Turning to her mirror, a sudden chill gripped her. The image that was coalescing, despite her best efforts, was not the one she expected. It was the last form her atoms had known. Cells, tissues, organs, bones, blood, and flesh were re-forming themselves, but not into Kathryn Janeway as she knew herself to be. With them came black motes and their hellish inorganic spawn.
A monster opened its eyes and snarled at her in triumph.
For the first time since she had begun, Kathryn faltered.
No, she wailed, just as she had for the unendurable days she had spent trapped by the Borg cube that had transformed her into its queen.
It’s all right, Aunt Kathy. The Borg have no power over you now. They are gone.
Kathryn didn’t understand. She tried to refuse the return of the violent and corrupting atoms that formed the nanoprobes that had stripped her essence from her body, but against her will, they continued to join their kindred.
Drowning in a sea of agonized voices, those that had begged her to bring order to their chaos, Kathryn felt herself slipping away as the monster gloried in its resurrection.
• • •
No, an infinitely more powerful presence sliced through the chaos.
Grateful for the abrupt silence it brought, Kathryn didn’t question it.
I’ve failed, she thought. But it didn’t matter. A power from beyond had compelled her obedience, and this time she would not, could not refuse it.
You are not Kathryn Janeway, the presence made it known, and as it did so, the snarl of victory upon the face in the mirror was replaced by stunned awe.
Only now did Kathryn realize that the voice commanding her was not her own, nor was it Q’s. It came from beyond her, reassured her, warmed her, and, filled with compassion, refocused her will.
Then, as if it were speaking to each of her individual atoms, it gently encouraged them. You were created of love and light. You are more powerful in your perfect form than any that was forced upon you. See yourselves as you ought to be, not as you became.
Kathryn searched the mirror again, and slowly, the terrifying technology that had been grafted onto her body fell away, piece by piece, and disintegrated into oblivion.
Hope replaced fear. Light subsumed darkness. Strength, born of the power of this presence, mingled with Kathryn’s own determination and reordered the last of her mangled body and soul, realigning them into all that she had once been.
What she would now be was once again an open question.
• • •
With a howl of painful awakening, Kathryn felt herself once again inside her body. She allowed the cry to shudder through her until air forced its way into her lungs and a cleansing breath washed away the last of the agony of rebirth.
She was pleasantly warm. The breeze carried the sweet fragrance of new life. A soft buzzing stirred around her.
Opening her eyes, Kathryn found herself standing in a gently rolling meadow in a patch of tall grass dotted with wild flowers.
Q stood next to her, less dazzling than she had recently seen him, but still solid and comforting. He stared at her with admiration, and then his eyes moved beyond hers to a point over her right shoulder as he said, “Thank you.”
I didn’t do it for you, a voice—the voice—replied.
Kathryn turned to see who, or what, had brought her through the journey safe to shore.
At first, it was difficult to make out the form beneath the glare of pure white light that surrounded it. However, it soon resolved into a simpler, though no less beautiful, shape.
“Kes,” Kathryn could barely whisper.
The smile she had thought never to see again, a revelation of inner joy so complete as to be almost painful to see, lit Kes’s face.
“Hello, Kathryn,” Kes said.
Words could wait. The two were drawn into each other’s arms. Where once Kathryn had embraced a delicate child in the body of a young woman, now she received the tenderness of a mother’s love from a spirit grown unimaginably old.
The tears filling Kathryn’s eyes were beyond gratitude. Those that fell from Kes’s were absolution.
Chapter Sixteen
MIKHAL OUTPOST
Afsarah Eden was dreaming.
As weariness of body and spirit claimed her, the Doctor had insisted she try to rest. She remembered settling herself beneath the blanket and rearranging the jacket that served as a pillow.
The next thing Eden knew, she was flying. She’d experienced many flying dreams and reveled in the feeling of freedom. This time she had risen to the ceiling of the cavern and hovered there, lingering over the tumultuous images representing the Anschlasom’s experience of what lay beyond Som.
