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Prelude [day zero]
i
"Computer, deactivate the EMH."
"I think that was a little unnecessary, B'Elanna, don't you?" If Kathryn meant to chide her chief engineer, the mirth in her tone was entirely counterproductive, "Computer, reactivate the EMH."
With an unusual orange shimmer — the signature of Briyali holo-technology that those on Voyager were slowly growing accustomed to — the EMH reappeared between the women with a scowl on his face.
“...and make sure my program doesn't," his frown deepened when his cognitive algorithms came up to speed with what had just occurred, "How many times do I have to tell you not to deactivate me in the middle of a sentence?"
B'Elanna shot her captain a knowing expression, one that consisted of a pair of half rolled eyes and a smirk, before Kathryn could respond with a nonplussed expression of her own and a diplomatic statement to diffuse the minor tension growing within the shuttle's main compartment.
The EMH crossed his arms and huffed, "It's rude."
"You're rude," the half-Klingon shot back, just moments before jabbing several commands into the PADD she held in the crook of her arm, "As I was saying before you interrupted me the first time, I'm more than happy to tell you that you are all set. The retrofitted bio-neural gel packs are holding under the strain of the new Briyali technology and your programming."
Kathryn smiled at the engineer, fully grasping the good news.
"I see no problem with prolonged activation, Captain. Congratulations, Doctor," B'Elanna added with an actual shred of warmth and kindness, "you have your space legs back."
Whatever contempt that had building within the EMH dissipated immediately upon hearing those words. A wide smile replaced his scowl, and there was a fair amount of twinkling going on within the photons that made up his brown eyes as he looked between his captain and the engineer, both of whom had made this possible — with the aide of half a dozen Briyali engineers, of course.
He had stood within the confines of the Delta Flyer on many occasions during the last month as they fitted the shuttle with holo-emitters and technology that could safely carry his programming as well as produce the EMH in a contained space beyond the shuttle without any deleterious effects on the technology or himself. But those occasions and all be tests, and none had included the shuttle leaving Voyager, which was the endgame he had truly been waiting for.
Until now, of course.
He could leave the ship again. He could assist the crew beyond the walls of sickbay, if only marginally, and he could see space from beyond the ports in Voyager that he had access to.
The EMH hugged B'Elanna, much to her chagrin (wide eyes and a PADD that very nearly toppled to the floor), and gave her an enthusiastic 'Thank You' before turning on his captain. This approach was more sedated, as he shuffled his feet and refrained from hugging her. Instead, the EMH stepped within arms reach of his captain and awaited her response.
Kathryn, who had laughed at the half-Klingon's shock was now beaming at him. She waited for him to settle and then placed her hands on his shoulders in a gesture she saved for moments like this, when a member of her crew made her especially proud or when their happiness seemed to spill over and become her own, "It's only a small step, one of many I hope. Congratulations."
"I hate to cut the celebration short, but I have another temperamental doctor demanding my attention," the engineer was already crouching down to pack her tools. When she stood and looked at the others, she caught the telling, devious glint in her captain's eyes and paused, knowing (as only the other senior officers would know) what the older woman was thinking.
B'Elanna blinked, "Should I clear the bay?"
The captain gave her a lopsided grin in response, "If I recall correctly, there was a science mission scheduled for right about now. One I might have already convinced Chakotay to reassign the Doctor and I to."
It was the EMH's turn to beam, his smile already approaching the dangerous territory of gloating. The half-Klingon just shook her head, noting (as she had with greater frequency in the last weeks) the odd way in which the Captain had been increasingly able to tolerate both the doctors' idiosyncrasies. B'Elanna, unlike her mouthy husband, was not about to comment on it however.
No time soon, at least.
The engineer did not try very hard to prevent the twitch of her lips as they almost formed a smile, "Have fun."
"We will!" The EMH called after her, waiting until the hatch hissed closed before he turned to address his captain. There was a shade of curiosity about him, as well as scorn for being kept out of the loop again, "Science mission?"
"We're about ten light years from twin star systems and three M-class planets. The Briyali have given us permission to catalog and collect what we need on the nearest. You and I will be flying ahead of Voyager to mark the areas that are uninhabited."
Kathryn ushered him to a console, and after noting that he was still tense, patiently added, "I wasn't going to mention it until I was sure you would be cleared to come along."
She also was not going to mention the unavoidable lecture she had endured from Tuvok whenever her tactical officer caught wind that she was planning to lead an away mission. While he had learned years ago that he could not keep his captain from leaving her ship, the Vulcan still excelled at harassing her with logic whenever she tried.
"Mission details are already in the shuttle computer," Kathryn took her place at the science station and began to program the sensors, "you know the drill. Download and set a course."
Channeling the ship's pilot, the EMH smiled and followed her orders with an, "Aye aye, Captain."
ii
The first thing B'Elanna noticed when she stepped into the holodeck was that neither her husband nor the human Doctor were trying their hardest to pay attention to the Briyali engineer lecturing them on the finer points of her people's technology.
"If you would only incorporate the behavioral patterns of your Doctor into the database, as I keep telling you to, it would respond to his inquiries in a much more timely manner. Many of my people have perfected this skill with ease."
D'Tir, a slender and intimidatingly tall woman with shocking long red hair, seemed not to notice the mens' lack of focus on her words. Instead, she continued to speak with small, pointed hand gestures that reminded B'Elanna of the jerky movements made by Borg drones.
"This project has come a long way since you asked me to assist, I do not know why you fight me on this?"
"Because I won't allow it," Voyager's engineer finally spoke, having decided it was time to rescue the men from D'Tir's beseeching tone and save the Briyali from their disinterest.
Three heads pivoted in her direction, and B'Elanna sighed as she set down her toolkit by the door. Some days she wondered what the captain was thinking, asking her to undertake two large projects at the same time in order to make the doctors' lives easier. They were both insufferable, and Tom's liking of the human Doctor did nothing to make him more tolerable in her eyes.
Other days, B'Elanna knew the answer to her own question. No one knew the EMH's programming and the human Doctor's mobile emitter quite like she did, and no one was more happy to delegate the ship's maintenance quite like she was. Especially now that she had a daughter to eat away at her 'extra-curricular' duty shifts and an entire five decks to overhaul.
"I still do not understand," D'Tir moved away from the men, having sensed the half-Klingon would be a better conversational partner for a change.
"We would have to access the mobile emitter in order to create a direct link with his behavioral patterns. Every simulation I've run has ended with a steady degradation of his cognitive functions, and while I don't mind the idea of dealing with one Doctor again, the Captain just won't agree to it."
Tom snorted while the Doctor in question shot her a tame glare.
"I could assist," D'Tir asserted.
B'Elanna could not begrudge the woman her insistence, as the half-Klingon had come to learn in the last several weeks that holo-technology was to D'Tir what Voyager's warp core was to B'Elanna. It still didn’t mean that she wasn't annoyed by the Briyali's persistence,
"We've accounted for your technology and your calculations, but it just won't work. I'm sorry, we'll simply have to settle for duplicating the EMH's behavioral algorithms and incorporating them into the database, sans link to the mobile emitter."
D'Tir gave her version of a Briyali sigh, which included slender fingers pressing against narrow temples and absolutely no air being released in an anguished huff, "There will be a great deal of deviation between this Doctor's human emotions and those that the EMH feel, but if I cannot convince you otherwise, then I must agree with you."
"Hear that, flyboy?" B'Elanna quipped, as she walked past the Briyali woman.
"Hear what, darling?"
