Star Trek: Voyager - 041 - The Eternal Tide

by Kirsten Beyer

  “Are you all right?” Eden asked immediately.

  “In my haste, I tripped,” he admitted with chagrin, preparing to toss the stone before Eden reached out her shaking hand to him.

  “Wait,” she said, taking it from him and holding it up to the faint moonlight to examine it.

  The Doctor obliged her by activating his wrist beacon. “What is it, Captain?” he asked.

  Eden’s brow furrowed as she studied the stone. It appeared to be the fossilized remains of a honeycomb. It was an odd thing to find in this environment. “I don’t know,” she replied, but she gently placed the stone in her backpack before joining Cambridge at the second illuminated stone.

  “Well?” Cambridge asked, as if confident he already knew the answer.

  Eden found it hard to breathe.

  “Illiara,” she whispered.

  “And you thought this was going to be a waste of time,” he teased.

  Automatically, Eden reached for his hand. Staring at the second, brilliantly illuminated carving, similar in style but completely different from Hanara, she had never felt so alone in her entire life.

  Chapter Eight

  BETA QUADRANT

  Amanda had hoped that her brief expedition to the ship Kathryn Janeway had been in contact with during the moment when she was busy dying in every other conceivable timeline would be a simple thing. As soon as she saw the ship in question, a large shuttle whose name and registration number were not visible, she decided she should have known better. Though she refrained from giving voice to her initial reaction, the thought formed in her consciousness anyway.

  That’s impossible.

  As a Q, Amanda took in the object before her, instantly noting everything about it, down to its subatomic essence. What was visible to her heightened awareness was, quite simply, half of a ship. That half appeared to be perfectly intact and holding position—No, frozen in position, she corrected herself—in an otherwise uninteresting area of space, millions of kilometers from any other stellar object.

  The impossible part was the other half of the ship, which, as best she could tell, did not exist.

  Half of the vessel could not have survived an event that would have so neatly sheared off the other half, which would have contained its propulsion and engineering sections. Therefore, Amanda concluded, somehow the rest of the ship still existed, perhaps in some kindred but alternate dimension or reality. Her first assumption, that the rest of the ship had been pushed slightly out of phase with the visible half, was easy enough to disprove; all possible phases were visible to her if she sought them out. Amanda set about searching the other, less plausible but still conceivable alternative dimensions, folds in space-time, subatomic interspatial phenomena. Every single avenue available to her ended in frustration.

  At this point she would normally have called in another Q—Junior, or even his father—to help her see what she was missing. She was Q, but had been so for only a tiny fraction of the time the rest of the Continuum had existed. She was not proud or arrogant enough to assume she should have access to every single facet of her omnipotence. But her last conversation with Junior kept her from asking for help. It was possible that whatever was happening to Junior, and now to her, was a quirk of her birth, and if so, might alter irrevocably her standing within the Continuum and the freedom it granted her.

  Deciding she could always call for help later, Amanda opted to take a closer look, willing herself to enter the intact and visible portion of the ship.

  She chose not to take solid form, and congratulated herself immediately when, upon boarding the vessel, she discovered that a single human male inhabited it. He looked to be in his eighth decade of life. He was puttering about a small cabin just off the fore operations and flight control compartment. As he searched among a vast collection of padds and personal items, he was engaged in what appeared to be a conversation.

  “Of course you wouldn’t let it go,” he said to the emptiness around him. “Which meant she couldn’t either. But I swear it was almost worth it when that rabbit-thing popped up out of the ground . . .” At this, his words trailed off into the good-natured laughter of fond remembrance.

  Amanda began to focus her attention elsewhere when he continued, “What?” After a brief pause, “No I didn’t. . . . Because she would never have forgiven either of us. And before you say another word, may I remind you that if you had just listened to me . . .”

  Amanda strained to discern another presence that could have been supplying the other half of this man’s discussion. Soon enough, she satisfied herself that whatever time he had spent in his current condition had left him, at best, marginally competent. Apart from her presence, which he was incapable of perceiving, he was alone, and probably had been for a very long time.

  Leaving him to his benign madness, she moved about the rest of the ship quickly, only to discover a barrier. It appeared to be nothing more than an acute absence of everything, as if someone had drawn a large black curtain over a part of the vessel.

  Something deep inside her was repulsed by the darkness. Every sense she had told her to flee and consider this particular mystery unsolved.

  But the thought of Junior—his terror at what his existence had become and the lengths he was considering going to to set it right—convinced Amanda she could risk no less than he. If she went back now, with only a vague, impossible understanding of what she was witnessing, Junior would immediately return here with her, and for reasons she could not name, that troubled her more than her own well-founded fears.

  Releasing those fears and reminding herself of her limitless abilities, Amanda moved closer to the emptiness. Only then did she perceive its power over her. Why had she ever feared it? She belonged to it, and it to her. It was her birthright. It was the most magnificent, perfect energy that had ever existed. All that was Q meant nothing in the face of this brilliance. It quietly demanded surrender of all that she was, and with great eagerness she began to pour herself into its insatiable need.

