by Star Trek
Finally Assylia faced Chakotay squarely and said, “This discussion is irrelevant. I understand your choice to capture me in this body, but I have no intention of remaining here. You must return me to my ship so that any others who approach may be prevented from arriving, and you must take your ship and leave this place at once. If you release me from this form we may be able to help each other.”
“How?” Chakotay asked.
“In all the years I have been trapped here, I have only desired one thing…to destroy the array. You could help me do that,” she said venomously.
A new thought struck Chakotay as she said this.
“When we attempted to board the array, we were almost pulled into the gravity well of the singularity. At the last moment, a tractor net pulled us safely into the array. Did you…?”
Assylia’s jaw retracted in a slight grin. “I have lived for fifty years within the organic components of my ship. In that time I have learned to exert my will on the controls of this station through the data-interface cable that connects my ship to the station. I sensed your approach and disabled the station’s guidance system. They reactivated it at the last second and brought you aboard. I bear you no ill will, Chakotay. I would only have spared you the fate I suffered. At least your death would have been quick and painless.”
Chakotay’s jaw tensed as he became fully aware of the lengths Assylia would go to achieve her warped ends. He pitied her. No one could have endured what she had without suffering from serious mental instability. By giving her this new “life” he suddenly wondered whether or not he had placed Voyager in even greater danger than they were already facing.
“Computer,” he called, before she could say another word, “freeze program.”
Assylia stood before him, suspended in time.
“Computer, is there sufficient memory within the holobuffers to sustain every aspect of this hologram if the program is ended?”
“Affirmative.”
Chakotay paused then said, “Computer, end program.”
The Doctor examined his readings for the third time and concluded that if his plan was to have any chance of succeeding, he would have to act without further delay. The parasite had already compromised over sixty percent of Tuvok’s central nervous system. The new life-form that was being created as a result of this merging now completely enveloped Tuvok’s head, neck, and torso, and was growing larger with each hour that passed. Once the creature had been forced into a stable and visible phase, its progress had slowed a bit. The Doctor realized that the multiphasic nature of the organism was intrinsic to its development, though he was unsure exactly why. For the present, it was enough that the ion sweep initiated by B’Elanna had bought him more time to save Tuvok’s life.
The separation protocol he had devised was as risky as any he had ever conceived. Under any other circumstance, he would have rejected it out of hand. But the bottom line was there were no other alternatives. Tuvok had not regained consciousness since his last attempt to lock out the Doctor’s program, and it was doubtful that unless the transformation could be halted he would never awaken again. The levels of neural stimulation in his brain were beyond any he would have thought a humanoid could survive. The chemicals that regulated normal brain functions were being created and dispensed into his system at unimaginable rates, and surprisingly, if the most recent brain scans were any indication, at least part of Tuvok was thriving. The centers of the brain that controlled complex calculations and creative thought were functioning well beyond any quantifiable capacity. This alone might account for Tuvok’s initial resistance to the Doctor’s efforts. But the Doctor could clearly see that Tuvok was reaching a point where these functions would have to be taken over by the new life-form in order to be sustained. At that point, Tuvok’s death would be inevitable.
Seven of Nine entered briskly and said, “You requested my presence?”
The Doctor verified that the neuropeptide infusion he had begun to replicate was almost complete before he replied, “Yes, Seven. Thank you. I will require competent support in order to initiate the separation protocol which I have devised, and you are the only member of this crew with sufficient dexterity to assist me.”
Seven smiled faintly at the compliment. “Explain the procedure, and I will comply,” she replied, joining him at the display station so that she could examine the readings as he spoke.
“The creature that initially infected Tuvok remains intact, and requires healthy neural tissue in order to sustain its transformation. I believe the only way to drive the creature from Tuvok’s body is to make what little tissue had not yet been compromised less ‘appetizing’ to it.”
Seven immediately understood the potential risks in what the Doctor was proposing.
“How do you intend to keep Lieutenant Tuvok stable while you are effectively poisoning the rest of his neural tissue?”
“The creature seems to have adapted itself to a specific chemical balance within Tuvok’s neural tissue. As it encroaches upon each new area, there is a significant decrease in neuropeptide levels. I believe that these neuropeptides might be harmful to it in large quantities, however, as they are appropriate to Tuvok’s normal brain functioning, the tissue we are targeting should not be adversely affected in the long term. I am simply trying to distract the creature long enough to prevent it from attacking us as we slowly poison it.”
“How do you intend to do that?” Seven asked.
“At the same time I am regulating Tuvok’s neuropeptide levels, you will be introducing minute doses of the neural toxin we developed to counter the creatures we discovered aboard the array. I will need you to monitor those levels. If we move too quickly, the creature will undoubtedly try and defend itself. By attacking it slowly on two fronts it is my hope that we will render it unable to effectively counter either course.”
“I understand. Are you ready to begin?” Seven asked.
The Doctor rechecked the simulations of the procedure one last time and nodded.
