Cohesion Read online

  Pulling up the status report, Voyager’s captain confirmed what her instincts had told her only moments after the event: The ship’s sensors had suddenly detected an object on a collision course, and, reacting faster than a human could have, the navigational computer had engaged the thrusters to shove them out of the path of whatever it was. Glancing up from the display in her chair, she saw that the main viewscreen was trying to resolve an image, but the thing—the object, the intruder, the whatever-it-was—was too near for a clear view.

  Reviewing the raw data, Janeway glanced over at Tuvok, who, not surprisingly, was looking directly at her. She raised an eyebrow, an expression her old friend would correctly interpret as Am I reading this correctly? The Vulcan nodded.

  The only thing Janeway knew for sure from the readings she was seeing was that her ship had barely avoided ramming (or being rammed by) a gigantic object. But where had the object come from? Seconds ago, space in every direction had been clear. A cloaking device? Janeway wondered, but speculation without data was worse than useless; it was a waste of time. Janeway wanted facts. “Tuvok, launch a remote! We need to see what…”

  “Launched, Captain. We will have a feed in three, two, one…”

  The main viewscreen shimmered, and an image abruptly snapped into focus. A hush of awe fell over the bridge, and in the sudden silence Janeway became aware that Chakotay was kneeling over the prone figure of Tom Paris, muttering and apparently administering first aid. Then she heard Paris speak, and that moment of reassurance was enough that she could tear herself away from the prospect of an injured crewman and again try to take in the astonishing sight upon which they all gazed.

  Shining like an opal in the lower left-hand corner of the viewscreen hung a tiny dot that, Janeway knew, would be no wider than the tip of her thumb if she lifted her hand and held it before her at arm’s length. An icon floating near the dot told her that this fragile blip represented the shell that held her life and the lives of her 156 crewmen.

  The other ninety-eight one-hundredths of the screen was filled by…what could she call it? Could it, as the preliminary scans said, truly be an artificial object? The most rational part of Janeway’s mind said, yes, of course it could, but some more primitive part rebelled at the idea. However, as her eye focused first on one part of the vessel, then on another, scale became less and less important. Janeway began to perceive the sense of the builders’ design and found that she was admiring its cool elegance. Awe gave away to curiosity about the vessel’s makers.

  A flattened sphere as large as an orbital starbase was foremost, and as the image resolution became sharper it became evident that the hull was composed of large, uneven metallic plates welded in overlapping curves one on top of another. The bow curve was peppered with dozens of shallow openings that Janeway quickly decided must be some form of ramscoop for collecting interstellar hydrogen. The hydrogen would be processed somewhere in the hull, then fed to the…she counted quickly…seventeen massive engines mounted on the rearmost curve.

  Ramscoops. Hydrogen. She pondered. These people, whoever they might be, were propelling themselves through the void by blowing up small hydrogen bombs and riding the concussive blasts. What could motivate them to do such a thing?

  The answer dangled behind the main hull: dozens of blocky containers, each attached to the vessel with a cable that had to be as thick as Voyager’s primary hull. For a moment, Janeway found herself wondering if the ship’s creators had been inspired by the thought of some unimaginably gigantic hot-air balloon carrying aloft tiny gondolas. “Tuvok,” she said. “Life signs?”

  “Sensors are still collecting data,” Tuvok said, “but current estimates are in the range of fifteen thousand individuals.”

  In a hushed whisper, Knowles, at the navigation station, croaked, “One moment there was nothing there. I swear, Captain. Nothing! And then…this…!”

  Janeway looked to Tuvok for an answer, but the Vulcan said only, “Unknown, Captain.”

  Janeway settled back into her chair, adjusted her uniform jacket, and, feeling a grin of anticipation creep across her face, said, “Then I guess we had better just ask. Send a hail, Mr. Tuvok.”

  Chapter 2

  Disaster minus 301 minutes

  “Mr. Paris, wake up.”

