From her experiences sharing B’Elanna’s consciousness, she did know that the complex and often illogical relationship B’Elanna had with Tom Paris was one of the stabilizing forces in B’Elanna’s life. Losing him permanently could have a seriously detrimental impact on one of Voyager’s most vital crew members. On one of my…friends, Seven thought, still not entirely comfortable with the term. Unfortunately, the longer she worked, the more she believed that a positive outcome for Tom and Harry was impossible. She decided to persist a little while longer in the hopes that she might find a piece of data she’d overlooked. She input another long series of formulas, then stood back to wait for the operation to run its course.
Tuvok had remained silent for such a long moment that Seven had forgotten he was with her until he asked if he might speak with her about a situation unrelated to their current assignment.
His request surprised her: of all the members of Voyager’s crew, Tuvok was the least likely to socialize on duty. Recalling Captain Janeway’s behavior at moments such as these, she encouraged him to speak freely. “I am presently waiting for the computer to finish its calculations,” she added, lest he feel she was too busy to listen.
“In the immediate future, there will not be time to have such a discussion, nor will it be appropriate,” Tuvok said, employing the same steady voice he’d used before. “I apologize in advance for taking time away from the matter at hand, but I believe your insight into my personal situation may be valuable.”
“I doubt that my limited experience as an individual can provide you with understanding you have not gained in more than a hundred years of living,” Seven said, continuing to study the sensor datastream. She wondered if she should ask him to join her in consuming a beverage or to stand beside her while she spoke. Such behavior seemed to be customary among crew members when they wanted to “talk.” Except Tuvok. She didn’t know what he found customary.
“I believe I have recently acquired knowledge that has facilitated a greater understanding of your life with the Borg.”
Curious, Seven turned to look at him. His face, as usual, revealed nothing. “Proceed,” she said.
“During my experiences on Gremadia I discovered what it is like to live in the presence of many. To know and be known by many minds and to freely exchange understanding and knowledge,” Tuvok said. “Before this experience, I knew only the linking of several minds, and in that process, I never surrendered my individuality.”
“And on Gremadia?” Seven said softly, suspecting that she knew what he would say next.
“My individuality was augmented. I believe I glimpsed the Vulcan ideal, Kol-ut-Shan—” The carefully modulated tone diverged by a note. He paused, his entire body still save for the rise and fall of his chest taking a sequence of identical, deep inhalations.
Seven identified the deliberate rhythm as a meditation. Whatever he was attempting to express had affected him deeply.
The calm veneer renewed, he continued: “I became more and I expanded. A solo flute expanded beyond its singular capacity that became part of a symphony creating music that I didn’t know was possible.”
His words evoked memories. Seven did indeed understand what he spoke of. For once, she was not on the outside of a conversation; she allowed herself the tiniest of triumphant smiles over this small, social victory. “Based on your metaphor, I believe what you experienced was more beneficent than the Borg collective. There was nothing in the collective that I would describe as ‘music,’ as it is more of a hive-mind state. However, it is difficult to explain the merits of such a unified state of mind to those who haven’t had such an experience,” Seven said.
“Until I lived with all those minds being part of my own, I admit that I failed to recognize what an isolated and contained existence individuals have.” He met her gaze directly.
“That is true,” she said, and added mentally, You may not say it, but I will: It is a lonely existence. In the long moment she held his gaze, Tuvok’s Vulcan self-control never wavered. She perceived, however, that beneath the calm surface he projected, he had experienced a loss. She acknowledged to herself that she might be projecting on Tuvok her own sense of alienation after being severed from the Borg. Even so, Seven felt oddly comforted to know that at least one person on Voyager could relate to her past life.
“The adjustment—after you were severed from the Borg—did it take a long time before you felt whole as an individual?” Tuvok said.
“Truthfully, I cannot say that I’ve ever felt whole as I did when part of the collective. But I have come to think of my life in different terms.”
“Such as?”
“Instead of considering what I lack, I have made peace with my separateness. I have come to appreciate the merits of free will.”
“Indeed. Having control of one’s mind and body can be satisfying and provide a tremendous sense of accomplishment.”
“My independence meant more to me after I had the contrast of being an individual for a time, then sharing my consciousness with—”
B’Elanna. Remembering what she had been doing before Tuvok had begun speaking to her, Seven returned her attention to the console. Moments later, the computer chirped that Seven’s equations were complete. She became engrossed in what she read, uncertain of its meaning.
“New information,” Tuvok said.
Seven nodded. “Concerning the missing shuttle.”
“My first recommendation in your command training is to deliver this news, good or bad, in person. It is the most considerate choice given how important it is to Lieutenant Torres.”
It was Seven’s turn to take several deep steadying breaths. She touched her combadge. “Seven to Torres.”
“What do you want, Seven?” She sounded exhausted.
“I request a meeting with you about several items, including using the multispatial probe for the Doctor’s recovery.”
“I have the specs here. Send your modifications over and I’ll have Joe pass it to me as soon as it comes online.”
“I believe we should discuss this in person.” Seven glanced over at Tuvok. He nodded his approval.