Remembering the etiquette that had been drilled into her by Harry, B'Elanna did not forget to place a hand (even if it she was not quite comfortable with it yet) on D'Tir's wrist in a silent gesture of respect, "Someone who knows when to stop arguing."
"Like Paris will ever learn that lesson," the Doctor added, looking thoroughly pleased with himself when Tom shot him a mock glare.
"Wait until you get married, Doc. Don't expect me to lend support when your wife wins every argument then!"
The teasing did not go entirely over D'Tir's head, but she was unable to find belonging within it. Instead, she watched with vague interest as B'Elanna approached the men and yanked the PADD her husband was holding from his hand. That the half-Klingon smiled when the pilot protested was only proof to the Briyali that the individuals she was working with were strange.
"I feel sorry for anyone that decides to marry him," B'Elanna said absently, "he doesn't even let himself win arguments."
She was, of course, referring to the rather vocal bickering that the EMH and the human Doctor partook in one evening regarding the duty roster. It had become the stuff of legend, and at the moment was making the human Doctor scratch his bald spot awkwardly as his neck and cheeks turned a telling shade of red.
"...not discuss that, shall we," he seemed to mumble.
Tom laughed and gave him a slap on the back, "Who won that one, again?"
"He did, of course," B'Elanna mumbled, then paused, "The EMH, that is."
D'Tir blinked, and added, finding fault with the engineer's haphazard statement, "They are entirely separate beings, are they not?"
"Yes," the Doctor stressed, giving Tom a pointed look, "Two different men with the same devilishly good looks."
Voyager's engineer snorted, and then proceeded to hand the PADD back to her husband by way of slapping it against his chest, "Fortunately for the female crew, we're down to one devilishly good looking doctor for the time being. The additions to the Delta Flyer were so successful that the Captain and the other Doctor are taking it for a celebratory spin."
"Now all we have to do is get the medical database up and running and everyone will be happy," Tom concluded — throwing an askance glance at the Doctor, who seemed to be doing a valiant job of not responding to B'Elanna's good news.
"Yes," D'Tir inserted once more, trying to copy the human smile with better success than her previously failed attempts (all of which had made those around her feel especially uncomfortable), "I added several parameters since yesterday. Improvements, I hope."
"Something is better than nothing," Tom concluded.
"Want to start the program?" B'Elanna asked the Doctor.
The Doctor nodded, "Computer, start program Doctor Alpha Omega."
Around the quartet, the holodeck dimmed until everything but their outlines bled out of focus. In the center of the room, a data cloud hovered in bright orange, which seemed to please D'Tir but left Tom (quite vocally) with a pair of sore eyes. It appeared to be nothing to gawk at from a distance, but they had all learned better than to underestimate the growing intricacy of the program.
"Well, Doc, give it a spin," Tom ordered.
"Right," the Doctor stepped toward the cloud, "Display the DNA structure of D'Tir Taj."
A triple helix coalesced before him, spirally in a slow animation. The Doctor seemed pleased by this and reached forward. With several careful movements of his hands, he had turned the triple helix on its side and extended it by several meters.
D'Tir's eyes widened in approval, but she said nothing.
"Remove DNA structure and display a Treveene adult, male."
The triple helix vanished and was replaced with a two meter tall humanoid. Entirely based on the data provided to them by the entity's message, there were gaps in the computer's knowledge that it was unable to fill. Despite this, however, there was almost a complete replica of the likely extinct race staring down at them.
"Not exactly friendly looking," Tom announced.
Unlike the Briyal, who had long and somewhat sharp features, the Treveene appeared to be broad and blunt, as if the species, during its evolution, had forgotten to develop bone structures in the face. The figure before them had a nose without a ridge, eyes that appeared to be simple slits, and lips that were thickly calloused. A simple order from the Doctor demonstrated the reason for it, “A mouth full of large blunted teeth. Herbivores who consumed the toughest woodland specimens.”
"Please," D'Tir seemed ill at ease, "I have seen enough. Perhaps you can test this database without me."
"Computer, remove the Treveene," B'Elanna ordered, before adding curtly, "What's wrong, D'Tir?"
The Briyali gave her a wan, apologetic smile, "My people tell stories of the Treveene to their children, Lieutenant Paris."
"What kind of stories?" Tom asked, looking as if he had a pretty good idea already.
"The kind that make you afraid of the sky at night. They were there, our neighbors, and then they weren’t. Effortlessly killed by a creature that did not recognize their worth."
Tom noticed the way the Doctor seemed to hesitate, before deciding not to speak, "They’re extinct, right?"
D'Tir smiled, and this time they did feel uncomfortable, "There are tacitly acknowledged rumors, of course, of some survivors. But they would be different from what we knew, desperate and alone. My people don’t like to speak of it.”
iii
From his place behind tactical, Tuvok did not scowl when he heard the Commander give the away team his approval for take off. Rather, he arched a careful brow and refrained from repeating the calculations he had previously given Captain Janeway concerning the likelihood that her mission with the EMH would result in...difficulties.
Vulcans could not determine the future in advance, but they could certainly quantify the past. Trouble had a peculiar way of manifesting itself when either of the two within the Delta Flyer traveled by shuttle alone — that trouble seemed to only compound when they did so together.
If he were human, he would have simply told her that he had a bad feeling about this.
But Tuvok was not human, and Kathryn Janeway was not one to simply bow to logic.
Day One [planet side]
"A-are you all right?"
The EMH recognized Kathryn Janeway's voice above the loud rush of decompressurizing air and the shuttle's warning klaxons. Although it pleased him that she was well enough to speak (considering the circumstances) the question was being asked by the wrong person. He was certain he'd seen her hit the control console on their way down, and that the console had then exploded in sparks around her immediately after that.
It was amazing that she was even alive, let alone conscious enough to speak.
Smoke thickened the air, and while the EMH had no lungs to damage, the violent coughing to his left was enough motivation for him to begin blindly punching commands into his blinking console.
"External scans indicate Class M atmosphere, venting main compartment now."
The hiss persisted as the air cleared, but it did grow fainter, and with it his Captain's coughing subsided.
Another alert was sounded, and the Doctor became aware of a dull roaring sound from behind and beneath them.
"There's fire in the engines," Kathryn rasped, nudging him aside so she could access the controls herself, "we need to suppress it before it blows."
"The warp core ejection?"
"Successful. Impulse engines are burning out, though..." a second later "...fire's out, but so too are all of our propulsion systems."
Kathryn had already begun to move away, as quickly as she could in her state, but the Doctor grabbed her shoulders before she could get far and unapologetically held her in place.
"We'll deal with that as soon as I look you over."
"No time," she brushed him off but remained where she was, smearing a small trail of blood on the console as she continued working, "we have to figure out what happened."
But the Doctor had already located the medical tricorder and was waving the wand over the burns visible on the underside of her jaw and along her neck, "Captain, you have a head wound, deep lacerations on your hands and throat, and second degree burns."
She made to argue, but the tricorder clattered to the floor as his program was briefly disrupted in an orange haze.
The Doctor reappeared with a wide-eyed expression and a trill of fear, "What was that?!"
"The computer is compensating for its damaged systems and blown power relays. It's attempting to reroute power from your program to life support, but the atmosphere outside is promising. I'm overriding it."
There was a pregnant pause, "Done."
The Doctor, although relieved for his own continued well-being, took the opportunity to steer his Captain away from the console and into a chair, where she sat without argument.
