Ghost of a Chance (17 page)

If that strategy works, the rest will be up to you.”

Tuvok briefly appraised the situation, then nodded. “I understand, Captain.”

“Good. If you’re able to get aboard, I want you to get communications working first. Contact the ship, tell them what we know. After that, if possible, see if you can get the transporter operational.”

“Captain, even if I am able to do so, I doubt we will be able to transport anyone up to Voyager’s high orbit,” Tuvok said. “The same magnetic fields that are hampering our communicator signals might well distort the transporter beam.”

“I know,” Janeway said. “And you’re right, but I may have something else in mind. Don’t worry, I’m not holding you to any promises.”

Tuvok gazed out at his target. “Very well, I will do my best.”

Janeway touched Tuvok’s shoulder, stopping him as he instantly prepared to belly-crawl out beyond the tree line. “I know you will,” she said.

“And we both know we have to try to make this work. But not at the expense of one of my best officers.”

The Vulcan turned to her for a moment. “That would be an unfortunate waste.” His expression did not change. She didn’t expect it would.

Janeway nodded and let him go.

They watched Tuvok inch his way out through the grass. Then Janeway slid back, signaling Kim to follow, and the two of them headed toward the higher ground.

***

“On my mark.” Chakotay watched from the captain’s chair as the smallest of the three moons drew nearer, filling the main viewscreen.

The maneuver had required only a minor course correction; Drenar’s newest moon was in an orbit only slightly higher than Voyager’s had been.

The three Drosary stood clustered to his left, well out of the way, exactly where the commander had asked them to stand. He had stopped short of removing them from the bridge entirely, at least for now, but he didn’t mind keeping them in check. Still, they had complied with his requests without the slightest incident, saying they completely understood. Chakotay took this as another sign that he was largely right about them, and that B’Elanna was overreacting.

As Voyager slowly closed the distance, using only a fraction of the impulse engines’ output, the details of the moon became more clearly visible. The surface was unusually smooth.

“Moving to optimum position,” Paris said, alternating his attention between his console and the main screen. “Things must have been pretty quiet wherever this moon used to be,” he added, observing the moon as Chakotay did.

“Ice may have covered its surface,” Chakotay suggested. “That would have evaporated as the moon traveled sunward.”

“Like a giant comet,” Paris suggested. “Must have had one hell of a tail.”

“We should be able to detect its debris trail without too much trouble,” Chakotay said.

“If you two are through sight-seeing,” B’Elanna said over the comm, “we are ready down here.”

“Good,” Chakotay answered. “Mr. Paris, engage the warp engines.

Mr. Rollins, activate the main deflector.”

The commander stood up and moved to Ops, where Ensign Stephens kept watch in place of Kim. Over the ensign’s shoulder he watched the monitor displaying the warp field, a misshapen bubble that reached out from the starship’s bow and bumped into the giant moon, which was hundreds of times Voyager’s size. The bubble slowly spread out until it touched nearly a third of the satellite’s surface.

“That’s all we’ve got,” B’Elanna said.

Chakotay nodded. “Impulse power, Mr. Paris. Easy does it.”

For several minutes everyone remained in place, fully engaged in silent station-keeping. Then: “I show movement, Commander,” Stephens sang out, to the sound of relieved sighs from one and all.

“Warp engines are holding at sixty-three percent,” Paris reported.

“All three graviton polarity generators on-line and operating within acceptable limits,” B’Elanna added.

“Good work, Torres,” Chakotay told her.

“Rollins will have to keep compensating for the moon’s density variations manually,” she responded. “I’ll keep a watch on things down here. Meanwhile, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to being all those other miracle workers you think I am.

Torres out.”

It would be hours before they were through with just this moon, then they had to see what they could do about the others. After that, they might have to go back and work on this one again.

Even by their best estimates, it would be some time before any significant effect was felt below on the planet. But for the first time since Voyager had entered orbit around Drenar Four, Chakotay felt that they were getting somewhere.

He looked up again, willing the moon to move. “Progress, Mr. Rollins?”

