The Black Shore Read online

  Kim shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Captain. It’s strictly a one-way transmission. The signal wasn’t even aimed at us specifically; Voyager just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” The voice from Ryolanov began to deliver its invitation once more. Kim cut off the audio transmission, leaving the visuals up on the screen.

  “In other words,” Janeway concluded, turning back toward the screen, “what we’re dealing with is the subspace equivalent of a message in a bottle.”

  “Not unlike Earth’s SETI program in the late twentieth century,” Tuvok commented, referring to the historic Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence. “Intriguing.”

  Janeway swung around in her chair to look at the Vulcan. “What’s your take on this, Mr. Tuvok?” She had known Tuvok longer than any other member of her crew and valued his judgment. Indeed, it often occurred to her that, given the Vulcan’s longer-than-human lifespan, Tuvok would probably be in command of Voyager if and when the misplaced starship found its way home several decades from now. She found this thought both comforting and, on a personal level, disturbing.

  “From a security standpoint,” Tuvok said, “it concerns me that our would-be hosts seem unwilling to show themselves.”

  “Perhaps they do not wish to be judged by their appearance,” Chakotay said. “Given the wide variety of physical forms throughout the galaxy, this strikes me as a reasonable precaution. After all, not all spacefaring peoples are as accepting of diversity as the Federation.”

  And even Starfleet, Janeway thought, has occasionally been known to misjudge an alien species on account of its appearance. She recalled humanity’s tragic first encounter with the Hortas of Janus VI close to a century ago, not to mention that ugly Romulan witch hunt aboard the Enterprise a few years back.

  “You may be correct, Commander,” Tuvok conceded. “Still, I would prefer more data before accepting Ryolanov’s extraordinary hospitality at face value.”

  “As would we all,” Janeway said, “but the advantages of pursuing this invitation further seem to outweigh the risks involved. As a Starfleet vessel, our fundamental duty must be to seek out unknown alien cultures and increase the total knowledge of our collective peoples. Someday we will get back to the Federation, and when we do, we will be the modern-day Marco Polos of the Delta Quadrant, bringing back vital information about new territory that no human—and no Vulcan—has ever explored.”

  With luck, she thought, that little pep talk will help perk up the bridge crew’s sagging morale. It was nothing she hadn’t said before, but it couldn’t hurt to reinforce the higher purpose of their journey every so often. “Besides,” she said, feasting her eyes once more on the spectacular beauty of that unearthly beach, “this might be just what the doctor ordered.”

  She shared a sideways glance, and a conspiratorial smile, with Chakotay. “You know,” he said, “it might be at that.”

  “Mr. Kim,” Janeway said firmly. “I assume we can trace the transmission back to its place of origin?”

  The young ensign looked up from the monitor at the operations console. “Easily, Captain.”

  “Transmit the necessary coordinates to the conn,” she ordered. “Mr. Paris, set a course for Ryolanov. Warp factor five.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Paris said with enthusiasm. His fingers raced deftly over the controls of the navigation station. He seemed eager to plant his feet upon that glistening jet-black sand and dive perhaps into that shimmering golden foam. Janeway could hardly blame him.

  “Er, Captain?” Kim asked. “Shall I take the visual transmission off the main viewer?”

  Janeway sank back into the cushioned padding of the captain’s chair. She watched the violet palm trees sway hypnotically above the sunlit beach. “Not just yet, Mr. Kim,” she decided. “Leave it up a little while longer.”

  She couldn’t imagine a more enchanting locale for a shore leave.

  CHAPTER

  2

  “SO YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT THIS RYOLANOV?” JANEWAY asked Neelix as she, Tuvok, Tom Paris, and Neelix stepped onto the transporter pads. Tuvok had argued, quite properly, against the captain joining the first mission to the planet’s surface, but she had decided to overrule his objections in this instance. So far, the Ryol had greeted Voyager’s initial hails with nothing but peaceful and friendly overtures, nor had they demonstrated any sign of hostility toward the visitors from the Federation. They had readily agreed to a meeting between representatives of Voyager and their own leader and even provided coordinates for a location on the planet’s surface.

