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Scientific Method (Alternate)

Summary:

While meeting with the Nassordin, the crew of Voyager encounter an ongoing medical experiment—one they must unravel.

Chapter 1: Teaser

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Crewman Daggin knelt by the final panel to be installed in the walls of deck six, then slid in the last of the support structures—little more than cross-hatched poles for the plants to climb—at both ends of the frame. By the time he rose to his feet, Kol, the Ferengi pilot and technician Voyager had “recovered” from a pre-warp planet, who’d been helping Daggin with this project since they’d started it along the Engineering crew quarters of deck nine, had connected the moisture gathering device and activated the unit itself.

Beside them, Ensign Kovar, the biologist and botanist from the ill-fated USS Hera, waited until Kol himself moved away from the unit to pull the final vine seedlings from the case they’d brought with them, planting them at the base of each of the support structures.

“Deck six is complete,” Daggin said, feeling a rush of pride and accomplishment. “And ahead of schedule, no less.” The addition of the green walls among Voyager’s corridors to both lessen some of the strain on the ship’s environmental systems through natural biological processes had been ongoing for months, with progress often limited by available hands as available offshoots of suitable plants. To be of merit, the organic components needed to be content to grow with minimal input from any of Voyager’s crew and do a significant job of atmospheric recycling. While certain species of algae were the best producers of oxygen—and they’d been included in the hydration systems used in the green walls—ultimately, Daggin had gone with various species of ivy they’d located, cross-bred, and cultivated for the purpose to also add a visual and psychologically pleasing component to Voyager.

It wasn’t just there to help them breathe, it was there to be alive.

“When I first learned of your project,” Kovar said, the soft-voiced Vulcan regarding the wall while he spoke. “I admit I was unsure of the worth of the gains, but having seen the data from deck nine’s environmental systems…” He titled his head. “Projected against the likely duration of our journey, and compounded over multiple decks, the systemic aid from even a small reduction in required atmospheric processing is worthwhile.”

Daggin resisted a grin, though he allowed himself a small smile at Kovar’s typically Vulcan compliment. And it was a compliment, he knew.

“You did something similar in the caves,” Daggin noted. While the Vulcan physiology had been up for the thinner atmosphere on the planet which the survivors of the USS Hera had been stranded for years, Daggin knew they’d created a more pleasant atmosphere for themselves in a cavern, and part of that had been due to Kovar’s efforts.

It was one of the reasons he’d asked Lieutenant Taitt for Kovar to be assigned to the green wall project in the first place, and Kovar—back in a life sciences lab and doing the work he’d been trained to do—had agreed.

“Yes,” Kovar said. “The Karst geology of the planet made it possible for us to cultivate certain species of plant inside our living space.”

“If we’re done early,” Kol said, the Ferengi speaking after clearing his throat. “I suppose I need to head back to my quarters.”

Daggin eyed the man. Kol and Arridor hadn’t come on board Voyager under the best of circumstances—in fact, quite the opposite—but over the months, Daggin had noticed Kol seemed more capable of adjustment of the two. By training a pilot and technician who usually worked with shuttlecraft, Kol had agreed to what Daggin knew was rather simple and repetitive work on the green walls, work Daggin had imagined he’d be doing by himself.

To Daggin’s surprise given everything he’d read of their people, the Ferengi hadn’t complained much at all, did his work, and seemed to have grasped the situation he was truly facing: if Kol wanted to be treated as more than a security risk or a burden, he needed to show he was capable of being something else.

That Daggin could get no sense of the man telepathically was something of a curiosity, but Daggin found himself enjoying the conundrum of the often-quiet pilot with his small frame but compact build. Kol focused well, got the work done, and didn’t often engage Daggin in much in the way of conversation, but here and there, Daggin had learned Kol had already had something of a taste of hard work, or what passed for it in the Ferengi culture, in earning his position in the Ferengi military.

“I have twenty minutes before we’re meeting the Nassordin ship,” Daggin said, deciding that Kol’s hard work deserved at least a nominal reward of some kind. “How about we go to the Mess Hall first?”

Kovar’s chin rose slightly, and he gripped one wrist with his other hand behind his back. Daggin anticipated what this would signify of the man’s reply. “I believe I will return to the Garden,” Kovar said, not surprising Daggin in the least. The Vulcan man seemed to enjoy spending as much time surrounded by the plants in Voyager’s extensive, converted Cargo Bay as possible, not that the man himself would ever call it “enjoyment.” “With the volume of the intended trades we’re planning with the Nassordin, I would like to ensure the Gardens are ready.”

“Of course,” Daggin said, knowing the Garden was in a perfectly ready state, but also knowing Kovar didn’t really believe they needed re-checking, either.

The Vulcan left after gathering the empty seedling cases, and Daggin turned to Kol. “How about you, Kol?”

“I’m not foolish enough to turn down free time,” Kol said, with a smile that showed off his misaligned Ferengi teeth and added a glimmer of humour to his eyes.

They picked up their tools. With one last glance at the wall section that would within as little as days have beautiful, spade-leafed vines growing up each individual frame, Daggin led the way to the Turbolift.

 

*

 

In the Mess Hall, Daggin poured himself a cup of Ocampan black tea from one of the large urns that had been set up self-service and watched with some amusement as Kol approached the serving counter with an oddly upright posture and his best gravitas. The Ferengi seemed to have learned decorum went a long way with the various crew who took turns working the kitchen, and especially with Crewman Eru taking more time to rest before her children were due, that meant Crewman Cir was often one of those crew, as he was today, and although Daggin knew Cir was as gentle a man as any, Cir towered over Kol, and was half again as wide as the Ferengi.

“Those beans you gave me last time,” Kol said, meeting Cir’s gaze and speaking as genuinely polite as Daggin had ever heard him before. “And the sauce the Bajoran female came up with for the water-grains. Do you have those?”

“The Mislenite beans,” Cir nodded. “But I don’t recall a sauce?” Cir frowned, like he wasn’t sure what Kol might have meant, then blinked. “Oh. I think I know what you mean. I’ll check.” He turned around in the kitchen and after a few moments of work, he returned with a bowl of what looked to Daggin to be simple grey-brown beans coated in a rather viscous clear sauce. “Do you want it heated?”

“No, no, cold is better,” Kol said.

Daggin joined Kol at the counter, nodding at the bowl. “What sauce is that?” he said, not recognizing it from any of the offered meals of the past few days.

“It’s not a sauce,” Cir said, with a small smile. “It’s leftover liquid from when Tal boiled the Vostigye wild rice—since it absorbed complex starches, Gara asked her to save it for…” Cir shook his head. “Something else. Broth for a soup, maybe? I didn’t catch their whole conversation.”

“But you like it on the beans?” Daggin said, aiming the question at Kol, curious in the way he always was when it came to how the kitchen used the plants he grew in the Garden.

“Yes!” Kol said, lifting the bowl enthusiastically. “This one’s mate thought I would enjoy the combination, and she was right. It’s as close to boiled lokar beans as I’ve eaten in years.” He grinned, leaning forward. “In fact, better.” He bowed to Cir. “Thank you.” He paused, seeming to realize he’d forgotten something. “And your mate.”

Kol’s habit of rarely referring to women by their names, but rather as “female” or their relationship to other men still struck Daggin as odd, but Kol no longer did so with even a trace of dismissiveness, at least.

“I’ll tell her,” Cir said.

They sat, and Daggin sipped his tea while Kol speared the soft beans with a fork and ate them one-by-one, closing his eyes and savouring between bites. Even without a telepathic read on the Ferengi, Daggin knew bliss when he saw it.

When the beans were done, and Daggin was almost out of time, Kol put down his fork and regarded him.

“Thank you,” Kol said. It was a rare and vocal gesture of appreciation from the man.

“You’re welcome,” Daggin said. “When I know which deck Lieutenant Honigsberg would like to modify next, I’ll ask for you again.”

Kol nodded, amiably enough, then blew out a small breath. “So, the Nassordin. Are they a wealthy species?”

Daggin tried to shift his perception to something a bit more Ferengi. “I’d say so,” he conceded. “The botanist I was speaking with, Tannit, said the Nassordin have strong trade ties to the B’omar Sovereignty, and some people we haven’t met yet—the Garenor, the Ram Izad, and the Zahl Republic, I think it was. Their world is what Ensign Nettus calls a breadbasket planet.”

“There can be much profit in farming,” Kol said. “And much risk. My father was a slug farmer. Good seasons were how he bought me my first apprenticeship on the Ferengi shipyards.”

Daggin heard a trace of real pride in the statement, and thought he’d unlocked another small part of Kol’s psychology. Kol hadn’t been born into his position. He’d had to climb to it. It brought clarity to how the man’s reaction to being on Voyager was so much different than that of Arridor, Daggin thought.

“Well, I’ll definitely ask them if they can spare any beans,” Daggin said, nodding at Kol’s empty bowl. “And I’m afraid we have to go. I’m not often a part of Away Teams, and I don’t want to be late.”

Kol rose, and even remembered to pick up his bowl and napkin, bringing them to the counter to be cleaned instead of assuming someone would do it for him, which Daggin believed Kol had thought was Celes Tal’s entire role, the first time the Ferengi had met her.

Daggin accompanied Kol back to his quarters, then headed up to the Transporter Room, eager to begin his mission. He found Commander Ro already there, which was no surprise, and Ensign Kovar stepped in a moment later. Crewman Basil McMinn, Voyager’s fair-haired human quartermaster, joined them with a few minutes to spare before Voyager was due to drop out of warp at the agreed rendezvous point, and Transporter Chief Dean Tamal nodded to them all at the expected time.

“We’re out of warp, and I see the Nassordin ship on sensors,” Tamal said, as cheerfully as usual. “Feel free to step into my parlour.”

They climbed onto the Transporter Pad, but before Commander Ro could give the order to energize, Tamal raised his hand, frowning. “Hold on.”

“What’s wrong, Chief?” Ro said.

“The Nassordin ship has sent a message asking for a delay,” he said. “And they’ve raised their shields.” He looked up. “I can’t beam you over, even if I wanted to.”

A moment later, Captain Aaron Cavit’s voice came over the comm channel above them. “Bridge to Transporter Room. The Away Mission is postponed.”

Daggin exchanged a look with Kovar. There’d been no indication of any trouble in their conversations with Tannit. He wondered what could have gone wrong.

“What happened, Captain?” Ro said.

“There’s some sort of medical emergency on their ship,” Cavit said. “They’ve quarantined themselves.” The Captain paused. “They’ve already had three deaths.”

Daggin swallowed, relying on both a Vulcan technique he’d learned from his mind-meld with Lieutenant Setok and his many practices with his mate, T’Prena, to keep himself from a more visceral response. He hadn’t known Tannit long, of course, but he liked the Nassordin man.

Daggin hoped Tannit was still alive.

