Star Trek: Voyager - 041 - The Eternal Tide

by Kirsten Beyer

  Amanda had seen enough. She deactivated the prism and, with a gentle force of will, chose to enter that specific timestream in order to study it more carefully.

  Seconds later, to her alarm, she found herself still standing in the vault on Eris. Several additional attempts yielded the same result. Eventually Amanda was forced to accept that for reasons she could not imagine, this timeline was beyond her ability to reach.

  This was troubling, because like so many other things Junior had told her recently, that should have been impossible.

  Q CONTINUUM

  “Where have you been?”

  “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of eternity this morning.”

  “It’s rude to just leave in the middle of a conversation, Amanda.”

  “I’m sorry. I just realized there might be something that could help us, and I wanted to make sure before I said anything more. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up, in case . . .”

  “Trust me, there’s no chance that’s going to happen now.”

  “Q?”

  “What did you find?”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Tell me what you found first.”

  “No.”

  “Amanda!”

  “No. I understand she was your godmother, but your obsession with this goes beyond anything you could possibly feel for her. You don’t feel anything that deeply, except your father’s displeasure, and that’s exactly what you’re risking by continuing to pursue this.”

  “If that’s true, why do you waste your time with me?”

  “You’re Q. Feelings aren’t exactly your forte.”

  “You’re Q, too.”

  “Yes, but I had a life as a human first. Their experience of reality is informed almost entirely by their feelings, and it’s a pretty tough thing to unlearn. And you know exactly why I waste my time with you. We’re both different. We’re the only children of a race that never procreated until we came along. You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a brother, so even when you’re annoying the hell out of me, I’m not just going to write you off.”

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, but you might want to get used to the idea of being an only child.”

  “That’s not even possible.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “I am.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  • • •

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Fine. For most of my life, I thought I was like every other Q. I did what I wanted, went where I pleased, explored the multiverse at will, you know the drill.”

  “I do. And that’s not entirely accurate.”

  “Okay, up until a while back I did all of those things under strict parental supervision, but after I finished my coursework, the Continuum relaxed that rule.”

  “What changed?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. But it started fairly recently, a few years ago, maybe by linear calendars.”

  “What started?”

  “This.”

  . . .

  “WhattheohmywhatIcan’tohwhatwhere . . . ?”

  “Give it a minute.”

  • • •

  “Better now?”

  “What was that?”

  “That’s what happens to me every single time I try to access any point in time that is in the near or distant future.”

  “Did you hear the screaming?”

  “Sorry, that was probably me. It’s worse now than it was at first. I can’t bear more than a few moments of it. You wouldn’t believe the trouble I’ve had trying to hide this from my parents. They’re big on the future, always wanting to show me the amazing things that are in store. I used to love it, really. It was fun. And now I can’t . . .”

  “This is wrong.”

  “I know. It’s like I don’t exist there.”

  “But of course you do. You’re Q. Your existence transcends normal space and time. You exist everywhere at once.”

  “No, Amanda, you do. My parents do. The rest of the Continuum does. There’s something wrong with me.”

  “Okay. Let’s just be calm about this.”

  “You be calm. I’m embracing panic as a new state of existence.”

  “You said it wasn’t always this way. It changed recently. Did something happen?”

  “It wasn’t anything I ate, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “You know it isn’t.”

  “It kind of snuck up on me. I was actually with Kol the first time it happened.”

  “How is he? I haven’t seen him since graduation.”

  “He doesn’t get out much anymore, stays really close to home since his mother came back. And by the way, really not the point.”

  “Sorry.”

  “At first I thought I might have discovered some new dimension or something. I played with it. And then I started testing it in incredibly small measures to see if I could fix a starting point for it.”

  “And did you succeed?”

  “Within a few days.”

  “A few days of when?”

  “Now.”

  “Oh.”

  “I can still go back in time as far as I want. I’ve studied every timeline there is. I paid particular attention to the multiple lives of anyone I interacted with on a fixed dimensional plane.”

  “That’s how you figured out that Kathryn’s death is a fixed point in time.”

  “I kept coming back to her, like I was drawn to her. It wasn’t a choice, more like an instinct. After a while it seemed like there had to be a connection between what the multiverse was doing to her and what it was doing to me.”

  “The multiverse doesn’t act on you, Q. You’re beyond it.”

  “Amanda, that’s what I used to think, too. But I’m almost positive now that somehow, something she did, or didn’t do, caused this.”

  “Something she didn’t do?”

  “Aunt Kathy changed time. My dad told me about it a while ago. I’ve never seen it because by the time I thought to look, it didn’t exist anymore, but there used to be a timeline where she didn’t get her crew home in seven years. It took a lot longer. As best I can tell now, as long as that timeline existed, I had free rein throughout all space and time. But that timeline collapsed when she made a decision to go back into her own past and, through her interactions with her past self, changed her future. Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant years ahead of schedule and everyone was happy. But in that same blink of an eye, my existence was altered, and apparently, so was hers. That’s when her death became a fixed point across the multiverse. And the worst part is, because that collapsed timeline no longer exists for me to study, I can’t even figure out what any of this has to do with me.”