"We'll take inventory as soon as I heal your wounds and make sure your head injury isn't serious. If you don't agree with me, you'll have to deactivate me because I am not going to allow you to budge an inch without being treated, so long as my program is functioning."
Kathryn blinked slowly, her pinched pupils and lack of focus clear signs of the concussion she had suffered, "Fair enough."
He worked in silence, first by gathering the dermal regenerator and the medical tricorder and then by tending to her wounds. The burns and cuts would heal, the concussion would sort itself out in a day or two, but he was more concerned about the effects of the smoke inhalation. There had been enough carbon dioxide to starve her body of the oxygen it needed and enough heat to do lasting, if not permanent (without proper treatment, which he could not preform here) on her lungs.
"You'll survive, but you'll need to rest."
It was easy to anticipate her argument, so he cut her off before she could make it, "I would prefer you do so immediately, but under the current circumstances, I understand that you need to figure out the extent of our situation. Just tell me if you experience any pain or shortness of breath."
"All right, I can manage that."
"I'll check to see if the emergency rations have survived the crash."
He left her to her work as he maneuvered deeper into the shuttle. Many of the side-consoles had blown out on the way down, leaving deep scorch-marks on the dark beige panels beside them. Several others blinked warnings about various systems that had or were going down (none of them particularly important at the present moment). One in particular told him that two of the holo-emitters had shorted, which meant that he would be unable to venture too far into the cargo hold, should he need to, but the others remained in working order.
When he found the rations, tucked away in the rear cabin, the Doctor ground his teeth. Less than a quarter had survived the crash. A full set would have lasted Kathryn two months, but these would only keep her going two weeks on the outside. While he was optimistic that they would be found before it would become a problem, she needed more than the minimum-allowed rations per day to properly heal from her wounds.
Beside the food were miscellaneous first aid supplies. The dermal regenerator was already in the main cabin, but there were antibiotics, pain medications, and clinical-grade anti-histamines. He hoped none were needed, but he more than anyone knew the Captain's luck when it came to her health.
He gathered everything into his arms and left to help unravel the last three hours of their ill-fated mission.
Day One [voyager]
"We've been in Briyali space for nearly five weeks."
Tom chewed his lunch thoughtfully as he spoke, unashamed of his questionable table matters, as if actively eating and speaking at the same time was a polite thing to do in company.
Surprisingly, the Doctor had grown less concerned with how the pilot presented himself to others over the last several weeks. Largely because the other man was spending a great deal of his free-time compiling a medical database, but also because the Doctor had come to learn that the practice of eating was inconvenient. It got in the way of a number of things — speaking included — and (at the risk of sounding too much like Seven of Nine) was detrimental to his productivity.
"I'm glad you can keep track of time," the Doctor responded caustically while simultaneously taking a deep gulp of Chell's latest version of coffee. As always, it went down with the consistency of tar, but from what he'd gathered from the rest of the crew over the years, it was still better than many of Neelix's brews.
Harry sighed. As the ensign had spent the better part of their shared lunch deeply pensive, the Doctor had nearly forgotten that he was sitting next to Tom, pushing his food around his plate with his spoon, "Three and a half more months of twice-weekly port calls at Briyali space stations."
The thought plainly did little for Harry's appetite.
"Not happy with our new friends, Hare?" Tom teased, laughing softly under his breath as the Doctor snorted, and Harry protested weekly.
"They want us to, 'Cultivate a vast understanding of their culture,' but they keep us isolated to a small fraction of their space stations. I never thought I would grow tired of seeing restaurants, but these cultural exchanges involve nothing else!"
"And it doesn't help that their cuisine favors rotting meat," Tom deadpanned.
The Doctor gave an involuntary shudder. Both he and his counterpart had thrown two, entirely separate fits over the choice of food the Briyali offered to Voyager's crew. Many species preferred their flavors more poignant (or well-aged), but the sheer number of proteins the human, Bajoran, and Betazoid bodies were able to digest, as well as the bacteria they were able to withstand, were nothing compared to the Briyali.
The EMH had stressed to the captain that, unless she wanted half her crew ill, she'd have them stick to a vegetarian diet while on the Briyali space stations. Being human, the Doctor took one sniff of the dishes offered and immediately demonstrated exactly how ill ill meant.
"Let's not discuss this while I'm trying to eat," he complained, "or have you forgotten that I have recently acquired a gag reflex?"
Harry pulled a face — not having forgotten at all — while Tom hid a smile behind his hand.
Even as they sat in good humor, it was clear that something remained on the pilot's mind. While the Doctor knew that Tom's intuition was unique in that it was often right, he also knew that they wouldn't have to press him in order to get him to speak.
"D'Tir isn't so bad," the young Ops officer conceded, believing that the present silence had been his fault, "and I've only ever seen her eat steamed Briyali fish. Maybe rotten meat is a cultural thing? Ethnic food?"
"Nah. I think she's just being polite. We're all as subtle as a bunch of drunk cadets when it comes to Briyali food."
"She was in the room when I..." the Doctor gave a shrug, "reacted poorly to the..."
"Three week old Tar'De'Mit," Tom said with a flourish.
"Looked like three week old ham to me," Harry added.
The Doctor gagged, "Stop it."
The others laughed, and Tom reached over to give the Doctor a heavy pat on his shoulder, "We're just glad you can't tell us to get over it anymore, Doc."
Harry smiled in agreement and began to gather up his tray, "I've got to run, my shift starts in a couple of minutes. We're supposed to be in orbit by the end of the day, and I want to be there. They say the oceans reflect the stars."
Tom and the Doctor watched him go, the former giving a happy wave, before turning his attention back to the latter.
At the expectant expression he received, Tom frowned, "What?"
"We've been in Briyali space for five weeks, and something about that bothers you, but not the food."
The pilot's face became somber, "No, not the food. Not only the food."
"Well then," the Doctor said with some of his old exasperation, "what is it?"
Although the mess hall was nearly empty, Tom gave a furtive glance around the space to be sure no one was eavesdropping before placing his elbows on the table and leaning toward the Doctor, "It's our course."
"What about it?"
"We've been coming up on a lot of drifting vessels lately. Tih-ahn Ra keeps insisting that they are derelict, left-overs from a long struggle between the outer colonies and the outsiders — the ones they call the prit. But that doesn't seem right, because I am sure that if the are as desperate for supplies as the Briyali make them out to be, those ships would have been gutted for scraps a long time ago. B'Elanna tells me that many of the Maquis cells found use for all of their old scraps, even from wrecks. Most of the one's we come across out here are whole; it just doesn't make sense."
It was a fair point, but the Doctor did not quite understand its importance, "It seems to me that there is a lot of traffic through this area, maybe they don't want to risk being pursued by the entire Briyali rear fleet."
"Perhaps," said Tom, not entirely convinced, "but it doesn't make sense that Voyager is being forced to take a course well out of its way, in a purportedly dangerous part of space, when there are better and safer routes."
He leaned in closer and whispered, "They had me make another adjustment this morning, the fifth this week. It'll take us another three days to reach orbit. I haven't told Harry yet, since he's been looking forward to the shore leave, but I just don't like it."
"But I don't see the problem," the Doctor was truly perplexed, "The Briyali have been generous with their technology and their supplies. We haven't run into problem with them since they mistook you for a pirate, not that anyone could blame them, really, look at you..."
That earned him a smile, and the Doctor continued, "I know it's been awhile since we've dealt with anything completely out of the ordinary, present company not included. We've all been looking for trouble where it isn't, and I don't know about you but these ominous tales of the Outsiders aren't helping anyone..."
