VOY - String Theory 2 - Fusion (c)

by Star Trek

  “All right,” Janeway replied calmly, “let’s look at what we do know. I assume you’ve analyzed its structure. What is it made of? Is it organic to Monorha?”

  “It isn’t Monorhan,” B’Elanna replied. “Its molecular structure doesn’t correspond with any known elements in the planet’s composition, or any other elements we’ve detected in the system.”

  “Is it sporocystian?” Janeway asked.

  “There are similarities in the molecular structure of the Caretaker’s remains and the Key, but the Key is significantly more dense.”

  “Computer,” Janeway called, turning to the diagnostic control panel, “display analysis of the Caretaker’s remains from stardate 48398.”

  When it came up on the screen before them, she saw that B’Elanna was correct. There were properties that suggested a sporocystian origin, but there were also significant variances that defied definitive comparison.

  “Wait a minute…” B’Elanna said, tapping the diagnostic panel. The display of the Caretaker’s remains was reorganized as B’Elanna instructed the computer to extrapolate the molecular structure of more than one sporocystian life-form integrated into a solid form similar to the Key.

  Janeway watched, fascinated as the molecular composition of a single sporocystian remnant reacted in the hypothetical presence of another. But even after the process had been duplicated over fifty times, the simulated results bore only a cursory resemblance to the Key.

  As the simulation continued, B’Elanna crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Maybe I’m just ignoring the obvious because I don’t like to even consider the possibility.”

  “What do you mean?” Janeway asked.

  “Maybe we encountered another Nacene,” B’Elanna suggested. “We know their presence disrupts subspace. The Key might just be reacting to the dissonance field a Nacene would have created, but its density prevented its destruction.”

  “Unlike the Caretaker’s remains,” Janeway finished.

  “And the fact that it’s still vibrating might mean that a Nacene is still nearby.”

  Janeway didn’t like that possibility. But it was hard to dismiss.

  “I assume you’re aware of the Key’s cultural significance to the Monorhans?” Janeway asked.

  “Of course,” B’Elanna replied. “Everything Seven of Nine learned while we were linked on the planet is also…part of me now,” B’Elanna added. “In some ways it was one of the few high points of the ‘collective experience’ for me.”

  “Why is that?” the captain asked sincerely.

  “Because the more I knew, the less we had to discuss,” B’Elanna replied tersely.

  Janeway smiled faintly and continued, “So how does an object that at least shares some similarities with Nacene bioremnants end up thousands of light-years from the only other areas of the quadrant where we’ve seen Nacene activity?”

  “And how does it get folded into the culture of the Monorhans?” B’Elanna added. “The Key has been on the planet since before their recorded history. It was discovered by a farmer who touched it and became some kind of prophet.”

  “Well I touched it too,” Janeway said simply, “and if anything, I know less about the future now than before.”

  “Of course, you’re not telepathic,” B’Elanna said. “All of the Monorhans share low-level psionic capabilities, but among the Fourteenth Tribe, those abilities were uniquely strong.” She shook her head as she continued ruefully, “It’s a shame that tribe never returned from their search. I imagine they reached the edge of the system and disintegrated like the first transport we encountered.”

  “They didn’t,” Janeway corrected her. “We’ve already found their ship. It’s docked on the array.”

  Torres stared at her. “Captain, I’d like to get a look at that ship.”

  “So would I,” Janeway replied. “Meet with Seven as soon as you can. Retrieving Tuvok is our first priority, but I have a feeling we’re going to spend at least a few days on board the array. The sensor data we’ve collected so far is overwhelming.”

  B’Elanna nodded.

  Before she could enquire further as to the nature of the sensor’s findings the computer chirped, indicating that the simulation it had been running was complete. As both women turned instinctively to check the results, however unpromising they would surely be, they shared a moment of breathless awe when they saw that the computer had been able to create an exact duplicate of the Key by following B’Elanna’s hypothetical parameters. What was amazing and disturbing was the estimation of the number of sporocystian life-forms that would have to be integrated in order to produce the Key.

  “That’s not good,” Janeway commented.

  “No, it isn’t,” B’Elanna agreed. “If this is right, the Key is comprised entirely of sporocystian remains…almost a hundred thousand of them.”

  The thought was intriguing. Everyone who had actually met the Caretaker had grown used to thinking of him as a highly unique life-form. True, they had also met his mate, but the idea that at some point in time there had been enough Nacene within the galaxy to result in the formation of the Key with no other record or evidence of their activities seemed incomprehensible.

  “No wonder it wasn’t destroyed,” B’Elanna said. “I can’t even imagine how many Nacene it would take to disrupt subspace enough to completely destabilize this.”

  Janeway was absorbed in an analysis of the subatomic alterations of the fusion process that were required to stabilize the bond between the remains. It suggested something even more disturbing.

  “This occurred naturally,” she finally said.

  “Captain?” B’Elanna asked, studying the same analysis.

  “No external force short of dozens of suns going supernova at the same time could have forced the kind of fusion we’re seeing here.”

