by Star Trek
“Closer,” Phoebe said again, and Janeway had to force herself not to send the atoms spinning in a fiery ball of anger toward her.
With a deep breath, she tried again, allowing the atoms to disintegrate until all she was holding was a ball of darkness. After a moment she said, “There’s nothing here.”
But just as the words escaped her lips a tiny wisp of light burst from her hand and began to dance all around her. She looked again at her palm and dozens of similar threads exploded forth, coiling and unraveling to join the first in its chaotic movement.
“What is this?” Janeway asked.
Phoebe smiled.
“The beginning,” she replied.
Tuvok knelt before the fire. The subject of his meditation was the Vulcan principle of the Kol-ut-shan. Roughly translated, it meant infinite diversity in infinite combinations.
As the flames jutted and peaked, he considered first their motion, and then the chemical reactions that permitted this motion. He then considered the life of the fire. He contemplated its existence in its potential forms; the wood that fueled it and the oxygen that sustained it.
He resisted the urge to reach his hand into the fire. He recognized the childish and illogical nature of the thought, but some part of him honestly believed that he could touch it without coming to harm. He heard the rustle of the robes of the Vulcan master who watched patiently behind him.
Tuvok knew this place. He was a young man in the Temple of Amonak. His father had brought him to the temple weeks earlier when he had confessed in a moment of weakness his desire to abandon logic and reason in favor of an emotional attachment to a young woman that all but consumed him.
The master was displeased. He knew Tuvok’s thoughts, sensed their disorganized and fragmented nature, and strained with the force of his own discipline to impose structure and rigidity upon his young charge’s mind. Tuvok felt the intense pressure weighing down upon him and took a deep breath, determined to begin again.
Infinite diversity…
The flames rose higher, their tempestuous motion a matter of calculable chemical conflagrations.
…in infinite combinations.
The pile of tinder beneath the fire was composed of shards of wood taken from dozens of different trees native to Vulcan. He separated each piece of wood in his mind, saw their source in a natural state, and examined the faint differences in the way they burned.
To understand the fire was to know the fire was to control the fire. His thoughts were like the pieces of wood that burned. They too could be separated, examined, and placed in a logical order. Logic and order were the gateway to the mastery of his passions, and to peace. Only in peace could he truly understand the Kol-ut-shan.
Two black eyes stared at him across the fire. They were his eyes, but jostling their placid depths was an enticing mischief that Tuvok did not recognize in himself. Tuvok saw his young and troubling face gazing intently at him. His mirror image seemed unconcerned with the master’s reproachful rustling. The image raised his hand and placed it in the fire.
To his amazement Tuvok saw that the hand, his hand, became part of the fire without being burned by it. Intrigued, Tuvok raised his own hand, and reached for the hand of the mirror. He could feel the immediate increase in temperature as his fingers grazed the flame’s edge. Logic dictated that to touch the fire was to be consumed. But the promise of the eyes said that there was something beyond logic, something that he had yearned for but never touched. Here was a place where his emotions could live alongside his reason…in peace.
He wanted the fire. He knew the truth of its promise. He had sought it in quiet contemplation for more than a hundred years of life. And he had never before been so close to it.
Trusting an instinct that was so new as to be indefinable and yet so certain as to be irresistible, Tuvok reached his hand into the darting flames and grasped the hand that waited for him there.
Kol-ut-shan, he said…and almost knew.
The connection was severed in a moment of slicing agony. The fire and the eyes vanished into the oblivion where Tuvok now flailed like a drowning man caught in a tempest. The darkness choked him, assaulting his senses from all sides even as he struggled to return to the warmth and truth of the fire.
Tuvok opened his eyes. The light was blinding, suffocating. Blinking rapidly, he tried to force his senses to adjust. He thought of Naviim and his promise that the transition he was undergoing would be difficult. He longed for the passage, resigning himself to endure whatever was required in the meantime.
The face of the Doctor moved into his field of vision. He was speaking. His lips were moving, but for a few seconds it was impossible for him to process the Doctor’s words.
“…feeling better?” he heard.
“Where…” Tuvok croaked through a parched throat.
“You are perfectly safe, Lieutenant,” the Doctor replied. “You are in sickbay, and I believe I have found a way to reverse the process that was initiated by the parasitic life-form that has invaded your body.”
Tuvok did not know where he found the strength to move, but as if his existence depended upon it, he focused every ounce of will on a single object and grasped the Doctor by the throat.
“You…will…not…continue,” Tuvok demanded, adding the force of his hand to his words as the Doctor’s eyes widened.
Suddenly the Doctor was gone. Tuvok twisted and turned, instinctively searching for the enemy. Seconds later something cold was placed on his neck, followed by the whisper of a hypospray.
The will to fight seeped slowly from his body, replaced by a numb heaviness. He groaned under the effort of keeping his eyelids open as the Doctor said soothingly, “Please don’t be alarmed, Tuvok. I assure you, you’re going to be all right.”
“No,” Tuvok muttered.
“Tuvok, if I don’t proceed, you will die,” the Doctor continued.