Notes:

Sort of going to fumble my way through this one on a slightly different angle and try to shift the lens away from some of the regulars I've spent a lot of time with lately, which is why Daggin and the rest of the Chorus are likely to take the lead here, with some more development time for Seven tucked in there, too.

In the last episode, I had Cavit specifically aim the crew toward the nebula where the B'omar Sovereignty said they had people they were in negotiations with, the Nassordin (which was mentioned in said episode, but that was it), so for some added continuity, that's who they're with right now—but things aren't going well.

Chapter 2: Act I

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Abol watched Kes move the scanner over his mate’s midsection, trying hard not to shift from one foot to the other or display any other signs of obvious excitement. He didn’t want to rob Zandra Taitt’s experience of any of the expectant joy, but the reality was, every cell of his being believed, whole-heartedly, this moment for a foregone conclusion.

After all, he’d already met his grandson, albeit briefly. Ian had been a delight, but for Ian to exist, there had to first have been—

“Congratulations, you two,” Kes said, snapping him out of his train of thought.

“Really?” Zandra said, sitting up on the biobed and biting her bottom lip.

“Really,” Kes said, tapping on the wall display to upload the data so they could both see the results, which—at this early a stage—were little more than collections of cells, but…

Collections. Plural.

“Twins,” Abol said. Another confirmation, yes, but despite having that foreknowledge, the reality of it struck him in the centre of his chest with a blooming warmth that he thought might heat the whole ship.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around his mate and kissed her. She kissed him right back, then laughed, then looked at Kes. “I don’t want to know any more than that, okay?” Zandra said. “My mother would never forgive me if I tried to snoop before any baby of mine was ready to make its appearance known.” At the mention of her mother, Abol felt a frisson of sadness and longing, but it didn’t outweigh the joy.

In fact, it rather sharpened it, he thought. The edge of determination to get home with these children, to have their grandmother hold them in her own arms, washed off of Zandra Taitt in waves so palpable to him he caught an image of the woman herself doing the very thing in Taitt’s imagination.

Kes smiled, her blue eyes bright with shared joy. “I understand.”

Taitt turned her dark eyes toward him, unshed happy tears made him reach out and trace her cheek with one hand, and she turned her lips in to kiss his palm.

He was so damn lucky. He’d left his world, found this woman, become a joined being, built this community around him of his closest childhood friends and now he’d be starting a family of his own…

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too.” She turned her gaze back to the medical lab, where the voices of Emmett, T’Prena, and Doctor Fitzgerald were mixing in an ongoing discussion. Taitt’s expression softened into something sadder. “We should probably let you get back to work,” she said.

“This is my work,” Kes said, touching Taitt’s shoulder. “But yes. We received more data from the Nassordin ship, and we’re trying to work our way through it.”

“Still no sign of how they were infected?” Abol said. He’d heard enough about what was going on on the Nassordin ship to know they were ill, but not much beyond those details and that they’d already lost some people to whatever illness was affecting them.

“We’re still struggling to grasp the pathology,” Kes said, shaking her head. “Emmett wants to beam over, but sensors aren’t picking up biological agents, so Chief Tamal isn’t sure if the biofilter would be effective.”

“And even though Emmett can’t get infected,” Taitt said. “If the biofilter can’t target whatever is going on over there, it could beam back particulates. It’s the right move.” She glanced at the lab again. “Even if it’s heartbreaking.”

“Yes,” Kes said.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Abol said. His specialty, knowledge, and skills existed among the stars and quantum realities of the cosmos, but he could crunch data alongside anyone else.

“We will,” Kes said. “But don’t let it detract from your own happiness.”

“We’ll try. Although… does this mean you and I will be sharing a baby shower?” Taitt said, raising one eyebrow.

“A baby shower?” Kes shook her head.

Abol didn’t know the term, either. Except… “Wait, do you mean the party Ensign Jetal threw for T’Prena and Daggin before Setok was born?” Hadn’t that been the term the Ensign had used?

Taitt’s expression softened again at the mention of the late Ensign Ahni Jetal. “That’s right. It’s a human thing—you get friends together, and they help you gather some of the things you’ll need for child-raising. Usually a month or so before delivery time.”

Kes considered. “I think my party will be before yours, Lieutenant,” she said. “Bajoran pregnancies are usually five months, Ocampa pregnancies are four months, but you’ve got human DNA in the mix with your children, and the normal gestation period is nine months.”

“Or whenever the baby feels like it, if you ask my mother,” Taitt said, with a small curve of the lips. But Abol also felt a tremble of worry from her—at Kes’s reminder that this was, in fact, uncharted territory. Ocampa DNA had shown itself to be very versatile, adapting to Vulcan and Nacene DNA in the past, but she and Gara were the first to carry Human-Ocampa children.

“I suppose that’s true,” Kes admitted with a smile of her own. “But if your pattern follows what we saw with Setok, I don’t think we’ll be giving birth at the same time—I’ve started my second trimester already, by Bajoran standards, anyway.”

“Oh.” Taitt blinked. “You’re not really showing it.”

“I will soon, I’m so hungry all the time right now I know the mitral stage is happening in full.” Kes paused, laughing. “Li-Paz is beside himself with making sure I’m resting and eating and I don’t know if it’s possible to do enough of both to make him happy, frankly.”

“It’s a man thing. Apparently, it crosses species,” Taitt said, with a wry smile at Abol, who suddenly felt a little exposed. “But two parties it is, then,” she said. “Or five, if I can convince T’Prena, Eru, and Gara to pick up on an Earth tradition.”

“Nurse T’Prena already told Ensign Lan and Ensign Ballard she retained the gifts from the previous party,” Kes said. “And…” Kes lifted her chin, and did an admirable T’Prena impression, her voice becoming even and calm, though the glint of amusement in her eyes was all Kes. “As the previous celebration displayed illogical excesses, we have no need for further physical belongings.”

“Illogical excesses?” Abol said, not quite following.

“Something called a ‘onesie,’” Kes said. “Ensigns Lan and Ballard replicated a variety of them, I believe.”

Abol blinked, still not following, but it made Taitt laugh, so that was good enough.

They left Kes to get back to work.

 

*

 

Maybe we need to start at the very beginning. Daggin’s attention on the data spread across every display in the Life Sciences lab was interrupted by Ensign Nettus’s arrival.

“Good evening, Daggin!” The Denobulan ensign’s outgoing gregariousness, and genuine knowledgeable about the study of cultures—he’d been the assistant Archeology and Anthropology Officer on the USS Hera before its destruction—meant for the most part Daggin had found him a pleasure to work with, though Daggin had found it something of an adjustment for he, Eru, and Cir to share the Life Sciences space for the first time since they’d come on board Voyager.

Prior to their arrival, the lab had been their space almost entirely, though Lieutenant Taitt and Doctor Fitzgerald and other members of the medical staff had visited from time to time. Since the recovery of the Hera crew, however, their number had grown by two. Ensign Nettus and Ensign Kovar brought their skills to the table.

“Good evening, Ensign,” Daggin said, turning to face the man.

“Please, Daggin, call me Nettus.” Nettus spread his hands. “I had years of formality on the Hera and the planet. I’m happy to relax protocols while we’re in the lab.”

“Of course.” Daggin nodded, though he imagined he would still reflexively use the man’s rank unless he made a conscious effort to recall. And right now, his conscious efforts were all aimed at the data on the screens, as it had been all day.

“Have you been here since this morning?” Nettus said. The curves of the facial structures of the Denobulan man had a tendency to soften his expression, Daggin thought. Denobulans simply always seemed genial, though in fairness Nettus was also unfailingly affable.

“I have,” Daggin said. “I know they’re working on this non-stop in Sickbay, but…” He eyed the various data files himself.

“But we are all more than capable scientists ourselves,” Nettus said, stepping up to stand directly beside him and look up at the same displays. “Though I don’t—what’s the saying?—hold a candle to your grasp of biology, to say nothing of your son’s, I agree. More eyes cannot hurt.” He paused. “My sleep cycle is a long way off, but I imagine you could use some rest.”

Daggin exhaled, knowing the truth of the statement. Cir had left with Eru after the Swing shift—and Eru hadn’t even complained, which meant she truly was tired, and likely her back was sore—and Setok and Kovar had needed to finish the day’s work in the Gardens, though he imagined Kovar would return here to the lab thereafter, as would his son. Vulcans had more endurance than Ocampa, and as Nettus had just noted, Denobulans outclassed both by a truly impressive margin, what with only needing a short hibernation period across the span of a year.

“You’re right.” Daggin exhaled, and offered a small dip of the chin. “Good night, En—Nettus.”

“Good night, Daggin,” Nettus said, with his broad, Denobulan smile.

In his quarters, where he was unsurprised to find his mate had not returned from Sickbay—no doubt she would work for hours longer yet—Daggin took a moment to drink a large glass of water, then sat at the desk, turned the personal monitor his way, and sent a communication request through to the Bridge.

It didn’t take long, and a moment later, the face of Tannit appeared on his screen.

The Nassordin were fairly typical humanoids, with a wide range of dermal pigmentation but lacking cranial, facial or other obvious ridging, nor did they have other dermal patterning like the Trill. They could have been mistaken for a human at a quick glance, in fact, except for their lack of auditory structure. Where humans had ears, Nassordin had smaller hearing openings with flap-like structures within, and an auditory processing range much reduced by comparison, though they did speak. They had as many signed languages as verbal, though, and Daggin wished he had Cir’s facility with language so he might communicate on more than the one level with the man he’d only ever met over the screen.

“Daggin,” Tannit said, smiling. Small lines appeared by the man’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“Pardon?” Daggin said, not following. Why was Tannit thanking him?

“For the supplies and for the equipment,” Tannit said. “Your doctor beamed over some scanning devices and we’ve been sending the data back to your Sickbay. Your people have been incredible throughout this. I can’t imagine the B’omar stopping to help, and the Garanor would have anywhere near the expertise to offer us.” He blinked once, then twice, rubbing at his temples with both hands.

“Your symptoms are unchanged?” Daggin said, wishing he had something more to offer.

“Light-headed, dizzy…” Tannit said, opening his eyes again and letting out a tired sigh. “My cardiac pressure continues to be low, but at least…” He swallowed. “This illness seems to follow no patterns.”

Daggin empathized with the man’s frustration. “I agree.” The deaths on the Nassordin ship had seemed almost random to Daggin—one had a systemic collapse of their respiratory system’s ability to expel carbon dioxide, one lost the ability to carry oxygen along their blood cells, but the pathology of both seemed completely unrelated. Another had cardiac issues, but unlike Tannit, their blood pressure had increased, not decreased, and their nervous system had lost the ability to regulate their heartbeat.

It had been particularly cruel that the first to die had been their ship’s doctor, but Daggin had confidence in Voyager’s medical staff, especially his mate, not to mention Emmett’s massive database, Kes’s grasp of medicine, and Doctor Fitzgerald’s experience. Even Rebecca Sullivan had worked with outbreaks before, he’d learned.

