Architects of Infinity

by Kirsten Beyer

  “Why is that door closed?” Jepel asked, noticeably panicked.

  “I don’t know,” Patel snapped back at him. As she stood before the metal surface now standing between her and a long, productive life, she forced herself to take slow, regular breaths and consider the question.

  Suddenly she did know. She knew exactly why that door was closed.

  It was her fault.

  Tapping her combadge she said, “Patel to Voyager. Voyager, do you read me?”

  Silence answered. Not even static.

  “Voyager, please respond.”

  She tried again several times before accepting the obvious. Her comm signal had been blocked when she tried to reach Lasren and the others when they were separated. Something down here inhibited them.

  Turning back to her team, she lifted her chin slightly and said, “We have a number of problems.”

  “Is one of them that closed door?” Jepel asked.

  “Yes, but it may not be the biggest one.”

  Lasren stepped forward. “Explain,” he requested in a tone that reminded Patel annoyingly of Seven.

  “Remember the screaming sound?” she asked.

  Lasren and the others nodded.

  “That sound was the formation of an interface that was created using my DNA in order to interact with us. It is located in a cell in that room,” she added, pointing to the entrance directly behind Vincent, “and it is no longer operative.”

  As she continued, Vincent looked toward that chamber nervously and stepped closer to the others.

  “The interface told me that containment on the surface has been breached by the actions of our crews.”

  “How?” Jepel demanded.

  “It didn’t say.”

  “You didn’t ask?”

  “You know what?” Patel said. “The next time the four of us are working together, I’m going to let you take charge, Jepel. That way you can witness the birth of a monster bearing your face and try to have a conversation with it. And when you do better than I did at getting all of our questions answered, you can start criticizing me.”

  Jepel’s face fell. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean . . .”

  “I know,” Patel said more gently. “It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

  “Do you have any idea what it meant when it said that we had breached containment?” Lasren asked.

  “No,” Patel replied, “but there is a definite possibility it might include the failure of the biodomes in which our people are currently exploring and enjoying shore leave. It said the system would fail in a little over eleven hours, so it’s not something that is an immediate threat. I have to hope that there are signs on the surface of the impending system failure and that all of our people will get off the surface in time. But if there aren’t, we need to find a way to warn them.”

  “Those biodomes have stood for thousands of years. We’ve been here a little more than a day and we already found a way to break them?” Vincent asked, aghast.

  “Not that long ago, we almost broke the entire multiverse,” Lasren reminded him. “We’re good.”

  “That still doesn’t seem possible,” Vincent said, clearly turning the prospect over and over in his mind.

  “The species that built all of this was identified as Species 001. Every other species that has come here is also numbered. We are 196.2.”

  “Point two?” Jepel asked.

  “Really?” Patel shot back. “You’re standing in the middle of this and the decimal point is what’s throwing you?”

  Jepel shook his head.

  “I’m guessing that the other species explored this place under the supervision of Species 001, so they probably had access to rules and regulations we don’t. This whole world is one gigantic science lab built to evaluate and if possible propagate something called the Edrehmaia.” She held up her hand to forestall more questions as she continued. “I don’t know what that is exactly, but I’m guessing it is whatever substance, including the Sevenofninonium, all of those structures on the surface are made out of.”

  “You might be right about that,” Lasren said. “You need to see the cavern down below.”

  “What’s down there?” she asked.

  “The mother lode of impossible things,” he replied. “It’s going to take several teams of our best people working for weeks to crack that code.”

  “Noted,” Patel said. “Now here’s the part you’re not going to like.”

  “You mean the other part we’re not going to like?” Vincent asked. “Because seriously, Devi, there isn’t a single part of this yet that I’m actually liking.”

  Patel sighed. “When the interface told me that system failure was imminent, it asked if I wanted to secure this data storage and retrieval station. I didn’t think. I just said ‘yes.’ ”

  A look of understanding came over Lasren’s face. “Oh, no,” he said.

  Patel nodded. “I think so. I think I inadvertently locked us all into this area. That door isn’t going to open on its own.”

  “So we need to find a way through it,” Jepel said.

  “Stand back,” Patel said. When they had obliged her, she doubled-checked that her phaser was at its maximum setting, lifted it, and pointed it directly at the door. The beam caused the door to glow an angry crimson for a few moments, but did nothing to destroy it.

  “So that’s not an option,” Patel said, finally lowering the weapon in defeat.

  “And that can’t be our focus now anyway, can it?” Lasren asked.

  Patel met his eyes and shook her head slowly.

  “We have to find a way to reestablish communications with the surface,” Lasren continued. “That is our only priority. We have to warn them, just in case there are no obvious signs of system failure.”

  “And if possible, we need to give them access to as much of the data as we have found here. This is what we came here for and it would be wrong for them to depart without learning it,” Patel added.

  Lasren nodded his understanding. Even if Jepel and Vincent hadn’t figured it out yet, he and Devi knew the truth. There might not be time to figure out how to reestablish communications and escape the chambers. It was highly likely that all four of them were going to die down there.