"It's not exactly the pirates I'm worried about, though. Like you keep saying, they're on the fringe; if they are raiding the outer colonies, it's because they need the supplies."
"Weak they may be, but that doesn't mean they aren't dangerous. Think of it, they could be a slower than light speed race, unable to find habitual land, and running out of food.”
Tom blinked, growing pale, "You think they are cannibalizing the crews of these vessels, not the actual ships?"
"It's not unlikely, and I don't imagine the Briyali would have such a large fleet on a relatively peaceful border of their territory for no reason, or even just for a bunch of renegade pirates. If they are hiding anything from us, it's probably the size and nature of the problem...in which case, there isn't much we can do..."
"Prime Directive," the pilot concluded.
"None of our business, unfortunately," and the Doctor meant it. If there were any way to help their new friends, he would be the first to lend a hand, but if Briyali did not want to ask for it, then he had a duty to turn the other cheek.
Day One [planet side]
The sun had set on the valley, engulfing the shuttle in the deep darkness of a planet without a moon. They had come to rest at the outskirts of what looked to be a newly wooded area of land, several meters from a thick creek, nestled within the camouflage of tall grass in early autumn. Kathryn had done very little exploring beyond stepping outside to determine the extent of the shuttle's external damage (and catch a breath of fresh air), not that the Doctor would have allowed her much more than that.
For now, she was settled on a bunk, resting as she had promised, but troubled by their circumstances nonetheless.
"We weren’t attacked," she stated to the seemingly empty cabin.
The EMH poked his head around the corner and looked in at her, "Well, yes. I-I know."
"The cause of the crash came from this planet, but I haven’t been able to work it out.” Kathryn's voice was hoarse and guarded. Although the headache from her concussion was bothersome, she felt something had done damage her throat, making it impossible for her to speak for more than short periods of time, and that made her feel uncomfortable.
He stepped further into the room, and set the PADD he had been holding aside as he took a seat next to her bunk. The Doctor's own voice was low, his tone concerned, "How do you know? We adjusted our course to avoid it, and this planet wasn't along the original..."
Kathryn sat slowly, mindful of her sore muscles, and gave him an expression that indicated he had just answered his own question, "The Briyali didn't want us to know this planet was here. I imagine it must have taken them a significant feat of holo-engineering to produce beacons to block it from our sensors, but I checked, and we're not all that far off the course we were told to follow."
She watched his eyes as he processed what she told him. He'd always been the most expressive of her crew, and it showed in the way that his confusion grew into understanding and then to fear, "Will they be able to find us?"
"After we ejected the warp core, we stopped leaving an ion trail, but if Voyager knows to look, we’ll be found."
"Whatever did this..." he whispered fiercely but not at her, whatever conclusion he had come to bothered him deeply, "The Briyali don't..."
He wasn’t panicking yet, but his eyes were drifting to the bulkhead behind her; Kathryn reached out a hand to make him look at her, "What?"
"I’ve been looking at the data for weeks. Just a speculative fancy. Perhaps I could write and article...I don’t know. The...the Entity was a sentient being, it would have known that it was disturbing their atmosphere, that it was killing them and any other lifeforms on that planet. It would have known that staying for three years would tantamount to a thorough xenocide, but it stayed anyway. Maybe because it couldn’t comprehend that they too were sentient beings. But they were. The Treveene wouldn't have stayed once they could leave their atmosphere again. The survivors wouldn't have had enough resources to survive when it left...unless they weren't allowed to leave..."
Confused, and far more alarmed that she would like to be, Kathryn withdrew her hand from its place on his shoulder, "What are you saying, Doctor?"
"I don't know. No, I do. I'm sorry."
He took a deep breath, and it struck Kathryn as odd, since he didn't really need to as a hologram, "The Treveene system had four worlds. Why would the Briyali want us to believe this seemingly uninhabited system only had three? And why were the coordinates given to us wrong?”
Day Four [planet side]
They were functioning as if they were under red alert, guarding the perimeter of the shuttle in rounds that favored the Captain's natural sleeping patterns as well as the medical schedule she was forced to follow. The EMH's predictions had been very unsettling for the pair, who remained virtually undetectable on a purposefully hidden world, but Kathryn had made the decision not to jump to any erroneous conclusions without evidence.
It was a waiting game, punctuated by three days of near purposeless repairs to the badly damaged shuttle. Tensions were rising — no matter how hard either party tried to ease the concerns of the other — largely because they had very little idea of what was moving beyond the small clearing their spacecraft rested in. If the Treveene were here, what shape were they in and would they welcome potential competitors over resources?
Kathryn's boots audibly ground the coarse dirt beneath her feet as she came around toward the back entrance hatch, "Sensors show nothing for thirty kilometers."
They'd had this conversation before. What the sensors said and what was true wasn't necessarily the same thing. Whatever was out there could be masking its own lifesigns and the lifesigns of other small fauna, or a Briyali device in orbit around the planet could be projecting most of their habitat; they couldn't be certain, and it was driving them both to distraction.
There was movement in the semi-lit craft, and the Doctor emerged from under a terminal "Shouldn't we have seen something by now? Heard something? Shuttles don't crash without drawing attention."
Kathryn looked off into the distance, where the tenderlings gave way to a line of taller, denser trees, and used a hand to shield her eyes from the rising sun. It would have been a lovely planet to have shore leave on, if it didn't present such a dangerous puzzle; that thought alone made her sigh, "I don't like this either."
When their was no reply, she turned to see what her companion was up to, "Any luck with the sensors?"
Looking more and more like a disgruntled engineer (complete with grease smears, as he had yet to deactivate himself) and less like a doctor, the EMH wiped his hands on his trousers and stepped out of the shadows of the shuttle. He was careful not to tax the external holo emitters by going too far, but was able to stop at Kathryn's side.
"Some function has been returned, but I haven't been able to add much to what you did last night. They're detecting some neutrinos and tachyon particles in the atmosphere, but whether or not the amounts are relevant to our situation...?" he shrugged.
Kathryn honestly didn't need to remind him that they needed to be able to determine the frequency of the holo-probes in orbit around the planet in order to get a distress signal out. With the warp core missing and the impulse engines completely burned out, getting a message to Voyager looked like their only viable option of getting off of this planet. Alive, if she wanted to go so far as qualify that statement.
"Why don't you take watch; I'll see if I can make a dent on those sensors."
Trying not to take it personally — he was a doctor after all, not an engineer — the EMH nodded his consent and took the tricorder from her grasp. In turn, he handed over his microprobe and they effortlessly switched duty shifts.
He'd rather have her out of the overbearing sun anyway, especially since she had a few remaining burns on her forearms and one on her left temple.
They continued their work in silence until the sun settled high in the sky — this planet's noon. Shadows vanished and were replaced by a gentle yellow-tinted light, not quite hot but certainly not cold. There was just enough of a breeze to hint that that might soon change, if they stuck around long enough to experience winter, but neither were particularly keen on thinking that far ahead.
Just as the larger sun began the second half of its trip and the smaller began its much shorter dance across the horizon, two things registered. One on the shuttle sensors and one on the EMH's tricorder. Surprisingly, neither were related to the other.
Kathryn poked her head out of the shuttle and squinted at the abrupt shift in light and called out to the empty space around the hatch, "There are definitely tachyon particles in the atmosphere."
The EMH immediately came from the port of the shuttle, "The Tricorder just registered a herd of an animal the size of a small rabbit. Mammalian in nature, less than a kilometer from our shuttle. They've stopped moving at the moment."