  Tom did not wish to obey. The throbbing ache behind his eyes made opening them sound like a terrible idea, but he felt himself compelled to listen to the voice despite the fact that the speaker sounded irritated, impatient, and persnickety. Sure signs that Tom was in the tender care of the Emergency Medical Hologram.

  Tom opened his eyes and saw red emergency lights glowing softly on the polished dome of a hairless pate. The frown, ah, the frown, crowning achievement of Dr. Zimmerman’s work—all those little lines and folds, reproduced from Zimmerman’s own dour visage with painstaking effectiveness. “Hey, Doc,” Tom said, and felt helpless as a glad smile stretched across his face. “Good to see you.”

  “A pleasant enough sentiment,” the Doctor said. Tom could hear the muted sounds of people and machines exchanging information. I’m still on the bridge, Tom thought, and the idea pleased him out of all proportion. The Doctor explained why. “But I suspect it is motivated primarily by the compound I just administered—a little something to enhance blood flow to the brain.”

  Tom said, “Great!”

  “Perhaps the formula requires some rethinking.”

  “Fine!” Tom said. And it was. Truly. Fine. Everything was fine.

  “Keep your voice down,” the Doctor scolded.

  Tom felt part of him wanting to cringe, but the precise combination of muscles was nowhere to be found in his body’s current vocabulary, so instead he whispered, “Sorry.”

  The Doctor patted Tom reassuringly. “Corpsmen will arrive shortly and take you to sickbay. Until then, try to be silent. The captain is about to make contact with the alien ship and we cannot afford to distract her at this time.”

  Tom did not attempt to respond, but adjusted his position so he could see the viewscreen over the Doctor’s shoulder. Above him, he heard Tuvok say, “The alien vessel is returning our hail, Captain.”

  “On the main viewer, Mr. Tuvok.”

  * * *

  A moment later, the image resolved and Janeway had her first sight of a Monorhan. She knew they called themselves Monorhans because the universal translator had plucked this information from the hail, but it was experiencing difficulty with almost everything else, including the name of the ship and its captain.

  The face staring down at them was bilaterally symmetrical—an arrangement that evolution seemed to find favor with the galaxy around—but the alien’s jaw was much longer than that of most humanoid species, with oversized canines in the front and a ridge of molars up each side. The nose was broad, flat, shiny, and ringed with stubby sensory organs whose use Janeway could only guess. Infrared? Ultrasound?

  The Monorhan captain’s eyes were structured with familiar features—white, iris, and cornea—though the pupil was large and appeared to be very sensitive, shrinking and growing as the alien turned his head. Wide-set, the eyes were rimmed with thick lashes that would be ideal for keeping out fine particles of grit, leading Janeway to speculate whether the Monorhans had evolved in a turbulent atmosphere. A bulging forehead was framed by thick, curly hair pulled back in a braid over short pointed ears.

  Opening his mouth to speak, the Monorhan lifted his head, unfolded a long neck, and ululated, vibrating a long, flexible tongue against his palate. Several seconds passed before the translator caught up and delivered a humming, growling approximation of his speech: “Difficult,” the Monorhan said, the voice low and guttural. “And difficult. Who is your tribe? You appear…Damage…” But the next sentence was lost in a thick buzz and hum.

  “Mr. Tuvok,” Janeway asked. “Has the universal translator been damaged?”

  “Negative, Captain. However, Monorhan speech is unlike anything we have encountered to date. It may take a few exchanges for the translator to develop algorithms. My advice would be to speak slowly and ask the Monorhan to do the same.”

  Janeway glanced briefly at Chakotay, who quirked an eyebrow at her. His look said, Interesting, and she could not disagree. Aware that she frequently spoke at a very rapid pace, the captain took a deep breath and, in measured tones, said, “My name is Kathryn Janeway and I am captain of this vessel, which we call Voyager.” She briefly pondered whether she should introduce the subject of the Federation and their long journey home, but decided that this was a topic better left for when the translator was up to speed. “The near collision was unintentional. Was anyone on your vessel injured? Can we offer aid?” Though, truly, if even a small percentage of the Monorhan’s crew or passengers were injured, how would Voyager be able to help them? Still, Janeway was convinced that the accident had done more damage to the aliens than to her crew. If she could offer any kind of restitution, she was ethically bound to do so.

