“How good of you, Chakotay, to surrender instead of requiring us to take Voyager by force,” Phoebe said, drifting to and fro across the viewscreen.
“We humans tend to be reasonable people. We like to talk things through and try to work out our differences, if possible.” Chakotay smiled.
Phoebe’s lips twisted into a condescending scowl. She wasn’t buying it and neither was he. “Being reasonable with your captain didn’t work. She denied me what rightfully belonged to my people. It’s only fair that her crew provide me with the replacement. So I’m allowing you to make it up to me. You can be my conduit, as was your captain.”
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”
Phoebe cackled. “Unless you’ve suddenly acquired the ability to rebuild Gremadia, I don’t believe you have a choice, Chakotay…” she carried on, proclaiming her indignation at the injustice foisted on her and her fellow Nacene Exiles by Janeway’s stupid decision.
Chakotay listened politely, interjecting with the occasional “That’s too bad” or “I see.” He was counting on wasting time long enough for the Nacene to draw closer to Voyager. That Phoebe might be employing the same delaying tactic occurred to Chakotay, but he couldn’t let it worry him. He needed the first strike if he was to have any chance of Voyager emerging alive from a battle with the Nacene.
It appeared, for the moment, that his gamble was paying off. As she spoke, more Nacene came into view, many in forms that Chakotay recognized from their travels in the Delta Quadrant; others were unknown to him. One by one, they joined limbs and formed a line across the viewscreen. Chakotay assumed that if Voyager wasn’t surrounded, it soon would be. Using the crudest of geometric formulas, he calculated the distance between the closest Nacene and Voyager. He discovered that if the Nacene continued to approach at their current velocity, they would be within range of the shield bubble in a matter of minutes.
“So I take it you’re not interested in peace negotiations?” Chakotay said, counting down mentally how much time he’d have before he could signal Seven.
“I will not waste time negotiating for less than what is my right when I can take what I need much more easily.”
“That’s too bad, because I have no intention of making this easy for you.” Chakotay nodded to Seven, who activated the shield bubble, and then to Tuvok, who entered the commands that would launch the torpedoes.
Chakotay closed the communication channel and dropped down into the captain’s chair to watch the fireworks. The Nacene would be slowed—perhaps some among them incapacitated and incapable of damaging Voyager further. As he watched the Nacene recoil helplessly as they encountered the toxin, he felt a small measure of satisfaction. But Chakotay would not deceive himself into believing that victory was possible. The Nacene would invade Voyager and they would attempt to use it in whatever nefarious scheme they were devising. Chakotay knew his greater responsibility required that he place the needs of the many above the needs of the few. In this case, the few were Voyager’s crew. Soon enough he would be forced to make the most difficult decision of his life. For the moment, he would watch and wait, silently pleading with the Sky Spirits of the Rubber Tree People for aid and asking the spirits of his ancestors to show him another path.
When the shimmering blue shield surrounded many of her Nacene followers, Phoebe wondered what kind of silliness the humans had in mind. The shield might stun or momentarily disable a few of the weaker Nacene. Beyond that, the shield was a nuisance. Surely they must know that a mere energy field could not contain a Nacene! The torpedoes launching prompted a similar reaction. Phoebe’s first impulse was to dismiss Voyager’s pathetic efforts at self-defense as the desperate attempts of weak creatures. Why are they wasting their time? Such weapons were useless against the Nacene. It was—an image of an experience she’d had came to her from one of her forms—like a small child hitting an adult with a skinny stick and expecting the adult to collapse. She threw back her head, laughing.
The first cloud of toxin touched her feet. She gasped, a reflexive gesture that Phoebe didn’t understand but was her human form’s way of responding to unexpected stimuli. Her feet and legs stiffened as the toxin stilled the spinning atoms of sporocystian energy of which her body was made. If the rest of her body was exposed, certain damage if not partial disintegration would result. Using her arms for propulsion, she spun around, forcing her human form away from dissipating toxins. The shield isn’t meant to contain the Nacene, it’s meant to contain the toxin, she thought bitterly, conceding that Chakotay had devised a clever means of disabling the Exiles.