  VOYAGER

  Ensign Icheb was due to return to the surface of the planet within the hour to begin placing some of the newly replicated sensors for Lieutenant Elkins. He had received three messages from Bryce since he departed the surface, but thus far hadn’t responded to any of them. Until he knew exactly what he wanted to say, he couldn’t bring himself to speak with Phinn, even via the comm.

  The tests Doctor Sharak had run the previous evening had been quick and painless. Icheb wasn’t sure what to expect but had begun to believe as the hours wore on that this was going to end with him and Counselor Cambridge engaged in several lengthy conversations.

  When he entered sickbay at Sharak’s request and found Cambridge waiting in the doctor’s office, this suspicion seemed to be confirmed. The Doctor was also present, and though he offered Icheb a reassuring smile when their eyes met, the ensign could tell that something was troubling the hologram.

  Sharak, however, took charge as soon as the door to his office closed behind Icheb.

  “Good morning, Ensign,” Sharak greeted him. “I have completed my analysis of your scans and asked both the Doctor and counselor to join us while we discuss the results.”

  “Then there is something wrong with me,” Icheb said, not sure if he was more relieved or troubled by this development.

  Sharak released a deep breath. “There is something different about you, but whether or not it is wrong is unclear.”

  “What does that mean?” Icheb asked, looking automatically to the Doctor for more information.

  Sharak continued. “Brunali physiology is similar in many respects to that of humans. However, we lack sufficient Brunali genetic samples against which to compare your test results. Again,
I would like to stress that what we have found might be within normal ranges for other members of your species.”

  “But it might not,” Cambridge interjected.

  “As you say,” Sharak agreed.

  “What did you find?” Icheb demanded.

  “The issue at hand was your lack of physical response to an emotionally and sexually charged encounter,” Sharak said simply. “Normally, humans in similar situations experience the feelings I believe you anticipated as a result of the interplay between a multitude of sensory and neural receptors and the brain properly identifying the sensory input. Hormones are released that increase respiration and heart rates but in addition, they heighten the experience, often creating the perception of physical and emotional pleasure.”

  Icheb nodded for Sharak to continue. Thus far, nothing he had said contradicted anything he understood of basic anatomy and physiology.

  “In your case, your sensory receptors have been artificially blocked by an unusual gene regulatory sequence on your sixth chromosome. As I said, this might be perfectly normal for Brunali. However, it is also possible that the sequence in question was placed there on purpose.”

  “Why?” Icheb asked.

  The Doctor stepped forward. “As you know, you were genetically altered as a child to carry a virus to the Borg. I believe that the sequence in question was also created so that when you were assimilated, you would not experience any undue suffering.”

  “While it is difficult to credit your parents with anything approaching affection for you, given their actions,” Cambridge added, “it does make sense that they would have wanted to make your assimilation as easy as possible. They expected you to destroy the Borg following your assimilation. They did not anticipate that you would survive that process, or that their little gift to you would complicate your life once you reached physical and sexual maturity.”

  “But if the sequence is designed to inhibit my sensory experiences of pain, why would they also affect my experiences of pleasure?”

  “The same receptors are involved,” Sharak said kindly. “All signals are blocked, regardless of their origin.”

  Icheb shook his head. “But I do experience pain from time to time.”

  “For example?” Cambridge asked.

  “When someone I care about is suffering,” Icheb offered.

  “Emotional stress is different from physical stress,” Cambridge said. “Situations that evoke compassion or sadness are based upon a mental process; your empathy, for instance, would not be blocked in the same way. Unfortunately, your physical receptors are critical in the normal expression of sexual instincts. While in time you might be able to convince your brain to order the proper responses, with no stimuli to engage your mind, it would be a wholly mental process.”

  Icheb remained still as he processed this information. Finally he asked, “Can you fix it?”

  Sharak shook his head. “Not until we know for certain that the sequence in question is not vital for other normal physical processes. We will run the necessary models, but it will be some time before we can determine if a gene therapy would be appropriate for you.”

  Icheb felt his face beginning to burn. It was decidedly unpleasant. Understanding that the source of his discomfort was emotional—embarrassment and fear—did not diminish the intensity.

  “There might be an alternative,” Cambridge said quickly.

  “What?” Icheb asked.

  “A version of behavior modification. The goal would be to train your mind to respond to various physical stimuli in the absence of other sensory input. As powerful as our bodies are, at the end of the day, our minds are infinitely more powerful. With patience and time, you might learn responses that are currently denied you.”

  Icheb shook his head. “I will, of course, engage in any therapy you believe would be helpful. But I doubt its effectiveness. I have never felt as strongly about anyone as I do for Phinn. The appropriate mental triggers are present. But my body simply betrays me.”

  “We’re not going to give up, Icheb,” the Doctor insisted. “The first step in finding any cure is identifying the problem. That much we’ve done. While we search for alternative solutions, you should continue to engage in any behavior you believe will strengthen your emotional bond to Lieutenant Bryce.”