  “Frankly, Captain,” Neelix replied, taking his place upon the transporter platform, “I’m more amazed than any of you to find a flourishing people and planet in the middle of this interstellar wasteland. Every reputable explorer and trader, and most of the less reputable ones, wrote off this entire region generations ago. ‘Creation’s garbage heap,’ the early Haakonian cartographers used to call it. ‘Here there lies . . . nothing,’ they inscribed on their maps. Not even the Kazon considered it worth claiming. There weren’t supposed to be any valuable resources or populations anywhere in this sector.” Neelix laughed heartily, shaking the wiry bristles along his jawline. “Who would have ever guessed that a veritable paradise was hiding amid all this lifeless desolation?”

  “Indeed,” Tuvok said. “It defies probability that your vaunted familiarity with the Delta Quadrant should prove incomplete once more.”

  “That’s right!” Neelix cheerfully seconded Tuvok, then mulled over the Vulcan’s statement a few more moments. “Hey, wait, what exactly did you mean by that?”

  “No more than what I said,” Tuvok replied. His phaser was affixed to the right side of his gold-and-black Starfleet uniform. At the Vulcan’s insistence, both he and Tom Paris carried side arms. Janeway suspected that Neelix probably had a weapon concealed on his person as well; the little Talaxian was too much of a wily survivor to go into an unknown environment unarmed. She had left her own phaser in her quarters, largely as a symbolic gesture of good faith. At present, she thought, the Ryol appear to have no ulterior motives—and little in the way of a military. Preliminary sensor readings taken from orbit had revealed Ryolanov to be exactly what it appeared to be: an M-class class planet inhabited by a peaceful and orderly society. Voyager’s sensors hadn’t even detected the presence of a single prison installation, let alone any battlefields or weapons systems. The Ryol probably have more reason to fear us than we have to distrust them.

  “It’s time,” she announced, silencing the banter. “Prepare to beam down. B’Elanna?”

  Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres had volunteered to personally man the transporter controls, just in case something went wrong. Although the Ryol appeared friendly, first impressions could be deceptive—as in the case of the Trabe convoy who had betrayed Voyager a year ago. “The first sign of trouble,” the half-Klingon engineer said grimly, “and I’m beaming you back onto the ship faster than a Cardassian can violate a treaty agreement.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” Janeway replied. “Trust me, if they start boiling us in cooking pots, you’ll be the first to know.”

  If Torres was amused by Janeway’s quip, she didn’t show it. She glowered at the controls as she activated the transporter. Both Torres and the transporter room itself seemed to fade from view as a wall of cascading yellow sparks obscured Janeway’s vision. In fact, the captain knew, it was she who was really dissolving into a coruscating pillar of pure energy. Janeway experienced a momentary chill, then the sparkling distortion cleared from her eyes and she found herself standing, along with the rest of the away team, on the surface of Ryolanov.

  They were outdoors, in the very setting whose beckoning image the Ryol had broadcast to the stars. Let’s hear it for truth in advertising, Janeway thought. The beach was even more breathtaking in reality. The waves, which she now saw belonged to a spacious harbor, looked like overlapping sheets of molten gold. There were, if anything, even fewer clouds in the crimson sky.
The air was warmer than Voyager’s, but not uncomfortably so, and fragrant with the aroma of blooming flowers. Janeway took a deep breath, enjoying the sweetly perfumed air. A breeze blew in from the harbor, carrying the scent of, no, not salt, but ginger. She could almost taste the spice upon her lips. The gravity, as suggested by the planet’s size and density, felt perceptibly lighter than Earth’s. She could feel a little extra spring in her step.

  They stood upon a level pathway that looked as though it had been created by fusing together hundreds of the tiny black pellets. A boardwalk of sorts, Janeway guessed, formed from the basic stuff of the beach itself. From where they now assembled, she could see that the obsidian beach bordered a well-trimmed garden that eventually gave way to a group of graceful opalescent buildings less than a kilometer away. A trio of humanoid figures waited in front of a topiary arch. The stems and leaves of the plants, she noted, were as purple as the drooping fronds of the trees upon the beach. The blooms themselves displayed every shade of green, from chartreuse to jade. The botanists aboard Voyager will have a field day here, she guessed.

