It was bitter, but the Entity understood. She understood so much, now. She would not be granted the sought-after reunion, not be welcomed and embraced and fueled with love.
I am sorry for your pain, dear one, said Tialin in her mind, but who better to help these people in their quest than one who loves them so?
Had she assumed a mortal form again, she would have blinked back tears from large blue eyes. But she had no form, and would not, not yet, not here. Even through the sorrow that the other incarnation had caused, the Entity knew she would not have shirked this duty had she known.
There was time to fulfill her duty without hurting them further. Or so she thought. Certainly Janeway, the Doctor, and the other humans present did not notice the Entity’s presence. But even as she swept from sickbay, she saw Tuvok’s head come up, saw his eyes narrow. Ah, she ought to have known. She could not hide it from him. Unable to help herself, she brushed his regulated Vulcan thoughts with sad, sweet affection, then reluctantly left for Engineering.
* * *
Tuvok blinked. He must have been in error. It could not be. But Tialin was smiling, holding his gaze with her own, and he knew he had not been mistaken.
He said softly, to himself, “Kes.”
* * *
The shield was holding. Which was a good thing on many counts.
“We’ve got to start gathering up the dark matter stirred up from that last battle,” said Torres. This was beginning to become all too familiar.
“Lieutenant,” said Seven. “The warp-bubble universe is expanding.”
Torres ran to Seven’s console to look. Sure enough, it was growing, right before their eyes.
“There’s twice as much dark matter in there as before—no, three times—” Torres fell silent. It was as if the warp-bubble universe was a jar, and someone was filling it right to the brim. More and more dark matter poured into the bubble, and it kept growing, changing size to accommodate the sudden inflow.
“What the hell is going on?” Torres cried.
Suddenly That Damned Ball emitted a terrible sound. It had been loud before, but now Torres thought her eardrums might burst from the dreadful screeching. Light filled Engineering, terrible, blinding light, and then it was gone.
“Lieutenant Torres,” said Seven, “the orb has disappeared.”
Torres blinked, frantically forcing her eyes to adjust. Seven was right.
“So has the warp-bubble universe,” said Khala worriedly.
Oh God, oh God, thought Torres frantically. “Engineering to Janeway!”
“Relax, B’Elanna,” came her captain’s voice. “The warp-bubble universe has disappeared, but all the dark matter’s safely in the orb. Tialin has come to take it back.”
* * *
Janeway thought she had never seen anything as beautiful as the orb, held safely in Tialin’s capable hands. Even though she knew what was at stake, and how fragile this balance between existence and nonexistence was, Janeway felt they had a fighting chance now.
Reading her thoughts, Tialin said, “All our energy had been taken up in attempting to undo the damage that Lhiau has caused.” She hesitated, then said, “Even we made mistakes, Captain Janeway. But you are right. There is still a chance.”
“Mistakes?” Janeway smiled thinly. “I can’t imagine you making mistakes.”
All at once, Tialin looked haunted. “We are not omnipotent, as I told your Tom Paris once before. We made our mistakes. Even as we tried to undo wrongs, we caused such wrongs ourselves. You were witness, Captain, to the first time we tried to correct the imbalance by transferring matter from one universe into another.”
For a moment, Janeway had no idea what Tialin was talking about. Then her eyes widened with horror as she understood. Her mind’s eye filled with the image of the planet on which she had first met Tialin. It had once been a Class M planet, with oceans and clouds and a population of two billion humanoids. She remembered seeing it wink first out of, then back into, existence. She remembered the volcanoes, the radiation, staring at bodies of pale purple-skinned humanoids who died in the instant from one step to another. They had called it the Ghost Planet.
Tialin nodded sadly. “We thought that if we could move the entire planet safely into another universe, it would counter the imbalance more quickly. We did not know what destruction our well-meaning gesture would bring. Thus it was that we learned, to our terrible regret, that we could only move a small amount of matter from one universe into the other at any given time.”
