VOY - String Theory 2 - Fusion (c)

by Star Trek

  What he could see was that the circle of light, which had begun its tentative expansion, had snapped back to the small spot surrounding his feet.

  And then, the light was extinguished.

  Tuvok lay on the floor of his shuttle. It was cold in the cabin. It was logical to assume that his body had not been the only thing ripped apart in the explosion, which was the last thing he could remember. But he could breathe. Whatever the damage to the shuttle, wherever he was, he was grateful that he had not yet been exposed to the vacuum of space.

  He gingerly raised his left arm and again began to explore his face. Wherever he had just been—in a dream, or in an alternate reality created by the presence that had drawn him here—he had not imagined the severity of his injuries.

  He tried to sit up. The shock of sensitivity in the exposed nerve endings of his abdomen that had been flayed by the plasma explosion beneath the main console of the shuttle almost caused him to lose consciousness again.

  Taking as deep a breath as the pain would allow, he attempted to slowly turn his head slightly down and toward the left. He could move his neck. That was a good thing. Perhaps the lack of feeling in his lower left extremity was not the result of cervical damage after all.

  Though the shuttle’s standard and emergency lighting systems were obviously damaged beyond repair, there was a faint bluish glow present in the cabin. Allowing his eye a moment to adjust to what little light there was, he peered into the dimness around him, hoping to assess the injury to his leg. He was not startled, more disappointed when he made out his left leg bent at an impossible angle at the knee, jutting up toward his thigh. Obviously it was broken, almost in half.

  He tried to calculate the odds that from his present position he would be able to pull himself through the cabin and find the emergency medical kit that came standard with every Starfleet shuttle. They were dismally low. But even this was not enough to completely shatter his resolve.

  He had managed to grab hold of a random piece of solid metal within range of his left hand and force the resulting wave of nausea to a section of his mind that could ignore it before he realized that the physical injuries he had just sustained were not the only part of the vision he had just experienced that was real.

  The music that had become as much a part of his mind and body as the air he breathed and the blood that flowed in his veins had left him. The presence that had become his constant companion was gone. He tried to focus on it, willing it to appear again in his mind. But the torrent of pain overwhelmed every other aspect of his consciousness, leaving no room for such exertions.

  For the first time in his entire life, Tuvok felt the loneliness that his Vulcan discipline had never before allowed him to experience. He didn’t know why he could no longer sense or hear the presence. Perhaps the injuries to his body actually paled in comparison to the physical injuries of his brain. It was likely that the music was still present. He had felt a tentative connection forming only moments ago. But if the centers of his brain that linked him to the alien presence had been damaged, that would more than account for his inability to hear them now.

  All he knew for sure was that he might still be able to survive his physical pain. He retained enough of himself to force his mind beyond it. But he could not survive the loneliness. He could not imagine how anyone suffering a similar sense of loss could ever survive it.

  Tuvok’s hand released the metal support he had grasped, and he felt the wind knocked from his lungs as his upper body slapped back to the floor. Alone in the cold blue darkness, he began to weep.

  As he tidied up Naomi’s spilled milk, Neelix affectionately considered his beautiful and good-natured charge. He couldn’t believe how quickly she was growing up. It seemed like only yesterday she had been cradled in his arms, a wriggling cooing slice of pure joy. Most of the time, he counted Naomi as one of the greatest blessings he had ever received. But as part of his brain fretted over the disruption that had overturned her milk, he felt a pit of concern tighten in his stomach again.

  Much as he loved Naomi, and much as he could no longer imagine his life without her, he had to acknowledge that no starship, even one as marvelous as Voyager, was any place for a child.

  Before Naomi was born, he’d never understood the affection others had for children. He had long ago resigned himself to a solitary existence, which had changed only when he met Kes. He had even summoned the courage to agree to have a child with Kes when the elogium had come upon her prematurely. But he hadn’t been able to hide from Kes or himself the niggling doubts that shrouded that difficult decision. To this day he believed that they had both been relieved when the elogium had passed, and the Doctor had assured them that she would probably be able to conceive in a few years, as was normal for an Ocampa.

  But Kes was gone. The life that he had imagined for both of them was a distant memory. Naomi hadn’t replaced Kes in his heart. That would have been impossible. But the love he had found in nurturing Voyager’s only child had been a soothing balm in the dark days after Kes had departed.

  He watched her eat, satisfied that she was obtaining as least most of the nutrients her growing body needed from her lunch, and thumbed through the drawings she had worked on throughout the morning.

  The one she had obviously spent the most time on was a copy of the starfield she had given to Captain Janeway that morning. He had barely been able to contain the deep pride that welled in his heart when Naomi had recounted in every detail her meeting with the captain and her request to hang Naomi’s drawing in her ready room. But Naomi had intended that drawing for her mother. She had been momentarily alarmed when she realized that by giving it to the captain, she would be denying this special gift for Ensign Wildman, and Neelix had tactfully resolved her dilemma by suggesting that she had plenty of time to make her mother another one before her duty shift ended late that afternoon.

