String Theory_ Cohesion (Book 1) - Jeffrey Lang [10]
Ramscoops. Hydrogen. She pondered. These people, whoever they might be, were propelling themselves through the void by blowing up small hydrogen bombs and riding the concussive blasts. What could motivate them to do such a thing?
The answer dangled behind the main hull: dozens of blocky containers, each attached to the vessel with a cable that had to be as thick as Voyager’s primary hull. For a moment, Janeway found herself wondering if the ship’s creators had been inspired by the thought of some unimaginably gigantic hot-air balloon carrying aloft tiny gondolas. “Tuvok,” she said. “Life signs?”
“Sensors are still collecting data,” Tuvok said, “but current estimates are in the range of fifteen thousand individuals.”
In a hushed whisper, Knowles, at the navigation station, croaked, “One moment there was nothing there. I swear, Captain. Nothing! And then…this…!”
Janeway looked to Tuvok for an answer, but the Vulcan said only, “Unknown, Captain.”
Janeway settled back into her chair, adjusted her uniform jacket, and, feeling a grin of anticipation creep across her face, said, “Then I guess we had better just ask. Send a hail, Mr. Tuvok.”
Chapter 2
Disaster minus 301 minutes
“Mr. Paris, wake up.”
Tom did not wish to obey. The throbbing ache behind his eyes made opening them sound like a terrible idea, but he felt himself compelled to listen to the voice despite the fact that the speaker sounded irritated, impatient, and persnickety. Sure signs that Tom was in the tender care of the Emergency Medical Hologram.
Tom opened his eyes and saw red emergency lights glowing softly on the polished dome of a hairless pate. The frown, ah, the frown, crowning achievement of Dr. Zimmerman’s work—all those little lines and folds, reproduced from Zimmerman’s own dour visage with painstaking effectiveness. “Hey, Doc,” Tom said, and felt helpless as a glad smile stretched across his face. “Good to see you.”
“A pleasant enough sentiment,” the Doctor said. Tom could hear the muted sounds of people and machines exchanging information. I’m still on the bridge, Tom thought, and the idea pleased him out of all proportion. The Doctor explained why. “But I suspect it is motivated primarily by the compound I just administered—a little something to enhance blood flow to the brain.”
Tom said, “Great!”
“Perhaps the formula requires some rethinking.”
“Fine!” Tom said. And it was. Truly. Fine. Everything was fine.
“Keep your voice down,” the Doctor scolded.
Tom felt part of him wanting to cringe, but the precise combination of muscles was nowhere to be found in his body’s current vocabulary, so instead he whispered, “Sorry.”
The Doctor patted Tom reassuringly. “Corpsmen will arrive shortly and take you to sickbay. Until then, try to be silent. The captain is about to make contact with the alien ship and we cannot afford to distract her at this time.”
Tom did not attempt to respond, but adjusted his position so he could see the viewscreen over the Doctor’s shoulder. Above him, he heard Tuvok say, “The alien vessel is returning our hail, Captain.”
“On the main viewer, Mr. Tuvok.”
A moment later, the image resolved and Janeway had her first sight of a Monorhan. She knew they called themselves Monorhans because the universal translator had plucked this information from the hail, but it was experiencing difficulty with almost everything else, including the name of the ship and its captain.
The face staring down at them was bilaterally symmetrical—an arrangement that evolution seemed to find favor with the galaxy around—but the alien’s jaw was much longer than that of most humanoid species, with oversized canines in the front and a ridge of molars up each side. The nose was broad, flat, shiny, and ringed with stubby sensory organs whose use Janeway could only guess. Infrared? Ultrasound?
The Monorhan captain’s eyes were structured with familiar features—white, iris,