Architects of Infinity

by Kirsten Beyer

  “We’re not moving here,” Miral insisted.

  “Can you feel it when you are on a ship and it’s moving?”

  Miral’s slightly ridged brow furrowed.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Only when you see the stars moving past your window, right?”

  Miral nodded.

  “Even though you can’t feel it, or see it, this planet is moving through space almost as fast as our ships move at low impulse.”

  “It is?” Miral asked dubiously.

  Fife nodded, smiling.

  Torres was struck by the thought that she had never before seen Fife interact with her child. He came by it so naturally, she wondered if he had children of his own somewhere, or perhaps much younger siblings.

  “But the planet only moves in a circle, more or less, around its stars. Our ship can do that too, but it can also move between stars and planets. The two places aren’t that different. One of them feels larger, but the other can take you so much farther.”

  “Why don’t we make the planet move like our ship?”

  All of the adults chuckled at this.

  “You know what, sweetie?” Tom said. “We’ve encountered alien species that could almost do that. Their ships are huge compared to ours.”

  “Can we live with them?”

  “Miral,” Torres said, her stomach suddenly turning, “aren’t you happy living on Voyager?”

  A distinct lull fell over the group as all eyes turned toward the girl.

  “I don’t remember home,” Miral finally said. “I know you show me on the holodeck, but it’s not the same. It doesn’t smell the same. It doesn’t feel the same. I want to see home again.”

  Torres embraced her daughter tightly.

  “We will,” Tom said. “It’ll be another few years, but we’ll go home again. And until then, home is wherever you and your brother and mommy and I are.”

  “How about first thing in the morning, you show me one of these birdhouses,” Torres suggested.

  “Okay. You will love it.”

  “I love you.”

  Miral snuggled into her, resting her head. “I love you, too, Mommy.”

  “I think somebody’s ready for bed,” Tom said.

  Torres nodded and the others began to extricate themselves from the makeshift “campfire.” Miral was already drowsing as Torres carried her into their tent and settled her in her sleeping bag. Once Tom had placed Michael in a low pocket that extended from the tent wall like a bassinet, he came to B’Elanna and pulled her into his arms.

  They remained like that for a long time, neither of them speaking. They didn’t need to in order to know that they were sharing the same thought. Their devotion to Starfleet was such that it had never really occurred to them to consider a different kind of life for their children. Every obstacle life in space had thrown at them, they had found a way to counter and manage. Miral’s health, her education, even companionship were all accounted for. But she still didn’t think she was home.

  Torres didn’t feel the tears coming until they were wetting her cheeks. Tom gently nuzzled her, whispering, “Shh, shh, it’s going to be okay.”

  Both of them knew better than to have this conversation now. They also knew they’d be having it sooner rather than later.

  • • •

  As Icheb watched Fife and Velth disappear into the crowd, he turned to see Bryce staring at him.

  “Are you going back to Voyager tonight?” Bryce asked.

  “I am. You?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t feel like being in the middle of all that,” Bryce said, motioning toward the milling throngs, “but I’m still too—I don’t know—there are so many things running through my head, I know I won’t sleep yet.”

  Icheb nodded but did not offer a solution. He felt the same, though he doubted the thoughts plaguing Bryce were the same as those that would keep him up later.

  “I would like to see those birdhouses,” Icheb offered.

  Bryce smiled broadly in something that looked like relief.

  “Let’s check them out.”

  They moved together, side by side, toward the tree line. Icheb was grateful that there was enough ambient light to make hand beacons unnecessary, although he didn’t think climbing any trees made sense after dark. His survival teachers would have definitely taken off points for needlessly courting hazards.

  “She’s a cute kid,” Bryce finally offered, as much to break the silence that had descended between them as anything else, Icheb thought.

  “It is a shame she does not appreciate the tremendous gift she has been given by her parents,” Icheb noted.

  “Give her time. She’s what, five?”

  “Almost,” Icheb said. “By the time I was five, I had already been assimilated.”

  Bryce paused. “You’ve never really talked about what that was like.”

  “I don’t honestly remember it,” Icheb admitted. “I was simply Borg, until I wasn’t.”

  “Did you like being Borg?”

  “I didn’t know there was another option. Afterwards, I didn’t like knowing what my parents had done.”

  “Your parents?”

  Icheb turned to face Bryce. Other students at the Academy had asked questions from time to time, always with a morbid curiosity. He didn’t sense that from Bryce. Instead, he saw real compassion in his bright blue eyes.

  “I was a tool they created to destroy the Borg. A pathogen was placed in my body, and I was sent by them to be assimilated. The Borg had devastated our planet and my parents believed that was the only way to free themselves from the constant attacks.”

  Bryce looked stunned, then angry. “They what?” he said in obvious disbelief.

  “They were just trying to protect themselves,” Icheb said automatically. He’d repeated this justification to himself and others so many times it was almost a reflex, but for the first time, Bryce’s absolute horror triggered something new in Icheb. His mouth went dry as he saw himself and his parents through Bryce’s eyes.

  “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  Icheb turned away.

  “I did. For a very long time, that’s what I told myself.”

