Unworthy - Kirsten Beyer [33]
“But what?” Chakotay demanded.
“What if we never find them?” Cambridge finished for him.
“Then we’ll adapt,” Chakotay suggested.
The stares of concern that flashed among the three of them sealed a silent agreement.
We might, Cambridge thought sadly, but I have no idea if Seven will.
Given how much this extraordinary woman had already endured, never mind the invaluable service she had offered the Federation time and again, the counselor was suddenly struck by the enormity of what might be lost if they failed.
“Right,” Cambridge muttered. “We’d best get started then.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Voyager was late.
If Tom’s last message was accurate, they should have arrived at or near enough B’Elanna’s coordinates for her long-range sensors to have detected them by now.
B’Elanna had hung all her hopes for Miral’s recovery on the appearance of the ship she had never intended to set foot upon again. She had no idea who their new chief medical officer might be. But as long as the doctor was Starfleet, she assumed he would be a vast improvement on the medical staff from New Talax.
If they ever get here, she worried silently.
Her stomach ached with an unpleasant combination of fear and nausea. Miral rested beside her in her booster seat, her head tipped forward at that sharp angle only babies seemed to manage with ease. B’Elanna had programmed a subscreen of her control panel to display constant readings of Miral’s vital signs. B’Elanna subconsciously matched her breath to the slow but steady blip monitoring her child’s heart.
The last time B’Elanna had risked Miral’s life without informing Tom, three years earlier when she had first learned of the danger posed by the Warriors of Gre’thor, it had almost strained her marriage to the breaking point. She didn’t want to make that mistake again, and truly, the likelihood that any transmission she sent would be picked up by the Warriors of Gre’thor was infinitesimal. The problem was she didn’t know where Voyager was. If they were en route, like they were supposed to be, the slipstream corridor would garble any incoming transmissions. Anything received would be automatically stored in a buffer until the ship emerged from slipstream velocity, so whether she sent a message now or later, they wouldn’t receive it until the point had become moot.
Of course if they weren’t already on their way that probably meant they wouldn’t arrive for hours. Telling Tom to hurry up or his daughter might die wasn’t going to help, though it might limit the number of recriminations between them should the unthinkable come to pass in his absence.
B’Elanna needed a plan, or she was going to lose what little patience she still had. The nearest inhabited system her charts showed was twelve light-years away. She would give Voyager ten hours. If they didn’t appear, she would make the short trip and take her chances with a hopefully friendly alien species.
Running her hand lightly over Miral’s forehead ridges, which were uncomfortably warm to the touch, she quickly amended her plan.
Eight hours at the most.
She was spared the need to reconsider again by a blurt from her sensor relay.
Kahless be praised.
A ship was approaching at warp speed and would be within range in minutes.
“It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” B’Elanna said softly as her heart climbed into her throat. “Daddy’s almost here.”
“Warning, unknown vessel approaching,” the computer advised.
“It’s not an unknown vessel,” B’Elanna chided. “Why are you reading it wrong?” she asked, wondering how many new bugs she was going to find in her system since the well-intentioned Talaxians had been mucking around it. B’Elanna had supervised their efforts but hadn’t focused on them as sharply as was usual, given the amount of time she’d spent in the infirmary with Miral. She’d already been forced to reprogram the replicator that had offered leola root stew no matter what she ordered.
Quickly reinitializing her scanners, B’Elanna muttered softly to the computer, “Look again.” But before the computer had time to adjust to the baseline