"So we're not the only animal life out here," Kathryn said, not quite awed, but not entirely disaffected by the news. In her eight years in the Delta Quadrant, she had certainly be dealt much more profound news than the presence of rabbit-like creatures just a short jog away, but it was nice to know that they weren't the smallest prey in the area.
"Speak for yourself," the EMH jested, the joke not falling entirely flat, as his companion had enough sense to toss him a smile for his effort.
"Can you tell if they are predators?"
"It's hard to be sure without getting closer to them, but they don't seem to be behaving like hunters, especially not like an apex predator. I think they're grazing," the EMH looked up from his tricorder, "we should be safe. What about your tachyon readings?"
Therein lay the trouble, Kathryn was afraid. One of the Briyali's holographic devices had traveled on a course directly above their location, sending out readings strong enough for even their damaged sensors to detect. She would have to run a series of calculations, most likely through a much slower padd, to be sure, but she was fairly certain what the readings meant for them.
"Would you believe me if I told you we're in some sort of contrived temporal bubble?"
If it were anyone else, perhaps this news would mean less, but for a man who had been subjected to several away missions that left him stranded on planets displaced from time, this meant everything. None of it particularly any good,
"I wouldn't want to believe you, but I would."
Kathryn, understanding the sudden downturn in his mood, gave him a wan smile with no real feeling behind it, "I'll have to run the scans again during the next daily cycle to determine the extent of it — and without being able to gather readings from real space time it will be hard to tell — but I should be able to figure out how much of a 'bubble' we're looking at here."
"So those holo-probes?"
"Hiding more than a planet? I'm afraid, so. Yes."
The EMH sighed and stared directly up at the sun, not bothering to guard his eyes or squint, "Let's just hope there's a Voyager still out there."
Day One [voyager]
D'Tir had, at some point in her stay upon the vessel, taken to spending her free time in the Sick Bay. As far as the Doctor (or even Tom) could make of it, she had no particular interest in learning the practice of medicine nor seemed all that intent on getting to know any of the assigned crew there better, she just liked to, for lack of better phrase, tinker with the holo emitters.
This might have, at one point, upset the Doctor's more tender sensibilities, but she wasn't doing anything. Nothing significant at least. When the EMH had still been on board, they had both noticed how she had fine-tuned the imaging outputs, giving the hologram a crisper appearance, but aside from that, there was little evidence that she had done much of anything to anything at all.
She was there when the Doctor arrived for his double shift, perusing the database physically located in the computer in the back of his office.
An apologetic Samantha Wildman gave him a shrug from the lab, which he waved off with a shake of his head. They'd already wasted several days trying to explain certain Starfleet regulations and human manners to the Briyali engineer, but had given up when it seemed to be falling on deaf ears. D'Tir, like most scientists, just didn't have a grasp on interpersonal skills.
"I am updating your medical database on the Briyali anatomy and physiology, should you be required to perform more intricate procedures on my people in the future," she said by way of greeting.
The Doctor set his bag down at his desk, grumbling only slightly when a stack of PADDs tumbled out onto the floor, and leant over to gather them, "I'd assumed we already had that information."
D'Tir did not pause or turn to look at him; she kept her back and long mane of bright red hair to him as she spoke, "It wasn't entirely complete. There are some procedures my people prefer over others, and some nutritional requirements that we cannot find within your computer's replicators."
Visions of Tar'De'Mit came to mind, and the Doctor tried not to groan as his stomach audibly protested. Whatever their dietary requirements were, he'd let them program them into the computer themselves, no questions asked. So long as he didn't have to deal with it personally.
A hiss of the sick bay doors indicated that his duty shift would start more quickly than he had anticipated; a slightly frazzled B'Elanna Paris stride in, took in the space, and spotted D'Tir in the office, "There you are."
The Briyali paused her activities and stood straighter, "I've forgotten something, haven't I?"
"Yes," said the half-Klingon, some of the wind leaving her sails when she realized that D'Tir had not purposely jilted her, "a staff meeting in engineering. Where's your combadge?"
The sick bay doors had hissed open once more in the middle of this conversation, admitting the svelte form of Seven of Nine, who rather conveniently was holding up a combadge, "I believe you are referring to this. I found it down the corridor."
D'Tir, appearing to be truly baffled, rubbed a hand against her shoulder and frowned, "I apologize. It must have been removed when I was accessing the bioneural gellpacks this morning."
Seven merely quirked her fine, pale brow and handed the badge over. D'Tir accepted it with a deferential nod, and gathered her belongings before quickly following B'Elanna from the room.
The former-drone remained, "Doctor, I require your assistance."
The Doctor, who had stopped watching the exchange as soon as Seven had entered, looked up from one of the PADDs he had rescued from the floor and frowned in confusion for a moment. She'd made no appointment and looked uninjured, but it wasn't quite within his place to question a patient, was it?
"What can I do for you?" he asked with some restraint, having grown wary in the last year of what assistance Seven might come to him for. Specifically because she rarely came to him at all, especially now that she had the choice between EMH and human Doctor (she seemed to prefer the former).
It took a beat, but the Doctor quickly realized that the tension in his patient's shoulders meant that she was in some discomfort after all. He stood quickly, and grabbed her gently by the arm to lead her to a biobed, adopting what Tom had taken to calling his 'caring' voice.
"Is everything alright, Seven? Are you feeling well?"
The former-drone did not come to him for trivial matters, after all, not if she could help it. Certainly not anymore.
She allowed him to lead her, even going so far as to relax when she was able to discern that his concern was merely that of a physician for their patient, and took a seat when prompted, "I am not feeling unwell, just unlike myself."
The Doctor frowned at her choice of words and turned to take a PADD with her medical records from a on-beat Samantha Wildman. In the past he would have been able to easily access her records through his database, but as a human he was left to tough it out like every other Doctor did, with physical reports.
He checked her latest appointments with the EMH, attempted to note the alterations in her hormone treatments with as little emotion as possible, and did his best to create a list of questions to ask her that might help him discover the issue, "Are you regenerating properly?"
"Yes."
"Have you made any changes to your exercise regimen?"
"No."
The Doctor frowned, "Could you explain to me how you are not feeling like yourself?"
"It is difficult to describe," she paused, clearly not used to being unable to explain herself, "I find that I am hungrier than I should be and less sated by Chell's dishes."
After quickly exchanging an alarmed glance with Samantha, the Doctor grabbed a medical tricorder and checked for what should be medically impossible. After a quick moment, he was able to let out a small breath of relief; Seven was not pregnant.
He tried to make up for the cracks in his own professionalism (which Seven had mercifully missed) by tucking the tricorder away again, "Have you altered your diet in any way?"
Seven gave a firm nod, "I have."
"Huh, in what way?" It might be a red herring, but it might not be, the Doctor prepared himself to enter the data into her medical records just in case.
She blinked, "I have begun...experimenting with the Briyali cuisine."
Tar'De'Mit, its look and texture all resurfaced, and the Doctor had to physically force himself not the think about it. The memory of the smell alone could have him battling his gag-reflexes for minutes.
Finally, he managed a choked, "But...why?"
To her credit, Seven of Nine looked truly baffled by his reaction, "Chakotay and the EMH felt that it would be best if I continued to broaden my horizons, and I found that the opportunity to do so was readily available. While he was reluctant to agree, the EMH assured me that with my nanoprobes, I would be able to...stomach...the Briyali cuisine much more efficiently than other humans."
