Atonal humming began. At first Neelix believed it was a group meditation. Soon, the pitch varied within the group until the humming became an ornate fugue in a minor key that became impossible to ignore. Engineers throughout the room paused from their tasks and studied their alien guests, uncertainty written on their faces. What couldn’t be denied, however, was the quiet metallic buzzing that was nearly imperceptible. Initially, Neelix thought it was just another one of those engineering noises. When the deck plating began vibrating, however, no one in the room could ignore it.
A smallish corner of Neelix’s heart was fearful. Not too long ago, a Monorhan rih had nearly destroyed Voyager because of her interference with the autopilot. But only in this smallish corner did Neelix believe that these rih had the same black intentions as Sem. No, Neelix’s heart swelled as he watched them, overwhelmed by the blessing that fate had sent them in the form of a ship of Monorhan refugees.
He would later swear that the glow from the warp core became brighter and that for a moment he believed the Blue Eye had been resurrected on their ship. Most dismissed it as one of Neelix’s exaggerations. Most—but never the engineers. Whether or not the glow was real or imagined, no one ever question the reality of the words coming over the comsystem:
“Shields are at full strength and climbing. Keep it up!”
Neelix could hear the smile in Chakotay’s voice.
Tuvok had never been one to be as impressed by the accomplishments of sentients as he was by the powers of nature. The wind and rains that could carve away stone with patient ministrations, for example, or the continental plates that could reshape a landmass within seconds by shifting ever so slightly.
Yet the Monorhan ship, even by Starfleet standards, was undeniably awe-inspiring. The persistence and devotion to duty that would motivate them to build a central hull that would dwarf fifteen Enterprises had to be admired. Perhaps it was the difficulty he was having finding Lieutenant Torres against such a colossal creation that had prompted his admiration. Against such a backdrop, she would be as a speck of dust, as Tuvok was quickly discovering.
Tariq was piloting the best he could, since they were both relying on visual. The shock wave had damaged the shuttle’s sensors, so their reliability was suspect. He insisted on muttering under his breath—repeatedly—“Just don’t know how we’re going to find her out here.”
Tuvok found Tariq’s sentiments less than helpful in resolving their current predicament. The chronometer readout on the piloting control panel assured that Tuvok knew that they had mere minutes before the explosion started. Perhaps six or seven if the crudeness of Monorhan technology reduced the accuracy of Lieutenant Torres’s calculations.
Tuvok studied the instruments, wondering what, if anything, these broken tools could do to help resolve the challenge before them. The wisdom of one of his Kolinahr masters returned to him: the mind knows all it needs to know and can, with logic and self-mastery, succeed where all else fails.
Lacking the time to undergo a full meditation and recognizing what was at stake, Tuvok forced his unruly thoughts into order, rejecting the distraction of the computer consoles, the chronometer, the texture of his uniform, the dryness of his mouth—even the heat pouring off Tariq’s body in the form of copious sweat and smell. Ensign Luiz was far less emotional, and thus less distracting.
He visualized the Monorhan ship, the compartment where B’Elanna had been working and the shock wave—unseen but felt. Stripping away the surprise component of the shock wave, Tuvok considered the momentum, the wave pattern the energy must have taken to cause the compartment where he’d been to move as it had. He overlaid his image of B’Elanna with what he had experienced with the shock wave and allowed his mind to process the information, fuse it together until the answer appeared.
Somewhere, outside him, Tuvok acknowledged that Tariq had begun counting down out loud. He, naturally, rejected the distraction of limited time and allowed the pictures to fuse together…. Become one, he thought, become one.
Tariq drummed his fingers on the computer console, accompanied by a tone-deaf whistle.
Tuvok opened his eyes. “Go to starboard. Follow a forty-five-degree angle up from the base of the central saucer.”
Tariq glanced at Tuvok for a split second before tapping the commands into the computer. As the shuttle followed the programmed trajectory, a red light on the console began flashing.
“Incoming shock wave. Impact five minutes,” the computer intoned.
Luiz gasped.
