String Theory, Book 3: Evolution

by Heather Jarman

  There was no question in the Doctor’s mind that had Kes not agreed to intervene, Lia would have died. Lia’s life force would linger as long as Kes sustained her. For now, Lia existed, but not independently.

  Before his current experience inhabiting Ced’s body, the Doctor may have been dubious about Kes’s explanation. Now he understood from firsthand experience—at least in part—what Kes and Lia were going through. One of his few regrets was that he would not know Ced the way Kes knew Lia; in this he envied Kes a little.

  He felt around his person until he found the weapons Ced usually carried for protection—a dagger and a fire lance. He drew out both from where they were buried in his robes. Though he doubted that either of these items could harm Vivia should she decide to confront him here, he might have a fair shot at holding back any deserters or marauding villagers seeking to ease their suffering through scavenging whatever had been abandoned by the departing soldiers. Among those left behind were an aging Ocampan soldier plagued by gout and arthritis and a pregnant female—hardly a match for the desperate.

  On the positive side, the Doctor believed that the Caretaker and Suspiria had already begun creating their protective web for the Ocampa and by so doing were protecting him as well. From what he learned from Kes, the pair had accepted the punishment Balim imposed before the Light had departed. By Nacene standards, they were the youngest of the Exiles. For agreeing to his terms, Balim had protected Suspiria and the Caretaker, preventing them from being discovered here by other, more opportunistic Nacene like Vivia’s Exile counterpart, Phoebe. He didn’t know what was worse: being on a dying world or being out where Phoebe must be waging her own war of attrition. Both Vivia and Phoebe had chosen the form of a rampaging Janeway female. There seemed to be something vaguely appropriate about that choice, though the Doctor wasn’t exactly sure what.

  A low, throaty groan came from inside the tent.

  Without examining her, the Doctor knew the time had come to bring the Keeper of the Light into the universe. He gathered up his possessions and entered the tent. Once inside, he laid his pack flat, opened the flap, and removed the ropes he would use to tie up her arms to facilitate delivery, as well as the oils that would be massaged into her delivery canal. On a professional note, he’d never before delivered a hybrid Ocampa-Nacene, so he believed the experience would be educational.

  Throwing the cape back over his shoulder, he pushed up his tunic sleeves and then squeezed a few precious drops of water from the water sack to wipe the dust from his hands. He poured a quantity of wine from another skin over his hands and lower arms, hoping the alcohol content would adequately sterilize his skin.

  Another groan, deeper and more prolonged, emerged from the cot.

  Though the gestation period had taken hours because of the Balim’s Nacene energies, the delivery, alas, would still be of normal duration. By lantern light, the Doctor worked with Kes long into the night, coaxing her to breathe through the pain. He massaged her back and arms, placed water on her tongue, and rubbed ointment into her parched lips. Sometime after the moon had set, she began hallucinating, rambling on about an amalgam of lives and realities that the Doctor couldn’t follow. A fever began.

  The Doctor considered emergency surgery, uncertain whether Lia’s body could survive such a procedure. In the half-light of early dawn, the child, the Keeper of the Light, was finally born. He cried loudly, with powerful lungs. Kes wrapped him in the Doctor’s cape and clutched the child to her breast. The Keeper of the Light had breathed the air of his native Ocampa for only a few minutes when the Doctor heard noises outside. He slid the dagger out of its hiding place and peeked beneath the tent flap.

  “Knock, knock,” a familiar voice said.

  The Doctor sheathed his dagger. “Nice to see you again, Q.”

  Q strolled into the tent, a buxom blonde coiled around his arm. “Well done, Doctor, and you too, Mommy.” He nodded toward Kes. “Can I see the little guy?”

  Still lying on the makeshift bedroll the Doctor had created for her when the cot had become too confining, Kes tightened her grip on her child. “You’ve come to take him, haven’t you?”

  Q squatted down before Kes. “You know I have to. For his protection and yours,” he said gently, resting a hand on her blanket-covered leg.

  Kes blinked back tears. “May I have a moment with him?”