Most of the images carved into the walls were easy to read. The intentions of the artists and their personal experiences were crystal clear to Eden. So personal were the communications contained in them, it was like reading someone’s private logs.
The engravings on the ceiling were different. Eden could not tell what the artists were attempting to depict; the ceiling roiled with disquieting images, as if the artists couldn’t bear to recall what they had experienced as they had passed through the darkness.
A powerful radiance distracted her. Turning, she located the source: the tiny pinpoint of white that lay in the center of the suspended black surface embedded in the far wall.
She floated toward it, watching in wonder as the light expanded, throwing bright ripples over the infinite blackness, as if she were witnessing shockwaves following a massive explosion.
The light was so intense it should have been painful, but it wasn’t. Eden stared into it, losing herself in it. Then slowly, shadowy figures rose from the depths.
The brightness dimmed, allowing the forms to settle, and with a gasp, Eden recognized them: Tallar and Jobin in the cockpit of the vessel that for years had been her home.
They’re so young, was her first rational thought beyond the sheer joy of seeing them so clearly again.
The long white ponytail at the base of Jobin’s neck was a shocking black, and his face was unlined. He wore a flannel shirt, one she remembered well, and he was gesturing animatedly as he argued with Tallar. His hazel eyes were alert with the thrill of discovery.
This struck Eden as odd. Jobin had always been the more even-keeled of the pair. It was touching to see his vigorous youth, as well as the unusually calm, gentle Tallar, who was clearly urging caution.
Tallar was younger too, but his deep ebony skin had never seemed to age in the way Jobin’s had. His scalp was shaved, and his beard was neatly trimmed. He was an intense and elegant man, and Eden had always found him beautiful, though that wasn’t normally a word she associated with masculine attractiveness, and had never really applied to any man save Tallar.
He wore a soft gray shirt, and over it an intricately woven, bright multihued vest. Eden suddenly remembered a favorite and well-worn stuffed bear she had loved to tatters dressed in a smaller version of this vest and was moved that Tallar had cut apart his own clothing to fashion a toy for her.
She strained to discern their words, but could not. Both were discussing something that, from their gestures, was just outside their ship. At times, each pointed to different streams of data on the main console’s display, and Eden struggled to focus her attention, past her beloved uncles, to the display.
Soon enough, the odd readings were magnified.
That’s impossible, Eden thought.
The display showed a highly localized fragment of anomalous space, no more than a few meters at its widest point, and irregularly shaped. Apart from the fact of its presence, they knew nothing about it. It seemed impervious to all of their sensor scans.
Eden’s heart began to race. This was exactly what the Anschlasom had seen at the far end of the universe, though they had encountered a much larger fragment of it. She searched her new memories for those of the first of the ancients to see Som and the little scientific data they had been able to coax from it. Their reading
s were the mathematical equivalent of Jobin and Tallar’s.
She quickly looked back at her uncles. Time had passed. Tallar’s head bore the stubble of inattention and Jobin’s light blue T-shirt was a rumpled mess. Jobin was seated, but Tallar had moved to their small vessel’s deflector control panel at the rear of the cockpit. Instantly, she understood.
Tell me you didn’t, she pleaded. But of course they had.
The curiosity the phenomenon had provoked in the Anschlasom was mirrored in her uncles’ determined faces. Eden had no idea how long they had studied the anomaly, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what they intended to do.
With shared readiness, they released all the energy their small vessel could muster into the solid beam. Once it was spent, Eden heaved a sigh of relief as the readings showed no alterations.
She silently celebrated their disappointment until Tallar placed a firm hand on Jobin’s shoulder. Nodding silently, Jobin set course directly into the heart of the anomaly.
The vision began to distort. When it resumed, she was no longer in the ship. Instead, Eden found herself in a vast and beautiful landscape.