They’d find a solution. And if he could help, he would.

“I keep thinking that the range of symptoms means the starting point is further back along the biology than we’re used to seeing in a normal disease,” Daggin said.

Tannit tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“It’s probably because my mate is expecting,” Daggin admitted where the idea had come from. “But it struck me that the variety of pathologies you’re seeing… if they truly come from a singular source, then that source is somehow spread over a wide variety of biological systems.” He hadn’t really thought out the full extend of his thoughts, but doing so now helped sharpen his focus. “It reminds me of, for lack of a better way of putting it, how a minor flaw in a system can propagate. A weakness in a genome that isn’t fatal, say, but then raises the chances of multiple varieties of issues further down the line.”

“I see the analogy,” Tannit said, considering. “But a virus doing damage from an earlier point in our development would have to have been in our systems at those earlier points in development, would it not?” He leaned forward into the viewscreen. “Or at least, that’s what I see with plants—though sometimes you breed in a flaw that doesn’t show right away.”

“Yes,” Daggin said, blowing out a tired sigh of his own. “I can’t explain how you’re all being affected now. But it’s the only pattern I could think of to explain the wide variety of symptoms and issues you all seem to be facing. Something on the level of a faulty genome or DNA.”

Tannit’s smile was just as weary as Daggin’s own. “Perhaps I will use one of your marvellous scanners to check myself down to that level.” He pushed away from the screen, then raised both hands, palms-out in a gesture Daggin thought was one of gratitude. “Now. I will let you sleep, and I will rest myself. We can speak again tomorrow.” He smiled. “And, again, I thank you. Voyager’s willingness to stay, to help us, is of great comfort.”

“It’s what we do,” Daggin said, proud to mean it. “We’re using every resource we have.”

“And we appreciate it more than we can ever express.”

The screen went dark, and Daggin knew he should do exactly what both Ensign Nettus and Tannit had suggested: sleep. He found his mind still turning over the problem, however, and though he tried to use a Vulcan technique to clear his mind first, after half an hour with a lit candle, he snuffed the flame and gave up. Something bothered him from his conversation with Tannit, and until he tracked down the specific, he wouldn’t rest. He sat on the low couch he and T’Prena used when they read in the evenings, and allowed his mind to drift, choosing a method more like that of Lieutenant Stadi than his usual preferred Vulcan exercises. Often, when structure didn’t work, he found the Betazoid’s methods of getting in touch with his more intuitive side had merit, though he had nowhere near the skill in the approach as Kes or Gara.

He replayed the conversations of the day, allowing them to come and go in no real order, but following the threads of his interest, or his emotional responses—mostly frustration—from one thread to another.

But it was this last conversation with Tannit where he found what had kept sleep at bay.

We’re using every resource we have.

Daggin sat up straight, opening his eyes.

“No, we aren’t,” he said aloud.

 

*

 

Daggin’s request to the computer led him to the Jeffries Tube network, which wasn’t a part of Voyager he’d been often, but it didn’t take him too long. He opened the last hatch between himself and where he was headed, and crawled through the narrow confines in time to see Seven of Nine regarding him with what might be charitably called mild interest.

“Crewman Daggin,” she said.

“Hello, Seven,” Daggin said. He glanced at the tools beside her and the open panel in front of her, and recalled his training sessions with Doctor Fitzgerald on the holodeck—and the material they’d read and studied beforehand. “Rerouting power?”

“Yes,” Seven said. “I am reconfiguring the power couplings in this section.”

“For Lieutenant Honigsberg?” Daggin said, a little surprised Seven of Nine had been given the permission to do so. From what he understood, she’d been granted lower-level clearance than this.

“No,” Seven said. “For the Astrometrics lab. It requires additional energy.”

Daggin blinked, looked at her work, and then at the tools she was using. “Did you get permission to do this?”

“They are minor adjustments,” Seven of Nine said, and a small line forming between her right eyebrow and the cybernetic implant that curved around her left eye. “Primary systems will not be affected.”

“That sounds like a no,” Daggin said.

“You are saying I have made an error?” Seven said.

“A small one, but…” Daggin lifted one palm. “Yes. I’m sure they’ll approve the request, but if you don’t make the request, no one would know this adjustment has been made but you, and not knowing about that adjustment could cause problems later.”

Seven of Nine’s frown grew, and her voice softened with uncertainty. “I am unaccustomed to working in a hierarchy. In the Collective there was no need to inform or request—all knew, all understood.”

“I don’t think you’ve done any real harm,” Daggin said. “But I’d suggest letting Lieutenant Honigsberg know.” He paused. “And making sure you ask permission next time.”

“I will do so,” Seven of Nine said, then after a bit of an awkward pause, she added, “Thank you.”

“Well, I didn’t come her to teach you about protocols,” Daggin said. “But maybe we should talk to the Lieutenant sooner, rather than later.”

“State your original purpose,” Seven of Nine said, though she started to gather her tools back into the small engineering case.

“I have a question for you,” Daggin said. “What happens when the Borg get sick?”

Notes:

Finding places to tuck in updates about all the inbound Voyager-babies is a bit of a struggle, but I wanted to make sure it was clearly stated exactly who was pregnant these days (thanks to having so many Ocampa on board). Kes is having a daughter, Taitt, T'Prena, and Eru are all carrying twins, and Gara is going to have triplets with Baxter.

This is why the Prophets warned Celes Tal she might need a daycare. ;)

Daggin's scene with Seven in the Jeffries Tube is almost exactly the same as Torres catching Seven in the same position, but I decided to soften it a bit—Engineering isn't doing a lot right now, since the ship is holding put to try and help the Nassordin—and Daggin's more of a softie than Torres is, by far.

Chapter 3: Act II

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“There is no pattern.”

Daggin found himself growing to like Seven of Nine’s confident voice. She had a way of stating her conclusions in the manner most would declare an unarguable fact, and her manner struck Daggin as nearly Vulcan, with a similar edge of emotionality just beneath the surface, though not as turbulent or tightly compartmentalized.

She was, frankly, fascinating.

“That’s what we keep come up with, too,” Daggin said.

They stood together in front of the displays in the Life Sciences lab. Seven of Nine held a PADD in one hand, which she occasionally glanced at and tapped in a series of commands between looking back at the display. Daggin watched her do it again, and then she turned to him. “You are correct,” she said, simply.

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Daggin said. “There are those three rough groupings…” he gestured to the three listings, into which most of the Nassordin crew had been sorted. “Low blood pressure, high blood pressure, and the blood-gas anomalies.” Then he turned to the three outlying cases. “But those three don’t belong to any of those.” He tapped a command into the display, and the cases re-arranged themselves again. “If we tie it to circulatory and respiratory, almost everyone finds a place to fit, but not those three.” The Nassordin crew member with cellular deterioration in her bone density, another with sensory impiarment, and a third with acute photosensitivity were, once again, outliers.

“Perhaps we’re looking outside when we should be looking inside,” Ensign Nettus said, joining them at the screen.

“Explain,” Seven of Nine said.

“Valakian protein deterioration,” Nettus said, his chipper voice not changing in the slightest as he continued. “A pre-warp species one of my forefathers encountered, oh, two hundred years ago at least? They believed they were facing a fatal epidemic, but it in fact turned out to be genetic: the proteins that bound to Valakian chromosomes were deteriorating. An evolutionary error.”

“What happened to them?” Daggin said.

“They very nearly went extinct,” Nettus said. “Their homeworld has two evolved humanoid species, and the Valakians had no choice but to turn to Menk as their numbers dwindled, and it was a fascinating and unparalleled cultural dynamic.” Nettus blinked, his Denobulan-blue eyes tracing the displays and then flicking to Daggin and seeming to realize he hadn’t answered Daggin’s question. “I believe a reparative treatment was discovered shortly after they developed warp drive, only a few decades ago, but the number of Valakian survivors number in the low tens of thousands now. If this is something similar—a systemic genetic collapse among the Nassordin people—it may well be it runs its course before we can find a solution.”

“If nothing else,” Daggin said, realizing he of all people could understand an entire planetary population reduced to ‘low tens of thousands,’ “We should ask them for a detailed genetic scan—down to their DNA.”

“I’m not sure they’ve got the capability on their ship,” Nettus said, nodding at their data on the screens. “The information they’ve provided for us is less complete than we would gather with our own instrumentation.”

“I doubt the Captain would let us beam aboard a genetic sample, either.” Daggin crossed his arms.

“Why not simply provide the scanner they need?” Seven of Nine said.

Daggin blinked.

Indeed. Why not?

 

*

 

“Valakian protein degradation?” Cavit said, shaking his head. “Sorry, you’re going to have to walk me through this.”

Fitzgerald smiled at his husband. “Short version? The Valakian people hit an evolutionary dead end—they almost went extinct because they had maladaptive defect in their DNA—and Daggin, Seven, and Nettus realized it could actually explain what’s going on with the Nassordin. Or at least, it’s something we need to rule out.”

“And for that you want to give them Federation technology?” Cavit said, regarding Fitzgerald and Doctor Hall in turn.

“More of a loan, Captain,” Emmett said, the hologram lifting both his hands in a gesture of handing something over—and then taking it back. “If we were treating them on board Voyager, we’d have access to the scans we need, and would use them accordingly. But given we remain unsure about quarantine and can’t beam them over, the next logical step is to simply send them the equipment they need to provide us with the medical data we require.”

Simply.” Cavit’s blue eyes were softening with that mix of compassion and reluctance Fitzgerald knew the man often had to balance carefully. Emmett wasn’t wrong, but technically they’d be bending regulations more than a little by simply handing over the scanner. “Given we haven’t been able to isolate any biological factors for the biofilter, how exactly are you suggesting the Nassordin return the scanner we’d be loaning them?”

“Captain—” Emmett started, and given the tone the hologram was using sounded awfully like him working himself up into one of his breathless monologs about the sanctity of his role as a doctor, Fitzgerald cleared his throat, cutting Emmett off.

“If it comes to it, Aaron,” Fitzgerald said, “we can put a kill-switch in anything we beam over there, but I don’t think they’re in any position to run away with our technology.”

“They’re sick, and getting sicker.” Emmett crossed his arms. “Captain, they’re dying.”

Cavit nodded, once. “Go ahead. But have Alex and Lan put in that kill switch first.”

Emmett looked like he wanted to argue, so Fitzgerald touched his shoulder. “We will. Thank you.”

Cavit nodded, and Fitzgerald lead Emmett out of the Ready Room.

“You need to learn to take a win, Emmett,” Fitzgerald said.

The hologram simply huffed at him, which was a good trick for a projection of light and forcefields that didn’t need to breathe.

