Atonement Read online

  “What?” Gwyn demanded. “I’d never seen a ship move like that. I spent the next week studying our sensor readings until I figured out how they did it. It looked like fun.”

  Torres returned her gaze to the astrometrics display and inhaled sharply. While there were no stable streams displayed, dozens of fragments were present that appeared to be permanently open.

  “I’d bet my life this is where Frenibarg’s pilot learned that maneuver,” Gwyn said.

  “You’re not suggesting we try the same thing?” Kim asked.

  “How long do you want to spend in that mess?” Gwyn asked. “If we try to navigate around all of the various instabilities out there, we could spend the rest of our lives at one-quarter impulse and still never find that planet. This way, if we find sections of corridors that remain stable enough, we can make up a lot of time.”

  As Harry paused to consider this, the doors to the lab hissed open.

  “Commander, Lieutenant, Ensign,” Lieutenant Conlon greeted them.

  “Hi, Nancy,” Torres said. “What’s up?”

  Conlon extended a padd to Torres, saying, “I’ve analyzed all of the power disruptions Lieutenant Kim discovered. Voyager’s systems weren’t the only ones affected. One of our shuttles suffered similar surges. None were bad enough to damage any of the systems that weren’t holographic. It appears the source is the bioneural interface regulators. At some point we are going to have to go in and replace all of the affected regulators, but the surges have stopped for now, and I’ve programmed the main computer to advise us if any new ones are detected. I was also able to restore the holodecks.”

  “The crew is going to be happy to hear that,” Kim said, smiling.

  “Is there anything else?” Conlon asked.

  Torres considered Conlon’s brisk report. They had both passed their wits’ end days ago, but now that all of the major repairs had been completed, Nancy should have started to unwind a little.

  Of course, Torres knew how she had felt when Voyager was damaged while she was her chief engineer. She had believed it was similar to what a parent might feel watching someone hurt their child, right up until she’d had Miral and understood that the two sensations were nothing alike. One induced anger and frustration; the other, primal madness.

  “Our flight controller thinks she might have figured out a way for us to use the subspace corridor fragments in this wasteland we are about to explore to cut time off our work.” Turning to Gwyn, she said, “You need to show Lieutenant Conlon all of your research and together run simulations before we decide to try it.”

  “Understood,” Gwyn said eagerly.

  “Of course,” Conlon said, nodding.

  Torres looked to Kim. He was studying Nancy’s face, disconcerted. Conlon hadn’t made eye contact with him since she’d entered the room. The fleet chief engineer made a mental note to speak to Harry about it later. She knew the two of them had been seeing each other, but Harry needed to understand the distance Conlon required right now. She’d shouldered the responsibility for getting Voyager repaired over the last several days and had rightly devoted herself entirely to it. You didn’t just shut off that kind of focus or drop your defenses the moment the work was done. For the next several months, every time the ship made an unexpected move beneath her feet, Conlon would feel the impact that almost destroyed the ship. Torres would too. But she’d been down this road enough times to know what was happening to Conlon. This had been Nancy’s first major test as Voyager’s chief engineer. She’d passed with flying colors. She just didn’t know it yet.

  “Come on, Harry,” Torres said. “Let’s leave these two to their work. We have to brief the captain and fleet commander.”

  “Sure,” Kim said, nodding to Conlon, who returned a tight smile before focusing entirely on Gwyn.

  GALEN

  Three days into their work together, the Doctor and Counselor Cambridge were making progress in fits and starts. Neither trusted the other enough to listen without judgment or speak without first rallying their defenses. But despite this, they had stumbled across a few insights.

  Cambridge had already indicated that he believed the Doctor was ready to resume his normal duties, although their sessions would continue to be part of the Doctor’s daily schedule.

  The counselor sat across from the Doctor, his left leg crossed over his right, swinging like a metronome set at its widest interval. The Doctor had detected an inverse relationship between the counselor’s level of frustration and the speed of his incessant ticking: the slower the pace, the shorter his patience. At the moment, the motion was almost glacial.

  They had spent the last hour discussing a new sense of despair the Doctor had begun to experience. Counselor Cambridge considered this progress. The Doctor was clearly moving rather briskly through the requisite stages of grieving the man he had been when his memories had remained intact and accepting the man he now was.

  The Doctor was disinclined to celebrate this progress.