She rested beneath a lush tangle of tree branches, their leaves colored the deep reds, oranges, and ocher that heralded the changing of the seasons. Overripe, round golden fruit clung desperately to their stems. A damp blanket of dew-kissed grass carpeted the ground beneath her. Similar trees dotted the garden, and several clumps of large-leafed plants burst forth from the ground. Eden struggled to remember where this garden had been. She was certain she had seen it before with her uncles, but was unable to bring a specific time to her mind.
From behind her, Tallar and Jobin appeared. Tallar’s eyes were filled with wonder. Jobin seemed more intent on searching for some means of escape. They wandered in different directions, Tallar calling and gesticulating over a particular unique plant while Jobin lifted his eyes to the sky above with great concern.
Finally, Tallar approached Eden. His eyes seemed to glow, and she realized they were actually reflecting the light of the tree above her. No, she corrected herself; the fruit. The most puzzling thing was that while Tallar’s expression held respectful awe, he did not recognize her.
Jobin came to Tallar’s side and likewise gazed up at Eden. Tallar reached up to touch her face and Jobin quickly placed a hand of warning on his arm. They argued briefly, and Jobin relented.
Again, Tallar reached up, and the moment Eden felt his fingers meet her flesh, searing, white-hot agony shot through her. The pain left no room for anything. Her entire existence telescoped down to a single focus where all she knew was pain.
In her dream, Eden began to scream.
• • •
The Doctor had decided to spend whatever time they had left in the cavern—a few hours to a day, depending upon Achilles—taking scans of as much of the site as he could. Counselor Cambridge had worked with him for a while, but ultimately agreed that he, too, must rest. He settled himself near the captain and drifted into restless sleep.
The Doctor had set his medical tricorder to continuous subatomic scans of Captain Eden. It rested on a stone near her, and the alerts had been set to the lowest volume to avoid disturbing her while she slept. The recent scans he had taken read close to normal, unlike the ones taken when they had initially discovered her in the cavern. He would study them more closely when he could access his own lab, or sickbay aboard Achilles. He honestly didn’t expect her to erupt into a glowing ball of energy, as Kes once had, but in his experience, nothing could be ruled out.
Several meters into one of the nearest tunnels that radiated from the main cavern, he discovered a series of wide cells. He presumed these were individual storage or perhaps living areas for the former inhabitants, though all of them were empty. The tricorder hummed and blipped as he slowly ran it over the walls. So monotonous had his motions been that he didn’t hear the first alarm from his medical tricorder.
He ran back to the main cavern, where he saw Cambridge, snoring obnoxiously. His tricorder was exactly where he had left it and was now emitting low beeps.
Captain Eden was gone.
The Doctor did a quick visual check of the cavern, but she wasn’t there. He then grabbed his medical tricorder and used it to home in on her location.
He roused Cambridge.
“Wha . . . what?” the counselor snorted as he was startled into consciousness.
“We have a problem,” the Doctor replied.
Cambridge quickly sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Another one?”
Without words, the Doctor directed Cambridge’s eyes to the captain’s location, and as soon as the counselor saw her, he clambered to his feet.
Eden floated twenty meters above the floor, facing the center of the black surface at the rear of the cavern.
“Well, that’s not good,” Cambridge offered.
They had almost reached a spot directly beneath her when a series of whimpers escaped her lips, followed by a shrill, terrifying scream that was magnified in its intensity as it echoed throughout the cavern.
“Can you get to her?” Cambridge demanded of the Doctor through the deafening cacophony.
This had not immediately occurred to the Doctor, but he quickly realized that he could.
With a brisk nod, he passed his tricorder to Cambridge and began retuning the photonic generators in his mobile emitter.
“What was that you were saying yesterday about speed in emergency situations?” Cambridge shouted nervously over the din.
“Oh, shut up!” the Doctor snapped back as he completed the necessary calculations.
A split second later, he found himself floating beside Eden.