  It swallowed her whole.

  Q CONTINUUM

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Mother?”

  “My dear one, you should never have kept something like this from me.”

  “You were listening, weren’t you? You had no right.”

  “No right? I’m your mother.”

  “I seem to remember a vast swath of time when you weren’t even willing to acknowledge that, let alone help me with anything.”

  “You were behaving like a . . . never mind. Besides, that was about me and your father, not me and you.”

  “It sure felt like it was about me!”

  “I know, I’m sorry. But that’s not why you didn’t tell me about this darkness.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Come with me. We’ll go to your father and together we’ll—”

  “I can’t. Q is coming back. I told her I’d wait.”

  “Who?”

  “Q.”

  “Who?”

  “Mother!”

  “I’m sorry, I just . . . Darling, there is no Q.”

  “Of course there is. She was just here. Who did you think I was talking to? You know her. You even like her, which is amazing considering how few individuals there are of which that can be said.”

  “This is worse than I thought.”

  “No. She is Q. She was Amanda Rogers, born of two Q who left the Continuum to become human and whom the Continuum then executed for reasons I’m still not entirely sure I understand.”

  “I know the two Q of whom you speak, but they never had a child, dear. You are the only child ever born of the Continuum.”

  “Mother!”

  “Search the Continuum yourself and tell me that I’m wrong.”

  “This is ridiculous. She’s . . .”

  . . . but that’s impossible.

  EVOLVED BORG CUBE

  The deed was all but done. Standing amid dozens of drones, the cube’s queen stood before a dais
surrounded by exposed conduit and cabling. Her face—or what was left of it, with its humanity subsumed to the vessel’s will—was a mask of concentrated force. A snarl tinged her lips. She remained perfectly still as Q watched and waited for his moment.

  He had witnessed this scene hundreds of times. The only significant battle being waged right now was not between the cube, the monstrosities it had birthed, and the desperate Federation fleet currently engaging them, it was within what had been Kathryn Janeway. Buried deep within the creature’s mutilated essence, all that was left of his godmother was searching desperately for a chink in the wall that separated her from the Queen’s power. She raged ferociously against all that the Queen was and all that she desired. Beyond them, Seven of Nine waited within the embrace of an ancient device to deliver a virus that would destroy the cube. Only Janeway could grant Seven the access she required. Within moments, the Queen’s will would falter just long enough for Aunt Kathy and Seven to succeed.

  In that moment, Q was certain he could retrieve his godmother, now that even the history of the Q Continuum seemed up for grabs . . .

  What could possibly have happened to Amanda?

  . . . he saw no choice before him but the unthinkable.

  “Why are you torturing yourself needlessly, my darling?” his mother’s voice chided him softly.

  “This ends now, Mother,” he replied. “I don’t have a clue about what is happening to me, or what happened to Q. But I know it is connected to all of this, and if I have to face expulsion from the Continuum to find the truth, it will be a small price to pay.”

  “Stop this!”

  “I’m about to.”

  “You must not do this!”

  “I have no choice.”

  “But I do.”

  Surprised by her words, Q allowed his concentration to falter, though the cube was seconds from destruction and the absolute end of Kathryn Janeway’s life.

  “No Q can prevent Kathryn Janeway’s death,” his mother insisted.

  “I know.”

  “And no Q can bring her back to life once she has died.”

  “Yes, I know that too,” Q replied, wondering if this had all been a ruse to scuttle his opportunity to change this critical split-second in time.

  “But there is a moment in every sentient being’s existence, a fraction of a second between life and its end, when they remain intact but are no longer bound by the rules of normal space and time.”

  Q paused to consider her words. She seemed sincere, but he had never heard of such a thing.

  “There is?”

  “Yes. We’ve studied it at great length and found it to be one of the more puzzling mysteries of existence. The Continuum has chosen to allow it to remain a mystery, and as Q, I am content that it should ever be thus.”

  Against his better judgment, Q found his hopes lifting. “A fraction of a second? What use is that to me?”

  “To you? None. But to me, it will suffice.”

  “How?”

  “I can extend that moment indefinitely. I can allow you to speak with your godmother without breaking the rules that bind us in this instance. It will be frowned upon, but I will face the Continuum’s wrath.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “I’m your mother.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “ ‘Thank you’ might be appropriate.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Return to the Continuum. I will join you shortly. Speak of this to no one.”

  Q cleared his consciousness of the many new opportunities this revelation presented to him. It would never do to have his mother suspect the use to which he now intended to put her unexpected gift.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he replied.

  “You have some other pressing business to attend to?” his mother demanded incredulously. “Perhaps I did not explain in sufficient detail the risk I’m about to undertake on your behalf.”

  “You did. And I do understand. But, yes, there is one stop I need to make. It won’t take a second.”

  “You have one second.”

  “Thank you. Oh, and, Mother?”

  “Yes?”

  “This time, when you speak with her . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Try and be nice.”