“Khala, Chakotay, and Paris,” said Janeway, her throat tight. She was filled with rage at Tialin. Two billion people! And yet she knew that it had been an accident. A horrible, soul-chilling one, but an accident nonetheless. What Lhiau was planning was nothing short of murder. And he would not stop with a mere two billion lives.
Tialin nodded again. “And even they will not be safe in their new universes forever, as you have discovered. All depends upon the Romulans halting themselves. If they persist, then everything is doomed.”
She turned to the three Romulans. They all stood straight and tall, giving Tialin their full attention. For a moment, Janeway thought how similar they looked. Fit bodies, pointed ears, ridged foreheads, sleek, short, black hair. Similar in mind-set too, to a certain degree. The Romulan Empire was all to each of them. But how different they were, too. She had not spoken much to the male Romulan who had arrived with Kaleh, but she knew that Telek and Kaleh were as different as night and day.
Individuals. In the end, no matter how the mind tried to lump people into categories, they persisted in being individuals.
“It is time for the three of you to travel back to your own space and time,” said Tialin. “I will assist you when the time is right. Make your farewells, and then prepare to open the wormhole to the Alpha Quadrant one last time.”
She turned again to Janeway. “Captain, I understand how distressed you must be. You had hoped that Telek R’Mor’s wormhole technology would be able to send you and your crew home, to your rightful space and time. I regret having taken this hope away. But the wormhole technology is in truth largely powered by Shepherd technology. Every time it opens—”
“More mutated dark matter is created,” Janeway finished. “I understand.” She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll find our way home, one day.”
Tialin smiled mysteriously, but said nothing.
Telek R’Mor stepped over to Janeway. They gazed into one another’s eyes for a moment, neither saying anything. It was Telek who first broke the silence.
“Captain Kathryn Janeway of the United Federation of Planets,” he said slowly, with great respect, “it has been the honor of my life to have worked with you on this noble cause. I wish I could have been instrumental in helping you find your home.”
“You helped with something much bigger than that, Telek,” said Janeway softly. “It has been an honor for me, for everyone on this ship, as well. You do your people proud.”
He inclined his head graciously. “As I have ever sought to do.” He hesitated. “I do not know what fate awaits me. I may still die the death of a traitor. I may live to a ripe old age, and entertain you in my home one day when our two governments are allies. After what I have witnessed these last few weeks, I have come to realize that, truly, anything is possible.”
Janeway’s blue eyes suddenly stung. Even if Telek R’Mor was pardoned and lived out his life as if this incident had never happened, even if by some miracle the Romulans and the Federation chose to be allies in science and war, she would never have the simple delight of visiting him on Romulus. That was indeed not possible, his hopeful words to the contrary. He was a dead man, standing, living, before her. He died years ago. She would never see him again. She realized that this was much, much more than a simple goodbye.
Had he been human, she would have embraced him. But she did not know if such a gesture would be appropriate or even welcomed. So she simply stood, gazing into the dark,
compassionate eyes of someone she regarded as a dear friend.
Telek extended a hand. Janeway grasped it, and brought her other hand up to hold it, briefly, in both of hers.
“I look forward to reminiscing over a cup of tea with you in a few years, Telek R’Mor,” she lied with all the sincerity she could muster.
He smiled, and squeezed. Then the warmth between her hands was gone, and he stood shoulder to shoulder with the other two members of his own race.
“Convey my regards to Torres, Seven, and Khala, if you would,” said Telek. “I fear I will not be able to do so myself.”
“Consider it done,” said Janeway. She hoped her voice did not sound as thick as it did in her own ears.
Jekri Kaleh’s silver gaze flitted over them all, then she did something that utterly shocked Janeway. She lifted her right hand and spread the four fingers apart into a V. Turning to Tuvok, she said without the slightest trace of mockery, “Live long and prosper, Vulcan Tuvok.”
Tuvok raised a dark eyebrow, then returned the gesture. “Peace and long life, Jekri Kaleh.”