  Jerking his head toward the entrance, he motioned for the Doctor to follow him. “Don’t ever say I’m not an old softy, Doc. I am nothing if not the paragon of the sensitive modern male of the universe.”

  The Doctor rolled his eyes and followed behind Q.

  Shortly thereafter, Kes emerged from the tent. “You’ll take good care of him?”

  “The finest education the Q Continuum can offer. I already have a spot for him at Q U.”

  Taking a deep breath, she passed the squirming bundle off to Q, who offered the baby an index finger to play with. “The kid has a death grip, Kes. What did you feed him?”

  She laughed in spite of her sorrow.

  “You’ll see Uncle Q in a minute, little guy,” Q said, rubbing the newborn’s nose. “I’ve just got to take care of your mom first.” He passed the baby back to the buxom blonde, who vanished with a snap of Q’s fingers.

  Covering his mouth, he mumbled to the Doctor, “Wet nurse,” and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Q…” The Doctor was most certainly not in the mood. “You know you could have just taken care of all of this from the start.”

  “I know. But there are those pesky issues of choice and chance. Can’t fight those, I fear. I can only clean up when the smoke clears.”

  “So are you going to send us back to Voyager now?” the Doctor asked, his mood souring rapidly.

  “Not quite yet. I figured Mom here would like to see how junior turned out.”

  Snap.

  When the light from Monorha’s destruction faded from the starscape, both q’s team and Kol watched expectantly, wondering whether the Rutillian would obliterate Ocampa. Tom suspected that Harry might have a nervous breakdown any moment, while he—well, Tom just felt guilty. How cavalier he’d been in tossing down Monorha, gambling the lives of all those individuals Voyager had fought so hard to save. He’d foolishly dismissed common sense, believing that he might get another one-in-a-billion break.

  Expressionless, the Rutillian raised his hand, pointing his finger in the direction of Ocampa—

  A profane exclamation escaped q, who slumped down in her chair; she reached out for one of Tom’s hands and one of Harry’s and gripped them tightly. Across the table, Kol’s eyes sought and found q’s. Tom couldn’t see q’s face but he could sense from her body language how intently she focused on her friend.

  The Rutillian’s finger hovered in the air for a long moment when he abruptly jerked his elbow, as if he were about to unleash the destruction and just as abruptly pulled it back. The fake-out prompted q’s team to jump in their chairs.

  Mouthing “Pow!” the Rutillian displayed a scraggletoothed grin.

  Tom closed his eyes: he couldn’t bear to watch.

  “No.”

  Tom opened his eyes; q straightened up and leaned forward, watching intently.

  Kol had tossed his stack of chips—including a pile hidden beneath the table—over the surface of the Rutillian’s pyramid. “I’ll buy it back.”

  “How unlike you, Keeper,” the Rutillian said, his voice like rock scraping against rock.

  “Ocampa means nothing to you,” Kol said.

  “But it evidently means something to you, which makes me believe that it is a bad idea for me to hand it over so blithely. Perhaps I should keep it for the next round. See if a more competent player can take it from me.”

  “Whatever you want for it.” Kol pushed up his sleeves, unfastened several bracelets and tossed them on the chips. “I’ll borrow more.”

  “Your credit is worth nothing. Everyone knows it.” The Rutillian cackled. “You’ve given me a lo
vely story, Kol. No one will believe me when I tell them that you’ve suddenly grown a moral compass. How many times have we gone cavorting through galaxies together, blasting planetoids and causing tsunamis on pathetic little worlds—worlds a lot like this one!”

  “Whatever the price, I’ll pay it.” Standing to his full height, Kol opened up his arms, as if in a pose of surrender. “Search me. Take whatever you find.”

  The Rutillian sniffed. “I’m bored now. This conversation becomes more taxing by the moment.” He raised his arm, pointing his finger at Ocampa—

  Kol stepped from behind his side of the table and walked over to the dealer. “The Rutillian is a cheater.”

  “Are you filing a formal complaint, Keeper?” the Dealer asked, hand hovering over a bright red security button.

  The Rutillian paused. “Don’t be foolish, Kol. If you insist on taking that course, you know how it will end for you.”