 

*

 

“Your technology continues to impress, Daggin,” Tannit said, with a flourish of one hand Daggin knew intimated profound gratitude, thanks to going over some of the basics of the Nassordin sign language with Cir. “Your Doctor Hall walked me through scanning everyone on board, and the data is compiling now.”

“I only hope it helps,” Daggin said, watching the man on the screen carefully. Tannit’s skin remained pale, and the shadows under his eyes seemed more pronounced than before. If this did come down to some sort of evolutionary error, would Voyager be able to help the Nassordin? “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Dizzy.” Tannit’s fingers moved again, but this time Daggin didn’t know the translation. “My cardiac pressure continues to fall, though the medication Kes and your mate T’Prena created and beamed over has slowed the descent among those of us having the same problem.”

“That’s welcome news,” Daggin said, meaning it. He’d been surprised to learn there was little in the way of medication designed to raise blood pressure in humanoids in the Federation database. Apparently, it was an area of medicine for which little necessity—and thus invention—had been required over the centuries. Generally speaking, low blood pressure wasn’t usually a problem in and of itself, but rather a symptom.

“It is to me,” Tannit’s wan smile brought the lines back beside his eyes. He took a moment to take a deep breath, and then exhaled again, long and slow. “I’m just waiting for the data to be finished, and then I believe I require another nap.” He chuckled. “At this rate, I will be sleeping more than I am awake in a day.”

Daggin kept his own eye on the data stream downloading between their two computers. The data was coming directly to the life sciences lab, rather than sickbay, given the density and specificity of the genetic scanning, and it would still be a while.

“Perhaps you should go rest now,” Daggin said, seeing how much data transfer remained. “So you can be awake once the transfer is completed, instead.”

“I’m suppose that’s true,” Tannit said. “Though I’m not sure what help I can be compared to your doctors.” He smiled again, and again the small lines by his eyes made the Nassordin seem somehow kinder. “I have never felt more out of my depth in my life.”

“You’re a talented biologist,” Daggin said.

“Who specialized in plants,” Tannit said. “Cardiopulmonary failure is not really something I’ve had to worry about while studying mycelial blooms or arboreal root structures.”

Daggin laughed softly, knowing Tannit intended the comment as a joke. Their conversations as the Nassordin had approached Voyager’s position had taught him much of the man’s sense of humour, and self-deprecation lay at its forefront. “I understand. And empathize.”

“Good night, Daggin.”

“Good night, Tannit.”

 

*

 

Lieutenant Scott Rollins was just about to call it for the end of his shift when the comm panel to the left of his tactical station lit up.

“Commander,” Rollins said, glancing up to where the First Officer had been sitting in her chair, reading a PADD in one hand for the last half-hour or so. “We’re being hailed.”

Ro turned to face him. “Our friends?”

“No, a different Nassordin ship—there are two more, same configuration as this one, heading this way. They just dropped out of warp.”

“Confirmed,” Ensign Sahreen Lan said from the Ops station. “Looks like the same kind of survey vessel. Shields down, weapons cool…” The Trill woman shrugged. “Unexpected company, but they’re not angry.”

“Open the channel,” Ro said, rising from her chair and putting the PADD down.

On the viewscreen, one of the Nassordin appeared, one of their agender individuals, Rollins thought, though he was making a superficial surface-glance guess at best. From what he’d read, most of the agender Nassodrin shaved their heads, and the bald figure on the viewscreen had a dusting of what looked to be the equivalent of five-o’clock shadow around their earless skull.

Honestly, Rollins thought they were quite a fetching species. He hadn’t realized before how attractive communication through gesture could be, and their mix of words and gesture seemed inherently sensual.

“I’m Commander Ro Laren of the Federation Starship Voyager,” Ro said, in an affable, open tone. “What can I do for you?”

“I am Porra, second-in-command,” the Nassordin individual said, then took a deep breath. They sounded winded. “We contacted our homeworld and were told you were aiding others like us.”

Rollins looked up, the implication of their words sinking in. Others like us.

“Are you ill?” Ro said.

Porra nodded. They closed their eyes for a moment, taking another deep breath. “We have lost a third of our crew already. The other ship with us has lost half their people. This disease makes no sense…”

“Bring your vessel here and hold your position,” Ro said. “I’ll let our medical officers know you’re coming. If you can send us any medical data you have, it might be helpful…”

Porra nodded. “Thank you, Commander Ro.” They moved their hands in an intricate gesture and Rollins could almost feel the relief in every movement.

“Commander,” Taitt spoke up from the Science station, turning to face the first officer. “If we could also get your flight records? I know Doctor Fitzgerald was looking to gather contact tracing data, and three ships worth of data gives us a better chance on that front.”

“Did you hear that?” Ro said, aiming the question at Porra.

“I did. I’m sending the data now.” Porra paused, and Rollins looked down to see the data alert. Across from him on the Bridge, Lan was already working to transfer it to Sickbay. “But, Commander, we three ships were surveying different systems in this sector, and none of us interacted with each other since we were last on our homeworld over a year ago.”

Rollins frowned. The Nassordin didn’t have transporters. Even though he was no scientist, he pulled up the data that had just been transferred and confirmed what the individual had just said. The three ships had been surveying different systems in local space, in an unclaimed area along the border with the B’omar. They hadn’t so much as shared an atmosphere with each other in a year, like Porra said.

How the hell was this disease even spreading?

 

*

 

Daggin lay quietly beside his mate, resting without sleeping, awaiting the soft chime that would begin their day together. Their quarters on deck eleven, and deck eleven itself, were warmer than most of the rest of the ship—he’d heard Crewman Jarvis call it “Deck Vulcan” once, and apparently that had spread among the crew—and while the city below the surface on Ocampa hadn’t been this warm, he’d learned his own biology seemed quite amenable to heat. The Vulcan crew certainly preferred it, and given there were enough of them aboard to occupy most of the quarters on the deck, the adjustment had been made for their comfort.

Comfort was very much on Daggin’s mind in the moment. The data transfer had come through from the Nassordin survey vessel with enough time for Daggin to take a brief glance before it was time for him to end his ship, but nothing had been immediately obviously wrong. It had left a layer of frustration on an already long day, and he’d begun to consider that the only thing Voyager might be able to offer the Nassordin could very well turn out to be palliative care.

The chime sounded, and T’Prena’s eyes opened. After a moment, she turned to face him.

“Did you sleep?” The question might have sounded a mild inquiry to those who didn’t know T’Prena as well as Daggin did—he knew the compassion and concern the words carried.

“Some,” Daggin said. “The rest of the night I meditated or relaxed.”

T’Prena tilted her head in a small nod. She knew as well as he did that an Ocampa mind, once engaged, tended to stay busy, and would deny itself sleep until that engagement was concluded. Biologically, Daggin knew he could go days without sleeping more than an hour or two at a time and still function.

They rose together, cleansing themselves and dressing for their day with the rare event of knowing they’d be heading in the same direction, to the Life Sciences lab, thereafter. In another set of circumstances, Daggin knew T’Prena might have suggested they skip the Mess Hall and go straight to work, perhaps replicating something portable quickly in their quarters, but they’d learned from T’Prena’s pregnancy with Setok that the alacrity of development in an Ocampa fetus could put strain on Vulcan biology, and as such, when they entered the turbolift and he said “Mess Hall,” his mate didn’t so much as bat an eyelid.

After breakfast, including the first crop of a desert-dwelling gespar-like bromeliaceae the Acacia called a sand-fruit which Daggin thought would go over well with the Vulcan crew even if it was slow to grow, they made it to the Life Sciences lab a full twenty minutes earlier than their shift technically required, and found they were not the only ones to arrive early.

Doctor Hall, Kes, Doctor Fitzgerald, Mestral, and Daggin and T’Prena’s son, Setok, were all present, with different data displayed on multiple screens throughout the lab, and the group already spread among them.

At their arrival, Doctor Fitzgerald turned, and Daggin’s telepathic awareness of the kind-hearted man shifted. By no means as talented as Gara at the sensing of another’s emotional state, Daggin’s gifts tended towards focus and control, but in that moment, the compassion and empathy Fitzgerald gathered were tangible enough to Daggin to form a hypothesis, especially alongside the subdued quiet in the room—including Ensign Nettus.

“Good morning,” Fitzgerald said.

“You have bad news,” Daggin said.

Fitzgerald nodded. “Three more of the Nassordin passed overnight,” Fitzgerald said in his softest voice, the one he reserved for delivering the worst of news, something Daggin recalled from the two instances Setok had been bodily separated from Voyager. “Including Tannit.”

Beside him, T’Prena silently offered her hand in his, and Daggin accepted the offered comfort without looking. Like her, Daggin tended to favour a Vulcan approach to loss: first to categorize, then to understand the impact, and finally to absorb the reality. Despite what most believed, Vulcan’s did experience loss, and quite deeply, but as in all things, they chose to control their emotional response to loss with structure.

He did so now, for a man he’d never been able to share a space with, but with whom he’d felt a true kinship over a screen.

“Have we learned anything?” Daggin said. Solving the mystery of these medical issues would go a long way to categorize the loss of Tannit, not robbing it of any impact, but at least placing it in the past, rather than in an ongoing tragedy.

“I believe we might have something,” Mestral said.

Daggin turned, as did the rest of the room. While Mestral’s inclusion in the Life Sciences department was much like that of Ensign Nettus, Cir, and Eru—he was an anthropologist—the temporally-displaced Vulcan had been trained by the Vulcan Science Directorate, albeit hundreds of years ago. Now, Mestral, in his cadet-science blues, stood beside Setok, and both stared at a DNA sequence on their screen.

“Show us,” Fitzgerald said, and the group as a whole moved to join them. Daggin saw what it was that had caught their attention, but his son explained it to everyone.

“This section of DNA has been hyper-stimulated somehow,” Setok said, pointing and highlighting the twists of Nassodrin genetic material their deep scans had pinpointed. “But there appears to be no infection or disease or degradation.”

“Can you increase the magnification?” Emmett said.

“I believe so,” Setok said, tapping in a series of commands.

On the screen, a single molecule of DNA included in the series seemed to contain a smudge.

“What is that?” Nettus said.

“Good question,” Fitzgerald said.

“There seems to be some kind of contaminant on the base pair sequence,” Emmett said. “One too minute to be revealed on the initial magnification level.” Emmett isolated the sequence on the monitor. “I need a closer look.”

“I’ll set magnification to maximum,” Setok said. He tapped again, and then they all looked up.

The molecule in question didn’t contain a smudge, but rather a marking. There was no other way to describe the grouping of parallel series of vertical lines of various widths, circles, and what might have been even more specific patterns of lines, dots, and circles Daggin could clearly see. It couldn’t possibly be organic or natural.

All somehow detailed on a single molecule.

“It looks like a barcode,” Mestral said.

Everyone turned to him.

“A barcode?” Daggin said, not knowing the reference.

