Pairing : B'Elanna / Seven

Rating : Mature

Feedback : I took the time to write it, so do me the honour of taking the time to respond when you read it.

Chapter VI :The Mary Celestial ...

The shimmering blue light, which enveloped the air from decking to ceiling with an ethereal whine, belied the unbelievable technological complexity which allowed atoms and entire beings to be disassembled at their constituent molecular level; reassembled in entirely different
locations with only the delay of a handful of moments to notice.

Pressing his foot down as he always did despite the incredible precision of the Transporter, Tuvok edged forwards with phaser already drawn.

Scanning quickly left and right and noting the presence of his security officers on either side, the Vulcan tapped his commbadge dutifully. "Tuvok to Voyager; transport was successful. We are aboard the alien vessel."

The twin shafts of piercing light emanating from Tuvok's wrist-mounted torch cut a swathe through a gloomy corridor, whose proportions roughly matched the width and height of their counterparts on Voyager. Yet where the Starfleet ship would (At least in the Alpha Quadrant) maintain the space and cleanliness, already he spied blackened, scorched cargo containers piled up as high as he stood tall. They were arranged so haphazardly on either side that in some places, it was not possible for the team to walk three abreast.

"There are a large number of cargo containers in the corridors for as far as I can see," The Vulcan reported into the active communication circuit. "The containers are in poor condition; most are empty and those that are not appear to contain nothing of recognisable value."

The team continued their trek for many minutes, without ever finding a break in the gloomy darkness and abandoned stores which had greeted them. Eventually the corridor straightened after a myriad of turns, terminating in a set of double doors marked with a simple silver banner. A rudimentary tricorder scan revealed the technology to be comparable to the electromagnetic locks employed on Voyager, but without a functional power source they were as easy to penetrate as pushing the doors apart.

Tuvok's eyebrow rose towards his cropped hairline, as he took in the cavernous bay the security team now found themselves in. The rearmost bulkhead was only faintly visible, despite the adequate lighting provided by the first functional ship's system they'd encountered since arrival; a modest number of ceiling beacons arranged in strips. For all the chamber's size, the Vulcan had to watch his step for the floor was congested with what seemed a hundred-fold number of vaguely torpedo-shaped masses, stacked three or four high.

"We have encountered a large chamber," the Commander began. "It appears to be filled with ordinance of some variety; tricorder scans detect a faint anti-matter residue. They may have been fitted with warheads similar to our Photon torpedoes—but there are no warheads
in the actual vicinity."

Locating what he believed to be the control responsible for deploying the maintenance gull doors on the body of one torpedo, the Vulcan was the only one of three not to flinch and step back. From below a grey, silent and still face greeted them from within the body of the weapon.

"The torpedoes are full of bodies Captain," the Chief of Security noted grimly. "Everyone in this chamber is dead."

…

…

"Molecular analysis complete; likelihood of successful genetic resequencing negligible."

The Doctor cupped the bridge of his nose, releasing a long and keening sigh as the computer frustrated him for the seventeenth time. For a hologram any display of fatigue was pointless; as long as the holographic emitters remained functional and the run-time from the computer free, his program could not degrade in efficiency. Still, the Emergency Medical Hologram had changed substantially from the factory unit installed as a rather-never-be-used resort.

The Doctor had achieved a remarkable amount in six years. He had reverse-engineered Borg technology, reverse-evolved crewmen and fought any number of devastating viruses and organisms in addition to the more frontier-role of general practitioner in space. Laughably, this wasn't even the first time displaced personalities had come about but on this occasion, he could not begin to fathom a cure.

Consulting his internal chronometer, he sighed one final time. "Computer, deactivate EMH."

…

…

*We do not require the interlocks to be functional; they can be bypassed without deactivating the magnetic constriction segments.*

"You can't be serious!" B'Elanna spat aloud, gesturing at the silver cylinder which rose so proudly in front of them and harboured the secret to faster-than-light travel. "That'd have any Starfleet Corps of Engineering manual committing suicide-by-fire. Even the Maquis wouldn't be so gung-ho without at least a couple of interlocks against the unknown."

*Restoring the interlocks will require a complete engine shutdown. It will also require partial dismantling of the Anti-Matter injectors; it will take an additional number of hours.*

B'Elanna brought a mesh-covered hand — her mesh covered hand — to a pale forehead and rubbed it with a grumble. Despite having had hours to practice, the Chief Engineer found it almost impossible to "talk" inside her own head. As such she continued to provide anyone within earshot bizarre entertainment, in the form of a one-sided rant.