Swearing under his breath, Tariq tried, unsuccessfully, coaxing more power out of the engines. The inability to go to warp frustrated him, as the veins bulging from his forehead clearly indicated.
Tuvok viewed Tariq placidly, then shifted his gaze toward where he believed Lieutenant Torres would be found.
“Ensign Luiz, have emergency medical supplies ready to go. Lieutenant Torres may need assistance.”
The first compartment exploded, followed shortly by the second.
“Monorhan compartments have started on desired trajectory. Several more explosions and they should be well on their way,” Tariq said. “Lieutenant Torres did her job.”
“Of course she did,” Tuvok said. “She is extremely capable.” Breathe…two…three…four…. Breathe…two…three…four….
The third explosion rocked the rear of the shuttle.
Tuvok ignored the distractions, looking for the tiny speck of white against the starscape that would be B’Elanna Torres. Logically, the energy-processing mechanism in the saucer hull would explode shortly after the fifth compartment. It would be in their best interest to be on their way to Voyager at that point.
The fourth compartment bucked into the air.
“Shock-wave impact, three minutes.”
Tuvok observed a white spot spinning where a star would not be moving. “She is there.” He pointed with his finger. “Preparing for emergency transport.”
Tariq moved into range just as the fifth compartment exploded.
“Initiating transport,” Tuvok said.
The shuttle escaped the exploding hull with a minute to spare. Reaching Voyager before the shock wave would be another matter.
Behind him, Tuvok heard Ensign Luiz crack open the medical supplies.
Tuvok opened up a channel to Voyager. “Starship Voyager, this is shuttlecraft du Châtelet. We are en route. Can you close the distance between us?”
“We’ll do what we can, Tuvok,” Chakotay said. The channel clicked off.
“Ensign Luiz, report,” Tuvok said.
“Can you help me lift her?” Luiz asked.
Tuvok rose from the copilot seat and walked several steps back to find the unconscious engineer flopping off the transporter. He lifted her effortlessly and placed her where Ensign Luiz could tend to her needs.
Luiz had already unfastened her EVA helmet and exposed Torres to regular oxygen levels. She showed him the medical tricorder reading indicating mild hypoxia and internal injuries from the shock wave. He returned to his copilot seat as Luiz administered an emergency hypo—a stimulant to her circulatory and respiratory systems.
On a deeply philosophical level, Tuvok realized the last exchange he had with Commander Chakotay had profound implications beyond the matter at hand. Indeed, the words, when taken less literally, were applicable to the estrangement between them. The mind knows what it needs to know indeed, Tuvok thought, grateful for the wisdom of his masters.
Suspended in space by the combined will of the Circle, the Key hummed with life. An ignorant being would see a crude chunk of meteorite or an unremarkable volcanic rock. Phoebe wrapped her hands around the Key. She caressed the pocked surface, feeling the energy charges coursing throughout her entire being. The Key whispered a lullaby of Monorhan death cries as those small lives combined to give her this gift. She had given their lives meaning; how lucky they were to be part of something greater than themselves!
And so the Key bound itself to Phoebe and Phoebe to t
he Key. Janeway had denied her this before but now…now what had been her right was restored to her. A lesser creature might have been inclined to forgive Janeway’s transgression, since the balance had been restored by the birth of the Key. But Phoebe was not a lesser creature. Her power, her glory, had been kept from her by the human. Such choices required consequences. Whether Janeway had any life force remaining after opening the conduit was questionable—Phoebe granted that. But Janeway’s followers needed to be taught the lesson that their leader obviously never understood. That lesson would serve to teach others who might be tempted to follow Janeway’s example. Lower life-forms who interfered in the realm of superior life-forms faced swift retribution. Phoebe was obliged to correct the humans so that in the future all others would conform their will to those whose rightful place it was to rule the universe. It was all very simple, really. Punishing Voyager would not only serve the greater good, it would meet the Exiles’ needs. She congratulated herself for being so efficient.