  “I don’t care,” Kol said to the Rutillian. To the dealer he said, “Yes, I’m filing a formal complaint.”

  “How do you know for certain that the gentleman is cheating?”

  “Because he taught me,” Kol said. “And this is how he does it—”

  The Rutillian reached into his stack of chips, removed a thick one, and tossed it over to Kol. “Take your precious toy back.” He brushed the stacks of credits on the table into his hands and shoved them into his pockets. “I’m done here,” he said, and left the table.

  Kol stood beside his chair, staring at the Ocampa chip in his hand. He glanced up at q; a smile cracked his face. For the first time since he’d laid eyes on him, Tom could see hints beneath the surface of the person Kol had the potential of becoming. The Rutillian pushed by Kol, brusquely bumping into him. Kol responded with an exaggerated bow of politeness.

  A pair of humanoids with bone-white skin, clad in gray mandarin-style tunics and matching pants, appeared in the doorway. Each wore dark glasses and stood with hands on hips. “We have a pickup.”

  Tom heard q chuckling quietly. He leaned over and asked her what was so funny.

  “They’re security. The Rutillian will have plenty of time to think about his Trinity game in the ninth—” She scooted away from the table. “Let’s get out of here before they start asking us questions.” She grabbed Harry’s arm and guided him toward Kol’s side of the table. Tom followed close behind. He extended a hand to Kol, intending to congratulate the Keeper. Just as the Ocampa-Nacene took his hand—

  The four of them stood inside the aft compartment of the Homeward Bound.

  “Games, children, such games!” Q said, opening his arms expansively and wrapping one around Kol. “The trip to Fortis was supposed to be fun. Why all the Sturm und Drang? By the looks on your faces, one might assume that instead of having fun, worlds were at stake.” Starting a stroll around the cluster of them, Q paused and slapped his palm lightly against his cheek. “Why, I suppose they were. Why is that? Is it because Mr. Kim made a predictably foolish bet?” Q circled Harry, bringing his face within a nose’s length of Harry’s. “All these choices. All these chances and all these consequences.” His expression turned dark. “Isn’t it lovely?”

  “I told you he loves that song and dance,” q muttered.

  “Did you say something q, because I don’t recall inviting you to speak?” Q snapped.

  She stuck out her tongue in response.

  Ignoring her, Q continued, “As much fun as it is to ponder the mysteries of the universe, I believe you’ve done what I asked and found our AWOL friend here. Isn’t that true, Mr. Paris? And yet the universe is still careering on a path to destruction.”

  Tom indicated that that was, indeed, the circumstance they faced.

  “I suppose we should do something about that,” Q said. “You’ve still got work to do. Computer, set a course for the Monorhan system.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  The familiar voice of the computer was music to Tom’s ears. At last, normal, he thought. He waited for the warp nacelles to come online, but they never did. Q must be propelling them by other means. And then it occurred to him: Who was piloting the shuttle?

  Before Tom could ask Q why he didn’t simply snap his fingers and will them back to Voyager, Kol collapsed into one of the shuttle’s passenger seats and exhaled loudly. “I had no idea…”

  “It would hurt so much?” Q said.

  Kol nodded. “How could I have been so careless?”

  “You had to learn. Loss hurts. Not those chips you toss around like spare hydrogen molecules.” Q rested a hand on Kol’s shoulder. “Loss. Real loss becomes part of who and what you are.”

  “I’m ready. For whatever my father, my mother intended for me,” Kol said.

  And from his tone, Tom believed him.

  “You had to learn first, Junior. Next time, there won’t be a second chance,” Q said. “You’ll have to accept the consequences without your Uncle Q riding to the rescue.”

  “What’s next?” Kol asked Q.

  “Like I’m going to make it that easy for you?” Q made an irritable hand wave. “I’ll give you a hint: You’re going to have to give your Nacene relatives a good reason to get out of Exosia so the strings can be set right. Tell them they’ve won the lottery—or, better yet, an all-expenses-paid vacation to another dimension.”

  Kol smiled. “I think I know what to do.”

