The Garden - Melissa Scott [80]
"And I appreciate your openness," Janeway answered. "Mr. Tuvok, keep me informed of any changes in your status, and be ready to beam back to the ship at the first sign of trouble."
"Yes, Captain."
"Good. Janeway out." She looked around the bridge, checking the familiar play of lights that signaled the ship's status, and Chakotay cleared his throat.
"Do you think we can trust the Andirrim, Captain?"
That was the prize question, Janeway thought, the one on which Voyager's very survival could depend. And that, of course, gave her her answer. "We'll maintain yellow alert for now," she said. "Mr. Kim, I want continuous monitoring of the incoming ships. Go to red alert at the slightest sign of hostility."
"Yes, Captain," Kim answered.
"Mr. Chakotay," Janeway went on, "I want you to inform Mr. Paris of the situation. Tell him to collect
as much food as he can, but to beam himself and his crew back up here at the first sign of trouble."
"Very good, Captain." Chakotay turned to his own console, and Janeway stared at the image on her personal screen. The pale shapes that were the Andir-rim ships crept slowly across the schematic of the Kirse system, drawing inexorably closer to the planet where Voyager hung in orbit. The orbital stations filled space around them, a thousand tiny lights that would protect the planet, but could all too easily endanger the ship. But that, at least, was something she could remedy, she thought. She reached for her datapadd and began calculating a safer orbit, grateful for a job to occupy her mind.
The beep of the communicator was loud over the quiet of the Kirse field. Tom Paris straightened from the skid of piled grain and the quiescent harvester-robot that pulled it, and reached for the communicator pinned to his chest. "Paris here."
To his surprise, it was Chakotay, not Tuvok, who answered. "Paris, this is Voyager. A fleet of Andirrim ships have just arrived in the system."
"Andirrim?" Paris repeated, involuntarily, and grimaced. "Sorry, sir, go on."
"Andirrim," Chakotay said, and his voice was grim. "Five ships. They say they've come to trade, and the Kirse are letting them take orbit, but we- neither Adamant nor the captain-are fully convinced it isn't a trick. We're at yellow alert just in case. The captain's orders are for you and your party to continue collecting as much food as possible, but stand by to beam up at the first sign of trouble. We're monitoring the ships' approach, and we'll keep you informed."
Paris glanced up at the sky, knowing the pointless-
ness of the gesture, seeing only the thin streaks of cloud that crossed the deeper blue. It was late afternoon, and the sky to the west was white with haze, turning the sun to a smear of light too painful to observe directly. "What about Tuvok's team?"
"They've been informed, of course," Chakotay answered. "Tuvok's with Adamant now, monitoring the approach from their control room, and will inform you and us of any changes, too."
Paris nodded, and turned to look across the field. His team was scattered, distant points of red and blue and black vivid against the pale breadcrust-brown of the waist-high grain; near each one, a rustling among the stalks marked the presence of one of the Kirse's harvester-robots. The first skids were almost filled, he guessed-at least, they should be, if his own was any indication. "Do you want us to start beaming the grain up now?" he asked. "We've got a lot collected already." It wasn't much, really, certainly not enough to feed all of Voyager's crew, but at least it would be a vitamin source they had not had before.
"Good idea," Chakotay said, and not for the first time Paris heard a hint of reluctance in the other man's voice. It wasn't so much that the ex-Maquis didn't respect the idea, Paris knew, but purely that Chakotay still hated admitting that he, Paris, could be of service to the ship. Not that I blame him, entirely, Paris thought, but I wish he'd let it go. He pushed the thought aside, knowing how pointless it was, and concentrated