He'd heard enough, "That doesn't mean that your body likes it. The proteins have to go somewhere, and you have to taste it, likely for hours after you eat it. Days if you acquire indigestion which," he pulled out the tricorder once more and scanned her, "you have."
Oh god in the stars outside, poor Chakotay.
"Stop. Stop eating it, broaden your horizons elsewhere. Perhaps with Klingon or Ferengi food. Something more alive and less dead," he could feel his gag reflexes coming to the surface again, and told himself that he'd have to figure out how to stop those from being an issue while on duty, "Those are doctor's orders."
Day Seven [planet side]
Emergency rations taste a bit like dirt, Kathryn couldn't help but admit to herself as she pushed a fresh batch of 'roast beef and hash' around on a plate. The sun had already set on their shuttle, swathing the entire structure in darkness. Beyond the lit terminal she was using as a table, there was nothing for her to see by. They had discovered in their six days here that there simply was no moon, or if their was, that it's cycle was severely altered by whatever holo- and tachyon-technology the Briyali had enveloped this place in. While this allowed them to remain hidden in the open, it prevented them from seeing their surroundings at night.
Which, of course, was disconcerting more than anything else.
Intermittently, she could hear the sounds made by the EMH as he patrolled the perimeter, stopping occasionally at the hatch to either scan the distance or check in on her own status. Since both had been on heightened alert these last six days, very few words aside from those pertaining to their situation had been spoken, and even less time had been spent in one another's company. But she was glad to have someone she could trust watching her back while she rested her weary, organic bones for a little while and waited for the day's calculations to come back.
Kathryn coughed heavily, wincing at the pain that tore through her chest, and listened carefully as the EMH's steps halted. She knew he worried about her lungs (she worried about her lungs) and the damage that the crash had caused them, but there was little they could do for her down here; they had to make the first aid supplies last.
But it didn't mean that it didn't hurt; her scarred alveoli made her chest throb throughout the day. Usually, when she was on patrol-duty, she could breath in the fresh air and ignore the discomfort. But when the air stilled at night, and she settled in with nothing but scarce information to pour over and badly packed food to eat, the aches and pains of the day found little resistance and snuck up upon her with all the stealth she expected the Treveene to have.
Six days and still no indication that the near-extinct species existed; Kathryn was beginning to wonder if she and the EMH had mistakenly manifested danger where it did not exist.
Before she could take another bite of her food or battle another cough, one of her PADDs gave a faint beep, indicating that the calculations she had entered into it the previous day had finally run their course. Finally.
Maneuvering the small device, so that the light of the terminal gave her something more tangible to read with, Kathryn began to make sense of the numbers.
An hour later, roughly about the time the Doctor usually began insisting that she sleep, Kathryn's eyes widened and she set down her fork.
She'd have to check again in the morning to make sure she hadn't done the simple conversions wrong in her haste (or had read it wrong in her exhaustion), but if her work was anything to go off of (she'd had to use the stars as references, since she could not get any significant readings beyond the Briyali probes, so there was a chance for flaws in her work there, and it was possible that she had over- or under-estimated the size of this planet and the speed of its orbit around its sun) then they were definitely not moving through linear time at the right pace.
In fact, they were spending, roughly, a 390 day cycle on this planet to every Voyager's one, give or take a day or two. She wasn't sure which day in the cycle they were on, only that this was the end of their seventh day there.
Voyager wouldn't even know they were missing yet.
Appetite having severely diminished — Kathryn slowly chewed what was left of the rations she had in her mouth, pushed the rest away from her on the terminal, and slid a tired hand through her limp hair.
Day 99 [planet side]
It was undeniably winter.
The valley in which they were situated was already experiencing temperatures near freezing. Vegetation had begun to die in their fifth week on the planet, and the rations Kathryn needed to survive had had to be halved and then quartered in order to meet increasingly more stringent nutritional requirements. The Doctor’s expertise allowed her to collect edible vegetation, and their discovery of small mammalian local wildlife had resulted in some accessible lean meat, but Kathryn’s eating situation was becoming increasingly bleaker with each passing day.
Her health was also deteriorating. The damage to her lungs, having been ill-repaired, had caused her to contract a lingering respiratory infection, viral in origin. In a fit of desperation, he had dragged her away from her calculations and attempts to repair the shuttle long enough to send her out to find tree-bark samples. When she returned with a specimen genetically similar to Willow-bark, he had set to work concocting an anti-inflammatory medication (i.e. he soaked the bark in boiled water and made her drink it thrice daily as tea).
Overcast skies and freezing rain had helped render the day’s temperature to an uncomfortable -10 degrees centigrade. Within the shuttle, it was 2 degrees centigrade, and Kathryn’s labored breaths were visible. She was busy working on the helm with a hyperspanner, her tea cooling quickly beside her on the floor.
The Doctor watched her work from the back of the shuttle, his program working in overtime to determine the best course of action regarding her survival. Although she kept characteristically quiet on the subject of the likelihood of their rescue, he knew that he could not count on Voyager to arrive before they ran out of food, or before Kathryn’s stubborn determination to keep his program online killed her. Just the other day, she had diverted what was left of life support to the holoemittors. He could go another thirteen months without needing a miracle.
His captain, however, could not.
Why, just the previous day he had lamented for his entire outside watch that he could now visually count the bones in her wrists, and that her most recent physical checkup had given him too good a view of the contouring of her ribs. She would starve to death before the winter was out, if he could not figure something out.
‘Would you hand me that PADD?” Without looking, Kathryn had pointed a bony finger to the object in question; it sat beside him on the back panels.
The Doctor fetched it up and walked it over to her, deciding to initiate the conversation he had been practicing in his head the entire day, “There you go. Captain?”
He had to put the PADD in her outstretched hand, and was nearly dissuaded by her hoarse, unaffected voice when she responded, “Yes?”
He cleared his throat and went for it, ignoring her ever increasing testiness “I have an idea...for the winter.’
“I’m not shutting down your program, Doctor. You’ll have to come up with something else.’
He scrubbed at his face and took a seat at the helm chair. This allowed him to crane his neck to get a better look at her face, “It’s not that. I understand your reasoning, and I appreciate your concern regarding the stability of my program. I’ve studied the sensor readings you took in our first month here, and I think that I have located an underground cave system with hot springs. It is only ten kilometers from the shuttle. You could stay there for the winter with the food I’ve put in status for you. It will provide you both warmth and a steady water supply.”
For a brief moment, the Doctor thought she might accept the offer and ask him to provide more information. However, the second she popped her head out from under the panel and rubbed her fingers against her eyes, he knew that this would be a fight.
“I can’t sacrifice three months of repair efforts, Doctor. If we can get communications online and re-calibrate the systems to offset the planet’s temporal shift, then we can send a message to Voyager. I don’t need to remind you that they may already be more than a normal day of travel from this planet, it could be...years here before they are able to respond.”
‘You could be dead before the systems are even repaired. You’re already developing pneumonia, and the medical supplies have run out. If you don’t see to your health first even if we got a message to Voyager you’ll be dead before they arrive,” his voice was soft. He’d already tried yelling at her the week before when she’d decided to gut the heavily damaged replicator system for parts instead of attempting to repair it.
Yelling just made her more stubborn.
Their time together had been mixed with fighting, stony silence, and some of the most enjoyable moments of his life. The solitude and helplessness of their situation had created the conditions for so much anger and frustration, but it had also created a relationship of interdependence. He needed to keep his program active. She needed him to keep her alive. They needed one another to pass the time with conversation: strategic, idle, and even personal. He wanted to remember the time on this planet for their combined efforts to get off and their friendship, not her death.