Holding the Key above her head, she allowed her fellow Exiles to bask in the glory of their creation for a long moment. She felt their envy and longing to touch the Key, though they knew such covetousness would not assuage their desires. The Key was hers until she could find a lesser one to be the conduit. Through it she would satisfy their deepest longings. In exchange, they would serve her unquestioningly.
The Key lacks only a conduit, my fellow Exiles.
The Circle rumbled with anticipation. Phoebe felt the nearby planets trembled at this expression of their will.
Go. We will take Voyager for our conduit. The gateway to Exosia will be ours.
“How long till we can bring in the shuttle?” Chakotay asked Ayala.
“I’m doing the best I can, sir,” Ayala said, trying to split his attention between two consoles.
Later, he would apologize to the unseasoned officer. For now, he needed him to focus. “Your best isn’t enough. I want that shuttle protected.” He heard a “yes, sir” from Ayala’s general direction and turned his focus to Seven.
“Where are we at on the probe, Seven?”
“I have nothing new to report,” she said. “However, I believe that if the shuttle comes within range of our tractor beam, we will be able to pull it in close enough to extend our shield envelope around it.”
“Do it,” Chakotay said. He forced himself to face forward, ignoring the impulse to walk over to Seven’s station and see whatever progress she’d made with rescuing the Doctor. Hopefully, Voyager would survive long enough to return him to sickbay!
Sitting straight up in the captain’s chair and tucking his legs against the base, Chakotay visually surveyed his bridge crew to make sure everyone was prepared. So far, so good. Knowles had proved to be a real asset in the trenches. Rollins kept his head. Ayala was back on track.
“Shock-wave impact in forty-five seconds.”
Chakotay had yet to resolve the question in his mind about whether or not it was better to know when you were about to get clobbered or whether it would be better to tell the computer to shut the hell up on certain occasions. Every time he heard that calm, unemotional voice announcing what might be their impending doom, he felt his blood pressure climb.
“Shuttle within tractor distance,” Rollins said.
“Bring it in,” Chakotay said, feeling a huge weight lift from his shoulders.
“Done, sir,” Rollins said.
“Extending shield bubble,” Seven said.
“Shock wave in twenty, nineteen, eighteen…” The countdown droned on.
Chakotay opened a shipwide channel. “All hands, brace for impact.”
“…nine…eight…seven…”
Not that it would do any good, Chakotay closed his eyes, offered a brief plea to the Great Spirit, then opened them. He would face his fate straight-on.
“…two…one…”
Ayala’s console blew instantly, throwing him backward into the bridge railing. Chakotay tried to leave his chair to help him, but the energy pounding Voyager came with seismic force. Even Seven turned away from her console and covered her head with her arms.
Rollins shouted out the shield reports, but couldn’t be heard over the high-pitched whine emanating from the bridge computers.
In that strange, detached place his mind sometimes went when stress became too much to process, Chakotay wondered if his teeth would shake right out of his jaw.
And then, when he couldn’t imagine how he would endure another moment, the tremors stopped. Acrid smoke wafted through the bridge. Groans and sighs surrounded him. Before he could ask, Rollins reported that Ayala needed to be transported to sickbay. Blurts of buzzing and pops from the equipment punctuated the updates. Because Rollins was assisting Ayala, Knowles provided Chakotay with the shield update: They’d held. No breaches, no external damage. Even the shuttle had touched down safely.
“What happened out there, can we tell?” Chakotay asked Seven.
“Not precisely, but I believe the planet Monorha is gone.”
Tension-filled silence engulfed the bridge.
Chakotay said gruffly, “Knowles, can we get out of here?”
“Yes, sir. Main engineering said we’re good to go.”
“Then do it,” he ordered, making a silent promise to himself and every person on this ship that they wouldn’t stop until they’d cleared Monorhan space. He looked over at Seven: her face was blank. Whether this was her characteristic Borg-on-duty face or not he couldn’t tell.
“Seven?” Chakotay said quietly, all he wanted to ask implied in simply stating her name.
“We have nothing,” Seven said.
Chakotay stared at her. How could this have happened? They were so close—he’d seen it himself!
Seven placed a hand over her ear and listened intently to something coming through her earpiece. “Wait,” she said, her composure serene.
