to realign his molecules was a stiff Scotch. So, personally, I think sell-by dates are highly negotiable."
She punched in a few commands, frowned and hit her comm badge. "Torres to Paris. Tom, we've confirmed we had an intruder attempt."
"Don't you mean intruder alert?" Tom's voice came from the turbolift rather than the comm line. Knowing that nothing would have kept Janeway out of the transporter room in a situation like this, he had decided to check matters out for himself. Captain's privilege.
"If the person had actually made it onboard, yes," his wife informed him drily. "But he or she is presently stuck in the pattern buffer. Judging by the molecular structure and quantities, I'd say adult humanoid, about my size."
"Can you get him – or her – out?"
Tom and Tervellyan had both walked over to the transporter console to inspect B'Elanna's data, with Zelis standing on her tip-toes behind them, trying to catch a glimpse. Tom moved aside to let her have a look. He was, after all, just a spectator, while she had the opportunity to stretch her professional horizons.
"Should be able to," B'Elanna said. "The problem is, I can't tell you who and what you might be getting. A nice little old Vulcan lady with a copy of the Dictates of Poetry - or a pissed off Romulan with a disruptor."
Tom gave Ayala a little wink at that last comment. "Good point," he noted. "Computer, erect a Level 10 force field around the transporter platform."
He turned to Zelis. "Make sure the bio filters are still engaged, given where he or she is coming from."
"Aye, sir. Done."
He nodded his acknowledgment. "Energize."
The figure materialized before them in a half-crouch, arms outstretched and slightly curled, like someone who had jumped a considerable distance and was holding on, as tightly as possible, to the body – no longer there – on which she had briefly landed.
She.
A vision in diaphanous white fabric that was clinging precariously to her voluptuous curves. A light sheen of perspiration coated the translucent green skin of her exquisite face and the soft swell of her partly exposed, perfectly shaped breasts. The cloud of red hair that framed her head almost seemed to float a little on its own, free of gravity - likely the result of her prolonged sojourn in the pattern buffer, but also an uncomfortable reminder of what they had seen on board the abandoned freighter less than a day ago.
Emerald eyes opened wide - first in fear, then, as she took in the uniforms of the officers in the room, in something close to relief. Or was it triumph? She gulped for air, catching a breath still ragged from the leap of faith she had just completed.
"It's one of the dancers from the lounge," Tervellyan announced, not bothering to conceal his astonishment. He had seen her on the stage – who could have missed her entrance? – but at the beam-out, his eyes had been turned towards his acquaintance, and he had not seen the body that had hurled itself at Ayala's tall form. "What the hell …"
The Orion woman's initial reaction to her new surroundings vanished quickly, and she began to look uncertain and wary as her eyes darted from one officer to the other, gauging threat, expecting … what? She took a deep breath and shrank as if from an anticipated slap, before sinking gracefully on her knees. Tom's breath hitched in his throat as he recalled the last time he had seen that gesture of supplication, of utter submission to a superior will.
Still behind the force field, she spread her arms and, head bowed, uttered a single word, in Standard. Spoken clearly, despite whatever apprehension she obviously felt and whatever punishment she seemed prepared to accept, that word rang out in the transporter room - more like an accusation than a plea:
"Asylum."
…..
"Captain. May I have a moment before the briefing?"
The First Officer stood at the entrance to the Captain's ready room, in the classic Starfleet at ease position. But there was nothing at ease about the expression on his face.
Tom had a feeling he knew what was coming: The nanoprobes. Tervellyan's jaw had clenched in a most unpleasant manner when he had been apprised of what he and Ayala had missed while they were in the bar, and Tom had been bracing himself for the inevitable questions ever since. He nodded, expecting the challenge.
He was right.
"Was it a question of trust?" Tervellyan asked as soon as the door whooshed shut behind him. He barely managed to conceal the anger in his voice. "I'd been hoping we knew each other well enough that …"
"No, no of course it wasn't," Tom tried to put as much reassurance into his voice as he could, without sounding patronizing or dismissive.
