The Garden - Melissa Scott [84]
"We weren't seeing anything either," Kim answered. "But it seemed worth asking."
"What kind of interference?"
"We don't know yet," Kim said. "It looked like a weather problem-high electrical activity in the upper layers of the atmosphere-but there isn't anything like that on our screens."
"Is it a problem?" Paris asked, and there was a pause.
"We don't know that either," Kim said at last. "The transporter chief's working on it. But the captain says you should be prepared for a quick beam-up if it worsens."
"I'll pass that along," Paris answered. "Paris out." He touched his communicator again, and made the announcement, listening hard for the static he had heard before. This time, the channel was as clear as the sky, the answering acknowledgments coming through without distortion, and he shook his head as he moved back into the shadow of the trees. "Gray-rose?"
The Kirse answered without taking her eyes from the harvester. "Yes?"
"Voyager is reporting interference-weather interference, they think-with the transporter. Do you have any idea what might be causing it?"
"Weather interference?" Grayrose repeated. This time, her hands did slow on the controls, and out of the corner of his eye, Paris saw the harvester grind to a halt, one arm frozen with its fingers just touching a ripe fruit.
"Yeah. Like an electrical storm, something like that?" Paris gave a rueful smile, and pointed to the sky. "Not that there's any sign of anything."
Grayrose's mouth rounded, eyes widening. "The ion field," she said. "It could be that. The low-orbit stations release it when a hostile ship approaches, to confuse their sensors once they enter atmosphere. Would that interfere with your transporter?"
"It could," Paris answered, grimly, and touched his communicator again. "Paris to Voyager. I just might have an answer on that interference, Harry."
"Go ahead." It was Chakotay who answered, and Paris suppressed a grimace.
"Grayrose here says that the defense stations in low orbit release an ion field to confuse hostile craft in atmosphere. That could be the source of the problem."
"It sure could be," Chakotay answered, and his voice in turn was grim. "The interference seems to be building. Can Grayrose give us an estimate of its peak frequencies?"
Paris looked at the Kirse, who shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm not part of that system. But Silver-Hammer would know. Or of course Adamant."
"She doesn't know," Paris repeated. "She suggests you ask Adamant, or Silver-Hammer."
"Right." There was a little pause. Paris imagined Chakotay consulting his console, and wished abruptly
that he was back on the ship himself, sitting at the conn. The intensity of his desire startled him-the last thing he'd expected was to develop an attachment to Voyager or its crew-and he tried to shove it aside. But the fact remained he wanted to be back on the ship, where he could do some good, where he belonged. He was glad when Chakotay spoke again. "It seems to be settling into a regular pattern, and there are valleys that shouldn't cause any problems for the transporter, so the captain says you should stay down there a little longer, see if we can't get the harvest finished."
"This part of it, anyway," Paris said, in spite of himself.
"We need everything we can get, Mr. Paris," Chakotay said flatly. "You know that as well as I do."
And in fact I don't think you 're deliberately putting me in danger, Paris thought. I just suspect you might not realize what you 're doing. The debt I put you under by saving your life was bigger than I understood. "Understood, Mr. Chakotay," he said, and forced a cheerfulness he didn't feel.
"Mr. Kim is contacting Adamant," Chakotay went on. "We'll contact you if there's any change in the situation."
"Thanks," Paris answered, and this time couldn't keep the irony