Glancing at the armrest consoles of the captain’s chair, Chakotay saw that the self-destruct countdown had paused—suspended between tenths of a second. Voyager’s journey to the rift had also halted as had the firefights throughout the ship. The ship-wide comm bridge broadcast only silence. Even the temperature in main engineering had returned to normal. Chakotay could find no sign of a warp-core breach.
Curious, Chakotay said, “Computer, status of structural integrity.”
“Structural integrity is normal.”
Believing the computer’s assertion presented a challenge for Chakotay. The data updates scrolling on the screen before him indicated that none of the hull breaches had been repaired. How is this possible?
“Computer, how many Nacene are aboard Voyager?”
“None.”
Chakotay looked up at the viewscreen. As each moment passed, more Nacene appeared to be congregating together. They’re awaiting him, Chakotay realized. Just as we are.
In the midst of the Nacene, a Starfleet shuttle suddenly appeared. Chakotay shook his head, wondering if he was hallucinating. He didn’t recall having launched any shuttles after he’d brought Tuvok’s away team aboard and yet there it was. Not daring to hope, he touched the control next to his chair, his heart skipping a beat. “Voyager to shuttle. Identify yourselves.”
The viewscreen flickered briefly, dissolving into static; then the view of the Nacene was replaced with a smiling face. Chakotay nearly fell out of his chair.
“I know you wanted us to feel welcome, but you really didn’t need to send a homecoming committee,” Tom Paris said.
“I know how much you love a party,” Chakotay said, playing along.
“We brought company,” Harry said, a grin on his face the size of Voyager itself, and took a seat in the copilot’s chair.
Tom looked at Harry, clearly surprised. “You’re back?”
And there between Tom and Harry sat the Doctor. “It’s good to see you, Commander,” he said.
Dumbfounded, Chakotay slouched back into his chair.
“You’ll never believe where I’ve been—”
Tom clamped a hand over the Doctor’s mouth. “Goes double for me and Harry.”
“We’re a little shorthanded, so I’d appreciate it if you’d show up for your duty shifts a bit early,” Chakotay said dryly. B’Elanna will be overjoyed, he thought. Give her a reason to recover quickly from her injuries.
“Yeah…about that,” Tom said. “It’s a long story, but we don’t actually have any control over the shuttle at the moment. Beam us aboard?”
“Done,” Chakotay said, and ordered the transport, savoring a moment of satisfaction. Not all had been lost. Before Chakotay could contemplate how Tom and Harry ended up back in Monorhan space, his attention was drawn away by a ball of light hurtling toward the gash. In the center of the ball was a dark object that resembled an asteroid. The ball followed an arc trajectory, then swooped down into the gash.
“What the—” he said, scooting forward in his chair.
A dazzling eruption of white flames sprayed from the gash. Chakotay turned away from the light and saw Rollins scrunched up in his chair, trying to shield himself from the painful brightness. As the brilliant flash faded, incredulity overtook Chakotay as he realized that what he had assumed to be flames were, in actuality, beings of light. The ghostly visages of millions of Monorhans had joined the Nacene army surrounding Voyager, their shadowy forms like wisps of interstellar dust before the geyser of photonic energy pouring into the gash. Chakotay raced through the connections. When the planet was destroyed by the Nacene—the Monorhans must have become part of the Key—which had to be the ball that had dove into the gash. And now they’ve been freed…
I am witnessing the end of days, Chakotay thought, mindful of thousands of years of apocalyptic tales that prophesied just such a resurrection of the dead.
Neither the time to question what he saw nor to fear for Voyager’s safety was granted him. In the midst of the masses rose a figuring glowing like starlight. Chakotay’s first thought was that a Nacene in its sporocystian state had arisen, but the figure had a humanoid form. The Nacene and Monorhans watched him rise, their upturned faces illuminated by the light radiating from his being.
Come out of Exosia, he called. Accept your fate and be transformed. I offer you a new way.