He wondered briefly whether it would be wise to tell Jarod just why he had hesitated to make his idea known – should a Captain admit to being the victim of insecurity? Janeway never would have … But he was Tom Paris, not Kathryn Janeway, and so he followed his gut.
"Frankly, Jarod, I wasn't sure whether it would work, and I didn't want to look like an idiot with my first bright idea from the Captain's chair. That's it. Nothing personal."
Tom remembered, somewhat uncomfortably, the weeks of tension in Voyager's command team after Chakotay learned that he'd been deliberately left out of the loop regarding Tom's undercover mission to unmask a Kazon spy. But that decision had been taken with the ex-Maquis' potential conflict of interest in mind and Chakotay had been justified in being pissed off; trust had, in fact, come into it, however implicitly. Quite a difference between that, and what he had done, Tom reasoned, but nonetheless an apology was probably warranted.
"Look, I'm sorry. In retrospect, I realize I should have told you. And Asil, and Ayala, too. If it's any consolation, my own wife didn't know about this. Just me and the medical team. B'Elanna's already accused me of liking the Doc better than her," he concluded, even as he realized that attempts at humour on this issue would probably fall flat for a while.
"The important thing is that it worked, and we have a heck of a lot more to go on than Starfleet has ever had before."
Tervellyan did not seem particularly mollified. In fact, his jaw was grinding a little, and he looked paler than usual. When he spoke, Tom had the uneasy feeling that he really wanted to say something else, and restricted himself to the words he did use only by superior force of will.
"I cannot be expected to do my job if you don't let me into your confidence in something as basic as this … Captain." His expression, and the little hesitation, made it clear that he had considered using Tom's name, but opted for formality instead. Had something been lost between them already?
Tervellyan opened his mouth to say more, but Tom decided that he'd heard enough. Luckily, he was the Captain, and even in the face of what was likely his first major screw-up as a commanding officer, there was always that magic sentence that would end all uncomfortable discussion:
"Your concerns have been duly noted, Commander. Dismissed."
Tervellyan glared at him and nodded curtly, before turning around on his heel and heading for the briefing room.
Tom, for his part, found himself wondering how quickly, how readily he had seized on that particular out - so familiar from discussions with his father throughout his adolescence, causing a little piece of him to die every time he heard it: Your objections have been duly noted, Thomas, now do as you're told.
How often did Starfleet Captains find themselves using that line on their first officers, for the sake of convenience or the expediency of command? But at what cost to themselves? He had often suspected, when Chakotay had stormed out of the ready room with a particularly black glower on his face, that Janeway took frequent recourse to it as well. Was that why the former Maquis Captain now lived with Seven of Nine, and not with the woman he had so clearly worshipped during the early part of their journey?
Tom took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and followed his XO into the briefing room. Everyone was sitting at full attention around the table; only the Doctor was missing. At Tom's request, Icheb had been invited to participate. Sitting ramrod straight, his senior cadet uniform impeccable, the young man tried very hard not to look too chuffed about the honour of his first appearance in the senior officer's circle – before having formally earned his ensign's pip.
B'Elanna shifted her gaze curiously from Tervellyan to Tom and back, and pursed her lips in silent consideration of the evident tension between the two men. Tom ignored her and proceeded straight into the meeting. Might as well take the bull by the horn.
"There are a couple of issues to discuss. First, our unexpected 'guest' is in Sickbay for now, getting checked out for the Magellanic virus and whatever else she might have been exposed to, given the manner in which she arrived here. I've asked the Doctor to bring her up when they – and we – are ready, at which point I hope that she can shed some light on what or where those dead women we found might have been destined for."
He let that thought float in the air for a moment before continuing. "So let's start with the item that's most relevant to our immediate mission. The nanoprobe marking scheme, as you know, has worked and we now have incontrovertible proof that Federation antigen deliveries are being diverted illegally. The one route we know of leads out of the Narov system and to this station. The sample Mike brought back from Kalpak confirms this."
