docked to the long pier at the rear of the station, while the ship ahead of them had the bloated, luxurious design of an interstellar passenger liner.
When it finally moved off, sinking like a rock down to the Hub, another bored monotone interrupted the obnoxious advertising buoys. “Unaligned vessel Voyager, processing code 07531TG6, state your business in the Hub.”
Janeway had an extra tricorder ready in case Tuvok’s ran out of power.
“We are pursuing a freighter known as Kapon. They stole our main computer.”
For the first time, there was clearly a reaction from one of the Tutopans. “You mean your memory banks were absorbed?”
“No, the core was left intact,” Janeway explained. “But the entire processing unit was removed. It happened while we were in the asteroid belt of your secondary system.”
The monotone returned. “State your business in the Hub.”
“I told you, we’re attempting to locate the freighter Kapon,” Janeway repeated. “This is an emergency situation.”
There was a pause as if the docking official was accessing data.
“Vessel Kapon… aligned House Min-Tutopa. Arrived last shift, transporting salvage cargo. There will be no charge for this information.”
“No charge?” Janeway repeated incredulously.
“You may file a request for an appointment with an agent of House Min-Tutopa,” the voice continued. “For no additional charge.”
“Yes, I’d appreciate that,” Janeway replied. “Let me talk to someone who knows what’s going on.”
The official didn’t seem to notice her tone. “Please follow the indicator beacon to your docking assignment.”
As if in response, a yellow ball shot out of the front of the station.
It took up position directly in front of Voyager, then moved forward as if urging them to follow.
Janeway pushed herself up. “I’d like to file a complaint with your authorities about the theft of our computer.”
“You must appeal to one of the Houses to receive sanctions from the Cartel.”
“According to what you’ve told us, one of the Houses is responsible.
Can’t we appeal directly to the Cartel?”
“For sanctions? Against one of the Houses?” The official broke from his routine. “Where are you people from, anyway? The other side of the galaxy?”
“Yes,” Janeway snapped.
As if taxed beyond reasonable belief, the official’s interest disappeared. “Please proceed to your docking assignment,” he intoned.
“You’re holding up the line.”
The yellow beacon danced in front of Voyager, leading them a leisurely spiral down and around the Hub, as a stream of falsely upbeat advertising rolled through the speaker. When Janeway closed the channel, the beacon froze and began flashing urgently.
It only moved again when she reopened the channel, while a recording admonished them to “listen for further instructions.”
“A captive audience,” Janeway said under her breath. Rather than continue to fume over the delay or the noise, she took the opportunity to call sickbay. Kes reported that the doctor’s programs were still suffering intermittent failures, and they had only replicated enough antidote for half the crew so far. Ever the optimist, Kes added that everything was basically under control.
“Chakotay is conscious and requesting to return to duty,” Kes added.
“But the doctor wants to observe the effects of the antitoxin for a few more hours.”
“Understood,” Janeway acknowledged, setting aside the tricorder that was tuned to the sickbay frequency. She was starting to be surrounded by open tricorders—perched on Chakotay’s chair, on her monitor—and she was having trouble remembering which ones were which.
“I swear we’ve passed that docking spire already,” Paris complained.
“PTO-four-three, yes, I’m sure of it… only we were heading in from the port side last time.”
Helpfully, Kim offered, “There’s a lot of traffic around here; maybe flight patterns dictate a spiral
When it finally moved off, sinking like a rock down to the Hub, another bored monotone interrupted the obnoxious advertising buoys. “Unaligned vessel Voyager, processing code 07531TG6, state your business in the Hub.”
Janeway had an extra tricorder ready in case Tuvok’s ran out of power.
“We are pursuing a freighter known as Kapon. They stole our main computer.”
For the first time, there was clearly a reaction from one of the Tutopans. “You mean your memory banks were absorbed?”
“No, the core was left intact,” Janeway explained. “But the entire processing unit was removed. It happened while we were in the asteroid belt of your secondary system.”
The monotone returned. “State your business in the Hub.”
“I told you, we’re attempting to locate the freighter Kapon,” Janeway repeated. “This is an emergency situation.”
There was a pause as if the docking official was accessing data.
“Vessel Kapon… aligned House Min-Tutopa. Arrived last shift, transporting salvage cargo. There will be no charge for this information.”
“No charge?” Janeway repeated incredulously.
“You may file a request for an appointment with an agent of House Min-Tutopa,” the voice continued. “For no additional charge.”
“Yes, I’d appreciate that,” Janeway replied. “Let me talk to someone who knows what’s going on.”
The official didn’t seem to notice her tone. “Please follow the indicator beacon to your docking assignment.”
As if in response, a yellow ball shot out of the front of the station.
It took up position directly in front of Voyager, then moved forward as if urging them to follow.
Janeway pushed herself up. “I’d like to file a complaint with your authorities about the theft of our computer.”
“You must appeal to one of the Houses to receive sanctions from the Cartel.”
“According to what you’ve told us, one of the Houses is responsible.
Can’t we appeal directly to the Cartel?”
“For sanctions? Against one of the Houses?” The official broke from his routine. “Where are you people from, anyway? The other side of the galaxy?”
“Yes,” Janeway snapped.
As if taxed beyond reasonable belief, the official’s interest disappeared. “Please proceed to your docking assignment,” he intoned.
“You’re holding up the line.”
The yellow beacon danced in front of Voyager, leading them a leisurely spiral down and around the Hub, as a stream of falsely upbeat advertising rolled through the speaker. When Janeway closed the channel, the beacon froze and began flashing urgently.
It only moved again when she reopened the channel, while a recording admonished them to “listen for further instructions.”
“A captive audience,” Janeway said under her breath. Rather than continue to fume over the delay or the noise, she took the opportunity to call sickbay. Kes reported that the doctor’s programs were still suffering intermittent failures, and they had only replicated enough antidote for half the crew so far. Ever the optimist, Kes added that everything was basically under control.
“Chakotay is conscious and requesting to return to duty,” Kes added.
“But the doctor wants to observe the effects of the antitoxin for a few more hours.”
“Understood,” Janeway acknowledged, setting aside the tricorder that was tuned to the sickbay frequency. She was starting to be surrounded by open tricorders—perched on Chakotay’s chair, on her monitor—and she was having trouble remembering which ones were which.
“I swear we’ve passed that docking spire already,” Paris complained.
“PTO-four-three, yes, I’m sure of it… only we were heading in from the port side last time.”
Helpfully, Kim offered, “There’s a lot of traffic around here; maybe flight patterns dictate a spiral
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