And then Chakotay knew what had just transpired: The gateway to Exosia had opened.
With dread, Vivia watched the Keeper of the Light hurtling toward the gateway. He had obtained the Monorhan Key from Phoebe and would use it to destroy the delicate membrane that protected Exosia from the other dimensions. The photons would invade, the balance would be irrevocably altered, and she was helpless to stop it. Hadn’t Q warned her?
All of her existence—all of her efforts to protect and care for the strings—had brought her to this moment where she would witness the undoing of all things.
There would be no closing the gateway this time.
She couldn’t understand why Q was so cavalier about this catastrophe. Collapsing the dimensions would mean catastrophe for the Continuum. Q could have stopped the Keeper of the Light, and yet he didn’t. All his talk of choice, of allowing the future to be the result of consequences, chosen or not, rang hollow when such destruction followed. He should have forced the issue with the Keeper. Imprisoned him in the Continuum. Contained him.
She didn’t need to see the photons to know their presence. The music changed instantly, the tuneless predictability of the song shifting into a melodious complexity that rattled every sporocystian atom within her. No effort would be enough to shield her senses from the cacophonous racket. She would remain in Exosia, looking on helplessly as the photons poured in from the Outside, irrevocably changing the music of the strings. There were too many photons for the Nacene remaining in Exosia to contain. What form space-time would assume now was unimaginable. Vivia could no longer do the impossible. Her energy dimmed; her will to fight dissipated. She would await her fate. The disquieting song of the strings would relentlessly remind her of her failure. It was a fitting penance.
This isn’t the end.
Vivia turned to see her visitor, assuming that this latest presence had arrived when the photons had broken through. She recognized the humanoid instantly. The face had haunted her from the moment she had become part of the tapestry of choices that brought them to this point. The Light had found her beautiful, though Vivia couldn’t understand what would be desirable about any creature with so many orifices and so few limbs. To create a life with her had been unconscionable! And the reddish filaments hanging down her back carried a stench with them that Vivia found offensive. The Light had chosen such an odd emissary. She carried his protection—Vivia could sense it. Whatever efforts she or the other Nacene might expend to contain or destroy her would ultimately be futile.
You can still protect the strings from the photons, she said.
And how would that be? Vivia drifted to the place where the creature stood. The cheek, this creature had, informing she who had a nearly limitless view of time and space that she had understanding Vivia didn’t. She would indulge the creature.
The Nacene have the capacity to make the photons part of themselves. To incorporate them into their sporocystian energy.
Vivia’s tentacles tensed. The creature spoke blasphemy. Such an action will destroy us. You want to rid this dimension of Nacene so the Exiles can gain dominion.
The creature’s largest orifice twisted peculiarly, but Vivia ascertained that she was amused by Vivia’s suggestion. Absorbing the photons into your energy will transform you. A pathway to another dimension beyond Exosia will open. You will no longer be a slave to the strings.
But who will care for them? Vivia questioned the creature whose thoughts startled her.
The strings existed before the Nacene. They will exist after. Let them be as they once were back before time began. You, however, can become more than you are.
She had not considered the possibility that she might have an existence other than what she knew in Exosia. On rare occasions when Vivia contemplated what would have happened if she had chosen the Exiles’ path instead of duty, she castigated herself, condemning herself for even having those thoughts. Now a stranger stood before her tempting her to walk away from the strings, luring her toward the same destructive existence as the Exiles.
The stranger’s words that intrigued Vivia, however, regarded the photons. If she spoke truly—that the Nacene had the ability to absorb photonic energy—perhaps Vivia should take in as much photonic energy as she could stand as her final effort to defend the strings.
Others had detected the stranger’s presence and had gathered around her. Vivia heard their whispers in her mind. Some argued for containing the creature as they had the abominations. Many voices clamored in fear for the strings. The photonic energy flooding Exosia surrounded them on all sides. Balance had been lost. A few asked if the stranger could be believed: Could a door to another dimension be opened?