"I've made my decision … Our decision. The interlocks are coming back online, and you're going to help me do it!"

Janeway carefully sized up the padd her Chief of Security had supplied. Occasionally she would pause and make eye contact, as if some detail was scarcely believable. The look on the Vulcan's face assured her it was entirely accurate. "Not a single survivor?"

"Four hundred and thirty eight corpses," Tuvok reiterated. "Four hundred and thirty six contained within modified ordinance shells and two on what we believe is the vessel's bridge. The ship itself was in a significantly advanced state of decay; it is in need of critical repairs to the drive system, and has almost entirely exhausted its supply of Anti-Deuterium."

"From what I can gather the ship dropped to sublight speeds after the deflector grid failed, allowing interstellar dust to contaminate their warp field; there was no redundancy. We have been unable to extract anything from their computer system - the technology is considerably "alien" if will forgive the irony. However, I have surmised that no fresh navigational inputs have been entered into their helm for a period of at least eight hours. It is reasonable to conclude the two corpses on the bridge expired at that time."

Janeway nodded. "I'd rather not disturb those in the bay — they've clearly been interned. Transport one of the bridge corpses to Sickbay, along with a copy of the neural disruptor used on Seven and B'Elanna. Post a security team to the ship and take an engineering detail over. I want the engines disconnected and offensive systems neutralised, then see what you can get from their computer."

With a discreet nod the Vulcan excused himself and departed, leaving the Captain of Voyager to gaze at the mysterious ghost ship floating beyond the observation windows. A ghost ship that had apparently tracked the Federation starship, attacked and boarded, and fled all whilst its sum crew decomposed in a mass grave.

…

…

Nicoletti grunted through gritted teeth as she struggled to sit up. The powerful medical force field surrounding the shattered remains of her pelvis, however, gave no inch in its single-minded quest to keep movement to an absolute minimum. Reaching for the glass of water waiting so patiently on the table nearby, she cursed as the hiss of the field beneath her stomach signalled she would get no closer.

Sending her arm around her head she succeeded in palming the glass to the floor with a dull crack, as her fingers crudely closed a second too late. "Son of a bitch!"

"Computer," Nicoletti snapped. "Was that your idea?"

The clipped tone of Voyager itself seemed unmoved; "Please restate question."

"Why can't you get me some strawberries. Make yourself useful. With cream and milk."

The faint but recognisable hum of a replicator filled the air as the Computer put its artificial intelligence to use impeccably. "Your selection is available at Replicator S-2. Your replicator rations have been debited accordingly."

Susan looked at the delicious dessert from across Sickbay, her eyes traversing down to the medical gown and field emitters surrounding her abdomen. "Son of a bitch!"

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency."

Without thinking, Nicoletti threw her hands in the air. "I'm trapped in a twenty-fourth century nappy, the computer is mocking me with strawberries and I want a bath."

An arm clad in Starfleet medical blue and carrying said dessert stepped into view. "I'm more proficient at repairing a tear in the aorta than waiting on, but I'm something of a jack of all trades, master of one."

"I'm sorry Doctor," Susan replied almost sullenly whilst whipping the desert from his hand. "I'm just

frustrated with being in here is all ... Not that there`s anything wrong with living here. Sort of."

The EMH nodded, "It's quite alright Ensign - I'm just part of the furniture. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a rather cold and quiet visitor scheduled for my 1500 appointment."

Plucking a schedule padd from the desk, he nodded. "… And I'll finally get a look at whatever the instrument of chaos they used on B'Elanna and Seven was, and how it made such a ridiculous mess of everything …."

...

...

The thick reams of dust that lined every bulkhead, crawlspace and panel joint painted furry white lines about the near pitch-black corridors of the drifting hulk. The occasional inspection cowling lay on the decking to reveal the ghost ship's technological innards, at the instigation of numerous Starfleet away teams. From behind cooling vents, the barest blue-hued flickering of a dying power system sent warping shadows dancing across the metal.

A keening echo brought a metal grating crashing down from the corridor roof; clattering to a stillness and sending a plume of dust into the air to fill the atmosphere with a sticky haze.