Then they were gone, all four of them—Telek, Jekri, her companion, and Tialin.
“How will we know if they succeed?” asked Ensign Campbell.
CHAPTER
18
TELEK, VERRAK, AND JEKRI FOUND THEMSELVES IN THE small central command area of the tiny Talvath. For just a moment, Jekri was caught off guard by the instantaneous transport, but she recovered command quickly.
“R’Mor, you should be able to trace the last wormhole coordinates. Plot them, and let us return.”
“The wormhole will open right onto the front lines,” protested Verrak.
“Do you have a better idea?” She asked the question sarcastically, but Telek R’Mor interrupted her.
“I do,” he said. “Look.”
There were coordinates already entered. And a message. Jekri reached over and tapped the flashing red light. Tialin’s voice filled the close quarters.
“Follow the coordinates I have placed in your command bank,” she said. “Then, when you have arrived in orbit around Romulus, I will see to it that you have an audience with the Empress. Do not fear for your vessel—it will not be taken. Be prepared. Lhiau can be very persuasive.”
Jekri set her jaw. She knew all about Lhiau and did not need anyone’s warning. She only hoped that there was something left of the Empress she could reach.
* * *
Alone with the Empress in her luxurious throne room, Lhiau could barely restrain his excitement. In a few moments, the Empress would give the command to attack. He was feeling good about the present situation, and more than a little proud of himself for turning what could have been disaster into about-to-be-realized triumph.
As the loathed Jekri Kaleh had suspected, this was not his true form. The limited minds of these flesh-encased beings could not begin to comprehend the Shepherds in all their grandeur. They would need to evolve a great deal more before they would even have the faintest idea of what Lhiau’s people were, and they were not going to get that opportunity.
Lhiau was going to make them destroy themselves.
He reached into a large, silver bowl and grasped a piece of fruit. He took a big bite, enjoying the sensuous tickle of juice on his tongue, and felt the liquid dribbling down his chin. There were benefits to assuming this form. Many benefits indeed. But now, with victory almost within his grasp, Lhiau found he was wearying of exploring the pleasures of the flesh and anxious to have the deed done.
If only he had not sworn the Oath, it would all be so much easier. And quicker.
But he had taken the Oath, and he was a Shepherd, and although Jekri Kaleh would be shocked at the notion, Lhiau had a great deal of honor. Among those who deserved honor, of course, which was his own kind. He would never break the Oath, never encourage any of the renegades who allied with him to break it.
He would make these ambitious, limited, power-hungry, pitiful mortals do it for him.
How easy it had been at first. He’d studied the nearly countless species of every universe for a long time before deciding on this little quadrant of this little universe. The Romulan hostility toward anyone not of their race was convenient indeed. Their famed cloaking technology was even handier for Lhiau’s purposes. And when he had discovered that one of what passed for scientists among this species was dabbling in wormhole technology, well, Lhiau’s choice had practically been made for him.
He would miss the Empress, he had to admit, but not that much. She stood, arms folded across her chest, clad in the red that became her so well, proud eyes fastened on the screen.
Suddenly the screen blipped. Lhiau frowned. The face of Stahl, commander of the invasion fleet, filled the screen of the throne room.
“Empress, I have dire news to report. The Talvath is gone. It opened a wormhole and disappeared. Four of our warbirds gave chase—”
“What?” shrieked the Empress. Veins stood out on her lovely, long neck. Lhiau, too, was shocked. What had happened? Without the Talvath to open dozens of wormholes, each one spewing forth dark matter into this universe, the balance might not be tipped far enough quickly enough. He knew, of course, that Tialin was busily about the task of trying to stop him. Every moment that passed gave her another chance to do so.
Stahl looked wretched. “There was a transfer of personnel right before it happened. It appeared to be authorized, but now we realize that the code was falsified.”
