Kirsten Beyer - Star Trek: Voyager: Children of the Storm

I WANT YOU ALL TO PROMISE ME SOMETHING,
NEELIX FINALLY SAID.

Name it, Chakotay replied.

As long as youre all here in the Delta Quadrant, I want to hear of your progress. Captain Eden has promised to make regular contact, but I want to hear from all of you as well. I have my hands full on New Talax, but even from a distance, Ill always feel a part of this crew.

Consider it done, Chakotay assured him.

Do you have any idea where youre headed next? Neelix asked.

No one did until Chakotay said, Have you ever heard of a species that call themselves the Children of the Storm?

Neelix had to confess, he hadnt. They dont sound terribly friendly, he observed.

Who are they? the Doctor asked.

Chakotay sighed. I dont want to turn this lovely evening into a mission briefing, but I have a feeling were about to find out.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

, and 2011 by CBS Studios Inc. STAR TREK and related marks are trademarks of CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved.

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Cover design by Alan Dingman; cover art by Michael Stetson

Manufactured in the United States of America

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ISBN 978-1-4516-0718-5
ISBN 978-1-4516-0722-2 (ebook)

For Anorah
my grace

Your beliefs become your thoughts. Your thoughts become your words. Your words become your actions. Your actions become your habits. Your habits become your values. Your values become your destiny.

Mahatma Gandhi

HISTORIANS NOTE

Children of the Storm takes place concurrent with and immediately following the events of Star Trek Voyager: Unworthy , from late May to mid-July 2381.

U.S.S. QUIRINAL

S tanding just inside what had once been the doorway to the U.S.S. Quirinal s main engineering bay, Captain Regina Farkas felt the adrenaline-fueled tension of the last hour dissipate as a strangely calming thought flitted gently into her mind and found a place to settle.

Its a pity so few of us are allowed to choose the time and manner of our death.

Cold comfort, to be sure, but certainly better than the fate of the billions of Federation citizens who had suddenly found death raining down on an otherwise ordinary day just a few months earlier when the Borg had invaded the Alpha Quadrant.

Though Regina had faced the possibility of death more times than she cared to remember in her forty-nine years of service to Starfleet, she was surprised by the serenity descending upon her now that the die was well and truly cast. If death had once seemed like the unwelcome relation one was forced to invite to major family gatherings, Regina now found herself completely prepared to walk across the room and shake the bastards hand.

Not that she wanted to die. Like those who had worn the weary mantle of command before her, and those who would someday rise to take her place, she had her fair share of regrets. But as she mentally filed them away as forever undone, she decided that peace was easier to embrace when you didnt doubt for a moment that you had spent the majority of the time youd been given doing the thing that made you feel alive.

In Reginas case, that had been exploring the vastness of space, leading others on awe-inspiring journeys into the unknown. Though the practical reality certainly came with stretches of the mind-numbingly boring, those were easily eclipsed by the unimagined sights, the exotic tastes and fragrances, and the sheer variety of life, both simple and complex, that thrived within the many systems she had been fortunate enough to visit as she traveled among what had always seemed like the infinite stars of the galaxy.

The hard and basic truth of this moment was that she had no real choice. Or, rather, she had made the choice that now brought her such certainty years ago, when she had accepted her first command. And perhaps some small part of her had known even then that in choosing the life of her dreams, she was also choosing her ultimate fatethe probability of it, anyway, if not the finer points.

The acrid tang of the air, which the rooms environmental processors were failing to clear, the suffocating heat that rose from the deck, the sweat matting her white bangs to her forehead and trickling down her back, the pulsing ocher glow of the emergency lights, the weight of the compression rifle she cradled in one arm, the glowing panel of the portable beam emitter she had seconds to target, and the uncomfortable itch of the leather band she had just secured around her wrist were the vivid details of a picture that had been drawn the day shed accepted that her life was to be one of servicea picture that had been hazy and unfocused until these last few precious seconds had finally caught up with her.

Mechanical whines, hisses, clanks, and the occasional grunt behind her were the last symphony she would hear. True, they werent her beloved Khachaturian, but they would suffice. Focusing on them made it easier to block out the distant intermittent shouts and phaser discharges coming from elsewhere on the decknerve-racking reminders that the battle for the lives of her six-hundred-plus crew members would continue even after she was gone.

A crackle of static over the comm system interrupted her reverie, followed by the voice of Lieutenant Psilakis from the bridge.

Two hostiles and eight escorts are approaching your position, Captain.

Only two?

She smiled grimly before replying with a simple I know. Her tricorder had told her as much forty-five seconds earlier.

As she imagined the hostiles dancing through the hall toward her, her tight smile widened. They were coming to finish what they had begun. They were hell-bent on destroying her and her ship. But there was still an infinitesimal possibility that they would not succeed. Standing between the Children of the Storm and their ultimate victory was a terrified but ingenious lieutenant junior grade, Phinnegan Bryce. It was still possible that he would succeed in bringing the slipstream drive on line to hurtle her badly damaged vessel far from the peril they now faced. This was a task he alone could perform, and she was duty bound to give him as much time as she could to finish his work, even if it was the last thing she would ever do.

A few more seconds, Captain, Phinn called, no longer bothering to try to sound brave.