QUIRINAL
Captain Regina Farkas had rather enjoyed the last few weeks. Quirinal’s exploration of several sectors near the heart of one of the largest known areas of Borg space had yielded no evidence of the Borg or the Caeliar. In addition, the crew had charted dozens of previously unknown planetary systems and several interesting stellar formations.
Esquiline, Hawking, and Curie had all reported similar results. The ships had convened, at Farkas’s recommendation, to compare notes, once all of them had reached points near enough for their long-range communications arrays to manage a real-time conversation.
Captain Parimon Dasht, of the Esquiline, seemed annoyed by their lack of significant discoveries. The youngest of the four, he was a third-generation Starfleet captain, eager to leave his own mark. It comforted Farkas that a cool and steady head tempered his enthusiasm.
The Vulcan captain of the Hawking, Bal Itak, was well into his second century of life. As best Farkas could tell, still waters had never run so deep. Itak seemed neither shaken nor stirred by the serenity his vessel had enjoyed during their explorations, and probably would have taken three more years of the same.
Xin Chan, captain of the other dedicated science vessel, the Curie, was a decade younger than Farkas’s seventy-two years. He was taking his findings in convivial stride. Of the four, he was the only one to have made contact with another space-faring species in the last few weeks.
“Did you point out to them that dumping several kilotons of toxic waste into the area would have dramatic effects upon local space and ultimately impact the nearest planets?” Dasht asked, as if personally affronted at such reckless behavior by a warp-capable species.
Farkas thought she detected a subtle smirk from Chan as he replied, “The Malons don’t seem to harbor any doubts or misgivings about their actions, Captain. As long as their own people can continue down their obviously unsustainable path, they’re willing to pollute as much of the rest of space as necessary to facilitate their lifestyle.”
“If the rest of former Borg territory is as empty as the sectors we scanned, the long-term damage of the Malons’ actions might be mitigated somewhat by the sheer size of space now available to absorb their illogical activities,” Itak suggested.
“Captain Thoreck was inordinately pleased to have discovered his new dump
ing ground. I sensed that his only cause for alarm was that we might actually try to prevent his scheduled waste release.” Chan went on, “Or notify one of his competitors about the new unspoiled dumping ground now available to them.”
“Disgusting,” Dasht said.
“I was given to understand that the Malons’ past interactions with Voyager were the only source of distress on Thoreck’s part,” Chan added.
Farkas nodded. “Based on my reading, Captain Janeway did all she could to prevent the Malons’ activities where possible. She offered them several technological solutions which would make dumping unnecessary.”
“Thereby rendering inert a large and profitable segment of their economy,” Itak noted.
“Pity our mission parameters don’t provide us with the same latitude,” Dasht scoffed. “At the very least it might have been interesting to cause sufficient damage to their propulsion systems to make it difficult for them to escape the effects of their reckless behavior.”
“Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind,” Chan replied. “But as you well know, intervention is not our purpose here.”
“And rightly so,” Farkas interjected, rather enjoying the look of shock her words elicited from Captain Dasht.
“Surely you don’t approve of the Malons’—” he began.
“Of course not, Parimon,” she replied curtly. “None of us do. But there are limits to what we can and should do in this quadrant. We’re not here to coerce or conquer. We’re here to explore and to learn and, when possible, to offer any assistance we can that might enable species like the Malons to make better choices.”
Dasht had the good sense to appear moderately chastened.
“The Malons’ choices, while incomprehensible to us, are a reflection of their current level of cultural and sociological development. I’m more than willing to petition Command for the authority to invest more time and resources to enable them to restructure their industrial systems and capacities with an eye toward eliminating the creation of toxic waste. But I don’t think any of us are kidding ourselves when we acknowledge that such fundamental changes cannot be imposed on another society. They have to want it for themselves as much as we want it for them, and until that time comes, our resources are more valuably deployed elsewhere.”
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