  “Have you considered the possibility, Doctor, that your creator has, perhaps inadvertently and in the most ham-handed way possible, given you an experience that, in time, might enhance your ability to empathize with your organic patients.”

  “I already—” the Doctor began.

  “To better empathize,” Cambridge allowed.

  “I really don’t see how that’s possible.”

  “None of us are perfect. Now that includes you,” Cambridge said.

  The Doctor started to reply, but paused as he calculated the statistical probability that the counselor could actually be complimenting him.

  “You possess an encyclopedic understanding of ways in which an organic body can be damaged. By the time most physicians acquire that amount of knowledge, they have also accumulated a lifetime’s worth of personal challenges, losses, and pain to go along with them. I know you have also faced your own fair share of difficulties. You have lost friends you held dear. You have loved with and without reciprocation. Didn’t I read in your record that you once created a holographic family for yourself to better understand the human condition and interpersonal relationships?”

  “I did,” the Doctor replied, suddenly wishing that this was one of the memories Doctor Zimmerman had thought to mute. While he did not consider the experiment a failure, the Doctor would forever be tormented by the death of his holographic daughter. He had learned soon enough that real life came with enough painful eventualities. Seeking them out in the name of personal betterment was unnecessary. Why rush the inevitable?

  Of course, now it might be possible to add Belle’s memory to my segregated file, the Doctor suddenly realized. It only took a fraction of a second for him to dismiss the notion. He had lost too much of himself already. He would not willingly part with more.

  “But you have never really been physically injured, have you?”

  “I suppose not,” the Doctor said. “Past damage to my program was repaired. The insights that came from facing personal challenges diminished the regrets for lapses and unintentional transgressions.”

  “You learned from your mistakes.”

  “Like everyone else.”

  “And now, finally, like everyone else, you find yourself damaged, with no perfect fix. Numerous conditions exist that our medical technology cannot reverse. You treated Seven’s aunt. Her Irumodic Syndrome is one of the most difficult to witness, given the slow mental degradation that accompanies it. You counseled Seven to accept the unacceptable because there was no other choice. There was no way to repair Irene’s brain.

  “Likewise, your brain, for lack of a better description, has now been damaged. Your memories are a casualty of that damage.”

  “You believe I should accept my current condition?”

  “I believe that rather than simply wallowing in the loss, it might be helpful for you to consider what you have gained in this unusual transaction.”

  “I’m sorry, Counselor,” the Doctor said. “I’ll try to wallow more quietly.�
��

  “You’ll have to forgive my inability to pity you, Doctor,” Cambridge said. “Admiral Janeway’s decision to alter Doctor Zimmerman’s modification and allow you to control the segregation and deletion of your current and future memories is a boon the rest of us should have long ago demanded of the gods.”

  “Are you suggesting, Counselor, that if you could remove your memories of Seven, you would?”

  “If you’d asked me that question a few months ago, I might very well have said, ‘Yes,’ ” Cambridge admitted.

  “What has changed?”

  “I’ve had sufficient time to accept the choice she made and to recognize that it was probably inevitable; perhaps not so soon, but ultimately.”

  “And how did you come to this acceptance?”

  “I tried drowning my sorrows, but the buggers learned how to swim,” Cambridge smirked. “Now I meditate.”

  “You . . . meditate?” the Doctor asked in disbelief.

  “Why is that so hard to believe?”

  “Isn’t the practice usually born of a desire to achieve proximity to one’s deity of choice? I find it difficult to believe you would acknowledge the existence of any being greater than yourself, let alone attempt to commune with it,” the Doctor replied.

  “For some, the practice is devotional, not unlike prayer. For me, it is a mental discipline. By eliminating extraneous thoughts and sensations, and entering a state of alert relaxation, I am able to separate my emotional responses to a thought from the thought itself. The insights that arise when I am able to achieve this detachment never fail to surprise me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “I now have that ability, thanks to Reg’s autonomous protocol.”

  Cambridge shook his head. “You have the ability to permanently separate emotion from specific memories. Thought and memory are not the same thing. One is present tense. One is past. Were you capable of achieving a meditative state, you might find it unnecessary to even contemplate using your new gift. You might be able to find the equilibrium your creator was so determined to force upon you without losing the vibrancy of your normal memory storage process.”

  “And how would I do that?”

  “Practice.”

  The Doctor’s brow furrowed.

  Cambridge sat forward, uncrossing his legs. “I’m going to give you an assignment, