While his perceptions might be wishful imaginings, Vivia’s countenance softened. She continued speaking to his mind. Exosia is an in-between, linking place for many dimensions because of how the strings, entities that are expressed in many ways throughout many geometries, exist here. The strings create cohesion between dimensions. The Nacene exist to tend and care for the strings so that cohesion can be maintained.
The Doctor realized Vivia had just explained the Nacene version of quantum reality. “The strings are a building block of matter and force in the universe, but they exist here in a form that can be seen and individuated.”
A crude interpretation, but likely the best a finite nature such as your own can manage.
The Doctor continued: “And the photons. Photons don’t naturally exist here?”
Photons first came into Exosia when some Nacene decided they were no longer content to care for the strings. They opened Exosia and entered your space-time as explorers.
This revelation tracked with what the Doctor recalled from their first encounter with the Caretaker.
At first there seemed to be no consequence to our having a gateway into your dimension. We came and went at our pleasure, playing with stars and planets…. Over time, however, photons seeped in among the strings. Photons are drawn to Exosia. She paused as if she were searching for the right term to describe the phenomenon. It is like there is a magnetic pull between Exosia and the photons. Because photonic energy disrupts the harmony, the gateway needed to be closed. Difficult choices were required. Those like me chose duty to the strings above all else.
As much as he loathed admitting it, the Doctor discovered that his complete and utter revulsion for Vivia, and those like her who had chosen duty over self-gratification, was softening as she told her story. “So what happened next?” he asked, though he suspected he knew part of it. Relatively recent encounters with the Caretaker, Suspiria, and “Phoebe” indicated that not all the Nacene had gone back into Exosia.
A war broke out between those who were willing to sacrifice all to serve the strings and those who cared only for their own pleasure. We, the caretakers of the strings, prevailed. The Exiles remained in your dimension.
“The Nacene called Phoebe was an Exile.”
Vivia affirmed the Doctor’s supposition, and then continued with her story. A leader emerged among the Exiles. One among them called the Light, in honor of the power of photons, helped them devise a means by which they might return to Exosia. Her lips twisted into an unattractive frown.
To the Doctor, it was obvious from the tone of Vivia’s explanation of the Light that she considered that particular Exile to be distasteful at best, and heinous at worst.
The Light had built a place of rest where they would wait until the day when the gateway could be forced open using a key and a conduit should the Exiles weary of their choices.
The Doctor discovered, as he became more attuned to Vivia, that instead of words merely conveying her meaning, they had begun to form pictures in his mind. “Gremadia was part of the Light’s plan, wasn’t it?” The Doctor said, comprehension dawning. “The place of rest and waiting.” A second, more horrifying realization occurred. “And my captain became the conduit.”
That could be the only explanation for what he saw in his vision. He didn’t know how or why, but the captain had forced open the gateway between Exosia and his own space-time, allowing the Monorhans—or the abominations, as Vivia called them—to enter in. She couldn’t have known the damage she was causing, could she? His default position tended to be one that trusted the captain’s judgment, but in this case, if what Vivia told him was true, Janeway’s decision might have been misguided. This new understanding strengthened his resolve to fix what Janeway had inadvertently set awry. How many years, even millennia, of vigilance had been negated by Voyager’s actions? No wonder Vivia was angry; he could hardly blame her. “You have existed in Exosia since you cast out the Exiles. You tend the strings.”
She nodded. It was the correct choice for the Nacene. But exploration was a glorious life.
Though he realized that what he saw was merely the Nacene world defined in terms he could comprehend, the Doctor believed he saw Vivia’s form physically change as she communicated with him. It was more than her wistful sighs. Her vibrancy dimmed; to his eye, she became more human. Her sadness reminded him, initially, of a Lucia di Lammermoor. On further reflection, she became the tender Mimi of La Bohème. What a tragic life!
Lifting her sorrow-filed face, she offered him a pensive gaze for a long moment before drifting closer to him so they stood within touching distance. A greater cause called us back to Exosia. She drifted back and forth in front of the Doctor. All we have done since the Exiles separated from us, all we will do, is in the service of the strings. To disrupt the strings is to destroy all.
As one who was charged with the preservation and restoration of life, he had such empathy for the Exosia Nacene and what a burden they shouldered. “Considering the vital importance of the strings, how could the Exiles be so cavalier about their duties here?”
Aren’t there those Outside who, because of their newness, their youth—yes, youth is the proper word—rebel against their elders? Nacene kind are similar to Outsiders in this way.
His whole being filled with compassion, the Doctor began, “Let me help you, Vivia. Clearly Voyager blundered into something they didn’t understand. I assure you that none of my people meant any harm to either the Nacene or the strings.”
She arched a single eyebrow. If the Exiles had never been able to open the gateway…no. That could not be undone by you. Her skirts swished around her bare feet as she barely moved back and forth in the air. If the source of the problem were eradicated before it became a problem…if the Light had been stopped…
The Doctor saw his opportunity to negotiate and pounced. “Perhaps we can help each other.”
Vivia cocked her head to one side and looked at him questioningly.