Tom briefly cast an apologetic look over to Jarod Tervellyan. He noticed – and deeply appreciated - Tervellyan's apparent effort at outwardly maintaining his equanimity, in the process not providing an opening for the other officers to register the same, not entirely unjustified, complaint. Leaving nearly the entire senior staff in ignorance of a major element of the mission was something Janeway had done in a pinch, but not usually to protect her own ego … Tom decided to punch that thought down again, for future consideration. As far as everyone else was concerned, the secrecy had been due to operational security issues.
Asil spared him the need to continue for the moment by interjecting, "Based on our calculations, the entire shipment Voyager delivered to Nemoth II was brought here, although most of it remains on the Rigellian freighter. If one assumes the motive behind the diversion to be profit, that is not logical. The need, and hence the willingness of individuals to pay for the antigen, is greater on the planets within the system."
Tom gave her a rueful look. "You're forgetting about the previous shipments. One lot did go to Nemoth; presumably that's being sold there as we speak. The shipment the Federation had us bring there was essentially gravy, and may now be destined for Rigel, Betelgeuse or any other of the systems in the neighbourhood. Given how quickly the virus spread through the Snowflakes, it stands to reason people nearby are getting nervous and would be ready to pay a premium for a vaccine."
Asil frowned a little as she tried to puzzle out his vernacular, but Tom continued without enlightening her. There would be other opportunities for that.
B'Elanna nodded. "Whoever is picking up our shipments is probably well connected enough to know that there is more headed into the Snowflakes; we've only made three deliveries out of eight due to the disturbances."
"That's right," Tom continued. "Now that we know where the antigen Voyager took to Nemoth II ended up, our next step should be to trace the exact course of that Rigellian vessel and see if we can determine at which point it took possession of our shipment. That should tell us something about how they carry out the diversions. Asil, anything?"
"The warp signature we detected leads back on a vector directly towards Nemoth II. I do not believe that there has been a significant detour in the ship's course, so it stands to reason that the handover was quite possibly a direct one."
"No middle man," Tom mused. "Interesting." He looked from Asil to Ayala, and to Tervellyan. "Is there a way we can get that ship's transporter coordinates? I'm wondering whether our signals were simply deflected straight to them. There was so much traffic in orbit around the planet that identifying the destination point for any diversion would have been tricky at best."
"I'll look at our logs, and see if someone else's signal piggy-backed onto the receptor," B'Elanna offered. "Any deflection would have been seriously encrypted, but we should be able to identify it, now that we know what we might be looking for."
"I may be able to assist, Commander," Icheb offered eagerly. "Multiple signal overlay is something I am familiar with … from … " Tom thanked him quickly, to spare him having to finish the sentence. No matter how ready he was to draw on his experiences as a Borg drone for the benefit of his fellow shipmates or a mission, Icheb had never been particularly comfortable reminding people – or himself, for that matter – of his former existence.
Ayala cleared his throat and turned to Tervellyan. He had become less reticent to speak up during briefings since taking up his position as Chief of Security, but still did not do so easily. Given his earlier exchange with the XO, though, and his residual displeasure at having been essentially left to his own devices on the station, he could not stop a slight challenge from creeping into his voice.
"In all that excitement with the transporter, we haven't heard from the Commander what he might have learned from his … acquaintance on Kolpak."
"Yes, Jarod – did you get anything useful?" Tom, blissfully unaware of any subtext between his two officers, looked at Tervellyan expectantly.
The Commander shrugged. "A mixed bag. The place is apparently run by a Board of Directors who want to set it up as the gateway to the Snowflakes, once trade routes to and from the Federation are formally agreed. They're focusing on entertainment and supplies. Right now they've got a steady stream of diplomats running through, with individual member planets of the Federation apparently trying to negotiate most favoured partner status before the heavy hand of the Council comes down. The dilithium deposits on some of the inner planets are apparently as attractive to potential investors as shit is to flies. A bunch of Andorians are there now, government officials, stuck because of the quarantine but reluctant to leave in case someone else gets there first."