  “Did it work?”

  “When I was finally released from my maturation chamber, the pathogen killed all of the drones on the vessel that assimilated me, but the ship was separated from the Collective to prevent further infection.”

  “Not the pathogen. What you told yourself about them. Do you still believe that? Do you think what they did was okay because they were just trying to protect themselves?”

  A cascade of impossible emotions raced through Icheb. He’d never felt most of them before, so it was difficult to choose one, let alone connect it to a belief.

  Bryce stepped closer to Icheb, placing his hands on Icheb’s upper arms and squeezing gently.

  “I’m so sorry, Icheb,” he said with quiet intensity that brought more new questions to the forefront of his consciousness. He wanted to pull away almost as much as he wanted to step closer.

  The next thing he knew, Bryce had moved near enough for Icheb to feel the heat of his body. He took Icheb in a gentle embrace. Without thought, Icheb lifted his arms in kind and wound them around Bryce.

  “Why did you bring me here?” Icheb heard himself ask. It was the one thing he’d wanted to know more than anything else all day. Why he’d blurted it out now, he didn’t know, but there was relief in giving voice to the question.

  Bryce pulled back, still touching Icheb’s arms as casually as if this were a normal physical vocabulary they shared. “You didn’t want to come?”

  “I did. I just . . . there are so many more qualified engineers that could have joined your team.”

  Icheb could see Bryce’s mind start to race. A lengthy explanation filled with jarring segues and run-on sentences was about to begin. Icheb almost smiled in anticipation of it. But then, a new look came over Phinn’s face, as if he had just decided something important.
“I didn’t want them. I wanted you,” Bryce said simply.

  “But why?”

  Bryce swallowed as a tentative fear flashed over his face. His struggle was brief. Taking a deep breath he placed both his hands on Icheb’s cheeks and brought Icheb’s lips to his.

  Icheb knew what he was supposed to feel. He understood the intensity of physical intimacy. Part of him also understood that every moment he had spent with Bryce from the first day they’d met until now had been leading to this. In his mind, an argument he’d been having with himself was settled. Bryce liked him. He was seeking more than a mutually beneficial professional relationship with him. Icheb shared that desire. He’d never known anyone else like Bryce. When they were together, he was at his best and when they were apart, he spent an inordinate amount of time wondering when they would see each other again.

  Bryce lingered in the kiss. Icheb tried to respond. His mind wanted this, but for reasons he could not fathom, his body remained unmoved.

  When they finally separated, Bryce looked at him almost apologetically. “I’m sorry. I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time.”

  “I am glad you did,” Icheb said automatically. He was. But he was also more confused now than he’d ever been.

  • • •

  In Admiral Janeway’s brief absence to retrieve Commander O’Donnell, Chakotay had set up low chairs in a circle around a small portable replicator and light source. As soon as she arrived, Janeway looked at the restricted menu, selected pasta and tea, then settled herself beside Chakotay, who seemed to be enjoying what looked like a vegetable stew with a chunk of bread.

  The night was more pleasant than the day had been. The air was slightly cooler and unusual light fragrances of floral and spice—always with faint metallic undertones—were carried on the light breeze.

  Commander Glenn had begun to pepper O’Donnell with questions the moment he’d taken his seat on the other side of Janeway. Had he detected the same unusual regenerative properties of the plant life? Was it even life? Was he able to find any DNA? Did he still believe the plants could be responsible for regulating the environment?

  O’Donnell fielded them cordially enough. “All I can really say is that a day later, we know less about this planet than we did before we came here.”

  “What I find amazing is the complete absence of any archeological remains to hint at the identity of the people who built all this,” Chakotay said.

  “I’m beginning to think that was the point,” O’Donnell said. “You know the old saying—the medium is the message? It might best apply here.”

  “How so?”

  “If the architects of this world wanted to leave anything more specific than they did, they certainly could have. The fact that they didn’t means everything we need to understand this place is here. Anyone lacking the ability to see it for what it is might not be ready to know more.”

  “You believe our knowledge and technology aren’t up to the task of unraveling this mystery?” Chakotay asked, not offended but pushing a little.

  “They aren’t so far,” O’Donnell said.

  “We’re just getting started,” Chakotay countered. “Maybe we should wait to hear the reports from our other teams before we give up.”

  “Give up? Are we giving up? Because if so, I’m in,” Farkas said, stepping into the circle.

  “Good evening, Regina,” Janeway greeted her.

  “Admiral.”

  Farkas took the remaining seat between Chakotay and O’Donnell.

  “Something to eat?” Chakotay asked.

  “No, I’m good,” Farkas replied.

  “Have any problems been reported today to Vesta?” Janeway asked.

  “Nope,” Farkas said. “But give it time.”

  “I’m sorry, Regina, but what exactly are you afraid of here?” Janeway asked. “I’m genuinely curious.”

  Farkas shrugged. “It’s a gut instinct, Admiral. Nothing more.”

  “Yes, but even those are informed by observations,” Chakotay said.