“Point zero zero three percent, sir.”

“Very well. Steady as she goes.”

***

Janeway experienced a sense of foreboding as she approached the edge of the bluff. The top of her head still ached from the last time she’d been here. She edged forward with extra caution until she and Kim were in good positions, hidden behind the dense trees, some of which had recently fallen into one another. She could see Tuvok from here, a dark shape in the tall grass still at least fifty meters from the shuttlecraft. None of the Televek seemed to have spotted him yet. She knew their ignorance wouldn’t last long.

She drew her hand phaser. “On stun,” she said as Kim drew his.

She took aim. “Ready… fire.”

Twin bright phaser beams flickered toward the shuttle, and two of the Televek guards dropped instantly. Janeway fired again as the others scurried for cover. One of them fired back, a wild shot that found only air. Kim managed to drop another guard before the opportunity was lost. Janeway’s second shot missed. All the remaining Televek were behind the shuttle now, and all of them began firing back. This time the shots were much closer.

“Reset,” Janeway said. She put her phaser on full, then fired again, aiming high, letting the beam strike a large spike of rock just beyond the shuttle and causing the rock to explode. Kim chose a young tree ten meters to the left. It burst open when the heat of the beam seared its trunk. Smoke and steam curled from the split pieces.

“Now let’s send them an invitation,” Janeway said. She stood up and fired once more, making sure she was seen. Kim grimly did the same.

Much of the dust that had covered their clothing had fallen off. On the ridge, against the drab forest background, the two officers made an excellent target. The Televek immediately tried to fire on their position, but Janeway had already turned and leaped out of the way.

Kim followed.

A little too close, Janeway thought, though she didn’t let her opinion show. She signaled Kim, and they moved back from the edge and waited, silent. Soon enough they heard the Televek guards coming out of hiding, firing preemptive shots at the trees where Janeway and Kim had just been, then moving toward the bluff. She heard them calling to one another as they climbed up the loose hillside.

“Let’s not make it too easy for them, Mr. Kim. You go, that way.” He did as he was told. When the first Televek peeked over the edge, Janeway fired. She aimed and hit a fallen tree, a warning shot that landed just inches from the Televek’s head, then turned again and sprinted deeper into the forested area.

Kim was just ahead of her now. She was catching up, but she could hear the Televek right behind her, also catching up. Her plan was working—perhaps a little too well.

***

Tuvok raised his head up far enough to get a clear view. He held there, carefully watching the shuttle. He saw only one Televek remaining, crouched in a defensive position behind the starboard nacelle, concentrating on the tumbled-down hill as the guard’s comrades scrambled up the loose dirt and fought their way over the top. They all disappeared, chasing the captain and Kim.

Tuvok dropped back down and began to crawl more quickly, though he was careful not to kick up too much dust.

A few meters ahead he reached the dead Drenarians, who had probably been killed the night before, Tuvok surmised. They lay stiff and cold, their waxen faces oblivious to the heat of the midday sun. He crawled past them, toward the shuttle, keeping a steady eye on the one remaining guard.

The position of the guard and the open hatch forced him to circle the shuttle so as to use the ship itself for cover. When he finally reached the hull he was near the bow. He set his phaser on stun, then rose, stepped around the bow, and fired, taking the partially hidden guard completely by surprise. The guard slumped silently to the ground. Tuvok rushed on, past the nacelle, certain there was no time to waste. He paused beside the hatch, then took a deep breath and charged in through the opening.

Another helmetless Televek stood tinkering at the main control panel, apparently hurrying to get some particular task accomplished. He was holding a blunt energy weapon in one hand while he attempted to use some type of probe with the other.

When he looked up, Tuvok fired.

Tuvok moved forward, stepping over the Televek’s still form, and began examining the work the intruder had been doing. A number of circuits had been patched or rerouted.

“Thank you for your assistance,” the Vulcan said out loud, nodding to the figure at his feet. “You have saved me a good deal of time.”

He put away his phaser and dragged the Televek just outside the shuttle. Then he slipped back inside, activated the emergency lighting system, and manually closed the hatch, sealing it shut.

