Cybersong

*** CHAPTER 1

She was lonely and afraid. That had been as bad as the thirst.

The Kazon-Ogla weren’t generous with their captives, and their water was their wealth. They didn’t waste it on captive labor.

Once the lot was used up and dead, there would be plenty of others.

Being afraid wasn’t good, but she understood that fear didn’t mean she didn’t have courage as well. Fear was a warning sign.

There was no shame to it. It was how she acted that mattered, not how scared she was.

Here in the prison camp, there was nothing but fear. She curled on her bunk, if the thin dusty blanket over a pile of rags could be called that. The rags were clothes other slave laborers had died wearing.

Her own gray tunic was stiff with sweat and old blood. At least she couldn’t smell it anymore. After weeks of captivity she had become inured to the stench of death and excrement in what passed as shelter for the labor gang.

No, the loneliness was worst of all. That there were no others like her was bad enough. No one who remembered the ordered courtyards of the Ocampa. Not one of the other prisoners was of her race. But worse, not one of the other prisoners cared about anything beyond themselves—their next drink, their hope for escape.

She thought that they must have been different before captivity.

The grinding drudgery of the mines and the unrelenting thirst would drive even the best person to selfish madness after a time.

She reminded herself of how close she had come to mindless hatred from weariness and anger, how the thirst had driven her more than any idea had inspired her.

That was what she had feared more than she had feared death, or the mines, or the next morning as a slave of the Kazon. The capacity for evil was inside her. It was inside everyone. She knew it, she had felt and tasted it every time she entered the mines.

That fear made her lonely. She couldn’t talk to anyone, couldn’t share a memory or a song. Nothing mattered when she was so terribly, frightfully alone. She wasn’t even sure she existed anymore …

Kes awoke trembling, clutching a soft blanket around her. It was thick and warm and smelled of soft purfume, telling her that she was safe.

She hadn’t had nightmares in a long time. Immediately she patted the space beside her, and it was empty. Neelix was gone, then, probably preparing breakfast.

Neelix’s absence explained the dream she told herself firmly.

She was never alone on Voyager. Neelix was always there, or The Doctor, or a patient, or someone who needed her help. And she was glad that she could help, that she was part of the crew.

She had overslept, she realized. Last night she had stayed late after dinner studying respiratory systems with The Doctor. The differences between humans and Vulcans and Talaxians were so fascinating that they had completely lost track of time. Kes never would have come to sleep at all if Neelix hadn’t found her in sickbay looking at holograms of various types of lungs and oxygen exchanges.

“Of course, we’re only looking at the oxygen-breathing species now,” The Doctor had said. “In the Alpha Quadrant we know of species that breathe methane and chlorine as well, though they are less common than oxygen breathers.”

“I have heard of a race that breathes poison air,” Kes had replied.

“Do you have diagrams for these other lung systems as well?”

“Of course,” The Doctor told her. “But, it’s a completely different biochemistry, and the best way to approach it would be from a chemical level before looking at gross anatomy.”

“The best approach is to get a good night’s sleep,” Neelix said, coming in to claim Kes from her studies. “Do you have any idea how late it is? I’ve been searching all over the ship for you.

I thought something might have happened.”

Kes had stood and smiled at him. “It is late. I hadn’t realized I was so tired. Doctor, could we continue this tomorrow?”

“If we don’t have six more sprained ankles and wrists from that holodeck adventure,” The Doctor said.

Kes laughed softly as Neelix propelled her out of sickbay.

“What was that about?” the Talaxian asked sharply. “Has someone been trying to get you to go off to the holodeck alone?”

Kes shook her head. “After the injuries I’ve seen, I wouldn’t be interested in trying out this new program, no matter how much everyone seems to enjoy it. Though when Tom Paris told me what skiing was like, it did sound like a dream. No wonder everyone is going.”

“And when did Mr. Paris talk to you about this new holodeck skiing?”

Neelix asked, his tone tinged with suspicion.

“When The Doctor was taping up his ankle,” Kes replied evenly.

“He was one of the first injuries. And he complained the whole time because we weren’t using any of the more sophisticated techniques to repair all the damage. The Doctor thought if they had to feel it a while, they would be more careful.”

Neelix only snorted. Kes sighed and started toward her quarters.

“I’m tired. I’ve been fixing minor injuries all day and studying half the evening. I don’t even remember having dinner.” Her voice was gentle. Neelix followed her to the turbolift.

She remembered going to sleep immediately, and then there was the dream. The dream was more real than the conversation about the skiing program, more real than anything she had encountered on the holodeck.

Voyager itself was enough of a fantasy for her. Being rescued from the Kazon would have been enough. To live free among the stars, to have the luxuries of learning and friendship aboard Voyager, was far more than Kes had ever dreamed.

She thought of all these things as she got washed. She thought of the good friends she had made here, the kind and warm people who had become her world.

And still she couldn’t shake off the fear and loneliness from the dream. No matter how firmly she told herself that it was nothing, she couldn’t rinse away the lingering shreds of anxiety and isolation with soap.

No, she thought as she put on her rust-colored tunic, she would talk to The Doctor about this. He had been programmed with the entire history of psychological inquiry. He had access to the records of Betazoid healers who understood empathic gifts.

Though Kes had never really defined her knowing as empathy.

She combed her short blond hair quickly and turned from the mirror.

She wasn’t immediately hungry, but if the nightmare had come from skipping dinner, then she knew she should eat something. Neelix had put a bowl of Iobrian bluefruit on the main table. Kes picked one up and nibbled at it as she considered further.