  “Well, my first observation is that the only reason we’re all sitting here is by the grace of ancient alien technology we don’t understand. The strange behavior of the pseudo-life-forms might have been designed to maintain stasis, as Commander O’Donnell posited earlier, or their regenerative abilities might have been created to counter a periodic dropping of these energy fields. If this field fell right now, we’d all die within seconds. Nothing else here would change dramatically, and any damage done would repair itself almost as soon as the fields went back up.”

  Janeway looked to Chakotay, whose face clearly indicated that until now, he hadn’t considered this possibility.

  “That’s not entirely true,” O’Donnell said. “The loss of atmosphere would take quite a while to restore, and I’m not sure even these strange plants would be capable of regenerating without it. More to the point, the water would disappear immediately, and with no internal sources to replenish it, I don’t know how you ever get that back. The plants are strange, I agree. But the presence of the water tells me these fields have remained in place since the planet was abandoned.”

  “Fair point,” Farkas said.

  “Do you know what I like about this place?” Glenn said.

  “What?” Janeway asked.

  “It’s uncomfortable.”

  “It is that,” Farkas agreed.

  “What I mean is it’s been a long time since humans were at the shallow end of the comprehension pool. Thousands of years ago, our ancestors on Earth lived with mysteries all around them. They sat beside campfires, real ones, and they cooked whatever meat they could catch or whatever vegetables they could grow. They had little to no control over the most basic and essential needs for survival. At night, they sat under stars like these and couldn’t begin to imagine what they were really seeing.

  “Tonight, here on this world thousands of light-years from Earth, we’re like them. This planet operates under rules different from ours. Those rules were created by unknown hands who may or may not have had anyone else’s best interests at heart. If they even had hearts. I’d like to think that we haven’t lost the drive that led our ancestors out of their ignorance and into the light of the scientific discoveries and allowed us to reach the stars. And I don’t think it’s a bad thing to be forced to recognize once in a while that, advanced as we may be, we still have a long way to go. I think this planet might have been a gift left for those curious enough to push themselves to understand that which on its surface is incomprehensible.”

  “It’s a nice thought,” Chakotay said. “But you’re forgetting an essential part of humanity’s march of progress. Our ancestors, sitting around those fires, staring at those stars, needed to understand their place in the world and their universe. Even without knowing how or why, they felt themselves to be connected to creation.”

  “Usually they decided they were the center of it,” Farkas noted.

  “They did,” Chakotay agreed with a smile. “They looked up and told themselves stories about the stars and the miraculous beings that inhabited them: gods, demons, angels, and monsters. They poured their hopes and dreams, their fears and desires, into creatures of unimaginable power and then decided that those creatures cared about them enough to interact with them from time to time.”

  “And then science came along and took all that away from them,” O’Donnell said.

  “Did it?” Chakotay asked. “There are still plenty of human experiences that are beyond our science.”

  “Name one,” O’Donnell said.

  Chakotay paused, then said quietly, “Love.”

  “Come on, Captain,” O’Donnell said. “The biochemical reactions of our neural pathways coupled with a basic survival instinct drive us to form relationships that will allow us to procreate and bind us to our offspring.”

  “That’s true,” Chakotay said. “But I don’t honestly believe it accounts for all of the various aspects of what we call love, do you? Why do people st
ay together once those instincts are quiet?”

  O’Donnell seemed to seriously consider the question. He glanced away from the group for a moment, and a look of longing crossed his face. Finally he said, “I concede the point.”

  “That’s love,” Glenn said, pointing to the sky.

  Janeway followed her gaze. “The stars?” she asked.

  “That particular formation, do you see it?” Glenn asked. “Those two galaxies up there and the bridge of stars between them?”

  “The bridge of stars?” Janeway asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Glenn said, nodding. “I can’t remember the whole story. Two galaxies were one but over time, the natural expansion of the universe separated them. Still, they couldn’t bear to be torn apart, so each of them sacrificed a few of their stars to leave a bridge between them so that no matter how far apart they drifted, they could never truly be separated.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Chakotay said, glancing toward Janeway with a gentle smile.

  She felt herself smiling back at him.

  “Yes, but obviously not true,” Farkas said.

  “How do you know, Regina?” O’Donnell asked.

  “Because just like you, I understand the forces of gravity and the movement of stars and galaxies,” Farkas replied.

  “You understand how they work most of the time,” Janeway agreed. “But if this planet teaches us anything, it is that there are sizeable gaps in our knowledge yet to be filled and until we can fill them with facts, perhaps it does no harm to fill them with comforting mysteries.”

  “There might have been a time when I found mysteries comforting,” Farkas said. “But not that long ago, I lost hundreds of people to a mystery, and I’m not sure to this day I really comprehend why. The stakes are very real here. They are measured in the lives of those we command. We have a responsibility not to lead them into a false sense of security or complacency.”

  “We all do,” Janeway said. “But we also have a responsibility to expose them to the mysteries and challenges that they will have to conquer as we progress in our understanding of the universe.”

  “I know it’s scary, Regina,” Glenn said. “And for those of us with fresh wounds, it must seem like the height of arrogance to rush headlong into a situation as risky as this one.”