“You want to find this Light person and stop him”—the Doctor paused for dramatic effect—“and I want you to call off the attack on the Monorhans and ultimately go back to Voyager.”
She responded instantaneously: Not possible.
“On the contrary. It is possible. You’ve already conceded that you can’t stop me from—how did you phrase it?—disturbing the strings. Since you’ve made it clear returning home isn’t an option, I’ll focus on achieving my second objective: I will disturb the strings if it helps save the Monorhans.”
Vivia narrowed her eyes. Scarlet stained her robes as she radiated progressively more intense waves of tension.
The Doctor shifted uncomfortably, refusing to be disturbed by her foul moods. She was quite like a blustering bully who couldn’t make good on her threats but nonetheless was capable of making her victim miserable. Without having to be told, he knew that the Nacene wouldn’t hesitate to fuse his photons together were she capable of doing so. Survival required that he parlay what little advantage he had into coaxing Vivia to act while avoiding enraging her. The universe might be combusting beyond Exosia—there was no question that his crew needed him. Standing around and chatting for eternity would get neither of them anywhere.
“You haven’t demonstrated to me that they’re a danger to Exosia. To destroy them just because you don’t like them or don’t understand them isn’t right.” He suspected from the contortions of her lips that his statements made her fume; he took her failure to respond as a concession that he’d made his point.
Gradually, Vivia’s robes muted and the hostile energy she directed toward the Doctor diminished. You would agree to help eradicate the Light at the source. You would prevent him from making the choices that created chaos.
Now we’re getting somewhere. The Doctor nodded encouragingly. A little voice he’d come to think of as his conscience (though Doctor Zimmerman hadn’t included such a feature in his original programming) warned him about tampering in the time stream; the Doctor dismissed it
. Nothing less than the stability of space-time was at stake here. Such a dire predicament warranted extreme measures, should they be called for. “I am a hologram of my word. Though I don’t know how I can go back to the source of the problem. I may be a renaissance man, but time-traveling didn’t come with the programming.”
With a toss of the head, Vivia dismissed his concerns. The rules that bind your space-time do not apply here. This barrier, you call it time, that confines you to a fixed spot in your three-dimensional world is irrelevant in Exosia. She paused, obviously searching for the right images to send to his mind.
Slowly, a conceptualization of the universe began unfolding in his thoughts that astonished him. Past and present existed simultaneously for Vivia. While she could sense the future, the currents of choice and consequence constantly shifted, making it more difficult to determine where all the disparate threads would lead. Still, she had the capacity to identify the nexus point of their current predicament and the subsequent consequences rippling to the present and forward to possible futures. Could she stop the problem from starting in the first place? Or maybe if the problem began on the Outside, she couldn’t stop it (the Nacene weren’t the Q, after all, and hadn’t Vivia said that she would spend her existence in Exosia?) and that was part of her frustration.
But perhaps he could. “Tell me what I need to do to set this right,” he said.
Stop the Light.
“Save the Monorhans.”
Done. The curtains parted revealing the pastoral scene the Doctor had first encountered: the insectoids had disappeared.
He turned to Vivia. “Since the Light is Nacene, I’d appreciate having your insights into an appropriate strategy—” Cut off mid-thought, the Doctor once again felt the odd disconnected sensation he’d experienced when he arrived in Exosia overtake him. Before he could process his new environment, another transformation occurred, this one taking him deep within a cold and remote darkness. Prickles of fear needling his matrix allowed only a single coherent thought to form: I am utterly lost.
The sickbay doors hissed open and B’Elanna limped through. Upon viewing Janeway entombed in a stasis chamber, another wave of anxiety beset her, the latest in a succession of such waves that had plagued her nonstop since Tom and Harry had vanished. A brusque growl escaped through clenched teeth. Why couldn’t there be somewhere she could go to escape this seemingly never-ending nightmare?! But no. That would be too much to ask. This whole damn ship was a reminder of what might go down as the longest bad day in her life.
She couldn’t help but stare at the captain. From what she’d heard, Janeway was little more than a corpse with a pulse. Seven had done what she could to utilize the available medical technology and succeeded in stabilizing the captain, though little else. B’Elanna planned on reviewing sickbay’s instruments to see if there were any tweaks or alternations she could make that would increase their functionality but she hadn’t found the time. For now, healing Janeway’s injuries was beyond the reach of anyone on Voyager.
Chakotay maintained vigil nearby at a workstation where the bridge had been sending him real-time updates as to their progress out of Monoharan space. She suspected that her friend needed privacy and quiet to sort through what his next action would be. Within less than a day, they would reach the boundaries of Monoharan space, and Chakotay would need to have determined a course of action by then. She didn’t envy him the job. And perhaps he just wanted Captain Janeway to keep him company while he came to grips with all his responsibilities.
B’Elanna studied him for a long moment before alerting him to her presence. “Playing hooky from the bridge, Commander?” she said, intending to invoke the teasing familiarity that had existed between them since their Maquis days. Instead, her words rang hollow to her ear, her voice thin and thready.
Startled, Chakotay turned away from his work to look at her, his eyes dull and lined with shadows, face gaunt from lack of sleep and from overwork. He looked more strained than she had ever seen him—even during the days of Seska’s treachery.