While The Doctor might have the information to test her and even train her, she was not Betazoid. There was no reason to assume that their methods would be useful to Kes, or even applicable.

And besides, Kes had no desire to interrupt her obviously necessary and endlessly fascinating medical studies for something that might be of limited value.

But she could still tell The Doctor everything, and perhaps one of them could determine whether it was just a particularly bad nightmare she had had, or whether it was something more.

Captain, tachyon density in this region is two point three times normal,” Ensign Harry Kim said. He had just reported to his station and run his normal checkin routine.

“Check the log, Mr. Kim,” Captain Janeway ordered. “How long have we noted elevated levels?”

He queried the night’s logs and studied the readout for a moment before answering. “It’s been a steady rise since approximately zero two hundred hours. Slow, but increasing regularly. If this keeps up, it’s going to interfere with ship’s systems in another four hours.”

Captain Kathryn Janeway sat forward and stared at the screen.

Space before them was black and empty. The few distant stars shone dull at the edges of the display and were the only indication that the viewer was functioning at all.

“Plot the vector of the tachyon density and see if it’s emanating from any object in this area, Mr. Kim,” the captain ordered.

“And check for debris. This could just be the signature of an old event that shouldn’t be a problem. If you find something, let’s take a look at it.”

“Yes, Captain,” the young officer replied, and immediately bent his head over his console once more. “There’s something out there, but the heavy tachyon concentration is making it hard to get a decent image.”

The large viewscreen on the bridge stuttered with static.

Between bursts of gray interference, the vague likeness of several ships appeared. They were exotic in form, and the few that could be seen together looked different from each other as well. Even though Janeway had seen all manner of spacecraft from myriad races, she was hard-pressed to identify the hulks that flickered in the badly resolved picture. The torn fragments mostly showed the regular ewes of formed materials. And from the dull glow where the light hit them, it appeared that most of the pieces were refined metals.

“There seems to be some kind of communications band emanating from that source,” Lieutenant Tuvok, the Vulcan security officer said. “But I cannot get it to resolve.”

“I could try filtering out some of the heavy tachyon interference,” Harry Kim offered.

“Thank you, Mr. Kim,” the Vulcan replied. “However, I have already attempted that and have made the adjustments necessary to boost the signal as well. I cannot get anything … We’ve lost it.”

“Have they stopped transmitting?” Lieutenant Paris asked.

“If I knew that the transmission had stopped, or been interrupted, I would have indicated that information,” the Vulcan said dispassionately. “In fact, what we did manage to intercept was data-dense computer relay protocols.”

“So they’re more interested in talking to our computer than talking to us,” Tom Paris noted aloud. “Sound like real hospitable folk.”

Harry Kim shook his head slightly at Paris’s comment. They were good enough friends that no more was needed to remind them both of their encounter with the Sikarians, the most hospitable folk in the Delta Quadrant. The people who had technology to help them get at least a good way closer to home had downright refused. The word “hospitable” had had a double-edged meaning aboard Voyager ever since.

“Shall we investigate further, Captain?” the Vulcan asked.

Captain Janeway watched the display screen. Her wary eyes remained calm and her mouth set firm, giving away nothing. She remained silent for a moment, considering her options. She had insisted that Voyager fulfill all of Starfleet’s objectives, even though the ship was farther from Federation space than any starship had ever been; that included scientific investigation and contact with new races.

But that objective didn’t require her to study everything in the Delta Quadrant. There were plenty of planets and peoples here they couldn’t avoid, restocking stops that had to be made on the long journey home.

They didn’t need to go poking around what appeared to be a junk heap, not unless there was some very good reason to think that it would help them get home.

“It does not have any of the characteristics of the Array or the Caretaker,” Mr. Tuvok said. “There is no indication that this is anything more than a garbage dump.”

The captain smiled slightly. “I don’t believe we need a detour,” she said. “Steady as she goes, Mr. Paris.”

There was an air of calm on the bridge. The monitors glowed amber, red, green, and blue, turning palms into brilliant array as skilled hands hovered over control panels. The hush of concentration was reinforced by the silence from the screen.

Janeway stared into the darkness displayed before them.

The captain didn’t say that there was no place to stop for provisions for a very long time. She was worried about stores.

Without the replicators working at full capacity, there was a chance that they would be running low on food before they found the next planet where they could stop for supplies.

There was no reason for the crew to know about the potential shortage in too much detail. Everyone knew that food and power couldn’t be wasted. That was enough.

She only hoped that the information Neelix had provided was correct.

He hadn’t wanted to come this way in the first place.

But the other routes were much longer and not reliably stocked, either.

“I’ve never been there myself,” he had told her when they had discussed the route. “But this planet is inhabited and their people are spacefaring. Not much, you understand. They’re generally known to be rather insular, and their religion is very demanding. You can’t ever tell when they’ll be in the mood to trade, but I know they’re there and that they grow crops of things we can eat.”

“Sounds like a better alternative than the others,” Janeway had replied. She hadn’t really liked any of the choices available.

But this sector of the Delta Quadrant was one of the “bubbles” in space, a fairly large area with few stars.

“Let’s take a look at that computer transmission,” Janeway ordered.

“If it’s anything interesting, we could look further.

But without more data, we can ignore this.”

Now she was curious, but even with communication from somewhere in here, she disliked this empty sector. And she didn’t want to linger here. Not while their food supply was running low and there was nothing at all for weeks away.