The stranger chose not to respond to their questions, instead sending reassurance. The decision, she said, rests with Vivia.
The creatures that had once been Monorhans swarmed around the stranger, their wings fluttering anxiously. Can we go? they said to the stranger. Is this place for us?
The stranger told them that the gateway had opened to all that was Nacene, and that all Monorhan life force would be offered the chance to make the crossing.
Fearlessly, they soared away, flying toward the light and away from Exosia.
Vivia watched them leave, marveling at their…their faith in trusting the stranger. Where did this leave her?
Rejecting the stranger would not restore the Balance. On the other hand, if all of them accepted photonic energy, perhaps the strings could resume their song. Whether or not the stranger’s tales of another life beyond Exosia were true or not mattered little to Vivia. Her duty came before all else.
Vivia opened herself to receive the light. She allowed the barrier that defined her plasmatic energy to become permeable. Becoming vulnerable to her enemy disturbed her more, but she remained open for the sake of the strings. I exist for the sake of the strings. I will cease to exist for the sake of the strings.
At first, the mingling of her sporocystian essence with photons created unfamiliar sensations as the disparate energy waves encountered one another and conflicted. Her control weakened. She hadn’t felt so disconnected since before the War with the Exiles—when she shifted between alien forms. Vivia felt energy draining away from her. Before her, the stranger contorted her face in the same obscure fashion; Vivia knew she was pleased. Of course she was pleased; the emissary of the Light presided over the end of the Nacene. Revenge, indeed, would be satisfactory. Vivia no longer had any control over the photons pouring into her. She yielded her remaining will to the invading energies. Let my sacrifice have purpose, she thought, the last vestiges of her self draining away as the photons wrapped her sporocystian body in glossy filaments.
The energy waves synched.
Vivia exploded from her cocoon singing the song of the strings and the strings joined their harmonies to hers. With her wings, she soared, experiencing pure energy and thought in a way she could never have fathomed. She called out to the other Nacene—to every creature whose energy she could touch, from the Monorhans who had been part of Phoebe’s Key, to the Exiles and those Monorhans who yet lived Outside: We are free!
A fountain of light burst out of the gash as the Nacene of Exosia burst their bonds, transformed. They surrounded the Keeper of the Light, singing. With Harry beside him, Chakotay watched their dance; he longed to celebrate with them, sharing the joy of salvation and liberation. The Nacene who had attacked Voyager as well as the Monorhans who had been slaughtered in the creation of the Key swarmed in through the gash. Chakotay knew they too would be granted the gift offered them by the Keeper of the Light.
Chakotay knew that he should be worrying about how he would repair the damage to Voyager and if or how they would ever be able to navigate their way out of this region but the scene transfixed him.
After innumerable transformed beings had emerged from Exosia, the Keeper of the Light opened his arms to the darkness, speaking an incomprehensible incantation that could be heard only by the mind—and heart. Before Chakotay’s eyes, dark space rippled and shimmered like a mirage on a hot day, becoming as clear as glass. Though he could not see what lay behind the glass, he knew joy awaited those who eagerly made the passage to a new place.
The turbolift doors opened behind him. Chakotay heard shuffling footsteps, then saw Tom ease a pale B’Elanna into the engineering-station chair. He crouched down beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders. Neither of their gazes ever left the viewscreen.
Shortly after Tom and B’Elanna had arrived, Seven of Nine entered the bridge and assumed a position behind the captain’s chair. Indeed, as the moments passed, many of Voyager’s crew members—including Neelix—came up to the bridge and sat on the floor or stood where they could. To a person all of them were transfixed by the sight unfolding before them. They had sacrificed so much, suffered incalculable losses in recent weeks. Chakotay knew that this family needed to understand that their suffering had meaning, that at the end of the journey, hope was not lost.