  “You’re saying that tens of thousands of Nacene somehow fused together of their own accord as they were dying?” B’Elanna asked.

  “Possibly,” Janeway said. “Or maybe…” she said, choosing her words extremely carefully.

  “What?”

  “Maybe the reason they are still resonating is because they aren’t dead.”

  This was a fringe hypothesis, even for B’Elanna.

  “We know the Caretaker died. That’s why he brought us here, along with Kahless only knows how many others. That’s why Suspiria tried to kill us. His remains were only resonant in the presence of another Nacene, but their molecular structure was constant.”

  “But if thousands of Nacene were also near death, this might be the only form they could survive in,” Janeway posited.

  B’Elanna seemed anxious to disprove this possibility. She instructed the computer to scan the Key for anything remotely resembling life, saying, “This is the one scan I didn’t bother to initiate from the beginning because it simply hadn’t occurred to me to do so. The first time the Caretaker’s remains started to vibrate we mistook that for life signs too. I didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. At any rate, I still think it’s much more likely we simply encountered another Nacene.”

  “Phoebe was in my cabin the entire time,” Janeway argued. “She’s not the most observant person I’ve ever met, but I don’t think she would have missed an intruder boarding the ship right in front of her.”

  “She’s pretty focused when she’s working,” B’Elanna teased. “She kept me waiting outside holodeck three for over an hour last week while she was working on something in your da Vinci program. She swore she didn’t hear me, but…”

  “Point taken,” Janeway smiled. “I suppose we could just ask her. Captain Janeway to Phoebe,” she called, tapping her combadge.

  There was no response.

  “Computer, locate Phoebe Janeway.”

  The computer’s reply was inconceivable.

  “Phoebe Janeway is not on board Voyager.”

  There wasn’t time to address this impossibility, as, a moment later, the diagnostic display confirmed Jan
eway’s hypothesis.

  The Key was alive.

  Phoebe hid herself between the second and third electrons orbiting the phosphate atom contained within a molecule of ioxicyllic phosphatase in a remote deck plate within the array. Though the abominations could theoretically find her here, she did not believe they would do so. They were still such simple creatures. For all the potential that lay within their grasp, they had been unprepared to receive the spores and consequently behaved like the infants of primitive races. They had barely scratched the surface of their new existence and remained bound to perverse and irrelevant notions. Their call to Tuvok had been idiotic. He was incapable of grasping the nature of their existence and therefore incapable of rendering aid. Their desire to return home, as they put it, indicated that much of their humanoid existence and values were still thoroughly enmeshed with their evolved essence.

  All of this might have been forgivable. There was a time when it might also have been interesting to witness their first halting steps into a larger existence. But in their rashness, they had taken something that did not belong to them, and by doing so, had damned countless others to a half-life within a space-time reality that was not theirs.

  Had she been capable of weeping in her disembodied state, she would have cried fierce hot tears. The work, the planning, the purposefulness with which the array had been constructed and the spores had been created were now for naught. How could this have happened? She tortured herself with guilt. The last time she had returned to the array for rejuvenation had been so recently. True, it had been almost six hundred years, but that was the blink of a god’s eye.

  She allowed the rage at this senseless waste to move through her. If she was going to salvage anything from this desperate turn of events, she would have to think beyond her anger. She had learned long ago that however unpleasant an emotional state was, it could be released only if it was first accepted and experienced. Denial, though often easier, was ultimately counterproductive.

  They were arguing with one another. Tuvok’s fragile brain would never have been able to translate their communication. He would have sensed the constant pounding need that was the sum total of their collective desire for release. But his mind would have interpreted their discussion in the same way that he had first understood their call. It happened in the space of a human breath. His mind would have perceived the sound, but no mind, bound by matter, would have been capable of deconstructing the sound in a way that would have communicated its truth beyond a vague sensation of gratitude, doubt, and fear of the unknown.

  But to Phoebe, their words were perfectly clear .

  His people are coming for him.

  They will be too late.

  Not with our aid.

  What can we do?

  Show them the way.

  They are not our kind.

  Neither was he.

  He was part of them.

  Not as we are part of one another.

  He came for us.

  He is dying.

  Perhaps not.

  We cannot protect him.

  We shouldn’t try. Let the unknowing one come.

  Will he become our kind?

  It is his only hope.

  Phoebe was intrigued. It is his only hope. At first, she could not imagine what they might be referring to. What hope was there for Tuvok? His body was injured, quite possibly beyond his own people’s abilities to repair it. With each fraction of a second that passed, his tenuous connection to the abominations grew thinner as his mind began to shut down, a few neural pathways at a time.

  What did they know that she didn’t?

  Opening herself beyond the scope of their conversation, she searched for their hope, and was instantly flooded with relief when she found it.

  She sensed its frenzied approach…and knew peace. She watched in delight as the one…the unknowing one, they called it…found Tuvok, grasped him roughly around his torso, and bending its face to his, implanted the spore that it carried within it into Tuvok’s mouth.