With the last remnant of strength and will at his disposal, Tuvok forced his eyes to open and focus on the Doctor, who was once again standing above him.
“It is my wish to die,” he said, and before the Doctor could respond he said, “Computer, deactivate Emergency Medical Hologram, security override authorization Tuvok, pi, six, one, gamma.”
He remained conscious long enough to see the Doctor’s shocked face dematerialize. A few moments later, he found himself once again seated before the fire.
All eyes around the table turned to Harry.
“A body?” Chakotay was the first to ask.
“Yes, Commander,” Harry replied evenly. “The consciousness Seven is describing could theoretically be contained within a holomatrix,” he said. “When we found the Vidiian doctor, Danara Pel, the Doctor was able to transfer her synaptic patterns into sickbay’s holobuffers and then create a stable holomatrix which he used to interact with her.”
“But she was unconscious when the Doctor did that,” B’Elanna said. “She didn’t have a choice. We’re talking about someone, or something, that only wants to be rid of us. How are you going to force the synaptic patterns into our holobuffers?”
“By making its current environment inhospitable,” Seven said.
“What?” B’Elanna asked in obvious disbelief.
“Most life-forms share a survival instinct. If the consciousness embedded in the organic circuitry of the Betasis were no longer able to live within that ship’s neural network, it would be forced to seek an alternative. If we provide it with a suitable escape path, it would be forced to either take it or die.”
“Like trapping an animal,” Chakotay said. “But what would we use as bait? I mean to say, how would we make sure that the consciousness will choose the path we will lay out for it?”
“Voyager’s systems have a bioneural component. Our gel packs function in a manner which is similar to the neural network of the Betasis.”
“But the gel-pack system is completely separate from the hologrid,” Harry reasoned.
“I am not suggesting that we offer V
oyager’s bioneural circuitry as the bait,” Seven continued. “But we have sufficient spare gel packs to create a smaller neural network that could be linked to the hologrid for the purposes of attracting the consciousness. Once the consciousness is completely contained there, we simply transfer it to a stable holomatrix.”
B’Elanna was quick to voice her next objection.
“How do you propose we destroy the neural network that the consciousness is currently embedded in?” she asked. “Do you want to blow up the Betasis?”
“No, Lieutenant,” Seven replied. “If I were to infect the neural network with a sufficient supply of nanoprobes…” she began.
“You want to assimilate it?” B’Elanna shouted.
“B’Elanna,” Chakotay barked in frustration. He could see the wisdom in what Seven was proposing, though he had to admit there was a time when he would have responded as sharply as B’Elanna had to any suggestion of using the Borg’s invasive and destructive means of “reproduction” as a means to an end.
Seven cast an icy and disparaging glance at B’Elanna. “The nanoprobes could be coded to destabilize the neural network without affecting any of the ship’s other systems. They would not be capable of assimilating the vessel, any more than the nanoprobes that were transferred into your body to save your life on Monorha were capable of turning you into a Borg,” she retorted sharply.
B’Elanna paused, then said softly, “I’m sorry, Seven. That wasn’t fair of me.”
“Your apology is acceptable,” Seven replied.
“You mean accepted?” B’Elanna half-teased.
Seven responded with a slight smile, further dissipating the tension between them.
Chakotay gave those present a moment to raise any further objections before he offered his conclusions.
“Very well,” he said. “Seven, begin replicating the nanoprobes. Harry, get down to the holographic research lab and construct a stable holomatrix that will support the transfer. Use the holomatrix designed for Danara Pel as a template, but adjust the physical parameters to those of a Monorhan. B’Elanna, you’ll work with me on our defensive capabilities. We still need an alternative in the event the life-forms aboard the array get curious about Voyager.”
“Commander,” Tom interrupted.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“With your permission, I’d like to conduct a more thorough analysis of the tetryon transport technology we discovered aboard the array.”
Chakotay instinctively balked at the idea, but gave Tom a chance to make his case.
“To what end?” he asked.
“If we can’t defend ourselves against those creatures, we’ll need a way to get off this array in a hurry. Boarding the array was a disaster that I’m not anxious to see repeated. We barely escaped the singularity’s gravity well. If the tractor net that brought us in hadn’t activated, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation right now, and at this point we don’t know if that system was automated or controlled by something or someone else. We have to know that we can leave the array at a moment’s notice, and I believe the tetryon technology can be adapted to do just that,” Tom said.
“Fine,” Chakotay replied, “although I’d also like as thorough an analysis of the tractor net system as we can get without going back aboard the array.”
Tom nodded and smiled, “Aye, sir.”
Chakotay turned last to Neelix.
“Neelix, I want you to study the historical information collected from the Betasis.”
“What am I looking for, Commander?” Neelix asked.
“The visions that reference the Key might contain information about the Nacene. You know more about the interaction between the Caretaker and the Ocampa than any of us. I want to know if there are any similarities between the Monorhans and the god or gods of their mythology and the Ocampa and the Caretaker. If Phoebe is Nacene, Dagan’s visions might give us a clue as to where she and the captain have gone.
“I’ll do my best, Commander,” Neelix replied.