  “Maybe you can.”

  “I’ve tried.”

  “I don’t mean you can experience it, but you should be able to see it. I have.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s this thing on Eris. It’s called the prism. Your father showed it to me once. I swear he uses it more than he’d ever let on, but that’s another conversation. It’s a time refractor. Any Q can use it to see every timeline at any point. I was just there and I saw a timeline where Kathryn Janeway survived beyond the point of her death everywhere else.”

  “I’m going there now.”

  “Wait.”

  “Amanda, I don’t have time—”

  “Wait! When I found that one timeline, I had the same thought. Not exactly, because I didn’t know the specifics of your problem, but I tried to enter that timeline to experience it so I could give you a full report and prove you wrong. But I couldn’t do it. I could see it through the prism. But I couldn’t go there. Just like you can’t go to the future.”

  “You saw the blackness?”

  “I didn’t even get that far. I never left Eris.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “We seem to be r
eaching that conclusion with alarming frequency these days, don’t we?”

  “What did you see through the prism?”

  “Kathryn Janeway was on her ship in the Delta Quadrant. There was some sort of emergency. There were serious injuries to a few people. But the crisis passed and she was still alive.”

  “That’s not much to go on.”

  “The prism isn’t the most sophisticated tool. I did sense, however, that there was another ship involved in what was happening. And I’m pretty sure it still exists.”

  “What ship?”

  “I’m going to find it and take a look.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “What have I got to lose?”

  “Q, I don’t know and I don’t want to know. Maybe this is what causes your problem in the first place, if it’s connected at all. But you’re staying as far away from it as I can keep you until I understand more.”

  “It’s not your job to protect me, Amanda.”

  No, it’s mine.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Amanda, please take me with you.”

  “No. I promise I’ll come back as soon as I know anything, and then we’ll take this to the Continuum.”

  “No, we won’t.”

  “They might be able to help.”

  “You think? Because my guess is they’re going to look at the only two Q in existence not created at the dawn of time who are suddenly having difficulty traveling in time like any normal Q and decide we’re the problem.”

  “You might have a point there.”

  “Then I’ll go to Eris and use that prism thing.”

  “Wait until I get back. I won’t be a second.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Amanda!”

  “Amanda?”

  “Amanda . . .”

  My poor darling. Why didn’t you tell me?

  Chapter Six

  VOYAGER

  “Well, Mister Lasren?” Chakotay asked, wondering if the long-range sensor scans of the tranquil-looking planet on the main viewscreen were really all there was to see.

  “Coordinates confirmed, sir,” Lasren replied from ops. “It’s definitely Riley’s Planet.”

  Chakotay willed his stomach to settle as he awaited the next series of reports. Much as he wanted to know the fate of Riley Frazier and her collective, he’d never been able to dismiss the notion that from the moment they’d first met, he’d been dancing with the devil.

  “Scans of the surface from this distance are not going to be entirely accurate, Captain,” Lasren continued, “but it appears that the collective has expanded since your last visit.”

  “Indeed,” Chakotay replied softly. A sharp pain shot up along the left side of his spine, evidence of his tension. The thought that Riley’s relatively small “cooperative” might have seen fit to add to its numbers was one nightmare scenario that had plagued him since Voyager had departed this sector years earlier. There was nothing they could have done about it. A single ship, far from home, wasn’t about to wage war on eighty thousand sentient life-forms who only wished to live in their perverse version of peace. And much as it galled Chakotay, Voyager had only been able to dispatch warning buoys before departing, advising travelers of the nature of the planet’s inhabitants. Still, the captain was truly shocked that things turned out this way.

  Once Borg, always Borg, I guess.

  Watching Seven grow into her humanity had given Chakotay hope that Riley and the other former Borg might manage to evolve. Now, he wondered if he had ever truly appreciated how unique Seven really was.

  “How many inhabitants are you reading, Lieutenant?” Tom Paris asked.

  “Over two hundred thousand,” Lasren replied.

  Chakotay turned, and his eyes met Tom’s. The disappointment and trepidation both clearly felt were mirrored back to one another.

  “Are we picking up any evidence of Borg technology?” Chakotay asked.

  “No, sir,” Lasren replied. “There are a number of energy readings, but none that register as Borg.”

  “Maybe the Caeliar’s reach extended here too,” Tom said, hopefully.

  “Captain, we’ve got incoming,” Harry Kim reported from tactical.

  Tom quickly ordered, “Red Alert.” Then added, “On-screen.”

  Under the circumstances, Chakotay wasn’t going to fault his first officer for being cautious.