He paused and shrugged. "And then there's the usual nefarious space station stuff going on, like a seriously tightly run Dabo table that he thinks might serve as a money laundry for someone; he wasn't sure who. Funny enough, though, my contact did not mention the antigen being available, but maybe he didn't know about it."
"Wonder whether the Council knows about its members trying to pre-empt a Federal treaty," Tom mused. In response to Ayala's questioning look, he added, "Any agreement a member has entered into, before the Federation gets around to making arrangements on behalf of everybody, trumps. And those Andorians – I trust them about as far as I can throw their jerk of an emperor. Good stuff, Jarod. We have to make sure to pass that little tidbit up the line."
Pablo Baytart had been doing a little tapping on a PADD on his lap during his XO's summary, and handed it over to Icheb for a second opinion. Icheb added a command or two and handed it back with a nod, whereupon Baytart made a little hand motion to ask for the floor. He was still getting used to his role as senior officer and tended to be a bit shy at meetings, but his familiarity with Voyager and Tom as his superior officer had helped him find his feet pretty quickly. In fact, Tom had been pleased to see how quickly the potential he had always seen in the generally reticent junior pilot was beginning to assert itself. The conn division ran as smoothly as it ever had during his day, he was convinced; someone had even mentioned the emergence of a betting pool.
"Sir, I've just done a quick-and-dirty correlation of our course with the most likely one of the Rigellian freighter that's got our antigen aboard. Icheb just confirmed that my calculations check out. If they came here directly from Nemoth II, with necessary adjustments due to the conditions in the system, there is a one-cubic parsec overlap area with our own course coming in from Parok and Arren. And that area of overlap – wait for it - includes the location where we found the vessel with those dead women. Which was also Rigellian. So I'm wondering …"
"… whether they may have picked up the escape pods en route? Brilliant, guys." Tom grinned approvingly at both men.
He turned to the Ops officer. "Asil, can you do a discrete check on that ship for residual additional propulsion signatures, as soon as we're done here? Let me know what you find. We may need to have a much closer look at this vessel." He opened his mouth to add something, but was interrupted by a chirp from the bridge.
"Captain," Schmidt's voice came over the comm, totally neutral, devoid of any inflection and all business. The man had learned long ago, by necessity and circumstance, never to give anything away when it mattered. "We're being hailed from the station. They're wondering whether we have seen one of their dancers. She seems to have disappeared and for some reason they believe she may be onboard Voyager."
Tom suppressed an approving smile at Schmidt's discrete phrasing – the caller was clearly still on the line - and asked him to put it through.
"What seems to be the problem, Mr. …?" he asked blandly, when the unknown Narovian became visible on the main view screen. As far as he was concerned, the onus was on the other party to state his name and his business, before he would introduce himself. How had they put it in the 20th century? "It's your nickel, sir." Whatever a nickel was.
"Station Chief Cheroth," the man said curtly. "I have been advised that one of the dancers in the Snowflake Lounge may have tried to escape by jumping on one of your crew members as he was beaming out, presumably back to your ship. Yours is the only Starfleet vessel at the station, and the man's uniform was clearly identified."
Ayala moved his chair back a little, to ensure that he would stay out of viewing range, while Tom schooled his face into an approximation of disdainful superiority. The Doc had been a good teacher …
"Captain Tom Paris, USS Voyager. It is common knowledge, Chief Cheroth, that transporters only beam up those whom they've locked onto. Only the two officers we had set to beam out showed up on our transporter platform." The truth and nothing but the truth, even if perhaps not the whole truth.
For good measure, Tom added, "You're welcome to check our transporter log for the incoming arrival."
He treated his interlocutor to a slightly conspiratorial smile now, with widened blue eyes whose innocence would have fooled no one who had ever served with Tom Paris for longer than twenty minutes.