Chakotay took a moment to meet the eyes of each of his officers. Assuming the mantle of command was not difficult for him, but he’d have given anything for Kathryn’s firm reassuring presence beside him as they faced these challenges. He knew the others shared his unspoken wish.
“I don’t have to remind any of you what’s at stake here,” he said solemnly. “Let’s get to work.”
Chapter 11
B’Elanna was stumped. She knew that a few hours of sleep would revive her more effectively than the raktajino that was cooling at her workstation, but for the moment, the liquid stimulant would have to do.
She had spent more than an hour analyzing every piece of data they had been able to gather about the multiphasic life-forms and kept running up against the same solid problematic wall. The creatures were not stable. That is…they did not exist in any phase variation long enough for any weapon at Voyager’s disposal to have any effect upon them at all. She had reconfigured several phaser rifles to fire at randomized phase variances but the only way the weapons would be effective is if the phase variance of the rifle and the creature were exactly the same. She had added a phase calibrator to the rifles, but in every simulation she ran, the sensor could not detect the variance, lock on target, and fire before the phase variance of the creature shifted. She also had to face the unpleasant reality that like the Borg, the creatures might be able to adapt to randomized fire, making the highly advanced weapon she was developing practically useless.
Ensign Glenn, one of Tuvok’s tactical munitions experts, had just started her duty shift, and B’Elanna silently hoped that a pair of fresh eyes might see what she was obviously missing.
A pop and sizzle from the rifle Glenn was configuring stirred B’Elanna from her thoughts.
“Careful,” she chided.
“The sensor relay overloaded,” Glenn replied. “I’ll replicate another. Don’t worry,” she added as she crossed to the replicator. “I lost a few fingers at Menassa VI trying to deactivate a micro-mine. My biosynthetic digits are less sensitive. I didn’t even feel it.”
B’Elanna nodded as she absentmindedly pushed a few unruly strands of hair back into place.
A sonic shower and a few hours of sleep.
Instead, she reached for her raktajino and, grasping the cup, was rewarded with a quick burn on the first finger to touch it. She had ordered the beverage extra-hot and within a few minutes the mug had absorbed so much of the heat as to be temporarily untouchable. As she automatically thrust her index finger into her mouth to sooth the mild wound, she cast a glance at Glenn and reminded herself that any feeling in her fingers, no matter how unpleasant, was better than the alternative that Glenn had to live with. Only once in her life had she come close to losing normal sensations in her extremities: when she and the rest of Voyager’s crew had been subjected to a series of barbaric scientific experiments by a group of aliens who had turned the crew into unwilling lab rats. Their first round of experiments on B’Elanna had caused the alveoli in her lungs to stop processing oxygen. In successive genetic alterations B’Elanna’s left arm, hand, and leg had been paralyzed. They hadn’t been able to engage the aliens until they had discovered their hiding place.
Wait a minute.
B’Elanna removed her hand from her mouth and stared at it for so long that Glenn was moved to ask, “Lieutenant, are you all right?”
“I’m an idiot,” B’Elanna replied.
“I beg your pardon?” Glenn asked, then added politely, “In my experience, Lieutenant, nothing could be further from the truth.”
But B’Elanna was in no mood to hear or accept a compliment. “We don’t need to calibrate our weapons to find the phase variance of the creatures,” B’Elanna said. “We have to force them into phase with us.”
Glenn’s gaze dropped down as she considered B’Elanna’s proposition.
“I don’t…” Glenn began.
“The Srivani were able to conduct their experiments on us by hiding
in a slightly variant phase,” B’Elanna said. “All we needed was a precisely modulated hand phaser to bring them into phase with us.”
Glenn quickly cleared a path as B’Elanna, consumed by her revelation, darted to the deflector dish controls and began a series of calculations as she continued.
“The same principle might apply here if we can flood the array with enough ionized particles.”
As Glenn smiled with respect at the chief engineer, Chakotay entered engineering carrying several small vials and said, “We’ve got some good news, B’Elanna. We’ve found a way to intensify the toxin we developed to disable Suspiria, and hopefully now Phoebe. Tell me you’ve made some progress.”
B’Elanna faced Chakotay her eyes ablaze.
“We have.”
Seven of Nine entered sickbay in hope that the Doctor would be able to assist her in modifying the nanoprobes she had replicated in her cargo bay. It was delicate work, and his were the only hands other than hers that she trusted with it.
She was surprised to see that the room’s lights had been dimmed well below standard work settings and that the Doctor was nowhere in sight.
“Doctor,” she called, pausing to note that Tuvok lay unattended on his biobed behind an active forcefield.
When the Doctor did not appear immediately she asked the computer to activate the EMH. She was disconcerted when the computer replied, “The Emergency Medical Holographic Program is unavailable.”
“Clarify,” Seven demanded.
“That program is restricted. Security authorization is required for reactivation.”
“Who restricted the program?” Seven asked.
“Lieutenant Tuvok,” the computer replied.
Seven made short work of breaking Tuvok’s security encryption and reactivating the Doctor. Nonetheless, a tight fist of worry formed in her stomach when she realized in the process that Tuvok had been unattended for almost an hour.