Star Trek: Voyager - 041 - The Eternal Tide

by Kirsten Beyer

  • • •

  The control Captain Eden had struggled to maintain as she tried to explain her visions to the Doctor and Cambridge had almost slipped through her fingers the moment Kathryn Janeway appeared in sickbay. She had grasped desperately for some elusive hope. It was far more likely this was some alien intervention than the living, breathing Admiral Janeway.

  The Doctor’s scans, his testing of a deeply personal memory, and everything about the woman had pried that hope from her tentative grasp. The captain made the brief journey to the Achilles’ bridge in silence. She stepped into Commander Drafar’s ready room to study the data.

  Eden no longer felt certain she knew where reality ended and her dreams began.

  She believed her recurring nightmare had been nothing more than an unpleasant subconscious manifestation of the fear she felt since she had taken command of the fleet. The disquieting senses she had experienced with a few archeological oddities, coupled with her dream, had held ominous portents. But in the light of day, and with Chakotay’s help, she had successfully pushed them to the back of her mind.

  Even in the aftermath of the Mikhal Outpost discoveries, Eden believed she could find her equilibrium. A thoroughly plausible scientific explanation would be found once the Doctor and Cambridge set to work.

  And then, Kathryn Janeway had appeared, as if by magic. Eden now had to accept that forces beyond her control were charting her destiny.

  Confirmation of that was now displayed on the small viewscreen in Drafar’s ready room.

  Four of her vessels, no, sections of four of her vessels, hung motionless. Around them, space took on the appearance of broken black ice. The aft section of the Quirinal, through its rear cargo bays, was gone. The Esquiline, Hawking, and Curie had entered the anomaly from a forward angle and most of their saucer sections were nowhere to be seen. The anomaly at the heart of the shattering effect was exactly the same thing the Anschlasom, as well as Tallar and Jobin, had discovered.

  Captain Tillum Drafar explained with maddening patience what little he already understood of the situation. The anomaly had expanded and now covered thousands of kilometers. Any approach was extremely hazardous. It was impossible to determine if the lost portions of the ships had been destroyed or had merely vanished into the anomaly. Eden could only remember, with growing sadness, Tallar’s face beneath the black lake and her disastrous, compulsive need to free him. She knew she was responsible for the fate of the Quirinal, Esquiline, Hawking, and Curie.

  As Drafar droned on, a single relentless thought tormented her.

  What have I done?

  Chapter Twenty-two

  QUIRINAL

  Captain Regina Farkas hurried against the tide through the halls of Deck 18. Lieutenant Commander Gregor Denisov, her security chief, jogged a few paces ahead, ostensibly to clear her path. She suspected he was under orders from Commander Roach to prevent her from taking any unnecessary risks once they reached their destination on Deck 16.

  “Make a hole, double-quick!” Farkas ordered as she ran, not to get people out of her way, but to instill a sense of urgency as they made their way to the farthest fore section of the ship. Roach and Psilakis were overseeing the evacuation of all areas within half a kilometer of the “barrier.” At the same time her officers were coordinating the movement of supplies from the hazardous areas. The crew members she passed were carrying as much as they could.

  “Commander Roach, what’s our count?” she called out to her first officer over the comm.

  “ Confirmed four hundred twenty-three,” Roach replied. “But sensors are intermittent near the barrier. We’re still working to clear that up.”

  “Understood. Any word yet from the Esquiline, Hawking, or Curie?”

  “Communications are still down, Captain.”

  “Carry on,” Farkas replied grimly.

  The captain had come to the Delta Quadrant in command of six hundred eighty-one souls. Sixty-three of them had lost their lives in the Children of the Storm attack and Quirinal’s subsequent crash landing.

  Thirteen minutes earlier, when her ship had slipped partially into the anomaly, Farkas had potentially lost another one hundred ninety-five.

  No.

  It was an unacceptable number. Of course, one was equally unacceptable. But she’d be damned if this day ended with triple the body count she’d once thought would be the worst the Delta Quadrant could show her.