  The Ryol delegation approached them, consisting of two men and one woman. As they came closer into view, Janeway saw that all three Ryol were extremely attractive by humanoid standards. Their skin was a uniform reddish brown, almost maroon, while their pale green eyes shone like malachite. Both men had tawny yellow manes like a lion’s, while only a thin layer of blond fur covered the female’s scalp. Janeway noted that Tom Paris’s eyes widened significantly as his gaze fell upon the Ryol woman. “My, oh, my,” Paris said, too quietly to be heard by the oncoming aliens, “I think I’m going to like it here.”

  Well suited to the tropical environment, the clothing of the Ryol was both lightweight and brief. All three wore embroidered vests and short skirts that fell to just above their knees. The men’s vests were open in front, exposing hairless chests, while the woman’s was tied shut by three scarlet ribbons. Both vests and skirts seemed made from a thin gauzy fabric that resembled silk. Aside from the fur upon their heads, the Ryol displayed little hair upon their bodies. Sandals protected the soles of their feet; Janeway noted that their nails were dark brown and slightly pointed. Delicate pieces of silver jewelry adorned their fingers and ears. At a quick glance, the craftsmanship appeared exquisite.

  “Welcome!” one of the men declared. Janeway recognized his voice and accent from the transmission she had heard aboard Voyager. “I am Varathael, Eldest of the Ryol.” He in fact looked older and more mature than either of his companions. His mane was fuller and streaked with gray, giving him the look of an Old Testament patriarch, although he seemed far from infirm. His back was straight, his bearing proud and dignified. He reminded Janeway a little of Lord Burleigh, the highborn hero of her holodeck adventures. A silver medallion hung from a chain around his neck. A translucent red gem, its multifaceted surface reflecting the sunlight, rested at the center of a shining metal disk. A symbol of his authority?

  The Ryol appeared unfazed by the away team’s sudden materialization on their beach, which Janeway took as a good sign. She had warned the inhabitants of the planet of what to expect during their preliminary discussions regarding this meeting, but less technologically advanced cultures sometimes reacted with surprise and alarm anyway. Perhaps Ryolanov was more scientifically advanced than it appeared on first glance. After all, she reminded herself, they knew enough to transmit an invitation out to the stars.

  Varathael gestured toward his younger associates. “This is Laazia, my daughter and heir, and Naxor, my personal aide.”

  “I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” Laazia said warmly. Her voice, surprisingly deep, had a slight vibrato quality. A wide smile revealed rows of pearly white teeth. Long black lashes curled above exotic green eyes. “Your arrival is the most exciting thing to happen on this planet in ages.”

  “Most stimulating, yes,” Naxor agreed, although he seemed to be controlling his ebullience easily enough. The young Ryol male struck Janeway as aloof and a bit full of himself. A thin white scar, running from the corner of his mouth to below his chin, marked his handsome features. Janeway wondered how he had obtained the scar, even as Naxor declined to establish eye contact with her when he spoke. Still, she reminded herself, compared to a typical Kazon warrior or Vidiian organ snatcher, Naxor was practically overflowing with hospitality. In the Delta Quadrant, she thought, I’ll take whatever friends I can find.

  “I want to thank you all for your gracious invitation to visit this extraordinarily beautiful world,” she said, “I’m Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager.” She introduced each member of the away team by name. “We look forward to learning more about you and your people.”

  “No more than we wish to share our blessings with you,” Varathael said. “We have been radiating our message of welcome out into the ether for many years now, but yours is the first vessel to respond.” He eyed the away team with unconcealed fascination. “So many shapes and colors,” he marveled. “From whence, Captain, did you say your ship originated?”

  “The United Federation of Planets,” she explained, “which represents many races and worlds working together in cooperation and harmony. Mr. Paris and I both come from a planet known as Earth, while Mr. Tuvok is a Vulcan. Only Mr. Neelix is a native of this region of space, which we call the Delta Quadrant. He is a Talaxian.”

