Marooned - Christie Golden [48]
Chakotay met every pair of eyes, and for a moment, but for the gentle curves of a Starfleet vessel about them and the bicolored Starfleet uniforms they wore, he could almost have been the Maquis captain again. Nearly everyone here had served under him before he and Janeway had formed their strange, but vital, alliance. Lieutenant Chell, big and bulky in his yellow and black security uniform, his blue, ridged face turned up to Chakotay's. How ironic that he was here representing Tuvok; Chell, who had been a particular thorn in Tuvok's side not so long ago. Young Garan was here, too, his earring removed, ready to offer his recently acquired scientific knowledge to help his fellow crewmembers, his face older, stronger than it had been before.
Henley leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed across her slender body, her lively tongue bridled and her eyes alert. Maquis, all of them; or at least, they had once been. Wryly Chakotay realized there were more former Maquis in positions of power aboard Voyager at this moment than Starfleet officers. Once, that would have been a cue for mutiny, when Seska had been here.
But Seska was gone, dead in a misguided attempt to seize Voyager, and the crewmen now assembled had long since learned to live under Starfleet rules and tender their own talents to all their benefit.
Chakotay wanted to tell them, these rough-andtumble upstarts from once upon a time, how very proud he was of them, but he decided against it. Time enough to give them pats on the back when they were relaxing in the artificial sun at Neelix's resort, or at Sandrine's over a game of pool.
He decided to cut right to the chase as he sank down into a chair and folded his hands.
"The shuttlecraft with the captain and the rest of the senior staff aboard is now nearly twelve hours overdue. I'd be lying if I said I didn't suspect foul play. We can't follow standard procedure here. The ion storm has cut us off from initiating any contact with Aren Yashar, though we're sending an automatic hail every ten minutes. He's not responding. We can't beam down because of the distortion field, and we're also unable to send down an investigative team aboard another shuttlecraft because the sentinel ships won't let us get close enough." He managed a wry grin. "I'd appreciate any and all suggestions at this point."
"Lieutenant Carey and I have done some investigating," said Kim. "And after talking with Garan, it's our theory that the captain's hunch was right, this ion storm is indeed artificial."
Chakotay raised an eyebrow and turned to the young Bajoran, who suddenly looked uncomfortable at being the center of attention. Nevertheless, when he spoke, his tone of voice was certain.
"A natural storm does follow certain patterns," began Garan. "But because it is a naturally occurring phenomenon, every storm should be different. This one operates like clockwork." He glanced over at Carey. "If I may?" asked the curly-headed engineer.
"Please proceed, Mr. Carey," replied Chakotay.
Carey tapped in a program, and a holographic image of the planet manifested, floating above the conference table. "We've been monitoring the storm constantly since we first arrived. Here's the first image we have. Keep an eye on it, and then watch this second image." Another miniature planet, complete with swirling ion storm, appeared in front of them. The green mist ebbed and flowed, apparently random. Suddenly Carey hit another button and the storm froze.
The pattern was identical to the first one.
"This is what the storm looked like four point seven hours after we arrived. And four point seven hours after that-" A third holographic, palm-side planet appeared. The storm was again in the same position.
"If Mr. Tuvok were here," said Garan with a slight smile, "I'm sure he'd rattle off the odds of this occurring naturally without even thinking about it. We had to rely on the computer. The odds of this being a natural