“Twentieth century Earth invention, used for inventory,” Mestral said. “Individual codes on items could be scanned quickly and accurately into a database.” The Vulcan man crossed his arms. “It changed Earth commerce immensely.”

Inventory,” Fitzgerald said, frowning. “On DNA?”

Daggin looked at the image on the screen. Inventory. Commerce. While he didn’t have the deep understanding of historical Earth Mestral had, the thoughts caught, and a pattern emerged. “This isn’t an illness,” he said, the various pieces of the frustrating mystery dropping into place all around him. “We’ve been looking at this the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?” Emmett said.

“Hyperstimulated DNA, marked by this identifier,” Daggin said. “Add that to the biofilter being unable to find a contaminant, and contact tracing showing zero transmission among the three ships and the variety of symptoms we’ve uncovered—often grouped into smaller subsections—and this can’t be an illness.” Daggin swallowed. “It can, however, be an experiment.”

Notes:

First off, apologies for the major delay. First, I had a Valentine's Day charity release, a novella included in Candy Hearts, which needed proofs and so forth, then I got the cover proofs for my last Triad novel (at the same time, naturally) and then I got the final interior proofs for the novel and my publisher asked if I could move up the delivery date for my manuscript by four months. So... things got a bit overwhelming for a couple of weeks.

That said, I'm back on track, and while the lion's share to my writing time absolutely has to go to my deadline for-pay project right now, I've re-jigged my work schedule to make that happen (four freaking months less time than planned is a lot of reschedule) and I can breathe again.

So. Back to this. I wanted to highlight Daggin's logic-and-instinct duality a bit, and pace the revelations of the original episode without it just being a rehash of "Voyager crew being studied." But things are definitely going to ramp up in a similar way now that Daggin's realization puts them on the right track. I also thought Mestral seeing the marking and being all "hey, that's like something I remember from 1990s Earth" was a fun way to underline his knowledge and experiences.

Also, as someone with chronic low blood pressure, may I add there's, like, nothing available to help with that? Literally doctors say things to me like, "how do you feel about using more salt?"

Chapter 4: Act III

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“What am I looking at?” Captain Cavit said, frowning at the display in the Life Sciences Lab before glancing back at Emmett and Fitzgerald, both of whom had spent the last twenty minutes going over everything they’d found.

Daggin held back, though he found his gaze returning to the “bar-code” and his mind catching on what Mestral had said.

“Mestral calls it a bar-code, which is as good a name as any,” Emmett said. “Crewman Cir is trying to see if he can draw any information out of it, but at the moment the most important issue is how it got there.”

“Because it’s obviously artificial,” Cavit said, nodding slowly.

“An experiment,” Daggin said.

“Who could do this?” Cavit said, disgust telegraphing through his pale blue eyes.

“This level of sub-molecular technology is well beyond anything Starfleet has developed,” Emmett said.

“And we didn’t detect it before because the Nassordin’s medical technology wasn’t up to the job?” Cavit said.

“For the most part, but not entirely,” Emmett said. “Our scanner picked it up, yes, but only when we adjusted for a phase variance.”

“A phase variance,” Cavit’s gaze snapped back to the screen. “Like a cloak?”

“It could be,” Fitzgerald said. Daggin rarely heard the doctor sounding grim, and it was clear Cavit had taken the possibility to the next logical conclusion when he spoke again.

“So someone is experimenting on the Nassodrin on purpose.” Cavit’s voice lowered with disgust. “And doesn’t want to be caught.”

“Those markings are attached to what appear to be tiny adjustments stimulating various structures in the Nassordin DNA sequence. Given people are dying from these adjustments, I’d imagine not,” Emmett said, one of his holographic eyebrows rising.

“When we compensated for the phase variance,” Fitzgerald said, stepping forward and tapping on the screen, which shifted to a more detailed view of the marking—and revealed patterns of light around it. “We got this.”

“Those are oscillating energy readings,” Cavit said. “It looks like a comm signal.”

“That’s what Cir said,” Fitzgerald said. “He and Eru went to deck fifteen to work on this—they wanted help from Cing’ta, given the… cloak.”

“Do the Nassordin have enemies?” Cavit said.

Daggin stepped forward. “They have tense relations with the B’omar, but from everything we received from them prior to meeting, there’s nothing worrisome.” Daggin looked at the screen again. “And certainly nothing to this level of callous disregard for their lives.”

“The B’omar didn’t have this level of technology, either,” Emmett said. “Not that we saw, at least.”

“Right,” Cavit said, nodding once. “Okay, let’s focus on figuring out what those signals might be transmitting, how we might disable these adjustment bar-codes, and—”

“Sickbay to Doctor Hall. I need you up here. Medical Emergency.” Crewman Rebecca Sullivan, Voyager’s medical technician and trained EMT, didn’t give them more details, her voice clipped and determined.

Daggin glanced up. T’Prena and Kes were already in motion, heading to the door.

“It’s faster for me to transfer my program.” Doctor Hall turned to adjust his mobile emitter, but then flickered oddly. He glanced up, his expression stricken. “Something’s not right.” He flickered again, and then again.

“Jeff, Kes, T’Prena, get to Sickbay,” Cavit said, already moving beside Emmett. Fitzgerald and the others took off at a run, and Cavit stepped to one of the consoles, overriding the Life Sciences Lab interface and calling up a series of redirected diagnostics with an alacrity that Daggin found impressive.

Then again, Captain Cavit had been an Operations officer before he’d transferred to command.

“Your program is being deleted,” Cavit said. “It’s degrading.”

The screen flashed once, then went completely dark.

“What the hell?” Cavit said, turning.

Satisfaction.

Daggin frowned. The sense had been brief, and on the edges of his awareness, but it had been there. He glanced at everyone in the room—the Captain, the flickering Doctor Hall, Nettus, Mestral, and his son Setok.

I sensed that too, Setok’s thoughts didn’t often arrive in Daggin’s mind without warning. Setok’s determination to never overstep telepathically had been one he’d developed over tragic circumstances, but it had been very much the making of him. His discipline and focus rivalled that of his father, who’d been heavily influenced by a mind-meld with Setok’s Vulcan name-sake. Say nothing.

The caution came just before Daggin had been about to speak, but he closed his mouth. His son’s sensitivity to telepathic nuances was greater than this own. He trusted him.

Doctor Hall worked on his mobile emitter with one hand while Captain Cavit called to the Bridge, asking them to try and manually transfer the Doctor’s program to Sickbay.

As Daggin watched, Emmett vanished with a snap, and the mobile emitter fell the floor.

“Lan, did we get him?” Cavit said.

The Trill operations officer’s voice was subdued over the channel. “His program went offline before we could transfer it, Captain.” A pause. “I can’t find it.”

Daggin knelt down and picked up the emitter.

Accomplishment. Calm. Dismissal.

They weren’t alone. Those feelings hadn’t come from Ensign Nettus, or Captain Cavit, or Mestral, or his son. He couldn’t speak freely, which meant he couldn’t even warn the Captain.

Daggin swallowed, and rose, handing the emitter to Cavit. He eyed the the remaining crew of Nettus, Mestral, Setok and Daggin. “Do what you can with the scans,” he said. “I need to find out what’s happening in Sickbay.”

“Aye, Captain,” Ensign Nettus said.

Daggin met his son’s gaze.

We need the Chorus, Setok’s thoughts declared.

Daggin had to agree.

 

*

 

“There was nothing you could have done,” Fitzgerald said, placing a hand on the shoulder of Rebecca Sullivan, who stared back at him with a gaze he knew all too well.

What if? It didn’t matter how many times someone had told him the same thing, he ended up running through scenarios as well. Sullivan was a trained EMT, knew her stuff, and kept her head no matter what happened.

And it hadn’t been enough to save Brita Trumari.

Kes pulled the sheet over Trumari’s face, covering the visible ruptures along her skin. Trumari’s last blood pressure reading had been three sixty over one twenty five. He hadn’t lied to Sullivan, there had been literally nothing she could have done to save the blond pilot’s life.

Kes and T’Prena had stepped in, but brain death had already been guaranteed via the eruption of every artery in Trumari’s body.

“I’ve never seen systemic collapse like that,” Sullivan said, taking a deep breath. “What caused it?”

Fitzgerald looked at the still form under the sheet. “I think we need to take a deep genetic scan.” He nodded at Sullivan, knowing from experience that in these moments, the most useful thing was to find answers, to have a focus. “Rebecca, get a blood sample down to the Life Sciences Lab—they’ve got their sensors set up for a particular phase variance, and I hope I’m wrong, but given what we saw happening on the Nassordin ship…”

“Blood pressure,” Sullivan said, nodding sharply. “Right away.”

Whatever had been done to the people on the Nassordin ships, it was happening on Voyager.

The doors to Sickbay opened, and Fitzgerald’s husband strode in.

“Tell me,” Cavit said, after his gaze settled for a moment on the covered body on the biobed.

“Ensign Trumari. There was nothing we could have done, by the time it started it was already too late. Her blood pressure rose so fast it destroyed her circulatory system. I’ll need to confirm it,” Fitzgerald said, swallowing, “but I think we’re be facing the same issues as the Nassordin. Anything on Emmett?”

“His program is just gone,” Cavit said, handing him the mobile emitter. “Sahreen and Alex are on it—if we have to, we can activate his back-up module, and fill him in on the last few hours.”

Fitzgerald put the mobile emitter in the storage container where Emmett preferred to keep it. The timing of losing their most important medical expert wasn’t lost on him. And judging by the way Aaron’s jaw was clenched, it hadn’t escaped his husband’s notice, either.

“Cavit to Bridge,” Cavit said. “Ro, take us to yellow alert.”

 

*

 

Crewman Abol Tay stepped onto the Bridge, keeping his expression as neutral as he could and crossing to the Science Station, PADD in hand, with his eye and apparent attention on his mate, Lieutenant Zandra Taitt, but his mind as opened as possible to the space all around him.

He wasn’t as gifted as Gara when it game to sensing mood or emotion, nor as capable of reaching the minds of others as the Betazoid woman sitting at the Conn, but—

Other than Lieutenant Stadi at the conn, Commander Ro had the centre chair. Lieutenant Rollins had tactical. Ensign Lan manned the operations station. His mate, his Zandra, worked at the science station, and Ensign Simon Stotler was sitting at the engineering station.

Crewman Todd Frank and Crewman Margareta Crenshaw stood near the back of the Bridge as well, Frank on relief, Crenshaw likely summoned as part of being at Yellow Alert.

All of it was typical. Eight minds, plus himself.

But he sensed more. At least two more, if he had to put a number on it.

He passed the PADD to Taitt, who looked at him with a measure of surprise when she saw it was the latest update on their work getting the Astrometrics Lab up and running. “Hand delivered?”