He didn’t want to end up all alone here knowing that he had failed her.
Kathryn squinted at him, taking in his words and his body language with the cold analytical eye of a Starfleet Captain. Upon sensing what she was looking for, she allowed her facial expression to relax into one of sympathy.
When she reached for his hand, he was surprised by how tightly she grasped it.
“We have to have hope, Doctor. If we don’t, neither of us are ever getting off this planet.”
Day One [space dock]
Their rendezvous with the Briyali station was going as well as it possibly could.
Samantha Wildman and Tom had assisted the Doctor in selecting medical information from the station's medical staff, particularly the procedures needed to treat the Briyali engineering team aboard Voyager. While he did not suspect that any life-threatening injuries or illnesses would befall any of them before their mission was complete, it would be remiss of him to not be prepared for the unlikely event.
He was now enjoying his off-hours by walking along the outermost habitat ring. As with all of their previous docking missions aboard Briyali space stations, they had once again been prohibited from meandering into the innermost rings without an invitation and escort. While the secrecy seemingly contradicted the Briyali’s generosity, it was not his place to question his host’s choices.
Instead, he wandered between restaurants and shops, looking for objects he could decorate his living quarters with and outfits he could get tailored for later wear (he found the Briyali’s fashion much more appealing than their food). He enjoyed this process, had been introduced to shop owners of no less that five different races, and happily exchanged a wealth of information regarding his expanding preferences regarding music and literature.
It was pleasant to be so welcomed in such a vast expanse of space.
On his walk from the shopping plaza to the observation room, where apparently the ionized view of the nebula surrounding the planet, its satellites and the orbiting station were breathtaking, he spotted several of Voyager’s crew mingling with the station crew. Among these were Seven and Harry.
When he passed them with a nod of acknowledgement, he caught a snippet of what they were discussing with their group of two Cairit (short, squat and effusive humanoids that made up a sizable ten percent of the region's population and apparently had a knack for stellar astro-cartography and planetary physics): the Treveene catastrophe. From the way that the Cairit were waving their three arms about, it looked like the topic was their favorite.
The Treveene were Seven and the EMH’s pet project; the Doctor wouldn’t get involved in his absence. Instead, he continued walking until he found D’Tir among a larger group of Briyali and Sint (another species, this time less than five percent of the region’s population, and intriguingly tree-like). Both D’Tir’s Briyali and Sint companions were in civilian clothing, meaning they were either off duty or civilian scientists studying the nebula.
D’Tir spotted him and waved him over.
‘Hello!’he greeted her and the others, accepting their individual gestures of greeting with a large smile on his face.
“Doctor ,” D’Tir said with a deal less enthusiasm, ‘This is the science team from the civilian science ship TY20IT. They docked just this morning. I know Girt from his years of service.”
The three metre semi-humanoid gave him a gentle bow; the Doctor returned it.
“He has heard of my assignment aboard your Federation starship, and has specifically rendezvoused here in order to meet with me.”
The Doctor registered something in her tone that gave him pause, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, but I’m afraid I don’t understand what you need with me?’
Girt gave a sigh, which sounded very similar to wind through leaves, and spoke. It took a moment for the universal translator to catch up with the language, “We have intercepted a message. It is emanating from a region of space quarantined by the Briyali Fifth Order.”
At the Doctor’s vacant expression, there was another sigh and then, “It is a distress call, and is marked with a signature alien to this sector. We investigated to the best of our ability. It was a federation vessel. I believe, perhaps, one of yours.”
The Doctor thought of the current away missions — three that he had been made aware of. Two were in communications range, and Chakotay hadn’t mentioned any messages indicating that they had been compromised. The only other away team were the Captain and the EMH, who had gone on a week long scientific mission to a neighboring system. Its distance would have taken them well out of range of Voyager’s communications, especially after the course correction the Briyali had ordered Tom to make several days prior.
He paled visibly, and gazed between the aliens staring at him in turn before making eye contact with D’Tir
“We need to get back to Voyager. Now.”
Day 230 [planet side]
They had had a month and a half of hope following the successful repair of the communications system and their theoretically correct attempts to send out a message with the right temporal variance. Kathryn had seem reinvigorated, making trips into the nearby forests to set traps for the winter species and collect more bark for the holographic Doctor’s therapeutic teas. She had even been able to find winter berries three kilometers from the shuttle.
She’d stubbornly resisted further attempts to convince her to take shelter in the cave network — Voyager intercepted her distress call, she wanted to be in the shuttle when they arrived. So, he adapted. In addition to the teas, he had altered the shuttle's two emergency spacesuits. The first, he had adapted for daily wear without the helmet. In it, she could work and sleep in the shuttle even on the coldest days without threat of suffering from hypothermia (a real concern with her diminishing weight).
The second, he had turned into an oxygen chamber. It was a feat of engineering and medical brilliance, and had taken him a week of uninterrupted effort. If he made any mistakes with the suit, any at all, the wearer would be burned alive upon activating it. If he made any mistakes while concentrating the oxygen reserves in both suits; he’d damage his holo-matrix and the outside of the hall in an explosion. Upon finishing it, the Doctor was able to convince the Captain to sit through all six treatments in it. The pure oxygen had helped eliminate much of the bacterial infection that had taken up in her lower lungs. It had no effect on the viral infection, which was chronic but easily managed with the daily teas.
Seasons were short on the planet, and winter had turned into a mild spring. By their sixth month on the planet, the Doctor’s concerns had come back with a vengeance. Voyager had yet to save them, and Kathryn’s ability to collect the renewed vegetation growth had greatly diminished. He was little help in this regard, due to the limitations of the shuttle’s external holoemittors. His ability to stretch the use of the food they had was limited by the options available.
She was so malnourished that he was counting the days, maybe weeks if they were lucky, that Kathryn had left.
Now it was early summer, and despite the stuffy temperature within the shuttle, Kathryn shivered even in her full uniform. The Doctor knew that the infection had returned — it was bound to due to it’s symbiotic relationship with the fungal spores in the local flora — and that her body was ill-equip to fight it off this time. His efforts had shifted from combating it to treating the symptoms and buying time.
“You need to lie down,” the Doctor was leading her to one of the bunks by her frail shoulders.
Kathryn allowed him to do so, but kept her feverish eyes focused on the pad within her hand. Most of her waking moments were spent on adding information to their distress call. Encrypted calculations and theories regarding the nature of the planet and how to extract them — her, the shuttle and the Doctor’s program. All of it. She knew the chances of her making it off the planet alive, but she’d do her best to provide the EMH a kinder fate.
I’ll have plenty of time to lie down, Doctor,” she aimed at humor but it fell flat when she began to cough.
He managed to help her sit on the bunk and then quickly grabbed her a glass of water.
When he turned to hand it to her, she was already asleep.
Day Two [orbit]
“We’re at the specified coordinates,” Harry announced over comms, “the distress call is still being broadcast.”
The only thing that betrayed Seven’s feelings was the speed of her fingers as she entered commands into the console in the astrometrics lab. She had had two hours to decipher the encrypted message given to them by Girt and his colleagues. While the scientists worked with Harry and B’Elanna on shaping the Captain’s messages into a sound scientific hypothesis, she had been attempting to correct for the temporal phase-shifts.
What the others did not know was the message the EMH had added to the encryption.