It dropped from the service duct with a hiss, tumbling to the decking without grace or balance and wheezing with effort. Black chitin glinting dimly on two brutish scythes the creature hauled itself broadly level on two thick legs, laden with cruel spurs and sculpted, razor-sharp organic spires.

On a sinewy, slight neck anchored by four toughened tendons a compact head enclosed in fused chitin snaked. From it three eyes arranged as a triumvirate stared balefully out, unblinking. Spreading its jaws out on the horizontal as pincers rather than the norm, a terrible rasping filled the air. Leaching across the floor a trail of thick grey liquid spread lazily from rents in its armoured, iron-hard chitin.

It had precious little time left.

…

…

The Doctor stared at the device - for lack of a better word – laying prone on the biobed with a quizzical look. Passing through the level ten isolation field guarding the rest of the ship from the unknown, the EMH began his eighteenth sensor scan. The weapon of sorts was a fleshy, moist cylinder some six feet in length and tapering to a fine point. Protecting most of its length hardened chitin coloured a dark red sat like armouring - with the blue flesh tinged brown at the tapering "discharge" point.

From its mid-length half a dozen tendrils lay flaccid on the mattress; oozing a viscous and thick fluid which pooled as a grey mess dripping to the decking. Molecular analysis had indicated the fluid was some sort of bio-organic liquid - a medium for nutrient transmission.

The weapons itself sat on a sticky, syrup-like mess which had stained the biobed a dark orange. A loud beeping from the tricorder brought a further frown from the hologram. Crossing to the sensor output monitor the frown deepened as photonic hands flew over the LCARS interface. The swish of the Sickbay doors, however, brought the Doctor company.

Kathryn Janeway entered briskly - her command gait honed as if by specific Starfleet courses in walking with a purpose. Fixing her eyes on the ship's Chief Medical Officer, she waited with deceiving patience for the EMH to exit the otherwise impenetrable force field. "Report, Doctor."

"I've had difficulty making much headway as to precisely how this weapon functions or its actual purpose," He replied. "However it is clear that the basis of the weapon is biological rather than technological. It is in possession of a circulatory system as well as a rudimentary passage of nerves."

Janeway's thoughts turned immediately to two enemies-of-a-sort which had threatened Voyager during their passage through the Delta Quadrant. "Are we dealing with a sentient weapon? Like the Druoda torpedo?"

The Doctor shook his head, even as he was filled with revulsion at that unsightly episode in his "life". His matrix possessed and overtaken by a self-aware bomb hell-bent on committing suicide and murder, for a war long abandoned. Such things he longed to forget. "The neural network is simplified - it falls well short of even achieving self-awareness."

The Captain swallowed hard; resisting the urge to bite her lip. The twisting in the pit of her stomach confirmed that she'd have preferred to face the psychotic sentient weapon, rather than what lurked on the tip of her tongue.

"Species 8472?"

"Again, I don't think so," The EMH responded without breaking his gaze from the readout. "We know that Species 8472 are a bone-fide species having evolved in fluidic space in much the same way any other biological race has done so. However my scans of this weapon indicate that the DNA information is tagged on the molecular level - It's been synthesised artificially."

"Interestingly enough," The Doctor continued, "The weapon appears to utterly lack a power source in the same way a phaser rifle is powered by an energy pack. However these tendrils emanating from the barrel, appear to be conditioned to withstand large amounts of energy …"

Janeway sighed slightly, "Your point?"

"The away teams who scoured the alien vessel found no armoury to speak of and definitely no power sources consistent with use for personal weaponry. The only explanation is that whomever - or whatever – uses these weapons, carries an internal power source."

Cutting off the Captain from replying, a piercing klaxon drowned out the gentle hum of shipboard life as the ship's computer joined the fray.

"Intruder alert - deck fifteen, section nine repeat — intruder alert on deck fifteen, section nine."

The Captain's hand flew to her commbadge. "Janeway to Bridge, report!"

"The hull has been breached on deck fifteen Captain," Came the matter-of-factly report from the ship's unflappable Vulcan Security Chief. "There was no disruption to the navigational deflector field, therefore we can rule out asteroid impact or weapons fire. Internal sensors confirm momentary detection of life signs not on ship's manifest. I have sealed section nine with force fields and am en-route with a security team."

"I'm returning to the Bridge. Keep me informed," Janeway responded, already turning to exit Sickbay. "Continue your examination Doctor … We need answers to some of these questions."

…

…

To Be Continued ...