“Flimsy excuse, but I wanted to see you,” Abol said, managing a smile he hoped convinced her. It was true. He had the only excuse among the Chorus they could think of to casually move about on the Bridge, and he’d taken it.

But in truth, he was here for two reasons.

The first he’d just accomplished. He’d confirmed the vague feelings Daggin and Setok had had in the Life Sciences Lab—that there were others on Voyager, likely operating under stealth somehow, but the Chorus was at least partially capable of picking up their presence with their Ocampa telepathic senses. But he couldn’t linger too long or he’d draw attention. He was a stellar cartographer. He had no real business on the Bridge, especially at yellow alert, and he didn’t want Commander Ro to have a reason to call him out, but the Chorus had decided it was worthwhile to determine whether or not the Bridge had been compromised.

Which it had.

The second part of his mission he attempted on his way back to the turbolift, reaching out telepathically to Lieutenant Veronica Stadi, and initiating the gentle, initial contact he knew she’d recognize from all their time training together.

Lieutenant, he sent. Do not react to this contact. The Chorus has sensed other minds on Voyager, including here on the Bridge. We believe they are responsible for the “illness” and the death of Ensign Trumari. Do you feel them?

Abol stepped onto the turbolift, which let him look at the back of Stadi’s figure where she sat at the Conn. Her dark hair was up, her shoulders relaxed, and she looked like nothing more than a woman manning her station.

Her thoughts, however, held an edge of anxiety and alarm.

No. Stadi’s response made his own shoulders sag. I don’t.

Don’t say anything aloud. We don’t know how closely we’re being monitored, Abol thought, just as the turbolift doors closed.

Find out what you can and get back to me within the hour, Stadi sent.

Aye, Lieutenant.

“Deck five,” Abol said. He waited a moment, feeling the turbolift move, and then reached out with his senses again. He felt no one else on the turbolift but himself. He reached out and touched the controls, pausing the lift, then tapping in a manual override to take him to Deck Fifteen instead.

Stadi can’t sense them, Abol send through to the rest of the Chorus, confirming what they’d already believed: she wouldn’t have held back in informing them all had she picked up something earlier. Same with the Vulcans on board. She wants us to learn what we can, and then get back to her within an hour.

There’s not a lot to work with on these bar-codes. Cir’s thoughts joined the group with his usual soft hesitancy. I can’t make a linguistic database from these scraps, but it doesn’t match anything in our database. These aren’t a species we’ve encountered before.

Do we think they’re using the same phase variance to hide themselves as they are hiding the bar-codes? Setok’s thoughts, so different from Cir’s in strength and focus, seemed to add structure to the Chorus by its very presence. Can we scan for them that way?

Only the science labs have that level of capability. Daggin’s frustration was palpable. I’m not sure we could modify internal sensors enough to detect that level of phase variance.

I have a thought about that, Kes’s voice. Seven of Nine. Her occipital implant has Borg sensor systems.

Can we modify her sensory capabilities? Gara didn’t sound particularly confident. None of us are cyberneticists.

I’m not sure we have another choice, Eru noted.

I’ll get her, Abol sent. It wouldn’t be unusual for me to be in the Astrometrics Lab. 

He reached out, and changed the turbolift’s destination again.

Notes:

So, it's probably obvious my schedule didn't clear up much. Sorry about that. I decided I was taking my birthday to do fun stuff, so I wrote this today, and hopefully I'll have this episode finished over the next couple of weeks, and then I can dive into "Year of Hell" (I can't wait to do that one, you have no idea) but updates are going to be not at all up to the previous speed given my deadlines. Sorry about that.

But I haven't given up on this, and I'll absolutely keep working on it. Just maybe nowhere near up to my previous "three times a week" output. I'm sorry about that.

(But seriously, I can't wait to get to Year of Hell. I have so many plans.)

Thank you for being so patient!

Chapter 5: Act IV

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Daggin and Mestral stood to the side while the results of the scan on Ensign Trumari’s blood came up on the screen. Kes had brought the sample down, and entered the scan. Beside her, Ensign Nettus watched the viewscreen.

The markings were there, hidden behind the same phase variance and with the same basic symbology.

Seven of Nine isn’t in Astrometrics. According to the computer, she’s in the holodeck. Abol’s thoughts reached the Chorus. I sense another presence is here with myself and Ensign Murphy. I don’t think I have an excuse to leave for the holodeck, and Ensign Murphy would likely ask me why I’m leaving.

“Nettus to Cavit,” the Denobulan man said. “The results are as we expected. There is a bar-code present in the sample.”

“Get it to Cir,” Cavit replied over the channel. “The more of these bar-codes he has to work with, the better his chances of cracking them.”

“Aye, Captain,” Ensign Nettus said, tapping in a series of commands on the screen to do just that.

I’ll be expected back in Sickbay, Kes’s voice in the Chorus held frustration.

I’m sensing people with us as well, Gara added. She, Eru, and Cir were with Lieutenant Cing’ta, working on the faint signals the bar-codes were emitting.

I believe Setok and I can go, Daggin sent. He turned to Ensign Nettus. “If Setok and I are not immediately needed, we need to spend some time in the Garden—we haven’t had much time to devote to it, and with Cir, Gara, and Eru working on the translation, they will have even less opportunity.” Daggin took a breath. “We’ll return as soon as we can.”

“Of course,” Ensign Nettus said.

Daggin nodded, and he and Setok left the Life Sciences Lab together. Daggin’s sense of the other presence fell away once he was in the corridor.

Whoever is there has remained with you, Kes, he sent, then he and his son headed for the holodeck.

It seems they’re paying attention to anyone studying the problem, Setok’s voice noted, once they were in the turbolift, had discerned they were alone, and had begun their journey to meet with Seven of Nine.

Agreed, Daggin sent.

Holodeck two was running the Stonewall Inn program, a favourite of Lieutenant Honigsberg’s, but he wasn’t present in the simulation. In fact, the only person Daggin sensed at all was Seven of Nine herself, though once he crossed the interior of the bar to join her, he realized she wasn’t, in fact, alone among the colourful holographic patrons and the often amusing Ktarian barkeep.

Doctor Emmett Hall stood with her, though Daggin barely recognized the hologram. He wore clothing more often chosen by women, bore a tall dark wig, and had applied an exceptional amount of pigment to his face.

Doctor Hall has adjusted his appearance, Setok noted.

It is called drag, I believe, Daggin said, conjuring the word from one of Lieutenant Honigsberg’s discussions with him about the bar and its history.

Seven of Nine turned, spotting their arrival, and an expression of wariness flashed across her features.

“It’s all right,” Daggin said, though he spoke quietly. “We don’t sense any others with us here in the holodeck.”

“The Bridge reported your program was lost,” Setok said to Emmett.

“I managed to transfer myself here,” Emmett said. “And called in the only back-up I was sure I could reach without being detected.”

“Doctor Hall reached out to me via my audio implants,” Seven said.

“You sense others on Voyager?” Emmett said. “Telepathically, I assume?”

“Yes, but we can’t see them,” Daggin said, turning to Seven of Nine. “But Kes believed that adjusting your occipital implants to the same phase variance might make it possible for you to detect them.”

“Great minds think alike,” Emmett said holding up a small wire. “I’ve almost completed the adjustment.” Seven of Nine held still as Emmett slid the wire into a small notch in the cybernetics that surrounded her left eye. “If I’m right, this should allow Seven to start looking for the people who implanted these tags.”

“The bar-codes in the DNA of the Nassordin—and Ensign Trumari—caused genetic mutations,” Setok said quietly. “But why?”

“I don't know,” Emmett said. “And I get the feeling they don't want us to find out.”

“Explain,” Seven of Nine said.

“When our investigation uncovered the signal the tags emitted, someone started to delete my program. Call me paranoid, but I don't think that is a coincidence.”

“We’re definitely being monitored,” Daggin said. “Sickbay, the Life Sciences Lab, and Cir and the others. Abol also felt a presence on the Bridge, and in the Astrometrics lab, when he went looking for you, Seven.”

“You’re using your Chorus to keep tabs on each other?” Emmett said, pausing long enough to look at Daggin and Setok.

“We are,” Setok said.

“And we let Lieutenant Stadi know what we’re doing—but she can’t sense anything,” Daggin said.

“Not the first time you Ocampa have shown more telepathic nuance than her,” Emmett said. “There.” He lowered the tool. “Now, take a look around and tell me what you see. Do you see anything unusual? Energy signatures? Or perhaps something that might be transmitting a signal?”

Seven of Nine glanced around the holodeck recreation of the inn. “No.”

“That's one room down,” Emmett said dryly. “Two hundred and fifty six to go.”

“If you wander the ship, it will be noticed,” Daggin said. “But given we know someone is currently in the Astrometrics lab, it wouldn’t be too unusual for you to go there.”

“If you need to contact me, use comm frequency epsilon two,” Emmett said. “I’ve isolated it from the rest of the system.”

“Understood,” Seven said.

“I’ve told the Chorus,” Setok said, after a brief flurry of telepathic effort. “What should we do?” He glanced at Daggin.

“Seven,” Daggin said, facing her directly. Her blue eyes met his. “We’ve used the Chorus to make telepathic contact with you before—would you mind it now? I believe we can manage to read your thoughts, even without Lieutenant Stadi’s help.”

Seven of Nine’s organic eyebrow rose, and after a moment’s hesitation, she nodded.

 

*

 

Seven of Nine managed to recover quickly from the sight of Ensign Michael Murphy, who, to her adjusted occipital implant, had three small, cubical devices attached to his right temple, and a larger, flattish-disc on his uniform in the centre of his chest. He didn’t appear to notice either, however, and was instead working at one of the open consoles in the under-construction Astrometrics Lab, currently inserting a series of relays. Crewman Abol worked along side the human man, and both had turned to greet her at her arrival.

But they weren’t the only two figures in the room. Beside Ensign Murphy, another humanoids held up a small, flat scanner a few inches away from the device affixed to Murphy’s chest—the alien paused to make a notation or adjustment of some sort—and then straightened, glancing her way, but not paying much attention to her at all.

The alien believes I am unaware, she thought. She didn’t know if the Ocampa Chorus was already with her or not—she had no way of knowing if their minds were listening to her own—but organizing her own thoughts helped stave off a shiver of antipathy she felt when the alien turned back to Ensign Murphy and appeared to slide a long, remarkably thin needle directly into his chest, touch the scanning device to it, and then remove the needle again.

Then, the alien moved a few steps away, apparently content to spend some time looking at the results on its screen.

“Almost done with these relays,” Murphy said, smiling at Seven. Often upbeat and affable, the science officer showed no discomfort despite the devices attached to his temple and chest. “Then we can give those Borg algorithms of yours a test-spin.”

Seven simply nodded. She had no words at hand that suited the situation. Surreptitiously, she moved to a not-yet-functional section of the control consoles that afforded her a view of the alien. She tried to study the being.