Frantically, she looked from side to side, assessing the state of her kindred. Limp bodies spun lazily through space. Others dissolved before her eyes. She despised them for their weakness, for not being clever enough to outwit the machinations of a primitive species. Every individual lost depleted the strength of the whole. Vivia would laugh at such an infantile, meager attack! Stupid, stupid creatures, they were. All of them—like those ignorant photons Vivia fought so hard to protect the strings from. Good for nothing but causing damage and making her quest more difficult. Phoebe imagined the Exiles flying through Exosia’s gateway, being plucked off one by one by Exosia Nacene.
Oh, how she hated the human’s words, but with every passing minute, she discovered her ability to assert her Nacene nature diminished, so she was forced to resort to their clumsy, inadequate expressions. Anger drove her like fusion fueling a star. Escape became her only goal. Pumping her arms with all the strength she could muster, Phoebe sought to propel her body up toward the shield and as far from the toxin as she could manage. She would break through the barrier out into open space. The toxin had not paralyzed her, merely slowed her. Phoebe accepted the toxin into her system and explored its chemistry until she understood it intimately. So empowered, she overcame the toxin and negated its effects. She called out to her fellow Exiles, enjoining them to follow her example so that they too would defeat Voyager’s meager weapon. She bid them to follow her by whatever means necessary.
She would gather her kindred around her and they would attack Voyager. They would not be so kind as to give them the gift of the swift, painless death they had given the simple Monorhans. No, Phoebe would take her strongest followers aboard Voyager where they would destroy Janeway’s crew person by person. A superior choice presented itself: creating the conduit while the crew still lived. None of the humanoids had the capacity to survive such an energy surge. Consider what happened to Janeway! Yet they would live long enough to know agonizing death. Phoebe burst through the shield bubble and “swam” into open space.
Drifting off of Voyager’s starboard side, she stretched out, studying each thread of plasmatic energy in her form with her mind. The few that had been damaged she isolated and carved them away from the other healthy energy threads. As much as she regretted having to reduce her power, she risked vulnerability if she allowed any of her compromised energy strands to remain. Alas, she knew this process would make it difficult, if not impossible, to return to her sporocystian form. A sacrifice, to be certain, but the knowledge that Exosia awaited her tempered her bitterness. She urged those around her to purge themselves as she had done. A damaged army was unacceptable.
She sent her memories of being Phoebe Janeway aboard the starship to her fellow Exiles along with a picture of what she expected them to do. Voyager, virtually undamaged, glowed like a miniature moon reflecting the light of a sun.
Not for long, Phoebe vowed. Voyager could not stop the Nacene.
Seven of Nine had her orders: protect main engineering at all costs. Every bit of power that could be spared would be available to her. If the Nacene captured the warp core, the fight would be over. From the minute Chakotay had given her the assignment, her Borg neurological processors examined all the potentialities of their current situation with a speed that no human could manage. Few satisfactory solutions had yet emerged. Even weakened Nacene had advantages that Voyager couldn’t match. She exited the t
urbolift and headed toward main engineering, uncertain of what her strategy would be.
During Voyager’s opening salvo against the Nacene, Chakotay had told the crew in no uncertain terms that the next round would be fought aboard the starship. Every person aboard needed to be prepared to fight. They had a few weapons: at the same time Tuvok had worked on the torpedoes, he also modified enough compression phaser rifles to arm two or three security teams. It would not be enough for every crew member to be armed. Seven carried a case bearing three of these rifles loaded with enough toxin to keep the Nacene at bay for a short period of time, but not indefinitely. Other measures would have to be taken and that is what kept Seven’s mind busy. The vast collection of Borg knowledge offered little help; the Borg had never successfully assimilated a Nacene. Beyond the calculations, stratagem, and scenarios, Seven’s mind was preoccupied with Chakotay’s last words.