  The Monorhan tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as if concentrating. Finally, several seconds after the captain finished speaking, the alien spoke again, tongue and palate clicking. The translator labored, then produced its best approximation: “Ziv, my name. Captain? Yes. Vessel is…. Casualties? No. You?”

  Deciding that the last question concerned casualties, Janeway said, “No casualties.” At least, no fatalities.

  In response, Ziv spoke rapidly. “Good,” the Monorhan said. “Relief. This ship…” Several thrums and clicks later, Ziv held his meaty hands wide apart, then pointed at Janeway. “Your ship…” Then, he held up two narrowly parted fingers.

  Janeway smiled, then nodded. Ziv had no way to know that with her shields up, even moving at sublight speed, Voyager would have left a very large hole in one side of his main hull, and a second, much larger one in the other.

  Beside her, Chakotay cleared his throat and pointed at the upper right-hand corner of the main viewer. He had opened up a second window and had posted data collected by the sensors. Skimming the statistics, Janeway quickly realized what her first officer wanted her to see. “Captain Ziv,” she continued. “Our scans indicate your ship has been stationary for at least the past several hours. Is that correct?”

  Ziv nodded. “We began having engine problems later yesterday and have been trying to diagnose its trouble….” Behind him, at least two other Monorhans began speaking in rapid pops and clicks. The translator’s buffer was overwhelmed, and several seconds passed before Janeway could make sense out of what anyone was saying.

  Pupils dilated, Ziv barked a sharp command, and the voices abruptly fell silent. Twisting his neck from side to side, his ears flattened against his head, Ziv murmured, “My apologies, Captain. My crew is…frustrated. Our engines are not functioning as we expected.”

  “Neither are ours,” Janeway said. “We believe it may be the nature of space in this area. Perhaps we can pool our knowledge and find a solution together. Failing that, we may be able to give you a tow to an area of space where your engines will function better.”

  The Monorhan released a sharp clack. Then, recovering himself, Ziv said, “Did I understand you correctly? You think your ship can move mine?”

  Folding her arms over her chest confidently, Janeway said, “We can. Our engines are quite powerful.”

  “Forgive me, Captain, but I find this difficult to accept.”

  Janeway glanced at Tuvok, who (as she knew he would) accurately interpreted her look and nodded. Yes, his look said. They may come aboard. “Perhaps you would feel better if you sent someone over to study our engines, review schematics. If nothing else, we would enjoy the opportunity to meet you. There are few things we find so satisfying as an opportunity to make contact with new races, and you may have important information to help us resolve our mutual problem.”

  Ziv turned and looked at various points around him, thrumming and clicking, then listening to responses from several points around his bridge. As he talked, the translator labored to make sense of the sounds, but was unable to provide any meaning. Finally, straightening his neck, Ziv said in what Janeway took to be a formal tone, “My hara and I would be pleased to visit your impressive vessel.”

  Janeway waited for a moment to see if the translator would provide a synonym for “hara,” but when none was forthcoming, she asked, “And how many would a…a hara be, Captain?” Trying to be helpful, Janeway held up her hand then moved her fingers to indicate a question: Two? Three? Four?

  Ziv studied the gesture, then held up his own large hand, four thick fingers and a thumb spread wide. The captain noted that each digit ended in a thick claw that had been carefully filed down to the tip of the finger and that Ziv’s wide palm was covered in a ragged, not entirely sterile-looking bandage.

  “That would be fine, Captain. A hara it is. Do you require transportation? We could send a shuttle or…” She glanced at Tuvok. Checking the status board, Tuvok shook his head. Transporters were not up. Again. She would need to speak to B’Elanna about that…or, better still, have Chakotay speak to her. Janeway knew herself well enough to know that if she went down to the engine room now, she might not emerge for several hours. Her energies would be better spent working with Seven and Harry on the nature of local space.