It appeared genderless at a glance—though she knew that was at best a hypothetical observation—and was not a species she recognized from her time in the Collective, which meant the Borg had not encountered them before. Tall, they featured large skin structures over their ears and mottled, coloured portions between their forehead and their jaw, but otherwise were not remarkable humanoids.

Abol knelt down by the panel he and Murphy were working on, then rose. “Seven, would you mind getting us some more opticable from Main Engineering?” His voice was soft, and casual, but Seven of Nine realized he was speaking not for her benefit, but for their phase-varianced observer. “Michael’s right. When we’re done here, we could try an initial run on some of the holo-emitters, but we’ll need more cable first.”

“Of course,” Seven said, nodding at him.

His dark-eyed gaze met hers, and in her mind, she heard his voice. You’re doing well. We’ve seen what you’ve seen.

Seven of Nine headed to Main Engineering.

 

*

 

Daggin exhaled. Maintaining the Chorus had gotten easier over the years the Ocampa had been on Voyager, but doing so when they weren’t in the same room as each other, let alone doing so for this long, was starting to wear on him. And if he was tiring, he imagined that Cir and Eru would also be feeling the strain, and perhaps even Gara.

They couldn’t keep this up forever, but given what Seven of Nine had seen in Astrometrics and Main Engineering, they had a problem.

“What is it?” Emmett said.

“Seven of Nine has seen multiple humanoid aliens throughout the ship,” Setok said.

“They’re phased, as you thought,” Daggin said. “And at least a half-dozen of the crew seem to have been implanted with devices they’re monitoring.”

“No doubt related to the genetic tags forcing changes in their DNA,” Emmett said.

“An experiment,” Daggin said.

“As if Voyager were one big petri dish.” Emmett’s disgust didn’t telegraph any less through the layers of pigment applied to his skin, nor the high black wig.

“How do we stop them?” Daggin said, coming straight to the point.

“Seven thinks she can use a phaser,” Setok said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he concentrated. “Something about modulating a phaser?”

“If Seven of Nine starts shooting a phaser, it won’t take long for everyone on board to know about it, and we don’t know how many of these aliens are currently on Voyager,” Emmett said. “And given what happened with Ensign Trumari, I’m worried the aliens might be able to retaliate by inflicting lethal mutations on anyone they’ve implanted with those tags.”

“So we need to take the tags offline,” Daggin said, swallowing. Through Seven of Nine’s eyes, he knew Ensign Murphy, Lieutenant Honigsberg, and Ensign Ballard had all currently been affected by the alien experiment—who knew how many others? Until Seven of Nine could stroll the entire ship, they had no way of knowing.

“Precisely,” Emmett said. “The key to the aliens’ control is the genetic tags.” He lifted a PADD, and tapped in a few commands, and Daggin saw all the scans they’d taken of the “bar-codes” from the Nassordin ship, as well as the data from Ensign Trumari. “I believe a neuroleptic shock would disable them. Unfortunately, it would be rather painful.”

“Neuroleptic shock…” Daggin paused, remembering his training sessions with Doctor Fitzgerald from years ago, when he’d been through the equivalent of enlisted training. “Wouldn’t that leave the entire crew vulnerable?”

Not necessarily, Kes’s thoughts joined in. If Seven of Nine can assure us of those who don’t have tags, I can prepare a hypo to counteract the effects.

“Kes believes she can protect some of us,” Setok said, keeping Emmett in the loop.

The holographic doctor nodded. “Now all we need is a way to administer the shock to everyone simultaneously. Not my forte.”

Daggin blinked. He’d made it through his engineering training like the rest of the Ocampa, but he was by no means talented enough to deliver a ship-wide energy release calibrated so specifically to cause neuroleptic shock without damaging the biology of the crew. It was, to agree with the doctor, not his forte either.

“Perhaps…” Setok cleared his throat. “We need to ask your child for help, Doctor—given he wouldn’t be affected. Also, Seven of Nine believes she has a way to accomplish what we need.” He closed his eyes again for a moment. “Power relays. But she’d need to bypass several safeguards.”

Daggin could feel himself in the Chorus, feel Abol, Kes, Eru, Gara, and Cir as well, and—of course—his son, Setok, all of whom were growing more and more tired with the effort of staying in contact with each other, but now he had the faintest awareness of Seven of Nine as well, Setok reaching out to her, even from here in the holodeck, communicating with her telepathically, despite Seven of Nine not being a telepath herself.

It will take time, Seven of Nine’s voice reached them all.

Setok truly had a gift.

“We need time,” Daggin said. “And access. This is going to be difficult to co-ordinate, but I believe I can reach Lieutenant Stadi.”

“I can find One,” Setok said, nodding to the Doctor, and using the shortened name of Automated Personnel Unit 1106, which Daggin knew Emmett thought of as very much his “child” owing to the basic ethical subroutines the robot’s personality had been built around having come from Emmett’s own program.

“Excellent,” Emmett said. “Let’s get to work.” He straightened and nodded emphatically.

The wig slipped down over his forehead, and toppled to the inn floor.

 

Notes:

The Doctor and Seven's original plan in the canon episode failed because Seven had to try it alone. This version of the Doctor and Seven have a whole Ocampa Chorus and a robot helping.

One more chapter to go with this one, and then it'll be time for the Year of Hell, and that's going to be quite a time. (Get it? Get it!? Sorry.)

Chapter 6: Act V

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Daggin exhaled in relief at 1106’s arrival in the Garden when the robot arrived without any sense of “other” coming along with him. Still, Daggin felt the urgency of their situation, and spoke quickly, and though the Automated Personnel Unit had a static, gold, mask-like face, the way the robot angled that face slightly upward and to one side revealed their surprise when Daggin started speaking.

“Voyager has been boarded—as have the Nassordin ships—by aliens currently shifting themselves slightly out of phase to remain cloaked from our sensors and our visual range both,” Daggin said. “Seven of Nine has adjusted her ability to spot them, and we’ve determined the disease on the Nassordin ships—and now on Voyager, too—are no such thing, but rather an experiment these aliens are running for some unknown reason. Despite their being phased, however, they are keeping tabs both on affected crew and our momements and actions—they attempted to neutralize your father as he uncovered information—and so I’m afraid it’s just the Ocampa, and Seven, your father and Lieutenant Stadi who are currently even aware of the situation.” Daggin paused. “And we need your help to neutralize the experiment the aliens are running on Voyager’s crew before we act—otherwise they might harm the crew in retaliation.”

“I understand,” 1106 said. “What is it you need me to do, Crewman Daggin?”

“We’re going to be initiating a neuroleptic shock ship-wide, which will be painful, but will disable the tags the aliens are using to create the artificial celerity in their targeted mutations.” Daggin took a breath. “Kes has come up with a treatment that will keep us on our feet, but you won’t be affected.”

“How is the shock being delivered?” 1106 said.

“Seven of Nine is using the EPS relays,” Daggin said. “She believes she can induce the necessary effect from Main Engineering.”

“That is true,” 1106 said. “But the attempt will require bypassing multiple safeguards.”

“We know,” Daggin said.

“Lieutenant Scott Rollins and Lieutenant Alexander Honigsberg will likely notice the attempt,” 1106 said. “And Ensign Sahreen Lan as well. All three will no doubt find the disregard of biological safety to be… concerning.”

Daggin blew out a breath, and reached his mind more fully into the Chorus again. Do we have a plan for making sure Seven of Nine has the time she needs to do this once her bypasses alerts everyone on the Bridge? I know Lieutenant Stadi can say something, but that would also alert the aliens on the Bridge, would it not?

A pause seemed to echo through the Chorus, which was answer enough.

“Do you have any ideas?” Daggin asked 1106.

1106’s head tilted slightly to one side. “Yes.”

 

*

 

Lieutenant Veronica Stadi sat at the Conn and drew on every bit of training and experience she had to do nothing more than make the tiny adjustments necessary to hold Voyager in position relative to the Nassordin ships.

We’ve been boarded. Her thoughts kept repeating. Aliens are experimenting on us. A quick glance at her positioning readings. They killed Ensign Trumari. Face forward again, shoulders at rest. They’re on the Bridge with me and I can’t even sense them.

It was that last part that was the most unnerving. No, she wasn’t so naive or inexperienced with species she couldn’t read, but there was something about knowing there were aliens among the crew, aliens who might very well have tagged her with some sort of mutative bar-code experiment, and she couldn’t even see them.

She’d had telepathic suppressants before, most recently when Kes and the other Ocampa had had a falsely activated elogium a couple of years ago, but when her telepathic abilities had been muted, she could still hear and see and touch the rest of the crew. They hadn’t felt as real to her as they should, of course, and that had been uncomfortable for her, but they were still present.

This was like existing in a human ghost story. She hated it. And that didn’t even include that she was barely a part of the plan to solve the problem, given she had no way to excuse herself from her position, and—more importantly—her being on the Bridge could be the difference needed when the plan was enacted.

The sense of the Chorus was distant to her, and had faded over the hours. No doubt the Ocampa were getting fatigued maintaining their efforts. They never relied on the Chorus for this length of time, but given they couldn’t use comm channels without risking being overheard, it remained their best option. Keeping her attention and senses half-aimed in their direction at least made her feel some sense of purpose and helped stave off the inertia.

“Another Nassordin ship is inbound,” Ensign Lan said from Ops. “They’re reporting the illness as well.”

“Except it’s no illness,” Ro said, her voice tight with frustration. “Scott, sent them everything we’ve got, and let Sickbay and the Life Sciences Lab know. The Captain and Doctor Fitzgerald wanted to be kept in the loop on any new data.”

“Aye, Commander.”

Lieutenant. Daggin’s voice, calm and focused as always, drifted into Stadi’s mind. A neuroleptic shock will disarm the tags on Voyager’s crew. Seven of Nine has a way to use the EPS relays to do so. However, 1106 informs us any attempt to do so will alert the Bridge before we can enact the plan, so he is requesting access to a nacelle access port. He believes you can do this.

Stadi almost smiled at the sheer relief of having something to contribute, but the reality of the “plan” the Ocampa, Seven of Nine, 1106 and Emmett had apparently come up with wasn’t exactly filling her with confidence. She was no doctor, but a neuroleptic shock would hurt, and knock most of the crew off their feet. Still. Needs must.

“Commander,” Stadi said, turning in her chair to get Ro’s attention, then tapping in a few commands on her display. If the aliens were watching her, she’d need to do this carefully. But she’d had nothing else to do but think about this potential moment since the Ocampa had explained what was happening in the first place. “Do you have a moment?”

Ro crossed the space and joined her. Stadi gestured to the reading she’d called up on her display.

“There’s a slight temperature variance in the port nacelle, there,” Stadi said, pointing at what was, in truth, a very slight variance.