  “Crewman, I want to see you move!” Farkas barked at an unfortunate young man who’d been catching his breath while leaning against a bulkhead. “You can breathe when you get to cargo bay one,” she shouted to his back as he rejoined the jostling throng.

  A few paces ahead of her, Denisov was already opening a hatch to the Jefferies tube that ran up to Deck 16. Every other available shaft was being used to bring crew down from the upper levels, but this one had been designated for Farkas’s route.

  “This way, Captain,” the security chief called.

  Nodding, she attacked the ladder. As her muscles began to groan after a few meters, she wished she hadn’t listened when Doctor Sal had ordered her to take it easy after her brush with death.

  Fear steeled her resolve and quickened her pace.

  Their sensors had told them that there was a barrier bisecting her ship at a ninety-three-degree angle. It separated normal space from what she hoped had been pulled intact into the anomaly. The barrier ran straight through main engineering.

  The nacelles and rear shuttlebays she could live without, at least for the moment. Her engineering staff, particularly Lieutenant Phinnegan Bryce, was another matter.

  Phinn had been critical in saving the ship from the Children of the Storm, and his diligence was largely responsible for the Quirinal’s speedy rebuild. They had stared down death together once, and the thought that he had been lost to this cursed thing galled her.

  Farkas had to see for herself what the status of main engineering was, and as she climbed out of the tube onto Deck 16, her breath coming in great heaves, she tried to prepare herself for whatever she was about to find.

  ACHILLES

  Tillum Drafar stood before his command chair as he received the latest reports. Achilles had come to a full stop a third of a light-year from what appeared to be left of four of the fleet’s vessels. Captain Eden stood beside him, her arms crossed at her chest and her face a stoic mask. Commander Drafar had briefed her on Voyager’s latest actions, their engagement of the Tarkons and the rescue of Riley and her people. He had transmitted several emergency messages to Voyager, knowing they would arrive at the new rendezvous coordinates as soon as they were able. Eden had thanked him and settled in his ready room to begin her own analysis of every scrap of data they had received about the anomaly. She had stepped onto the bridge minutes ago at Drafar’s request.

  “Mapping complete,” Rosati advised from ops.

  “Are you certain we can move closer without falling into the anomaly?” Drafar asked.

  “The distance between the event horizons increases the farther they stretch from the center of the anomaly,” Rosati said. “There are a hundred thousand kilometers separating them at the closest location from which we can begin our scans. The shattering effect appears to have ceased, at least locally. If we get closer, that may not be the case.”

  “Take us in, Ensign Mirren,” Drafar ordered, “one-quarter impulse.”

  Drafar assumed that Eden was as frustrated as he was that they could not obtain sensor readings of the trapped ships’ conditions from their current position. They were unable to tell if any of the crews remained alive. The pristine condition of the visible sections of the ships gave him hope that many had been spared, but there was no way to know until they got a closer look.

  He turned toward the fleet commander, who had remained silent, her eyes locked on the main viewscreen. Drafar said, “It will take us a minimum of one hour to navigate this region at our current speed. If you would prefer to wait in my ready room or your quarters, I w
ill advise you as soon as our sensors are able to provide any meaningful data.”

  Eden’s wide, cold eyes met his. Though he thought her earlier actions were insupportable, she seemed to be well in command of herself.

  “I’ll wait in my quarters, thank you, Commander,” she said, and left the bridge without a backward glance.

  • • •

  Hugh Cambridge had made himself comfortable on the couch in Afsarah’s quarters. The Doctor and Admiral Janeway sat at the room’s small table, where she picked at a salad the Doctor had insisted on replicating. A steaming cup of coffee that hadn’t left her hand had been refilled twice.

  Cambridge had been waiting in Eden’s quarters since the Doctor had dismissed him from sickbay to perform his tests. Once completed, the Doctor and admiral had transported directly there to await the arrival of Captain Eden, as neither believed that roaming the halls with the newly resurrected Admiral Janeway was prudent. The medical staff had been grateful to get their sickbay back in order to prepare to receive wounded from the trapped ships. Captain Eden had been advised of their location.