  “We have a craft, Captain,” Ziv said. “It is small enough to fit inside your launch bay, assuming the large volume of space we detect inside the aft portion of your ship is what it appears to be.” When Janeway confirmed that it was, the alien continued, “We would require only that you broadcast a beacon for us to home in on.” He tapped a control on the panel in front of him. “On this frequency.”

  “Received, Captain,” Tuvok said. “Transmitting the beacon.” From his tone, Janeway could tell that Tuvok approved of the arrangement. The Monorhans would be more comfortable knowing that their craft was available, and having their small craft inside Voyager would give security an opportunity to study their technology more carefully.

  “Then, Captain Ziv, I believe we should continue this conversation face-to-face when you’re aboard. Janeway out.”

  The Monorhan nodded, and the viewscreen once again showed the mammoth vessel. Speculative chatter filled the bridge; Janeway let it build for several beats, then cut it off with a chopping motion. “Senior staff meeting in ten minutes. We don’t have much time before the Monorhans arrive, and I’d like some answers before they do.”

  * * *

  Senior staff—Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, Seven of Nine, Ensign Kim, Chief Engineer Torres, Neelix, and the Doctor—all assembled promptly, much to Tuvok’s satisfaction. Only Tom Paris was absent, though the Doctor explained before the meeting began that his wound had been repaired and he would be allowed to leave sickbay after a brief period of observation. However, since their current dilemma did not involve where to move, but rather how to move, the security officer felt it was acceptable to proceed without him.

  “All right, people,” Janeway said, rising, “we have two problems on the table. One, we dropped out of warp without explanation. Initial assessment is there’s something unusual about this area of space. In support of that thesis, we have another vessel that also seems to be having trouble, but with a very different propulsion system. Question: Is there a relationship between this problem and the fact that we did not see the Monorhan vessel until we were right on top of them?” The captain looked around the table, making eye contact with each of the meeting’s participants. “Another question: Could we be responsible for the change to local space? I’m thinking of the subspace rift created in the Hekaras Corridor.”

  “But that rift was caused by the old-style warp engines,” Torres said. “With our variable-geometry nacelles, that can’t happen.”

  “Don’t rule out any possibilities until we’ve checked all the facts,” the captain said. “Though for what it’s worth, I agree with you. It’s unlikely that we caused the problem, having just arrived, but the Monorhans have to be wondering.”

  “Which accounts for why you invited them over here so quickly,” Neelix said. “To reassure them we have nothing to hide.”

  The captain nodded once, then continued. “Which brings us to problem number two. Or perhaps I should say project number two: a first-contact situation. The Monorhans will be here soon, and we all need to know everything we can about them as soon as possible. Let’s begin with tactical. Tuvok?”

  Having already prepared his comments, Tuvok tapped a key on his padd and brought up the image of the Monorhan vessel. “Scans indicate a level of technology roughly equivalent to late-twenty-first-century Earth technology. They do not possess faster-than-light drive. Given the amount of radiation we are finding, my assessment is they are employing a crude nuclear drive. I have not been able to confirm this with a visual scan, but I believe they are carrying several score atomic bombs. Periodically, they deploy one through this large cone in the stern, detonate it, then ride the explosion’s wave front.” Torres groaned audibly. “A comment, Lieutenant?”

  The engineer shook her head slowly. “Not really. Just…how desperate must these people be to do such a thing?”

  “We do not know yet, Lieutenant. Perhaps when they arrive, you can ask.”

  “What about the containers?” Commander Chakotay asked. “Passengers?”

  Tuvok brought up an image of a cluster of the units tethered to the drive unit. “Correct. These are little more than shells. Each unit has several interconnected levels, some for passengers, some for cargo. All are stocked with food, water, atmosphere processors.”