  A ship replaced the image of the planet. Its hull shared the dark black coloring of a Borg cube, but that’s where any similarity ended. A harsh-looking vessel, configured like a wide, multilevel isosceles triangle, approached. The point and adjacent sides of the widest, forward angle appeared to be the command component of the ship. It comprised the entirety of the vessel’s upper level. Its rear section angled back toward the center point, giving it the appearance of a wide V, and was lined with thrusters. Small nacelles were affixed to each of its sides. Beneath this array, a second level was visible, filling in the rest of the “triangle.” The rear ends of this level were also equipped with propulsion systems. Weapons arrays were evenly spaced and integrated into the upper and lower levels. It wasn’t one-twentieth Voyager’s size, but its sharp angles and obvious firepower were intimidating nonetheless.

  “Whoever they are, I don’t recognize them,” Tom offered.

  “Neither do I,” Chakotay agreed. “What’s their distance, Harry?”

  “Five hundred thousand kilometers and closing,” Kim replied.

  “Why are we just picking them up?” Tom asked.

  “They appeared, following a visible interphasic disruption,” Kim replied tensely. “Looks like they’ve got a form of cloaking technology.”

  “Are they alone?” Chakotay asked, clearly troubled by this news.

  “Reconfiguring sensors now, Captain,” Patel called from the bridge’s aft science station.

  “What else can you tell me about them, Harry?” Chakotay asked.

  “Crew complement is fourteen humanoid life-forms. Their shields and weapons are standard for a ship of their size,” Kim reported.

  “Open a channel,” Chakotay ordered.

  “Aye, sir. Channel open,” Lasren replied.

  “This is Captain Chakotay of the Federation Starship Voyager. We are here on an exploratory mission. Please identify yourselves.”

  A few tense seconds passed before Lasren advised, “Incoming response, audio only.”

  Following a burst of low static a rough, rasping voice that sounded like it had been run through a few too many computerized compressions replied, “We are the Tarkons. We claim this part of space as our own.”

  Chakotay tried to keep things friendly, though his gut advised him that wasn’t going to last long. “We didn’t mean to arrive unannounced, but the last time we were here, this area was unaffiliated.”

  “Are you challenging our claim?” the voice demanded.

  “Not at all,” Chakotay immediately replied. “We’ve only come to take a look at the fourth planet in the system. We have no hostile intentions toward you or the planet’s occupants, and we’d appreciate the opportunity to proceed in peace.”

  “The planet in question is one of our resettlement facilities. You will not proceed,” the voice answered curtly.

  Chakotay looked to Lasren and motioned for him to silence audio. When Lasren had nodded the all-clear, Chakotay said, “Why does the name Tarkon ring a bell?”

  “When we were charting the Nekrit Expanse, we were warned by the Mikhal Travelers to avoid Tarkon space,” Kim replied.

  Tom added, “The Tarkons were known for their propensity and skill in stealing other people’s vessels.”

  The hazy warning Chakotay had been struggling with crystallized. “I remember. It was Zahir who told Tuvok about them, right?”

  “We charted a course well c
lear of their known space,” Tom added, “which at the time didn’t extend this far.”

  “So they’ve been busy,” Chakotay said grimly. “Lasren, I need better data on the planet’s inhabitants. If our friends are telling the truth, they could have colonized the planet over the objections of Riley’s people, or if their acquisition was more recent . . .”

  “You mean if the Caeliar absorbed Riley’s people?” Tom asked.

  “Yes. The Tarkons might have just come along and claimed what was left,” Chakotay replied.

  “We’re going to have to get closer for that,” Lasren replied, “unless Seven can assist me.”

  “Chakotay to Seven of Nine,” the captain called over the comm. “Have you been monitoring our communications with the Tarkons?”

  “ Yes, Captain. I am in the process of attempting to enhance our long-range scanners for more detailed physiological signatures,” Seven replied. “I will require a minimum of fifteen minutes to complete the operation.”

  “Harry, how much damage can those ships do?”

  “Once they’re in range, which they will be in five minutes, not a lot. We can hold out against one indefinitely. But if there are more of them out there . . .” Kim warned.

  “Noted.”

  “Let’s hope this one likes to chat,” Tom offered.

  “I haven’t gotten that impression, but I could be wrong,” Chakotay replied, nodding to Lasren to reopen the channel.

  Before Chakotay could resume the conversation, the Tarkon vessel’s captain—Chakotay assumed—stated briskly, “Starship Voyager, under article forty-seven, section thirteen of the Tarkon Commercial Charter, you are in violation of our territory, which is considered an act of war. You are ordered to surrender your vessel and prepare your crew for transport to the nearest Tarkon resettlement facility. Hold position and prepare to be boarded.”

  At this, Tom’s eyebrows shot up in amusement. “Who do they think they’re kidding?” he asked softly enough that only Chakotay could hear him.

  “Tarkon ship,” Chakotay began as diplomatically as possible, “as I’ve already indicated, we came here in peace. We were unaware of your claims to this part of space, and now that we’ve been apprised of it, we will willingly depart without conflict.”