  The Doctor had done his best to bring the admiral up to speed on the major events of the last fourteen months. Janeway listened somberly, asking a few pointed questions. The admiral struggled to accept the enormity of what the Borg had wrought in a matter of weeks. She had conceded that, given the circumstances, she could understand why Starfleet had sent Voyager and the fleet to the Delta Quadrant. However, Janeway expressed concern about the shortage of resources required for rebuilding efforts in the Federation and whether the fleet might have been put to better use.

  Eden entered her quarters, and her guests automatically rose to their feet to greet her.

  “Are we there yet?” Cambridge asked lightly.

  Eden nodded. “We have thoroughly mapped the area within several million kilometers of the anomaly and are now moving in at low impulse, until we come within optimal sensor range.”

  “Have sensor capabilities degraded significantly in the last fourteen months?” Janeway asked.

  “The anomaly is rendering sensors useless at this distance,” Eden replied. “Admiral, the anomaly—”

  Janeway held up her hand, explaining, “I used a series of old command overrides to see the long-range data for myself.”

  “I might find that disturbing if you didn’t outrank me, Admiral,” Eden observed.

  Finally setting her coffee down, Janeway moved to within a few paces of Eden. The differences between them could not have been plainer. Eden stood almost a head taller than the admiral, and her ebony skin was a stark counterpoint to Janeway’s fair Irish inheritance. The admiral’s long auburn hair had been swept into an efficient roll at the nape of her neck, while Eden’s tight curls extended barely an inch above her scalp.

  But the similarities in bearing, intensity, and determination made these surface differences insignificant. Both officers had come honestly by the fierceness with which they defended their own. Eden was responsible for the fourteen hundred plus crew aboard the trapped vessels, along with the seven hundred plus who were about to do everything in their power to rescue them. Janeway’s command might once have been limited to the crew of Voyager, but she was a Starfleet admiral; everyone was “hers” now. Had the circumstances been less dire, Cambridge might have replicated a little popcorn and simply sat back to enjoy the show.

  “The information I have from the Q indicates that we have very little time before an event of cataclysmic significance to the entire multiverse. I came back to try and avert it. It’s possible that what has happened to the ships is completely unrelated, but given that my source is a member of an omnipotent species that has been around for several billion years, and that I was sent here rather than anywhere else, I’m going to go out on a limb and presume that the two are connected. That means I need to know everything you know, as well as any areas where your data may be insufficient. You’ll just have to forgive me if professional courtesy takes a back seat to that for a while.”

  Eden didn’t blink. “As the ranking officer present, you would be within your rights to assume command of the fleet.”

  “I would,” Janeway agreed, softening just a hair as she added, “but given my unique position, I don’t believe that would serve either of us or the fleet well. Starfleet wouldn’t have given you command if you weren’t capable of leading this fleet. But, I’m a valuable asset. Why don’t we worry about official responsibilities later and work the problem together?”

  After a short pause, Eden nodded. “Agreed.”

  Relaxing visibly, Janeway sighed. “So where are we?”

  “The anomaly is one that has never been encountered by Starfleet,” Eden replied. “But I believe I know what it is.”

  At this, Cambridge and the Doctor stepped toward Eden.

  “Are you certain?” Cambridge asked.

  “Yes,” Eden assured him. “It’s Som,‘The End.’ ”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Janeway noted.

  “It’s not.” Eden went on, “I’m also certain that I am the one responsible for trapping the four ships.”

  The Doctor shook his head, but Cambridge immediately jumped in, saying, “That’s not possible, Afsarah.”

  Janeway’s face took on a curious, almost sympathetic expression as she asked, “Why don’t you tell me why you believe that to be true?”

  Eden stole a glance at Cambridge, who said, “I think the admiral needs to hear the whole story.”

  “Absolutely,” the Doctor agreed.