  “No doubt you have heard of us,” Neelix said. He puffed out his chest, preening in his garish motley attire. “We Talaxians are descended from a noble breed of explorers and adventurers.”

  “Alas, no,” Varathael answered, “although I am sure your people are quite remarkable in their own way.” He returned his attention to Janeway. “Earth, Vulcan . . . your Federation sounds most colorful and intriguing. I hope I shall have the opportunity to visit it myself someday, and behold your people in all their rich variety.”

  Janeway shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid the Federation is very far away.” Much too far from here, she thought.

  “But surely your magnificent starship, your Voyager, can traverse such distances in a twinkling?” Varathael said. “After all, look how far you have come.”

  “That was something of a fluke,” Janeway stated.

  She looked for a way to broach the subject gracefully. “I am curious, Elder,” she said. “You have not encountered the Talaxians before, yet the Ryol are clearly comfortable with the concept of other worlds and other forms of intelligent life. How far have your own people traveled beyond this planet?”

  He looked up at the beckoning heavens. “To be honest, we have devoted few resources to the exploration of space. Look around you: why ever would we want to leave such a natural paradise? It always seemed easier, I suppose, to invite other races to visit us here.”

  Janeway could see why crossing the void to explore worthless and unexciting lumps of dirt might end up a low priority for the Ryol. If humanity had not been born with some sort of incurable wanderlust hardwired into our genetic makeup, she thought, then we might have grown discouraged as well by the harsh conditions we encountered throughout Earth’s solar system. Janeway felt a tiny surge of pride at humanity’s stubborn persistence in the face of a seemingly hostile universe, although she diplomatically kept such sentiments to herself.

  “This is undeniably a beautiful world,” she said. “I can readily see why you love it so.” She hoped it would be possible to allow her crew some shore leave here. She wouldn’t mind a little vacation herself.

  “Excuse me, Captain,” Tuvok interrupted. The Vulcan security chief joined her beside Varathael and his entourage. “Commander Chakotay is awaiting a report on the status of the away team.”

  “Tell him that everything is fine,” she instructed, “and that we will be staying a little while longer.” She looked at Varathael. “Assuming that is acceptable to you, of course.”

  “Absolutely!” Varathael said, beaming, bright green eyes welcoming them. His smile was as bright and flawless as
his daughter’s. “Why, you haven’t even seen our city yet. Come, let us stroll through this public garden. I confess, we are quite proud of our lovely flora.”

  Sure beats crawling through the mud during a firefight, Janeway thought, or trying to hold a collapsing warp core together. “On behalf of the U.S.S. Voyager and the United Federation of Planets, I accept your most appealing offer.”

  The heady aroma of the lush green blossoms was almost overwhelming as Varathael led them through an intricate floral maze composed of coral-like bushes that rose well above their heads. Tuvok kept close to Janeway, his somber features unmoved by the beauty and tranquillity of the garden. Predictably, Paris dropped back to mingle with Laazia, while Neelix attached himself to Naxor, who looked none too pleased by this turn of events. “You have really never met a Talaxian before?” she heard Neelix say. “How astounding! Let me tell you all about us. . . .”

  Small birds, looking much like sparrows, chirped in the spreading branches of the coral-bushes, Janeway observed, while carefully avoiding the waving tendrils of the anemone-plants. Hundreds of shiny black pebbles paved the path beneath her feet, and the sun was warm upon her face. I could get used to this, she thought.

  Laazia spoke softly behind Janeway, laughing at some joke of Paris’s. Watch it, Lieutenant, Janeway thought sternly, wishing she were telepathic. Let’s not charm the locals too much. She still recalled the trouble Paris’s wandering eye had gotten him into on the Banean homeworld. What had that young woman’s name been again? Ah, yes, she remembered. Lidell. She glanced back over her shoulder. Laazia was already holding on to Paris’s arm as they shared another laugh. Not far away, Naxor glared at the couple with a scowl on his face while Neelix babbled on, oblivious to the Ryol male’s apparent anger. Janeway wondered what exactly Naxor’s relationship to Laazia was. This could be a problem, she thought.