  “I’m always . . . oh, fine. I’ll try.”

  As his mother’s concentration shifted to what was left of Kathryn Janeway, Q carefully folded back the fabric of space-time as he departed so that his movements would be undetectable by his mother and the rest of the Continuum, a trick his father had taught him and for which he should really thank him the next time they spoke. At the same time, Q willed himself to the far end of the galaxy.

  OCAMPA

  The moment he arrived, Q assumed physical form, hoping that the black and red uniform he now wore would stir sympathy—a remembrance of things past.

  The view of the planet from the mouth of the small cave nestled in the red rock canyon was actually startling. The last time he’d been here with Kol it had been a wasteland. Now, vast swaths of green, blue, and orange foliage dotted the valley below. He could taste the moisture in the air and feel the thrum of a fragile and varied ecosystem all around him.

  Another thing he didn’t remember was a precisely placed stone near a small mound of dirt a few meters from the cave’s entrance. A name, Lia, was carved in simple block letters on its rough surface.

  His mother, Q thought. He’d once heard the sordid tale of Kol’s birth over a lengthy game at Fortis when Kol was on one of his losing streaks. The Ocampan female who’d played a part was of no concern to Q now, though Kol had obviously mourned her passing. The Q had come in search of the significantly more powerful being that had contributed to Kol’s existence.

  A subtle electromagnetic shift heralded her arrival. Though she could easily have communicated with him in her less substantial, noncorporeal form, the power that had disturbed the energy field around him quickly coalesced into the figure of a radiant woman with startling blue eyes. Golden hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders, and despite her diminutive size, no one with any sense would ever mistake her for a young being. She carried the weight of experiences unimaginable inside her, but wore them well.

  “Hello, Kes,” he said the moment he found his breath.

  “Q,” she greeted him. The warmth in her voice was genuine, as were the ever-present misgivings. He couldn’t blame her. He’d first met her son at a time in their lives when both were determined to remain as far from responsibility as possible, and he had instigated a number of excursions of which she would never have approved. Kol had outgrown such frivolities before Q, but he hoped Kes could see that he had matured since the last time they’d met.

  “If you’re looking for Kol,” Kes began, “he’s busy in the southern colonies these days. Almost ten thousand settlers are reclaiming the land there, and he’s helping them develop their planting techniques.”

  “You must be very proud of him,” Q acknowledged.

  She immediately picked up on the sincerity in his sentiment. “I am,” she admitted with a smile whose brilliance could put stars to shame.

  “Actually, I came to see you,” he finally offered.

  “What could you need from me?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

  He had neither the time nor the inclination to dissemble.

  “Someone is going to die, and I believe that has to be changed,” he replied simply.

  She crossed her arms as a faint shudder passed through her. It was a strangely Ocampan gesture from one who had left such things behind long ago. When her eyes met his again, they were weary.

  “You know, as I do, that death is merely a transitional state. The energy of a life force cannot be destroyed, only released into the universe, unhindered by physical form.”

  “Or consciousness, or sentience, or any of the other organizing principles that give that life force definition,” he countered.


  “You don’t know that. And since neither you nor I will ever experience it, perhaps we shouldn’t be so quick to judge it,” Kes suggested.

  “I’m not judging it. And normally, I wouldn’t trouble myself with the fate of a single individual whose impermanence is a foregone conclusion,” Q added for good measure.

  “You have the power to intervene in any matter/energy transformation process you want to question. I’m sure you also know, as do I, that it is a risky proposition that can produce significant disruptions to the wider tapestry of time and space.”

  “I do, which is why the Q are forbidden to take such actions.”

  A faint smile lit her face. “I guess I should have given the Continuum more credit.” After a moment Kes went on, “You’ve obviously grown, Q. But perhaps not as much as I’d hoped, if you’re considering something like this.”

  “We’re actually not talking just about my past here,” Q corrected her gently. “We’re talking about yours, too.”

  “Mine?”

  “The person whose death I mean to delay is Kathryn Janeway’s.”

  He felt the sting of his words wash through Kes as if he had slapped her. Her eyes were aglow with sorrow.

  “I’m so sorry,” she finally said. “But like so many I have known and loved, her day had to come. And, more than most, all that she was to me will live forever in my essence, and in the part of yours she has touched.”

  “You have no interest in helping me?” Q asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

  “I’m not even sure that I could,” she admitted. “And if I did, I don’t think she would thank me for it.”

  “You understand I’m not talking about the death of a woman who has lived the hundred-plus years normally granted to her species now. I’m not talking about a peaceful passage into a new state of being surrounded by family and friends reaching calm acceptance of the inevitable together.

  “I’m talking about a life force of great magnificence cut short by an entity so evil it dismembered every aspect of her being before consigning her to oblivion. It enjoyed making her last moments a living hell. It tortured and mutilated her, turning her into a monster so horrific, no one who saw it will ever remember anything other than that sight when they think of her. It delighted in taking as many of Kathryn’s former friends and fellow officers down with her as possible.”