  Neelix had an eye for detail. It had been developed in his years as a “junk” trader, one of many occupations he had attempted before his fortuitous encounter with Voyager. One man’s junk was another man’s treasure, if you knew what to look for. As he cast his eye over Naomi’s new drawing, he puzzled over a large empty black area near the center. He couldn’t say for sure, but he believed that this was different from the first drawing he had so carefully helped her begin the night before and finish up that morning. Of course it was possible that Naomi had simply chosen to draw the stars of the Monorhan system from another vantage point, but the rest of the drawing was so close to the original that he doubted this was the case. And despite Naomi’s age, she had already shown herself to be an intensely detail-oriented child. He didn’t believe she had made a mistake. But he also had a hard time believing that a star that had been so prominent only a few hours earlier was simply no longer present.

  He turned to look out one of the mess hall’s large windows, carefully studying the area of space Naomi had duplicated. Comparing her drawing with the stars, he realized that she had, once again, drawn the view from the window quite precisely. There was, in fact, a large area, devoid of stars, right where her drawing indicated.

  And then it hit him.

  The small void in question was either the exact area or very near the spot where, only a few days ago, the Blue Eye, one of Monorha’s two suns, had been. He had read the reports without dwelling on the details that recounted the work Voyager’s engineers had proposed to collapse the star to slow the outpouring of radiation that was poisoning Monorha. Since their emergence from the subspace field where they had been trapped for several harrowing hours, he had spent more than a fair amount of time gazing out upon the area, both because he’d had a nice view of it from the mess hall, and also because it had inspired such a sense of awe and wonder to consider the miracles his crew was capable of achieving.

  Maybe he was imagining things. But part of him felt certain that apart from the Blue Eye, which he knew was gone, there should have been another star there.

  Shaking off the tiny voi
ce in his head insisting that this was not a good thing, he made a mental note to mention the matter to the captain or Commander Chakotay the next chance he had. Surely they would know what was to be done about it.

  As Janeway gazed curiously at her sister, Phoebe rose from her position on the floor, straightening the folds of her floral tunic so that it fell gracefully from the sash that gathered it around her waist.

  “Since when do you need a security detachment to accompany you to your quarters?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Since when do you enter my quarters without asking permission?” Janeway snapped back. “This isn’t our house back in Indiana. But I guess some things never change.”

  Phoebe cast a disparaging glance at Ensign Maplethorpe and the other officers who still had their phasers aimed in her general direction. Janeway noted this, and calmly nodded, indicating that the others could go, before she holstered her own phaser and assumed the position Phoebe guessed was the one she usually found herself in when confronting her sister about anything: hands on her hips, jaw set, and eyes staring determinedly into those that could have been a mirror image of her own.

  As the security officers retreated, Phoebe decided it would be best not to antagonize Janeway too much at this point. She had armed herself with every memory stored in Janeway’s conscious and unconscious mind about her sister, but she lacked the data that could be gained only by actual experience or interaction with the captain. She opted to tread carefully for the moment.

  “I thought you always said I made the best coffee of anyone in the family,” she said simply.

  Janeway shook her head in disbelief.

  “You do,” Janeway acknowledged. “But you don’t know the difference between a power conduit and an iso-linear chip. Did you honestly think you could come up with a better cup of coffee by trying to rebuild the replicator?”

  “I thought it might be worth a try,” Phoebe offered.

  In fact, she had been searching for a plausible cause for the electromagnetic discharge that she knew would eventually attract someone’s attention. Mucking around in a primitive system that she supposedly had very little knowledge of had been the best she could come up with on a moment’s notice.

  “I don’t have time for this, Phoebe. Go back to your quarters and stay there.”

  “But Kath,” Phoebe pleaded, hoping to unearth some of the sisterly affection she knew was present in Janeway’s heart.

  “No, ‘but’s,” Janeway commanded. “The ship is at yellow alert right now. It isn’t safe for you to be roaming around. You’ll just cause more trouble.”

  In some ways, this was going well. For the time being, Janeway obviously accepted the fabricated memories that Phoebe had implanted in her mind and the minds of the crew so that they would accept her presence on board the ship. The alterations she had made to their computer were also functioning perfectly. It took a great deal of energy to maintain this illusion, but Phoebe knew she didn’t have to do it for long.

  She had chosen to assume a form that Janeway would find comforting and familiar. Having never had a “sister,” she had not anticipated that the depth of affection she knew that Janeway and the real Phoebe shared would be mitigated by so many other powerful conflicting emotions. Seeing Kathryn through Phoebe’s eyes, she realized that despite the similarity in their outward appearances, their respective temperaments were markedly different.

  Searching through the catalogue of memories she had lifted from Janeway’s mind, she found a tactic that might be more suited to her immediate needs.

  “Why don’t you let me help you?” Phoebe asked.

  Janeway looked puzzled.

  “Help me?” she said slowly, overenunciating each vowel and consonant sound. Crossing her arms defiantly she asked, “How do you propose to do that?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me what’s going on and maybe I could…”

  “Paint me a picture?” Janeway chided.

  Phoebe allowed her face to fall, and smiled inwardly as she heard Janeway silently curse herself. It was a definite advantage that even while wearing a human form, she possessed the ability to understand all that Janeway said, whether aloud or in the privacy of her mind.