Another long pause, then, “Fine. Main engineering in five minutes.”
A longing to remain entombed in astrometrics filled Seven. She hated dealing with people.
“While you are gone, I will continue my work on the weapons systems,” Tuvok said, nudging her along.
“Should there be any developments—”
“I will contact you.” Tuvok stood looking at her, making no indication that he would return to his work until she departed.
Seven took the hint. She downloaded the probe data onto a padd and departed. Taking the longest route to main engineering would give her time to consider how she should approach B’Elanna.
Just as Tuvok understood her as he never had before, Seven had recently come to understand B’Elanna. This news would not be received well by the engineer. Unfortunately, she had the data to support her assertions; no ambiguity remained. Indeed, what she learned was a setback to all of Voyager: Tom and Harry were nowhere within light-years. They, and the shuttle, appeared to have vanished without leaving a single clue as to where they might be. The most obvious conclusion was that the shuttle had been destroyed. What gnawed at Seven, however, was the utter lack of any evidence of the shuttle’s destruction.
Most likely, the shuttle would have been destroyed as it launched off Voyager. Neither she nor B’Elanna had found the slightest physical trace of the shuttle’s remains—not so much as a random neutrino from the warp core blowing up. Her ongoing surveillance of the designated transport location showed the same result. Even in this sector of space, where the rules had been rewritten, Seven had seen no proof that a fundamental, Newtonian principle didn’t apply: even in Monorhan space, matter was neither created nor destroyed. Mass could change form, but it still existed. It was as if the shuttle had been scooped out of their shuttlebay and taken someplace beyond Voyager’s ability to fin
d it. But where?
Tom blinked and discovered he once again stood on the Q. E. II. His gaudy tourist attire had been replaced with a navy blue jacket over a stiff white button-up shirt. A length of red-and-blue-striped fabric was cinched tightly beneath the collar and tied with a choke knot at the throat. The khaki trousers scared him. The fly fastened with some horrific device with nubs of metal teeth that looked like it shred any skin unfortunate enough to get caught in its jaws. He had some vague recollection of clothing like this in the World War II holoprogram the Hirogen had had so much fun exploiting. Over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of Harry, also dressed in a jacket and trousers, standing with Q at the top of a gangplank, waiting to disembark at an unknown destination in space somewhere. As far as he could see, the Q. E. II was still sailing around stars and nebulae. The gangplank terminated near a particularly grim-looking moon that, from the observable atmosphere, bubbled over with highly acidic gases. That Q—always up for a good time, Tom thought as he jogged over to join Harry.
“You look smart, Mr. Paris,” Q said.
Realizing that Q was similarly attired, Tom wondered if this was a time-travel trip and if the Q. E. II was dropping them off at an interstellar space-time juncture. “Are we somewhere on twentieth-century Earth?”
Q snorted. “Hardly. We haven’t left the Continuum. No, we’re paying a visit to Q U—my alma mater, located just outside the Continuum boundaries. Finest facility of higher education in the universe and definitely not a place to go slumming in artificial fibers.” He flicked Tom’s lapels with his finger.
“This is how they dress at Q U?” Tom asked.
“To you it is.” Q started down the gangplank with Tom and Harry following close behind. “Like most things in this universe, reality is relative to how you perceive it. You perceive the Continuum in terms your little brains can wrap their neurons around. The truth is, you aren’t really wearing what you think you’re wearing but your brain is limited in its capacity to translate Q reality into human reality.”
As they approached the end of the gangplank, Tom looked over the sides cautiously. A meteor drifted by lazily. Otherwise, he saw a whole lot of nothing.
“Back to this whole Nacene guy called the Light,” Harry said with an undertone of impatience.
Q spun on his heel and glared down at Harry. “Are you really so eager to begin your life as a cold-blooded invertebrate, Mr. Kim?”
“I get how Voyager’s choices brought consequences to the universe. What I don’t get is why you need us to solve the problem. Why we just can’t go home.” Harry stared calmly up into Q’s eyes. All signs of “crawl-under-the-bed” Harry had vanished.
Tom was impressed. After the ear gag, he wasn’t sure if he would tempt Q into making good on his promise to turn Harry into a newt.
Q seemed to agree with Tom. He said, “Much better, Mr. Kim. You’ve grown a pair. And you’ve proved that you deserve to exist in the vertebrate taxonomy.” Q glanced nervously (to Tom’s eye) around the crowd streaming down the gangplank, then exhaled vociferously, muttering, “You might as well know. I misplaced something and I need you two to help me find it.”
Harry snorted. “You think two humans can do better than the Continuum?”
Placing an arm around Tom’s shoulders, then Harry’s, Q pulled them aside, then drew them close in so they could both hear him whisper. “The Continuum doesn’t know there’s a problem and none of us will tell them, is that understood? Trust me, Mr. Kim, the recent appearance of your backbone will not stop me from turning you into a plate of escargot—with butter sauce—if necessary.”
“I thought the Q knew all,” Tom said.
“Compared to you, we do. But that doesn’t mean that a certain measure of choice and chance doesn’t apply in our realm too.”