Moving to the biobed where Tuvok and the creature now rested, he raised the arch and studied the areas of unaffected neural tissue indicated on its display. He noted with an approving glance that Seven had already armed herself with a hypospray of the toxin to be injected into the creature and taken the position opposite him.
Their eyes met one last time and then, in concentrated silence, they began to work.
Initially, the procedure followed the exact course predicted by the simulations generated by the computer. Just as the Doctor had anticipated, the parasite avoided all neural tissue where the Doctor had increased the neuropeptide levels. Its rate of expansion slowed by twenty…fifty…and then almost eighty percent.
The toxin Seven was injecting directly into the creature seemed to have little effect. As the Doctor watched the organism’s cells absorb and integrate the poison she was introducing into its system, it occurred to him that in such small doses this particular formulation was unlikely to seriously damage the creature.
Once the creature’s expansion had been reduced to almost nothing, Seven slowly began to elevate her injection levels. For a moment, the Doctor was intensely pleased to see that the parasite did not seem to perceive the tissue he had treated as a viable source of continued growth. Only when Seven reached forty-five percent of maximum did the procedure come to an abrupt halt.
A whip-thin appendage burst from its place just below Tuvok’s shoulder and sent Seven reeling. The Doctor barely escaped the same fate, automatically reverting to a permeable form before the tentacle aimed at him sliced through the air.
As Seven recovered her balance and approached the biobed more cautiously, the Doctor watched with perplexed alarm as the creature’s growth rate began to expand more rapidly than it had at any point thus far.
Several decks away, in engineering, Ensign Vorik, the only other Vulcan member of Voyager’s crew, was busy calculating the actual event horizon of the singularity based upon the course the ship had taken in boarding t
he array when a searing pain arced from the top of his head down through his chest. He immediately dropped the padd he had been using and fell to his knees, then to his side, cradling his head in both hands as Ensign Peterson called for an emergency medical transport.
Kathryn had always despised the rigid and uncomfortable testing facilities where Academy cadets reported quarterly for technical examinations. This was due in equal parts to the design and purpose of the rooms where the examinations were given. The inevitable anxiety that knotted within her each time she crossed the threshold to that room all but consumed her, no matter how well prepared she was for her tests.
Long benches with low desktops circled two-thirds of the room, arena-style. The distance between the cadet’s seat and individual workspace was calculated to the specifications of each cadet’s weight and body structure to provide maximum ergonomic support during the long and rigorous exams. Nonetheless, as the exams stretched into the sixth and, in some cases, seventh hour, Kathryn, like most of her fellow students, found herself hunched over, head resting on the desktop as she struggled to pry something resembling a coherent response from her lethargic and uncooperative brain.
Resigning herself to the task before her, Kathryn sat at attention and waited for the proctor to distribute the examination padds. An irritating creaking noise was coming from behind the podium where the proctor usually stood to announce the test section, and the room was filled to capacity with eager faces, but as Kathryn searched in vain for the source of the creaking, she realized that she did not recognize anyone else in the room. She toyed briefly with the possibility that she was in the wrong room. Perhaps she had found her way into a first- or second-year examination.
At that moment she realized that she had no business being here. She had graduated from the Academy years ago.
Creak…creak…
That sound again. There was a slow, soothing rhythm to it, which did little to mitigate its grating tone.
Creak…creak…creak…
Kathryn rose from her station and craned her neck to look past the rather tall humanoid seated in front of her, but was unable to see beyond the podium to the source of the sound. She searched in vain for the small comm button embedded in each station to alert the proctor to the fact that a student had completed a section or required assistance. Frustrated, she was about to simply make her way down to the exit aisle when a padd and small holographic image of a Class-M planet appeared before her. Similar items materialized at each station, and rather than disrupt the others, she chose to resume her seat.
Though she was certain that she wasn’t supposed to be taking this test, her curiosity got the better of her and she picked up the padd and began to read over its contents.
The series of equations that streamed across the padd were relatively simple. These were calculations that provided for the planet’s density, gravity, and composition. With a sigh she decided that this had to be a first-year exam. But as she continued to read she saw that each successive equation was more complex than the last. The equations suggested that the planet was infinitely more than any single planet could possibly be. In its present form it existed, theoretically at least, in not three but seven different dimensions.
Eight.
No…nine…
Creak…creak…
Scrolling to the bottom of the padd, she struggled to wrap her mind around the nature of the question being posed in the exam. As she didn’t recognize the construction of most of the algorithms before her, this was an almost impossible task.
A subtle radiance caught her attention. Turning to her right, she saw that the cadet seated next to her had placed his hands around the holographic planet before him. Glancing at his padd, she watched the equations shift automatically as the planet grew brighter and brighter. Moments later she had to avert her eyes as the planet became a glowing ball of fire.
The cadet removed his hands and returned his attention to his padd, shaking his head. The moment his hands were gone, the planet returned to its natural—or, in this case, decidedly unnatural—form.