  The convulsions that marked the first stage of transference of a spore into a humanoid body began instantly. Tuvok writhed in apparent agony, as his muscles contracted, seeking to dispel the foreign body from his esophagus.

  Phoebe shared their overwhelming joy when, a few moments later, Tuvok ceased to struggle…and opened his eyes.

  Burning with the hope that this unforeseen possibility presented, Phoebe returned, undetected, to Voyager. She found a quiet corner of the deserted mess hall and immediately began reorganizing her thoughts.

  The spores were gone. They had been awakened from their dormant state by the Monorhans who had stumbled upon the array they called Gremadia. But the new life-form generated in the process of the transformation was capable of creating the spores anew. The abominations would bow to her will, and the will of those for whom the spores had been intended. Even if they did not, there was at least one…the unknowing one…who would suit Phoebe’s purposes perfectly. Now all that remained was to keep Janeway ignorant of the Key’s true purpose until she was able to contact the full number of her companions and bring them to the array.

  She had stood alone in her dark corner of the mess hall for several minutes, pondering the view of the array that loomed large through the windows, when her tranquil reflection was shattered by a piercing screech.

  Turning to the door, she saw a small humanoid standing in the entrance. A child. She was female, a hybrid of some kind, and her tiny fists were balled at her sides as she continued to scream.

  Obviously the girl was terrified, but this shouldn’t be the case. Phoebe had resumed her human form the moment she returned to the ship. Every member of the crew should be seeing her exactly as Janeway did. They should accept her presence as normal. The memories of “Phoebe” and her interaction with the crew that had been implanted were not threatening in the least. In fact, she had made herself truly liked by the crew, to limit any conflicting interaction.

  But the girl was still screaming.

  Something was obviously wrong.

  She didn’t take the time to consider all of her options. She knew the alarm that the girl was sounding would not go unnoticed for long. With a thought, she entered the girl’s mind, searching for a way to calm her. The moment she had done so, she realized her error.

  This one is different.

  Her next action was uncharacteristically rash, though she decided later that it had been her only choice at the moment, and probably a result of her inability to reason without emotion while she assumed a human form.

  Crushing the neurological pathways that supplied the impulses that directed oxygen to the girl’s brain, she silently hoped that there were no others like her aboard the ship. Though Phoebe saw no intrinsic value in the lives of Kathryn’s crew, the only hesitation she felt as she took the girl’s life sprung from the certainty that Kathryn did.

  She couldn’t afford to kill them all.

  Yet.

  Chapter 5

  Neelix was multitasking. He had spent the last few minutes gathering gear for his impending away mission. En route to the mess hall to lock down the supplies he had already prepped for lunch and dinner, he walked with his nose buried in a padd, reviewing the section of the array he and Crewman Dalby would be analyzing within the hour.

  He liked Dalby. The somewhat distant Maquis who’d had such a difficult adjustment to life aboard Voyager was gone. In his place was a capable and disciplined officer in the making. That had earned him Neelix’s respect. More important, Neelix trusted Dalby for one simple reason. Dalby was unflinching in his honest estimation of Neelix’s food. Although taste was ultimately less significant than nutritional value, Neelix strove daily to serve the crew the most delicious and satisfying food available. Tom Paris’s colorful jests aside, most of the Starfleet personnel accepted their meals stoically, as if eating, no matter how unpleasant, was a duty. He knew they were appreciative of his efforts. But also knew that without honest evaluations of his
work, there was little he could do to improve their culinary experience and with it their morale. On more than one occasion, Dalby had quietly pulled him aside to offer suggestions ranging from “a little more spice” to “never again, please.”

  Yes, Neelix liked Dalby.

  At the same time, he was also considering the arrangement of supplies stored in cargo bay three. Most of the expansive space had been reserved for some of the crew’s personal possessions and nonperishable food. The majority of those contents could be divided between bays one and two, leaving bay three as a potential space for raw matter storage they were sure to find aboard the array.

  Come to think of it, there were a number of emergency ration packs in bay three which should probably be brought to the mess hall right now. He was running a little low, and with much of the crew assigned to the upcoming away mission, it was probably a good idea to have plenty on hand. If he diverted his steps to the nearest turbolift, it would take only a few moments…

  “Aaaahhhhhhh!”

  The shrill, piercing scream that echoed through the hall was temporarily disorienting. It sounded like it was coming from the turbolift, behind him. The second scream caused the blood to drain instantaneously from his extremities, but it also made it easier for him to determine where it was coming from.

  Naomi!

  Neelix ran for his life. He found strength and speed he hadn’t known since he was a young boy, chasing his sister, Alixia, through the forest that ran behind their home.

  His worst fears were confirmed when he turned the final corner that led to the mess hall entrance and saw Naomi crumpled on the floor.

  Before he had even reached her, he tapped his combadge.

  “Neelix to sickbay. Medical emergency.”

  Naomi was curled on her right side. She didn’t appear to be breathing and her face and hands had a faint purplish blue tinge. As Neelix gently touched her left hand, and felt, as he had expected to, its horrifying chill, he called out again over the comm.