  I’m snapping at everyone this morning, Janeway was thinking. Patience has never been one of my many virtues, but there’s no reason to take my frustrations out on the artist of the family.

  Phoebe mused at how different two women who shared so much genetic history could be. Although Phoebe was a few years younger then Kathryn, the older they got the less noticeable this fact was. She knew from Janeway’s memories that others had often remarked at the striking similarities in their features: the deep blue eyes that turned a stormy gray when they were angry, the high forehead crowned by fine flowing auburn hair. But Phoebe had their mother’s full lips, and like Gretchen Janeway, smiled often. The two most significant women in Kathryn’s life shared the innate ability to find the humor in most of life’s challenges, whereas Kathryn, like her father, spent less time laughing about life than she did trying to conquer it.

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe,” she sighed. “Tuvok left the ship several hours ago and he’s headed for some kind of alien space station that orbits and is powered by a singularity.”

  “Tuvok? Your tactical officer? The Vulcan?”

  “You’re asking like you’ve never met the man,” Janeway said.

  “Of course,” Phoebe covered quickly. “I don’t mean which Tuvok. I mean, I can’t believe he would do something like that.”

  “Neither can I,” Janeway replied.

  “You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “I’m sorry, Kath.”

  Phoebe opened her arms and saw Janeway’s eyes glistening with tears as she fell into the comfort of her sister’s embrace.

  Much better, Phoebe thought.

  Time to change the subject.

  “You know I was talking to Master da Vinci, and he suggested I might go back to realism for a while,” Phoebe offered quietly.

  “You couldn’t ask for a better mentor, Phoebe, even if he is a hologram,” Janeway said genuinely, disentangling herself from Phoebe’s arms while continuing to clasp her hands warmly.

  “It was very thoughtful of you to create him for me,” Phoebe added.

  I didn’t, Phoebe heard Kathryn think.

  Phoebe paused. Janeway should be accepting everything she suggested without resistance. But to her relief, the captain didn’t dwell on it. Instead, she mentally chalked it up to the length of time since her last cup of coffee. She couldn’t imagine where this abrupt and ungenerous thought had come from and was only too relieved she hadn’t said it aloud.

  “I actually came by looking for some inspiration,” Phoebe continued. Crossing to the small glass table where the Key rested, she paused over it.

  “What’s this?” she asked as innocently as she could.

  “That was a gift from the Monorhans. They called it the Key to…” Janeway’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember. “…something or other.”

  “It doesn’t look like a key.”

  “I know,” Janeway smiled, crossing to Phoebe. “I don’t think they meant it literally. I assumed it was symbolic…like the key to a city being given to a visiting dignitary.”

  “Can I have it?” Phoebe asked.

  Janeway was obviously taken aback. The real Phoebe wasn’t one to think before she spoke, but even so, this might have seemed unusually blunt.

  “No,” Janeway replied, with a half-smile. “Phoebe, it’s a sphere. If da Vinci wants you to explore realism, I think he’d be a little disappointed with such a simple subject. Don’t you want something a little more challenging?”

  “I suppose,” Phoebe shrugged. “I didn’t think it was that important to you. I mean, you can’t even remember what it’s called.”

  Janeway considered the Key. “It’s not the object, Phoebe,” she said gently. “It’s what it represents—the
gratitude of an entire planet.”

  “I understand, Kath,” Phoebe replied.

  “But if you seriously want to use it…if it inspires you…go ahead. Take it to Master da Vinci and see what he says.”

  Phoebe considered for a moment. Borrowing the Key would not suit her purposes.

  “I’ll think about it,” she finally answered. “Can we have dinner tonight?”

  Janeway gave her sister’s hand a warm squeeze. “I certainly hope so…but I wouldn’t count on it.”

  The Key was barely an arm’s length away from Phoebe, but it might as well have been buried beneath a frozen ocean on the other side of the galaxy. It was still vibrating, but at a rate so slow that the human eye would not normally detect it.

  Once Janeway had left, she placed her hands around the sphere, absorbing some of the energy it was displacing. The effort cost her more than she had anticipated. Casting herself beyond the limited subatomic particles that were organized to form the substance of the ship and its crew, she searched for the source of the disruption the Key was responding to.

  It didn’t take her long to discover the abominations. Trapped between this dimension and the existence Phoebe had forsworn long ago, they waited patiently for someone or something to guide them home. Somehow Tuvok had also been alerted to their presence. He could not have grasped the faintest fragment of their truth, but nonetheless she sensed the rapidly unraveling tether that bound his mind to theirs.

  Their existence changed everything. She set out immediately for the array that she and so many others had devoted much of their existence to building and was determined to spend the remainder protecting.

  For the moment, Janeway and the Key would have to wait.

  Chapter 4

  Seven of Nine rarely found anything shocking. Every significant fact of time, space, and quantum reality that could be calculated was contained within her mind. As a Borg, she had been privy to the experience of billions of others, and added their knowledge to her own. Though she was now severed from the hive mind, she had retained every facet of their collective knowledge, culled from the millions of sentients who had been assimilated into the Borg collective.