Ro frowned at it, then glanced at her. “It’s not much,” she said, which was definitely understating, but Ro’s thoughts, always easy for Stadi to read given Ro’s rather uncommon clarity of mind, had gone where Stadi had hoped they would. Why is she focusing on this? Ro thought, which was immediately followed by, is something else going on?

“Yes, Laren.” Stadi had to fight off another smile, but she spoke mildly, and dropped Ro Laren’s given name without so much as a change of inflection. “I know it’s small, but given we’re not going anywhere, I’d like to have 1106 climb up and take a peek, in case it’s a bigger issue than it probably is.”

Ro’s dark eyes met hers, and she dipped her chin. “Go ahead, Roni.” I trust you.

Stadi exhaled—invoking their shorthand of first-names-meant-serious-business, a habit they’d gotten into during their three months in Kazon space as Captain and First Officer, had worked as she’d hoped it had—and tapped her combadge. “Stadi to 1106. Any chance I can get you to climb into the port nacelle for a diagnostic? It’s too warm in there for any of us mere mortal crew.” Or these aliens.

“Of course, Lieutenant.” 1106’s voice gave nothing away, of course.

All yours, Stadi sent to the Chorus.

Seven of Nine is on her way to Main Engineering, Daggin sent back. Then, after a short pause, Daggin added, apologies in advance for the discomfort.

“Thank you, Commander.” Stadi nodded at Commander Ro, who headed back to her seat, her poker-face in place, despite her mind trying to consider what it was Stadi knew that she didn’t.

Stadi wished she could tell her.

Instead, they waited.

 

*

 

1106, in the nacelle access space, initiated a diagnostic routine they had assembled on the climb up, their hands moving quickly on the control interface, and then tapped their combadge. “1106 to Seven of Nine. Could you access the EPS relays and confirm the results of my diagnostic please?”

“Acknowledged.” Seven of Nine’s voice held less nuance than most of the other organic members of the crew, 1106 had noticed, and while they hadn’t interacted with Seven of Nine much, they found those few instances had been pleasant and straightforward, and lacking in many of the confusing social tangents offered by most of Voyager’s crew.

If anyone was to initiate their plan, 1106 had confidence in it being Seven of Nine.

Less than three minutes later, 1106 watched as a build-up of energy lanced its way through the EPS relays and released in a flare through every deck on the ship.

Given their location in the nacelle access chamber, they couldn’t hear the likely quite distressing results, but began the climb down immediately, knowing they’d be useful in Main Engineering, as the rest of the engineers would likely be recovering for the immediate future.

 

*

 

If the effects of the hypo Kes had given Daggin had prevented the majority of the effects of the shock delivered through the power conduits of the ship, Daggin pitied the rest of the crew who hadn’t had the shot. The neuroleptic shock hurt, and he grimaced and had to grip the wall of the turbolift to stay upright. The lights in the lift flickered, and he wondered how many of their EPS relays had flipped into safety mode, but the lift itself didn’t delay in motion, and he stepped out onto the Bridge only moments after the delivered shock had taken effect.

No one was standing, as he’d expected, but he moved to the Security station quickly, where Lieutenant Scott Rollins was groaning and slumped against the wall, and armed himself with one of the phasers there before aiming his gaze through the rest of the Bridge and…

Aha.

The humanoid was much as Seven of Nine had described them to Setok, who’d relayed her description to the rest of the Chorus. Tall, and wearing a simple brown-and-grey suit, the prone figure sprawled out in front of where Commander Ro was slumped in her chair featured large skin structures over their ears, and a mottled, coloured triangular pattern of markings on their forehead and just below and their jaw. The alien shifted, groaning, as did most of the Bridge crew.

Daggin strode forward, phaser at the ready. “Do not move.”

The alien blinked grey-blue eyes at him.

“Cavit to Bridge…” Cavit’s voice had a strangled quality to it. “Report…?”

“Daggin…” Ro’s voice was rough and raw with effort. “What’s happening?”

“Captain, you’re needed on the Bridge, as soon as you can.” Daggin said. “There are over forty aliens on board Voyager—Gara and Eru are beaming them to the Cargo Bay Three, where Cir and Setok will keep watch over them. Kes is handling Sickbay, and 1106, Seven of Nine, and Abol are in Main Engineering while everyone recovers. The aliens were operating under a phase-variance to cloak themselves.” Daggin didn’t look away from the alien, who was recovering now and shifted their position to be somewhat less prone, though they didn’t stand. Their gaze struck Daggin as completely unaffected. They didn’t seem at all ruffled to be held at phaser-point. “They’re behind the experimentation on Voyager’s crew and, I assume, the Nassodrin as well.”

“They are,” Stadi’s voice, a bit rough as well, joined the conversation, and Daggin glanced at her. She’d risen from her station.

“I can read them now,” Stadi said, nodding at the alien. “They’re the masters of these experiment.”

The alien simply stared back at her. “What do you intend to do?” Nearly no emotional inflection, barely curious. As though this were all mildly inconvenient.

“That’ll be up to our Captain,” Stadi said. “But I’m telling you right now, your experiment is done.”

The alien frowned, and rose. Once on their feet, they reached for their small monitoring device attached to their belt.

“Careful,” Ro said, in a menacing tone, and Daggin raised his phaser a notch.

But the alien was looking down at the surface of their device, and for the first time, looked affected by what was going on. Aghast, the alien said, “You deactivated all the implants!”

“Did you think we’d just let you experiment on us?” Stadi said, scowling. “You’ve been killing people.”

“As few as possible,” the alien said, waving one hand. “The data is necessary.”

The turbolift opened, and Captain Cavit made it onto the Bridge, though he looked pale and shaken. Daggin spared a glance for the rest of the Bridge crew and saw most were much the same.

“What the hell were you people doing to my crew?” Cavit snapped.

The alien lifted its chin. “Please understand that there's a purpose to our actions. The data we gather from our experiments may help us cure physical and psychological disorders that afflict millions. Isn't that worth some discomfort?”

Discomfort?” Cavit stared at the alien. “You’re killing people. The Nassodrin, Ensign Trumari…”

“Some losses are inevitable,” the alien said.

“Scott, make sure all the aliens are accounted for,” Cavit said. “Then escort this one here to join the others.” Then he glanced at Daggin. “I’m going to need you to walk me through all of this in detail.”

“Of course, Captain,” Daggin said. “But our solution only affected Voyager. No doubt there are aliens on the Nassordin ships as well, and I’m not sure if they beamed themselves aboard or used some other method.”

“I can answer that,” Lan said, from Ops. Her dark curls had escaped her hair band, and her spots stood out against her pale skin, but her voice was steady. “I’m reading a ship attached to the upper hull. Looks like the EPS shock knocked their phase-cloak offline. Eight lifesigns, too.”

“They’ll be recovering,” Ro said, aiming the comment at Cavit. “And likely faster, given the shock would have gone through their ship hull.”

Cavit lifted his chin. “Cavit to Transporter Room. There are eight lifesigns on a ship attached to Voyager’s hull. Beam them directly to the brig, would you?”

The alien’s eyes widened.

“Aye, Captain,” came Gara’s voice.

Cavit turned back to the alien. “You can join them,” he said, icily. “I’ll be down to talk to you in a few moments.”

 

*

 

Hours later, Daggin sat with a cup of Ocampa black tea in the Mess Hall, waiting for his mate to finish what would undoubtedly be a long shift in Sickbay, even with the aid of Kes, Crewman Sullivan, Doctor Hall and Doctor Fitzgerald all on duty. He’d even seen the Ferengi physician, Arridor, and Ensign Kovar working to help what was now a dozen Nassordin ships gathered alongside Voyager.

Once Lieutenant Honigsberg’s people had had time with the technology of the aliens—a species called the Srivani—adjusting the ship’s scanners to locate Srivani boarding vessels had been simple enough, and Lieutenant Rollins’s people had boarded the ship attached to Voyager and made a similar thorough examination of their own capabilities. They had transporters, though of a more limited range, and over the course of the day, Voyager had sent all the information necessary to the Nassordin for them to spot the Srivani, and to protect themselves accordingly.

The Srivani had resisted at first, but when it became clear Voyager’s shared knowledge disabled their mutative tags, and the Nassordin were willing and capable of simply shooting any Srivani they encountered on sight given the danger they posed, the resistance didn’t last long among the affected Nassordin ships.

Captain Cavit turned their prisoners over to the Nassordin, but Daggin took the opportunity he’d had to come face to face with the Srivani before the forced deportation. Given how many of Voyager’s crew were still recovering from the neuroleptic shock, he’d spent some time as a guard in the Cargo Bay, and had even taken a turn manning the Ops station for a while, co-ordinating the transfers of Srivani prisoners between Nassordin ships.

The Srivani showed no remorse, only regret that the experiments would not be completed. Lieutenant Stadi had described them as completely lacking in empathy, and borderline solipsistic, and though his own telepathic read on the Srivani would never be as deep as that of her Betazoid senses, Daggin had to agree.

They saw other species as little else than potential subjects.

Daggin lifted his tea, taking a sip and looking out at the stars. Tomorrow, they’d be underway again. He took a breath. The Borg. The Undine. The B’omar. The Srivani. Why did so many species believe themselves ultimately superior to others?

“Oh, that’s perfect!”

The voice shook him out of his reverie, and he turned to see Crewman Celes Tal was greeting Crewman Billy Telfer and Crewman Andreas Murphy, who were arriving together and apparently carrying what appeared to be some sort of… fencing?

Celes seemed delighted. “It will go right here. Andreas, we just need to get that couch out of the way…” Celes pointed at one of the couches that accompanied a more casual spot at one end of the Mess Hall, where those who wanted to sit with a drink but not a meal often chose to do so.

Rising, and drawn forward by curiosity, Daggin carried his tea over. “What’s this?” he said.

“A day-care to be,” Telfer said, with a smile, holding the small fence-like structures in both arms while Murphy lifted one of the couches away. It came free with a series of clicks. Daggin hadn’t known the seating was modular.

“For when any of the parents might need a break, or if they’re on duty and need us to take care of the little ones for a bit,” Celes said.

“It takes a village,” Murphy said, placing the couch down gently to one side.

Daggin put his tea down, the dark thoughts of moments earlier fading completely in the face of the enthusiasm and community on display.

“How can I help?” he said.

Notes:

And there we go. With help, Seven of Nine's original plan from the Canon episode goes off as planned, leaving the crew can help the other aliens deal with the problem.

The Srivani always struck me as one of the darker villains of Voyager—and I wanted Daggin to have some time thinking about just that—especially after the run of hard times the ship has had of late. Still, Voyager keeps going.

Up next is Year of Hell and I cannot wait. Instead of doing it in Acts like I usually do, however, I'm going to post that one with "Days" sort of like how the episode did, and flush out more of the timeline, visit more of the crew, etc. And I promise that unlike the original episode, there will be consequences.

See you all again in (probably less than) a week!