Chakotay had pulled the senior staff into the ready room for an ad hoc discussion of what their options were. Knowles confirmed that there was no way for Voyager to outrun the Nacene given the obstacles of Monorhan space. From a security and weapons perspective, Tuvok and Rollins confirmed that they would need a nearly limitless supply of toxin to contain the sheer numbers of Nacene they faced.
“Can we release it into the environmental systems, distribute it throughout the ship?” Chakotay had asked.
Tuvok confirmed that they could, but that such efforts would only be a momentary deterrent. All the staff agreed that any and all tactics must be used.
And then Chakotay had told them what Seven suspected would be Voyager’s final recourse. She paused before the doors of main engineering, as she remembered.
“We know from Seven’s analysis that the disturbances in this region threaten the cohesiveness of the fabric of space-time on a much larger scale. Whatever these Nacene have planned, I suspect will accelerate the process currently under way.” Chakotay had looked to Seven for confirmation and she’d given it to him. It had been less than an hour since Monorha had been destroyed and already the damage to the region was visible. Whatever would come next would be worse.
“We will fight a good fight, but we cannot allow the Nacene to succeed. If we reach a point where our defeat is inevitable—”
Our defeat is inevitable, Seven had thought.
“—we will autodestruct Voyager. I cannot initiate the destruct sequence without Commander Tuvok’s confirmation, but I want to make sure that we’re all in agreement before I put this contingency into play.”
Not one member of the senior staff had objected.
Chakotay issued his orders, the meeting had been adjourned.
Now Seven was left considering what, if anything, could be done.
The Nacene could penetrate the ship’s hulls at will. All of Voyager’s nonessential energy could be redirected into the shields but such a measure would delay their attackers for only a few moments. The Nacene would then stroll onto the bridge, into main engineering, or into any other area servicing critical systems, main engineering being chief among them. What the Nacene would do once they were aboard was unknown, though Seven had a guess, though not confirmation, of what the Nacene might be contemplating.
While Chakotay had been baiting Phoebe into a protracted conversation, Seven had been watching the Nacene, studying her and discovering that Phoebe had in her possession an object that reminded Seven of the Key to Gremadia that the Monorhans had given Janeway. Phoebe hadn’t held the Key where it was noticeable—she had hidden it in the folds of her clothing. No one on Voyager would have noticed save a Borg with an ocular implant with the ability to visualize energy fields. And the object Phoebe had hidden was leaking radiation like a warp core losing containment. Considering that Phoebe had a Key, she was likely trying to open up something—Exosia, Seven hypothesized. Since Exosia was sealed from this dimension, the Key would fit into something that would force the gateway to Exosia open, something that could conduct enough energy through it to break down a subspace barrier.
Seven believed that Phoebe and the other Nacene planned on using Voyager as the energy source that would facilitate a conduit (Chakotay, if Phoebe was to be believed), using their Key. This could not be permitted. The commander was correct: an energy discharge of that magnitude would hasten the deterioration of subspace.
Taking a deep breath, Seven charged through main engineering’s doors, discovering the Monorhan rih encircling the workstations and warp core. To an individual, the rih appeared fatigued. You are not finished yet, she thought.
She searched the room until she found Lieutenant Carey, who was busy instructing his staff on what gel-pack relays needed reinforcing. When the engineers were dismissed, Seven briefly outlined the first part of her plan for protecting main engineering. Carey concurred with her approach and went to work on the modifications Seven had requested.
Seven then sought out Neelix, who, along with the rih, would manage the second part. She found him deep in conversation with a rih named Tei, whom Seven had met earlier.
“We must prepare for the Nacene attack,” Seven said brusquely, stepping between the pair. A voice in her head instantly reminded her that Lieutenant Tuvok had taught her that a key to being an effective leader was not to be so abrasive. The Borg side of her reminded her that politeness in an emergency was inefficient. “The shield bubble will not be effective protection. Instead, we must establish and fortify a forcefield around Main Engineering, particularly the warp core. The rih-hara-tan must assist us in this effort.”