She gasped involuntarily at his appearance, and then cursed her lack of tact. None of the crew was at their best, but there was no denying that Chakotay was in terrible shape. Considering that he’s taking the brunt of this mess, I’d say that’s fair.
“You don’t look so hot yourself,” Chakotay said, lacing his hands together on his lap.
“So we can exchange beauty tips,” she lobbed back at him, “or you can tell me what’s going on with my ship.”
Composed into a portrait of Starfleet implacability, he said, “Talk to Neelix. These days he’s the man in the know.”
“I want to talk to my old friend.” She hopped up onto the biobed closest to his workstation. “How bad is it, really—for all of us, for you?”
“My own well-being is irrelevant—”
“You sound like Tuvok. Or worse, Seven.”
“I have to confess that today I especially envy their ability to disengage during a crisis,” he said. “Personal concerns have to be irrelevant if we want to survive. For starters, critical personnel who serve at vital posts are either injured, like Captain Janeway, or missing, like the Doctor. Crew reassignments need to be made immediately, but everyone is overworked. There aren’t any good choices.”
She felt a flash of gratitude that Chakotay hadn’t said Tom’s name aloud. She didn’t know if she could hear it without flinching. Focus on the tasks at hand, she admonished herself. “You’re working on the new duty roster?”
He nodded.
“You’ll need to figure additional personnel for repairs. We still haven’t entirely fixed what was damaged when Voyager was stuck in the subspace pocket.” A lifetime ago, she amended.
“How long will those repairs take?”
B’Elanna paused, made a quick mental assessment. “If everyone who has an engineering certification one or greater worked in shifts around the clock, we might be done in three or four days minimum. Maybe longer.”
“Identify the two or three most critical issues and what kind of crew support you’ll need. All nonessential systems will need to wait until we’ve found a safe haven where we can work without having to take into consideration altered laws of physics.”
B’Elanna nodded. She’d expected he’d say as much.
“As for command—I’ll be frank. I don’t have a lot of confidence in Tuvok’s judgment right now. I know that if I follow the rulebook, he’ll have to be second-in-command.”
“That’s right,” B’Elanna said.
“This crisis has shown me that we have a serious shortage of command-ready personnel. We’ll need to remedy that.”
“As long as you aren’t planning on changing my color to red, I think that’s a fine idea.” So far, she didn’t understand what the big deal was. Chakotay wasn’t saying anything that hadn’t been raised in senior staff meetings from time to time. While they had plenty of crew members with Starfleet experience or education, very few of them had command-track training.
“So what do you think about me assigning Seven to shadow Tuvok for the purposes of bringing her leadership skills up to Starfleet standards?”
She hadn’t expected that.
Her incredulous expression must have clued Chakotay in to how she felt about his suggestion, because he immediately continued. “I know and trust your judgment. After that episode on Monorha, you probably know Seven better than anyone on this ship. If you had a problem with that course of action, you’d tell me.” He glanced away from B’Elanna.
She followed his eyes to the woman prostrate in the stasis chamber.
“You’re a lot like Kathryn that way,” he added softly.
“So’s Seven, as much as I loathe admitting it,” B’Elanna said. “I mean she’s like the captain in her ability to grasp big-picture issues quickly and take action. She’s not afraid to say what she thinks whether or not anyone will like what she has to say. She just lacks the polish and protocols that Starfleet officers are indoct
rinated with. Tuvok would be the perfect teacher.”
“I wish there were a way I could put you in the chair beside me. I know I could count on you in a crisis.” Chakotay gritted his teeth.
B’Elanna hadn’t seen Chakotay so bitter before. He must be feeling incredible pain, she thought. “Me in command?” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “That would last about an hour before I’d try to knock someone’s block off. Probably Vorik’s.”
Chakotay’s laugh dissolved the worry lining his face.
B’Elanna smiled reflexively. His momentary happiness was a small light on an otherwise dismal day. “I could join command just to shake things up.”
He sighed deeply. “As much fun as the thought of you terrorizing the lower decks might be, I know better.”
“The crew needs to know that things will continue to operate the way they’ve become accustomed—and that’s by Starfleet rules—”B’Elanna paused in midthought, shocked by the realization that she actually believed what she said. “Wow. Professor Dunbar at the Academy would have lost at least one bet if he heard me say those words.”
“Since when did two old Maquis become so stodgy?” Chakotay asked.
“Because of her.” B’Elanna nodded toward Janeway.
Turning his attention back to his work, Chakotay said nothing.
Suddenly, she couldn’t stand it any longer—pretending to be fine, trying to be positive for the sake of everyone around her when her own life was plunging into craziness. “I’m worried, Chakotay,” she said, forcing open a discussion that neither one of them wanted to have. “The crew is demoralized—the ship is in terrible shape, we don’t know whether the captain will live or die, we’ve lost—” She paused, feeling her voice catch. “—a lot of fine people in the last few days, and as a result, everyone is a little more anxious than normal. I don’t know if I can keep doing it.”
String Theory, Book 3: Evolution Page 6