“Kaleh,” snarled Lhiau. He was beside himself with fury. Curse the damned Oath! Without it, it would have been child’s play to make the little chairman’s heart burst with a single thought. But no, he had to waste precious time in falsifying charges, planting suspicion in the Empress’s mind. Thank goodness the Praetor had obviously wanted no trouble.
The news had come a few hours earlier of Kaleh’s escape. No one knew where she was. He had let it go, thinking there couldn’t possibly be enough time for her to thwart him. But now, now … !
The Empress turned to him. “You think so?”
He nodded angrily, his thoughts racing. How to salvage this?
With a visible effort, the Empress calmed herself, though her eyes still blazed and her mouth was tight with anger. “You said four ships followed the Talvath?”
“Yes, Excellency,” said Stahl. “Their commanders are most trustworthy. They will force the science vessel to return.”
“I hope for your sake you are right,” snapped the Empress. “Stand down and await my next orders. We cannot proceed without the Talvath. A delay will not make much difference, though I confess I am eager for battle.”
“As am I, Excellency,” said Stahl.
Lhiau couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had to think fast. Delay would give Tialin the upper hand. The Romulan fleet had to strike now, had to operate their cloaks, had to fire and be destroyed and spread more dark matter into this universe before it was too late.
“Excellency,” he said, hastening to the Empress and placing his hands on her shoulders. “You do not need the Talvath. Your mighty fleet will overwhelm the Federation without it.”
She turned to him, the full force of her anger brushing aside the subtle tendrils of his telepathy. “Of course we need the Talvath! Do not underestimate the power of the Federation and its allies. Unless we strike with an unexpected, crushing blow at the outset, we have no chance. The Federation will recover and come after us with their full amassed forces. The Empire will be crippled and perhaps even defeated. We must see Earth and Vulcan destroyed before anything else, and the wormholes are the key to that!”
He nuzzled her neck, in the fashion he knew she liked. “You underestimate your might, Great Leader. The Romulans will crush the Federation—”
She shrugged him off. He was utterly shocked.
“I will and have sent soldiers to die, but never for a worthless cause,” she snapped. “A few hours, a day, what difference does waiting make?” She turned again to Commander Stahl. “You
will await my command to attack. We will wait for the return of the Talvath. If it does not return,” she added, turning to Lhiau, “then I am certain that our good friend Ambassador Lhiau will give us another device for another ship. Dismissed.”
Lhiau gaped, then grew angry again. “There is no time for this nonsense!”
“There is nothing but time!” cried the Empress. “You asked for help in defeating your enemies. How can we do so if we are crushed and broken?”
Lhiau had no answer. He found himself, like a careless spider, impossibly snared in the lies of his own making.
“Excellency,” interrupted Stahl.
“I dismissed you, did I not?” she replied.
“Yes, but there is another problem. The ships are suffering from structural breakdowns of some sort. Systems are shorting out and even some of the crew have reported feeling ill or displaying inappropriate emotions.”
“The normal glitches and tensions of a fleet before battle,” said Lhiau quickly.
“I would like to take this opportunity to investigate further,” Stahl barreled on, ignoring Lhiau. “I do not wish to raise false fears, but the problems we are seeing are similar to those that happened to the ships we sent after Voyager.”
“I thought it was the wormholes that damaged the ships,” said the Empress slowly, turning to regard Lhiau thoughtfully. “That’s what you said—that something R’Mor had done was responsible. Something that you assured me you had corrected.”
“It is the dark-matter cloaks which are causing the problems,” came a male voice.
The Empress and Lhiau whirled at the same moment. Lhiau stiffened, horrified. Standing before him were the four people he wished least in this or any universe to see: Jekri Kaleh, Verrak, Telek R’Mor, and his nemesis, Tialin.
* * *
In silence, thousands of light-years away and twenty years into the future, the crew of Voyager stared at the viewscreen. Janeway’s fists were clenched so hard her hands began to ache, but she couldn’t seem to relax. The fate of all the universes was at stake. Voyager’s efforts had bought the time for this final scene to be played out.
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