Captain Janeway was dying.
She was not prepared for that eventuality.
“The Captain claims that they have been stranded on the fourth planet in this system,” Seven responded.
“The away team looked for them,” Chakotay said, “it doesn’t exist.”
“It does not,” Seven agreed, “Because Captain Janeway’s message indicates that she and the EMH are stranded on a Class M planet out of phase with the rest of space time. We have no reason to believe that this anomaly has been corrected since we received her message.”
Chakotay watched as the map of the system began to change on the screen. Seven had projected what the system would look like with the real fourth planet in place, “You’re suggesting the planet is cloaked?”
Seven looked at him briefly before continuing her work, “That is not accurate. The planet has been intentionally disguised by holographic technology; however, its orbit has also been moved out of sync with normal space time.”
“Girt’s crew thinks that the planet moves in and out of sync with normal space time,” Harry added. “It’s the only explanation we have for how the Captain and the Doctor were able to crash land on its surface. It also explains why the Captain was able to detect holographic cloaking technology. If someone is trying to hide this planet when it phases back in normal-space time, it would need that cloak.”
“Who would go through such great lengths?” Chakotay wondered aloud.
Perhaps not registering that his question was rhetorical, Seven accessed the database provided by the entity and called up the appropriate entry before folding her hands behind her back.
The screen began to change once more, and the planet system’s chart was overlaid by one from the database. At first, the overlay was stationary. The computer quickly corrected for all four of the planet’s orbits, and within seconds the overlay and original projection fell in perfect sync with one another.
Harry audibly gaped, once again struck awe by Seven’s ability to access vast amounts of information and identify the important pieces of any puzzle.
Seven looked at Chakotay, “we are in the Treveene’s native system.”
Before he could register an appropriate response, the telltale chime of an incoming hail redirected his attention to Harry, “Open a channel.”
“Commander...” the ensigns confused expression grew increasingly unsettled as he looked up from his station, “it’s the Captain.”
ii
When Voyager made it within comms length of the damaged shuttle, Kathryn rammed a link through at high priority. She’d been sitting in this godforsaken shuttle, adrift and barely functional for over a day. For company, she’d had the mystery of its sudden power loss to keep her busy. Then, she’d had the distress signal.
She’d been unable to help.
The shuttle was on auxiliary power, rendering the Doctor offline, and teleporters down. Her only hope had been to use the last of her life support power to boost the signal coming from the surface of the planet. And then, as she waited for help, she had time to think.
Before the distress signal, she’d spent the day attempting to repair the shuttle, assuming she’d fallen into a power well. Unfortunate, but with passing help not fatal. Then she’d been confronted with the improbable words of herself, detailing the holographically cloaked world caught in a non-naturally occurring time shift. Pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place, old memories of spatial turbulence, two Voyager’s and difficult decisions. It was an unproven hypothesis, but her shuttle’s near instantaneous loss of power when skimming the temporal well supported it. It would explain the duplicated shuttle, the duplicated her, and the duplicated Doctor.
Could they even get them back?
The hail went through, audio only.
“We don’t have much time,” Kathryn spoke quickly, “I’m running out of life support and they’re running out of time. Beam me aboard and start making attempts at the extraction process. I’ll explain more when I’m aboard. Janeway out.”
Day Three [voyager]
i
The small group was assembled in the briefing room. The Captain was at the head of the table, her expression unreadable as the Briyali engineer did her best to explain what had happened. It wasn’t D’Tir’s fault that her superiors had taken a day to make their decision to share the information, first with her (a low ranking member of a science fleet), and then her to share the information with Voyager.
The Briyali woman knew little of temporal mechanics, or of the rare quantum phenomenon of subatomic duplication when subspace turbulence, mixed with temporal turbulence, struck even warp incapable ships. When her explanation fell short, B’Elanna stepped in with the technical details.
“What are the chances that this can happen to the same person twice?” Harry asked. His curiosity wasn’t necessarily important, but given the quirk of his own existence (of a Harry Kim adrift in space tens of thousands of light years behind them), the question was entertained.
“Improbable,” B’Elanna conceded, “but we’ve seen a greater use of temporal technology in the Delta Quadrant than what is tolerated in the Alpha Quadrant. For all we know, this type of sub space turbulence is a fact of life here, the exhaust of this technology, and by the virtue of the vastness of space, we’ve only run into it twice. We’ve seen a lot of drifting vessels in the region, and this type of turbulence could explain the occurrences. They would abandon ship, once they realized it was impossible to fix it without help.”
“Why,” the Captain asked, her tone low, “hide a planet in a temporal well?”
The Doctor had watched her carefully over the last day. After her initial rescue from the now derelict Delta Flyer, she had expressed hope in providing aid to the stranded pair on the surface of the planet. As time had passed, and their efforts had been frustrated, she had grown more somber. This was no longer a rescue mission but a retrieval. The EMH, salvaged from the Delta Flyer’s spent computer, had prepped the sickbay for emergency procedures, but had as time passed, prepared it for an autopsy.
D’Tir fidgeted where she sat, the twitch of her long fingers the only indication of her discomfort, “I have not been told everything.”
“Just what you know for certain, then.”
D’Tir nodded, a gesture she’d picked up from the humans she had spent so much time with, “Our history is considered an embarrassment to the Fifth Order. During the Third and Fourth, we had waged a territorial war on the Treveene, stealing their colonized worlds, eliminating any organized response. They were a peaceful race, content to share their space, but we were not.”
She looked around at the faces of the senior staff, showing more emotion than she had in weeks, “Please believe that we have changed. Briyali now are disgusted by the actions of our elders, our own grandparents were alive during the end of the Fourth Order. They regret their inaction.”
“What changed?” Chakotay asked, with a practice tone of understanding.
“The being you call the Entity rendered their home world uninhabitable. At this point, we had taken their colonies and had driven them back to their home planet. Save a few exploratory ships they had sent beyond their known space, all that was left of the Treveene was there. When we learned what had happened, the more liberal segments of our population had already started the Fifth Order, had welcomed difference species into our space. They were in the process of determining appropriate reparations for the Treveene.”
“But they were already dead,” the Captain added.
“No!” D’Tir insisted, “It was our greatest shame. But our scientists had learned that there were some left, struggling to survive. We offered our assistance, and despite everything we had done to them, they accepted. This...this world is one aspect of that assistance. We had taken so much from them, that we wished to speed the rehabilitation of their home world. It may seem unlikely to you, that we have the capability, but we do not readily share our full technology will newcomers to our space.”
The Captain, who’s expression had melted into understanding, only said, “Because we might try to take it.”
D’Tir nodded.
“You were trying to accelerate the terraforming of their planet, to repopulate it with the life necessary to sustain their population.”
D’Tir nodded.
“Where are they now?”
D’Tir gestured to the computer image of the planet, “They did not trust us to not take it from them. They stayed behind. We didn’t keep the planet cloaked at first, but outsiders began raiding the surface when it phased back into space time. Now they are hidden from everyone, even most Briyali.”
ii
Late in the evening, Kathryn stood in the shuttle bay, staring at the two Delta Flyers. The wreckage of the crash had been all they were able to recover of the second. Her duplicate’s body nowhere to be found; the EMH’s program decompiled.
It felt as if she were standing in a graveyard, the dead incapable of telling her what had happened to them. Had they suffered? Had they met the Treveene, a gentle species that would have hidden from them out of fear of exploitation?
How long had the Doctor stood sentry over his dead Captain, until the damage to the computers corroded his program?