  After a long moment of companionable silence, Harry said, “So I was right. To place the bet.”

  Q scowled at him. “Must it always be about you, Mr. Kim?”

  “Well…I mean…of course not…I mean—” Harry stammered.

  “Obviously you aren’t learning your lessons—remember choice and chance? You made a choice, took a chance, and we ended up here. So I must reluctantly admit that you chose correctly.”

  Tom slapped Harry between the shoulder blades. “Good work, Harry.”

  “On your way back to Voyager, you can discuss your educational advancements with a couple of friends of yours.” Q snapped his fingers.

  Harry had barely processed the words “back to Voyager.” Seated in the pilot and the copilot seat were—

  Rushing forward, Tom cried out, “Doc? And—”

  “Mother,” Kol said. He took several long steps toward the diminutive woman seated in the passenger chair, dropped to his knees, leaned his face against Kes’s tunic, and closed his eyes.

  “Talk to the ‘little minds,’ ” Neelix told Tei, the rih-hara-tan. As the healthiest of the bunch, the squatty, garrulous female had become the Monorhans’ primary spokesperson. “Use your mind-speak to help them deliver more power to the shields. The ship’s protection system.”

  The rih gave him a look that reminded him of the wellmeaning, genial expression of a pet roogalo he’d once had. Dumb as a lomp’s tail, that roogalo, but the most snuggly pet he’d ever had—hardly ever shed! “Do you understand?” Neelix asked.

  Tei clicked and thrummed a few times, but none of the others appeared to understand the rih’s suggestions. She gave Neelix a desperate look. “I am sorry. But they have a difficult time comprehending your…your…technology. It is far more advanced than ours.”

  Neelix glanced at his chronometer. Commander Chakotay had given him almost no time to use his carefully honed diplomatic expertise to teach the rih-hara-tan how to help Voyager. But wasn’t that the crux of diplomacy? A carefully constructed foundation of friendship and mutual understanding so that at one critical juncture, everything worked. Well, this was a critical juncture if ever Neelix saw one. Other than Tei and Xan, the blank looks on his guests’ faces concerned him—deeply. Neelix threw up his arms in frustration. “The shields are like a shell that surrounds Voyager. The shell protects the insides where we are. If the shell cracks, the insides break. Like your ship. The rih must tell the little minds that they need to work as hard as they ever have to keep the shell intact.”

  A veritable percussion section of thrums and clicks followed as the rih chattered, presumably abou
t Neelix’s request.

  They spoke so quickly that the universal translator could barely keep up. Neelix didn’t care. “I’m sorry, honorable rih, but we don’t have time to discuss!” Neelix said, jumping up and down to get their attention. “Voyager is going to be in big trouble if we can’t get those little minds to work together to be stronger. NOW.”

  Tei peered at Neelix, blinked twice. “I believe I understand how to teach them.” She took two of his fellow rih by the hand and guided them toward the center of main engineering. The others followed after in their characteristic loping gait until all the Monorhans formed a line that bisected the room right in front of the warp core.

  The humming began.

  Neelix watched, feeling hope, but definitely understanding the dubious expressions on the faces of the engineering staff. He was confident, however, that the Monorhans knew what needed to be done. He’d already seen them demonstrate their powers, though he wasn’t about to volunteer that information to Commander Chakotay.

  When they first arrived, the rih-hara-tan had only been able to identify the irritating (to them) cacophony of noise emitting from the bioneural gel packs. It had brought them discomfort, as it had the Monorhans who had visited the previous week. Thankfully, in the intervening days since Ziv and his group departed, Neelix had been able to figure out a logical way to explain the phenomenon.

  Neelix had asked each of the rih to focus on one specific aspect of the noise—one characteristic. Once that was accomplished, he helped the Monorhans comprehend that each unique noise represented an individual component of a group—like a hara—and that the noises were emitted by members of the group. When that comprehension dawned, one of the more eager rih had apparently “talked” the gel packs into increasing the room temperature in sickbay by two degrees Celsius. A small thing—not worth bothering the commander about—but definitely proof that the rih understood the gel packs.