And when the last creature—Nacene or Monorhan—made its passage, the mirror clouded over, the passageway closed. Those watching from Voyager’s bridge issued a collective sigh. Chakotay knew when he was an old man he would look back on this memory and hope that his passage to the next life would be as beautiful.
“Where are the rih?” Chakotay asked Neelix.
The Talaxian flashed a toothy grin. “The Keeper of the Light invited them to ascend to the next life with the other Monorhans who died when the Nacene destroyed their planet. Even the ones Lieutenant Torres sent off into space were asked.”
B’Elanna snorted and muttered something about “all that work for nothing” under her breath.
Chakotay looked over at Tom, prepared to ask him to relieve poor Ensign Knowles at the helm. He was met by a ridiculous grin on Tom’s face.
“It’s not over yet. Just wait.”
Before Chakotay could ask for an explanation, a pillar of light descended from the ceiling.
The Keeper of the Light materialized on the bridge.
Chapter 12
The Keeper glanced over at Tom with a look Tom was beginning to recognize as his “time to be serious but not too serious” face. One of the traits he admired the most in Kol was the ability to have a good time. He might be a pandimensional being with godlike powers, but Tom had to respect a guy who could save the universe and run a mean node race.
“Glad you dropped by,” Tom said, acknowledging Kol with a nod. “I was wondering if you’d have time to say goodbye before you returned to Q U.” As soon as the mention of Q escaped his lips, Tom regretted it, considering the furrows that instantly appeared on Chakotay’s forehead. Tom should have kept his mouth shut—any chance he had of his debriefing lasting less than a week had just ended.
“My coursework is complete,” Kol said.
“I take it you passed?” Tom gestured toward the viewscreen that now displayed Monorhan space and the decidedly smaller gash, the flood of photons having slowed dramatically.
“Not quite yet. My final exam won’t end until we’ve cleaned up around here.”
“I’m relieved to hear that,” Chakotay said, apparently overcoming his surprise and finding his voice.
“After all you have done, I would be remiss if I didn’t complete the task at hand.” Kol stepped toward Chakotay and bowed deeply. “I am honored, Commander, to make your acquaintance.”
“Would I be impolite if I asked exactly what your intentions are?” Chakotay said.
Kol shrugged, lacing his hands together behind his back. “Your captain should come first.”
Tom might have imagined it, but he believed
he saw tears form in Chakotay’s eyes. He couldn’t say for certain, because the commander headed for the turbolift and presumably toward sickbay without another word.
B’Elanna nudged him. “Is he going to do what I think he’s going to do?” She had given Tom the outline of the captain’s medical condition.
Tom placed a kiss on B’Elanna’s forehead. “Yep.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. Since he’d last seen B’Elanna, he’d taken part in a harrowing race inside a living organism, traversed the universe with Q, gambled with q, and witnessed the destruction of Monorha. He’d had enough wonders to last him awhile. All he needed to be happy was B’Elanna in his arms and Voyager to be safe. He had one and Kol would soon take care of the other.
No man in any galaxy could be as content as Tom Paris.
In the entirety of this medical database, the Doctor had never seen a brain having suffered the damage that Captain Janeway’s had recover from injuries. But there it was, on the monitors above Janeway’s biobed: normal brain activity.
Kol removed his hands from her face and stepped away from her biobed, studying Janeway thoughtfully, inscrutable, as always. The Doctor still couldn’t believe this was the baby he’d delivered what, yesterday? Time travel made him positively loopy. He would be content to be a mere hologram for a time, his biggest concern being Neelix cluttering up his supply shelves and Mr. Paris sneaking out of his sickbay shifts to visit Lieutenant Torres. Making decisions when the fate of worlds hung in the balance was exhausting work.
Kol asked the Doctor and Chakotay if there was a private place they could talk. The Doctor guided them into his office and asked the computer to place a privacy shield on the room.
String Theory, Book 3: Evolution Page 34