Creak…creak…
Turning from the cadet on her right, Kathryn studied the planets that were being manipulated by the rest of the cadets taking the test. Some of them glowed as the one on her right had done. Others were covered with sheets of ice. Some were several times smaller or larger than they should have been, and a few had left their static position on their respective workstations and were zinging around the room, crashing into one another and exploding in bursts, dissolving into liquefied masses, or being duplicated by factors of ten or more.
This was ridiculous. Apart from the fact that there was no obvious point to this exam that she could see, it didn’t appear that any of the others were having better luck than she was.
Kathryn moved as gingerly as she could behind the seats of the others and made her way to the center aisle. From this vantage point she could see a wooden chair behind the podium. The chair had gently curved slats at its base which allowed the person seated to rock gently back and forth. Here at least was the source of the annoying creaking sound. But she could not see who was seated in the chair.
Striding briskly down the steps that separated her from the podium, she saw hands, hundreds of hands at the ends of hundreds of arms all attached to the same torso, moving almost quicker than her eye could perceive. Their motion was hurried without being frantic. As the hands moved, huge folds of fabric unfurled at the base of the chair.
Kathryn moved slowly around the edges of the fabric, which lapped toward her like waves carried in by a surging tide. She had to see the face of the one who was sewing this tapestry, which in no time at all, it seemed, would cover every square inch of the examination room.
Placing a gentle hand on the back of the chair, Kathryn stopped its movement. A head sat atop the torso. The hands continued their rapid work, but the head lifted slightly at Kathryn’s touch. As it turned to face her, Kathryn saw that the oval area where she had expected to see some semblance of eyes, nose, and mouth was a void of blackness.
As she tried to take this in, a gruff voice spoke from the void.
“You can help me, or you can help them,” it said. “You can’t do both.”
“What are they trying to do?” Kathryn asked.
“Solve the problem,” the faceless face replied.
“But I don’t see the problem,” Kathryn said, her frustration mounting.
“Then you had best stay out of our way,” the sewer replied, returning its attention to its work and resuming its rocking.
One of the planets came zooming toward her. Kathryn caught it instinctively, as if it were a perfectly aimed hover-ball. The moment she touched it, an unexpected sense of power flowed through her. Suddenly, all of the equations on the padd were part of the fabric of her mind. She could see them in their infinite possibility and realized at once that this planet was not a planet at all.
This planet was her mind’s representation of the entire universe, in dozens of different dimensions. She suddenly remembered Seven of Nine, standing before her in her ready room, exactly when she could not recall, describing a computer that could hold every quantifiable fact of all living and nonliving things in the galaxy. It had sounded like an impossibility at the time, but in this moment, her mind contained the processing power of that computer.
This universe was hers…to do with as she would.
She could not deny that she was tempted to play. The rest of the cadets seemed to be enjoying their work, and given the vast possibilities at her fingertips, she could hardly blame them. What would this universe look like if one removed all but ten dimensions? The fact that she could conceive of ten dimensions was dizzying, but as she thought it, she watched the planet begin to erupt violently, losing its spherical form in favor of an irregularly shaped mess.
“Stop that!” the gruff and ageless voice from the chair commanded. “You don’t know what you’re doing. None of them do.”
“But…” K
athryn started to protest.
“Give it to me!”
And with that, the misshapen planet flew from Kathryn’s hands, and with it went her ability to understand not only what she had been doing but why she had cared to do it at all. She watched, fascinated as the planet flew into the hands of the creature in the chair and evaporated into countless threads, which were busily woven into the ever-expanding tapestry.
Kathryn thought back.
The beginning.
The strings.
And now…the fabric of the universe.
She studied the tapestry more closely and realized that the edges crawling toward her were starting to fray. No matter how fast the creature in the chair sewed, it seemed some inevitable chaotic force was determined to unravel its work.
The imbalance.
“PHOEBE!” Kathryn shouted at the top of her lungs.
Phoebe rose from her position at one of the hundreds of workstations. Taking the steps that separated them two at a time, Kathryn rushed to her side.
“Are these your people?” the captain demanded.
“Yes,” Phoebe nodded.
“And that thing in the chair?”
“It is also of us.”
“What I did…with the planet…or what I thought I could do…” she stammered, struggling to find the right words.
“Is all within our grasp,” Phoebe finished for her.
Kathryn didn’t know which was worse, the ignorance or the arrogance she saw before her.
“And you are the Nacene?” Janeway asked.
“Before we opened the gateway, we did not understand that there were others. We did not call ourselves anything as there was no need to differentiate ourselves from any other sentient life-form. Only those who remain in your space-time construct understand that term as you do.”
“This power you wield…you enjoy it?” Kathryn demanded.
“It is of us. It is what we do,” Phoebe replied.
“But it is dangerous,” Kathryn said slowly as if she were trying to explain quantum mechanics to a very small, very stupid child.