  Gesturing to the dining table, Eden said, “Make yourself comfortable, Admiral. Voyager is several hours away and we’ve got half that time to formulate a rescue plan.”

  “I think I’m going to need a fresh cup of coffee for this,” Janeway said, moving toward the replicator. “Can I get you one, Captain?”

  “Tea,” Eden replied.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  VOYAGER

  During Ensign Aytar Gwyn’s first few months as Voyager’s alpha-shift conn officer, Tom Paris felt that she had distinguished herself. The most obvious way was her mastery of slipstream flight. While it might appear that there wasn’t much for a flight controller to do when a ship was hurtling through a subspace corridor, monitoring the stability of that corridor was essential. In less than a second, anything could go wrong. The main computer did the endless calculations and was programmed to alert the controller if subspace variances were detected, but Gwyn always seemed to be one or two steps ahead of the computer. She was not technically telepathic, although she was descended from a race of empaths. Tom swore she flew by a sixth sense. Good piloting was instinctual, and Tom could see that Gwyn trusted her instincts.

  Less than four minutes before Voyager was scheduled to arrive at the coordinates provided by Achilles, Gwyn shifted in her chair—well before the alarm indicating possible drive failure—and calmly began entering the commands to disperse the slipstream corridor.

  As she did so, Gwyn reported, “Captain, we can no longer sustain slipstream velocity.”

  Chakotay immediately set aside his padd and asked, “Can we take the drive off line safely?”

  “Yes, sir,” Gwyn replied, obviously doing all within her power to accomplish that.

  Her next words were less confidence inspiring. “Hang on.”

  Tom lifted his eyes from his terminal, which had begun displaying a series of subspace ratios that had to indicate a sensor glitch. On the main viewscreen, the image of the subspace corridor—a tunnel of whirling energies—began to bend inward on itself.

  An image of Voyager being crushed into dust by a cosmic incinerator flashed instantly through the first officer’s mind.

  The next moment, Tom was floating, weightless, as the inertial dampers took a fraction of a second longer than normal to compensate for the abrupt velocity shift. Thankfully, normal gravity was restored before everyone on the ship was turned into dust. But the pounding that ricocheted up Tom’s spine as he slammed
down was not one he would soon forget.

  The image on the main viewscreen resolved into a calm starfield.

  “Well done, Ensign,” were Chakotay’s first words.

  “No problem, Captain,” Gwyn replied with enough residual tension to belie her intended lightness.

  “Did the drive malfunction?” Chakotay asked.

  “No, sir,” Gwyn replied confidently. “Subspace did.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Chakotay demanded.

  Turning in her seat, her pale face accentuated by the vivid cerulean shade of her short hair, the ensign said, “I don’t understand it either, Captain. But from the readings I’m getting, I’d say somebody in this area has radically altered subspace.”

  Chakotay turned to his ops officer, Kenth Lasren. “What is our current position, Lieutenant?” he asked.

  “We’re five light-years from our intended destination,” the lieutenant replied.

  “Can we make up the distance at warp?” Chakotay asked Gwyn.

  She shrugged. “We can try. But it looks like the damage to subspace increases the closer we get to the rendezvous point.”

  “Engage warp engines at your discretion, Ensign,” Chakotay ordered. “Continue at best possible speed.”

  “Aye, Captain,” she replied, and returned her attention to her station.

  Chakotay turned to Tom and was about to speak when Lasren said, “Captain, I have an emergency transmission from Achilles.”

  “On-screen,” Chakotay ordered.

  “It’s a single image, sir,” Lasren replied. “Long-range sensor data as Achilles approached the rendezvous point. I also have the initial emergency distress calls from Quirinal.”

  “Let’s take a look at the image first,” Chakotay ordered.

  As soon as it appeared on the screen, Tom’s jaw dropped.

  After a few moments of silent contemplation, Chakotay, who could probably now guess at the contents of the distress call, rose from his seat and said, “Forward this to astrometrics and ask Seven, Patel, and B’Elanna to meet me there. Commander Paris, the bridge is yours.”