“Can’t you just do some of that finger snapping hocuspocus and conjure whatever it is?” Harry said.
“It isn’t an ‘it.’ It’s a ‘who.’ And since the ‘who’ has the ability to choose for himself, the little bugger’s gone missing just as the whole universe is looking to him to fulfill the mission he was born for.” Shaking his head, Q sighed.
“The little what?” Harry said.
“The Keeper of the Light, Mr. Kim,” Q said. “Offspring of the Light, conceived to save the universe from destruction. The kid took off from school last week and I need to find him before the Nacene do.”
At first, her fellow Exiles resisted Phoebe’s suggestions. Time in this dimension had made them weak and confused—so many had lost the vision of their purpose. She made them see that her way was correct, in part by reminding a Nacene who lacked the energy to change out of his Hirogen form how much pain she was capable of inflicting.
You have forgotten your purpose, she told him as he twisted and convulsed in the midst of them. You have forgotten your promise to liberate the captives of Exosia!
His attempts at resisting her attack (instead of accepting it, stupid creature) had sent his Hirogen form into even worse paroxysms. Even in his miserable state, he refused to relent.
Too long a separation from Exosia had made him stupid, Phoebe concluded. Stubborn creature! She accelerated the vibrations of his subatomic structure until his sporocystian structure began liquefying.
The others had watched his convulsions impassively, but she knew they realized they would be next should they fail to embrace her vision. When she sensed that they had accepted the inevitability of her dominion, she released the Hirogen from her attack. After all, draining his energy reserves wouldn’t help their cause much: she acknowledged this. It would take all of their power fused together to accomplish the task before them. Her authority, however, was demonstrated by making an example of him. Otherwise, she would have faced endless questions and input from the rest of them. Nearly a hundred thousand years in this space-time hadn’t necessarily changed their Nacene tendency to be caught up in minutiae. She wouldn’t tolerate such time wasting. The longer they delayed, the more likely they would lose their opportunity to return to Exosia with answers that would save their people.
One by one, they gathered around Phoebe until they formed a circle larger than she had the ability to see with her limited senses. Their circle spanned from the refuse belt created by Gremadia’s explosion and around the system’s star. Many Exiles she recognized; many she didn’t. Those that retained the capacity to revert to the Nacene’s natural state in this continuum did so. The weaker, more vulnerable Exiles retained their less-evolved guises. Gazing around their circle, Phoebe saw many primitive species whose forms and life cycles she too had assumed. She found it ironic that after all the time that had passed and the exploration she had undertaken she was compelled to return to Exosia as a refugee.
When the Exiles had all joined the Light at the great decisive battle and fought the Exosia Nacene for the right to be explorers, she had imagined she would one day return in triumph. She had envisioned showing Vivia and all those like her who were slavishly devoted to caring for the strings what the Nacene were truly capable of. Now…Now, she thought, I am forcing my way to the gateway out of desperation.
Mingle essences, she ordered the thousand gathered around her and immediately, she felt their confusion.
Where to begin? they asked her. For too long they had been Exiles, communicating as individuals.
Let go, she urged them, of what you know. It is only what you are that matters now.
As her fellow Nacene complied, at first clumsily, their energies gradually found one another. Steadily increasing power radiated from their bond. She felt their strength pouring into her; her strength poured into them. Understanding flowed in unimpeded streams. She had forgotten this glorious sensation of oneness, of being whole. Her appetite whetted, the desire to once again partake of Exosia’s glory overwhelmed her. Lost friends became known to her as the knowledge gained over thousands of centuries illuminated her. The conviction that she had made the right choice for them gave her the strength to issue the command: Go
to the refuse world, Monorha.
The war had begun.
In her mind’s eye, Vivia observed the Exiles joining their essences in what would be a futile attempt to storm the gateway. There was no question in her mind that Phoebe would fail.
Granted, she had yet to dispatch her armies. She had yet to decide if such a tactic was necessary, especially if Phoebe insisted on bringing the fight to them. The future was still forming, so much was in motion. All the choices had yet to be made. As soon as the probabilities became clearer, Vivia would be ready to fight if necessary.
In the meantime, all the Nacene that could be spared from the strings had another issue to deal with. The regional destabilization caused when the Light’s pretentious contraption exploded had forced her to deploy her resources to pull the black hole singularity through the subspace layers and into Exosia, where it could be safely controlled. Had she left it Outside, the strings would have been thrown out of kilter so quickly that what was left of the membrane protecting Exosia from the Outside would have dissolved. Any chance the Nacene had of protecting the strings would be gone. Such a risk could not be tolerated.
And then there was that photonic creature. The one from the container on the Outside. He had been a nuisance to deal with but at least she had found a use for him. Vivia had many extraordinary powers but placing herself into a primitive, carbon-based body in the time stream Outside was not one of them. She could, however, manipulate circumstances so that someone else could perform this errand for her. In this way, the photonic creature had come in handy. She would risk it muddying up the time stream if it meant ridding the universe of the Light in the process.
String Theory, Book 3: Evolution Page 12