"But I do have one question in return, if I may. You said your dancer tried to escape? Just what would he or she be escaping from, exactly? Not dancing, surely? And if she wanted to leave the station, why wouldn't she just have booked transport off? Or asked to hitch a ride with someone?"
He managed to sound genuinely confused now, and Asil's eyebrow shot up briefly in admiration of his performance.
Cheroth's eyes, in turn, shifted a little to the side as he realized what had to have been a slip of the tongue on his part. He licked his lips before replying, in a less than steady voice, "I believe she might have been … worried about the Magellanic virus. You see, the stories about it are spreading, and some of the girls, especially the ones from Orion, aren't all that … sophisticated. They don't understand that the vaccine we managed to acquire will protect them."
"Ah yes, the vaccine. You're very lucky to have procured a shipment, Chief. I hear it's hard to come by in these parts. May I ask how you managed to get it?"
The Chief's eyes narrowed speculatively, and he pulled himself up in his seat a little. "I'm not here to answer your questions, Captain, about matters of commerce that are frankly none of Starfleet's business."
Tom raised his hands in a mock-defensive gesture, and smiled sweetly. Of course the guy would know to the parsec how far his station was outside Federation jurisdiction… The location of the place was no accident, that much was clear.
"No offence meant, Chief. Just curious, and in the spirit of cooperation, of course. You know that we are here on a humanitarian mission to deliver antigen vials for the sector, and I want to ensure that our efforts are not … unnecessary. Especially given that what you're selling has our insignia on it. Which, with all due respect, makes it my business."
Cheroth had made a full recovery by now, and his reply came promptly, as if well-rehearsed. "I assure you that any Starfleet antigen on this station was provided by the Narovian authorities, in order to pre-empt further spread of the virus. I would be grateful if you could transmit your transporter log to the station so we can verify your statement."
"Consider it done," Tom replied in clipped tones, unwilling to prolong an unproductive discussion any longer than he had to. "Paris out."
He cut the comm link unceremoniously – rudeness had its advantages - and looked around the table.
"Well, that was certainly interesting," he said to no one in particular. "Apart from that bullshit line about how they got the antigen. So, or dancer escaped. She certainly seemed to think so, and judging what happened to her colleagues on that freighter, her concerns seem to be somewhat justified."
He tapped his comm badge. "Paris to Sickbay. Is your patient ready to come and talk to us about … her request for asylum?"
"We'll have her ready to come up and see you in a few minutes, Captain," the EMH said over the comm link. "And yes, I don't think a crowd is what she needs at this time. She does, however, appear to have formed a … bit of a bond with Nurse Tval."
Tom nodded slowly. "Understood. Please have Tval bring her to my ready room. Jarod and I will speak with her; Tval can stay if that would make her more comfortable."
Directing himself at the officers around the table, he summarized their discussion so far. "So this is where we're at: We have one freighter at Kalpak station, crewed by Rigellians, Narovians and Orions, carrying contraband consisting of diverted medication. A highly valuable commodity during a pandemic. We have another freighter, carrying eighteen dead Orion women, by all appearances what's known as 'Orion slave girls' – surely a highly valuable commodity in their own right. It, too, was crewed by Rigellians, Narovians and Orions, and travelling near Kalpak station. And its crew was likely picked up by the first ship."
Ayala cleared his throat to interject. "One more fact in this context, sir. I saw at least three Orions at the Dabo tables, and the three dancers. And the place runs around the clock. They either have, or could use, more."
Tom nodded his thanks. "And one of them may or may not have escaped from Kalpak Station, from whatever she was doing there as part of that group. I see a picture emerging, but to get better granularity we need a few more dots to connect. See if you can find them. Let's see what a detailed scan of the Rigellian ship might yield. The Commander, Tval and I will talk to our …our guest. We'll convene another briefing at 17:00 hours. Dismissed."