Tei’s tongue clicked and whirred with a speed that Seven’s universal translator couldn’t keep up with. The translator produced garble in Seven’s ear.
“Can they comply?” Seven said, wondering if Tei had comprehended her request.
“I believe so,” Neelix said. He seemed to have adjusted to the rhythmic, guttural speech more readily than most of Voyager’s crew. “I think I caught something about her taking your request to the other rih.” He further explained, “She wants to know what happened to her people during the shock wave—the ships that Tuvok and B’Elanna were going to help.”
Seven reassured the rih that their scans indicated that the shock wave had appeared to have had minimal impact on the Monorhan ships. She had little knowledge of Tuvok and B’Elanna’s time on the damaged vessels, but she had learned that B’Elanna believed their shielding capacities to be up to the task. As far as she knew, the refugee Monorhans still lived.
“Praise be to the Blessed All-Knowing Light,” Tei murmured and bowed her head for a moment. Standing behind her, her fellow rih cried out variations on this invocation.
Her moment of reverence over, Tei lifted her head and explained to Seven (whose universal translator had finally synchronized with the Monorhans’ speech) that the rih, of course, were prepared to continue to boost the gel-pack output but that she had another suggestion to consider: allowing the rih to engage the Nacene.
“Neelix has told me that we live because of these creatures. We may not be as easy for them to—” She paused, contemplating her words. “—take life from. Kill.”
Seven considered Tei’s logic for a moment, found merit in her suggestion, and then agreed to the proposal on the condition that rihs’ maintain the forcefield first and only engage the Nacene if the forcefield or gel packs failed. Tei loped back to her fellow Monorhans, her percussive speech emerging from her mouth with incomprehensible rapidity.
“Neelix, you will report the gel-pack status to me from workstation gamma,” Seven said.
“Happy to do it, Seven. Happy to do it.” Neelix fired off a salute to Seven, then walked off to assume his post.
Joe Carey waited patiently at her elbow. Seven acknowledged him.
“I’ve rerouted all the auxiliary power to Main Engineering and reprogrammed our system to permit for increased field-generating capacity. I should be able to give you a level ten plus. There’s still a few safeties that need to be dealt with, though, if this field is going to last for a
ny length of time. The field frequency you gave me is…” Carey frowned “Pardon me for questioning, but are you sure it will work?”
Seven said thoughtfully, “No. But in the Borg’s experience with plasmatic life-forms, this frequency appears to be the most damaging. They should not be capable of stepping through the walls of main engineering without difficulty.”
“I’ll trust you on that, Seven,” Carey said.
The overhead com chirped.
“Chakotay to the crew. They’re here.”
“Activate the forcefield,” Seven ordered.
“We’ll need a bit more time to bring it up to full capacity,” Carey said as he ran toward a bank of consoles.
“Do what you can.”
The rih resumed their circle around the warp core, the rhythmic monotone of their chants keeping time with the thrum-thrum-thrum of the core.
“Gel packs at one hundred and ten percent of capacity,” Neelix announced.
Moments later, the clanging against Main Engineering’s doors began.
Phoebe had chosen her strongest warriors to accompany her to Voyager’s engineering room. The initial impact of the toxin in the air proved bothersome. Overcoming the humanoid’s meager efforts to halt them proved distracting, but not disabling. Phoebe had lived far too long and experienced more than any of these creatures. They would have to do far more to thwart her efforts. Anticipation tingled within Phoebe; she almost forgot that she had a human shape, the sensation, reminiscent of her plasmatic state, was so vivid and tantalizing. The conduit would be hers—was hers. Nothing could stop the Exiles. Certainly no humanoid. As they progressed through the ship, it was tempting to toy with the Voyagers, to enjoy the momentary pleasure of their suffering. She didn’t yield: once the energy source had been secured, she would take her chosen conduit and use the Key at will.
String Theory, Book 3: Evolution Page 32