Tuvok needed only a moment to appraise the situation. The Televek’s repairs, apparently intended to restore main power, had indeed been helpful, but much work remained to be done. He wasted no time in getting to it.

Gantel sat quietly in his vast suite—vast for a battle cruiser, certainly—gazing wistfully at the baubles that filled every shelf, every corner, and much of the wall space. Even the chairs and tables were the finest available; the dining set was the prize among them, an antique older than some stars, or nearly so.

His wardrobe was the match of any director’s, tenth level on up, with the possible exception of Shaale herself.

But his life had many such amenities. He dined on the finest cuisine, foods prepared by a chef he had personally abducted from a Torthesian resort nearly nine years ago, and worth the effort, make no mistake.

His collection of music—a passion considered curious by many Televek, but one he indulged nonetheless—was unequaled anywhere, so far as he knew, and would surpass even that high mark once he acquired the music libraries of the Federation starship Voyager.

Still, as his eyes came to rest on the set of exotically crafted, painstakingly hand-painted Pollian vases, neatly arranged from small to large, his mind sought to digress into a pool of swirling, self-indulgent doubt. For a moment, but for just a moment, he did not resist.

It was the goal of any civilized creature to obtain position, power, and wealth, and he had done so by doing what few Televek dared: he had taken some big risks; he had taken the important chances, despite what that tended to do to his stomach, and only when he had thought the time was right. It was a question of both want and need, as far as Gantel was concerned. When you wanted something badly enough, you needed to find a way to acquire it. And he had.

His success had cost him, though—three mates, so far, some gastrointestinal therapy, and a short list of enemies he had spent some years keeping an eye on. But all that was to be expected. And it had been worth the risk. Hadn’t it…?

An old friend had once told him that there came a time in every director’s life, and even in every associate’s, when absolutely ridiculous questions would arise to plunder the sanity of the mind.

Questions like “What is the meaning of life?”

All this, Gantel thought as he looked past the priceless vases to the jeweled Awakening Day ceremonial chalice, something from his own world, then on to more of his belongings. But the temptation was to imagine there might be another meaning. A deeper, more spiritual one.

He had always laughed at such idiocy. Failings could be traced to mistakes, successes to adroitness. And enough successes piled one on top of the other constituted fulfillment. But then what?

…

Gantel blinked. One needed to be drunk, or at least getting there, in order to ponder such topics, and he simply couldn’t indulge himself to that extent right now. Not with so much going on at once, so many variables, so many ways for something to go wrong and leave a blight the size of Drenar Four itself on his otherwise splendid career.

His instincts told him to make a deal with himself, sell himself a purely adequate bill of tried philosophical goods, just as every other Televek did, the same package his own parents had promoted. And the truth was, Gantel had very good instincts. No one could deny that.

He stood up and slowly crossed the room, where he paused to examine the contents of a case filled with hand weapons, ancient sharp-edged instruments he could only imagine trying actually to use in hand-to-hand combat. The idea was incredible, in fact.

He could only imagine what the wounds would look like, what a death like that might be like. He thought of it often, in fact.

At the far wall a curved shard of burned metal rested on a shelf, kept in place by three transparent pins. The piece, a meter long and roughly twice as wide as Gantel’s own head, was jagged on all but one edge. It had been part of the armor used to protect the Vanolens’ massive primary space habitat. And it had been impenetrable, a problem the Thaitifa, in their quest to rule the Vanolens, had come to Gantel to solve. Briefly, Gantel had fretted over his decision. The Vanolens were a glorious people.

Their civilization had been around for millions of years. Even longer than the Televek themselves. Artisans at heart, the lot of them. And their cities in space were simply remarkable. He had spent some time there in his youth listening to music, and he still remembered the name of one particularly alluring windwhyle player he’d met at the East Ocean Symphonic Review, and the many talents she embodied.

Gantel had been only a third associate then, and the stars knew there were more than enough eager associates of every rank scrambling to climb up one more rung on the ladder of success.