  “You should also be honest with him,” Cambridge suggested. “If he truly cares about you, as I suspect he does, he would want to understand what is happening to you.”

  “But can our feelings for each other overcome my genetic destiny?” Icheb asked.

  Cambridge shrugged. “We’ve never seen anything like this before, so none of us can say to any degree of certainty what the outcome will be. The alternative, however, is unthinkable. You cannot allow this to warp the development of normal, healthy relationships going forward. It is something to be fought and defeated, not something to which you should simply submit.”

  Icheb nodded.

  • • •

  Doctor Sal approached the unconscious form of Ensign Gwyn with miserable trepidation. It had been a little more than a day since she had briefly tasted the potential for victory over the disease ravaging Nancy Conlon’s body.

  So damned close.

  If she was right—and she was certain she was—that victory was, at the very least, a few steps further away; steps that would now be denied her by the specific language written by a group of cowardly, sanctimonious assholes into the admittance charter that granted the planet Krios membership in the Federation.

  That was a problem. The bigger problem by far was Ensign Gwyn herself. She was no longer a donor. She was now a patient.

  The blood tests had been conclusive. The metamorphic cells Sal required to rewrite Conlon’s genetic code had been present. But the radiation exposure Gwyn had suffered when her EV suit was breached by whatever the hell had attacked her on that asteroid had damaged too many of the metamorphic cells for them to be safely used. Sal would need new samples. But if her gut was right, those samples would now be impossible to come by honestly.

  Sal ran a medical tricorder over Gwyn’s still form and immediately checked the results. The things the device could confirm only fortified Sal’s frustration. Hormone levels were radically altered. Neural activity was off the charts. Her body’s natural defenses had been busy trying to adjust to the one-two punch of exotic radiation and antiproton therapy. It was doing what it knew how to do to cure her. It was changing. It was reverting to its most basic, ancient programming to save itself.

  The metamorphosis had begun.

  Sal had seen similar data once before, on Krios. The woman who had provided it, Kataly Norol, had died before Sal could help her. The most likely scenario here was that Gwyn would join her shortly.

  Unless Sal could find a miracle that had eluded her many years ago.

  After confirming that Gwyn’s vital signs were as stable as they were likely to get, Sal took a hypo filled with a mild stimulant and pressed it gently to the young woman’s neck.

  Gwyn’s eyes fluttered open. They passed over Sal as she tried to sit up, scanning the rest of the room.

  “Where is he?” she demanded.

  “Where is who?” Sal asked.

  “Sharak.”

  Sal inhaled deeply and released the breath in a huff. Clearly Gwyn had already begun the process of imprinting upon her “perfect mate.” That needed to stop.

  “Ensign Gwyn, I need you to focus and to listen to me very carefully,” Sal said.

  Gwyn pushed herself upright and brought her legs down over the side of the biobed. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but I need to see Sharak.”

  “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” Sal assured her. “I’ll call for him in a moment.”

  “Doctor Sharak,” Gwyn cried loudly to the otherwise empty sickbay.

  “Gwyn, focus on me,” Sal said more intently. “There was an accident. You were attacked by some sort of organic compound you discovered on that asteroid.”

  Gwyn looked
away, searching her memory. “I . . . what? Does that matter now?”

  “It does. It’s part of the reason you feel the way you do. Let me guess: in addition to craving the presence of Doctor Sharak the same way you require air to breathe, you’re also starving and uncomfortably warm.”

  Gwyn seemed to do a quick internal physical check. “That’s true,” she said, staring up at Sal in wonder. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I know what’s happening to you.”

  “Nothing is happening to me. I need Doctor Sharak. I am for him.”

  Sal repressed the violent urge to shake some sense into the ensign. “Prior to awakening in sickbay, have you ever even spoken to Doctor Sharak for more than a few moments?”

  “No.”

  “Then does it make any sense to you that he has suddenly become vital to your continued survival? Does your desire for him track with any experiences you actually remember?”

  Gwyn started to speak but paused abruptly, again searching her interior landscape for a handhold. Finally she said, “What did you do to me?”

  Sal wished she could respond truthfully that she had done nothing. In fact, the hormone therapy she had provided to coax Gwyn’s limited metamorphic cells into increasing their number, as they did normally every month during her regular cycle, was likely at least partially responsible for Gwyn’s current state. The accompanying radiation exposure and antiproton therapy had undoubtedly exacerbated the problem, but it might not have happened at all were it not for Sal’s initial intervention.

  “Ensign Gwyn, you have entered a state of heightened physical development unique to your species. You know what the finiis’ral is, don’t you?”

  Gwyn shook her head petulantly. “We’ve already had this discussion, Doctor. I am not an empathic metamorph.”

  “You are now,” Sal said simply.

  Gwyn pushed herself off the biobed and began to make her way toward the main door.

  “I’m going to find Doctor Sharak,” she said.

  “Computer, seal main sickbay door,” Sal ordered. “Authorization Sal beta lambda.”

  With a series of chirps, the computer complied.