“I—” Chakotay began.
She held up her hand to silence him, then: “Correction. We have one thing.”
“And that is?”
“A message. Two words.”
“Is it from…?” Chakotay was reluctant to say the name. Drawing attention to their mission’s failure at this time would not help morale.
“Yes. He said, ‘Not yet.’ ”
Chakotay blanked. “Which means?”
“I believe the operation was nearly successful, but a choice was made, not by Voyager.”
The implication infuriated Chakotay. The Doctor chose not to be rescued. The EMH had a chance to return to Voyager and he’d willingly refused the opportunity. Chakotay felt unprepared to sort through these feelings in front of the crew. “I’ll be in my ready room,” he said, rising. He’d taken two steps before Ensign Knowles said the one sentence he dreaded.
“Sir, I believe there’s something you need to see.”
Not looking back, he said. “Tell me, Ensign.”
Knowles took a deep breath and said, “Nacene. At least a thousand. They’re coming this way.”
Chapter 11
“We can’t outrun them. We’ll have to stand and fight,” Chakotay said, answering Knowles’s question about where she should take Voyager. We’ve survived a war between the Borg and Species 8472. We can survive the Nacene. Upon returning to the captain’s chair, he touched his combadge. “Chakotay to Tuvok.”
“Tuvok here.”
“Status report on the anti-Nacene weapons.”
“Twelve toxin-loaded torpedoes configured and ready on your orders.”
“Split them between the front and rear launchers. Once they’re ready, I’ll see you on the bridge. Rollins, let me know when they’re in targeting range.” He turned to Seven, the outline of a plan formulating in his mind. “The shield bubble you devised for protection from the shock wave—can you replicate it?”
Seven tilted her head thoughtfully. “With the additional power from the gel packs, yes.”
“How large is this bubble?”
“Theoretically, we may be
able to extend it as far as a hundred meters.”
This might just work, Chakotay thought, feeling hopeful for the first time. “When I give you the signal, Seven, I want you to initiate the shield bubble. Extend it as far as you can. Once we have the Nacene where we want them, make sure all excess power is rerouted to main engineering. We’ll need it there.”
Seven acknowledged the order. Chakotay listened with satisfaction as Seven contacted Neelix and the rih-hara-tan down in main engineering to prepare them for the next attack.
Moments later, Tuvok arrived on the bridge and Chakotay asked Rollins to step aside to allow Tuvok to manage weapons and security for the duration. Rollins would assume Ayala’s post at ops. Chakotay and Tuvok devised a simple signal that would be Tuvok’s cue to launch the torpedoes loaded with the anti-Nacene toxin. With a complement of twelve, the weapons would have to be used judiciously. They wouldn’t get a second chance with the Nacene. Once the most pressing issues had been put to rest, Chakotay asked Tuvok about B’Elanna.
“Lieutenant Nakano is repairing her injuries. She will recover, but not in time for this fight,” Tuvok said.
Chakotay made a conscientious effort not to reveal what a blow that was, having their chief engineer out of the game. He placed his faith in the rih-hara-tan’s ability to fortify the shields one more time, at least long enough to get them through the first wave of attack.
“Do we know what the Nacene want?” Rollins asked as he settled in at his new station.
“Considering that they just destroyed a planet, I doubt their intentions are benevolent. But I’d like to give them a chance to explain themselves before we blow them out of the sector. Begin transmitting on all frequencies.” Chakotay decided to have this conversation standing. “Starship Voyager to the Nacene on course for our location.”
At first, nothing happened, neither on the communication channel nor in the surrounding space. Chakotay had begun to wonder whether this was a case of shooting first and asking questions later when a cluster of whirling specks in the viewscreen grew close enough to reveal itself as a chain of aliens, some known, some not. At the head of the chain appeared the figure of an auburn-haired woman. Having spent much time in Kathryn’s ready room, he recognized her superficial resemblance to Phoebe Janeway instantly; the cruel twist of her mouth and the coldness in her eyes distinguished her as an impostor.
String Theory, Book 3: Evolution Page 31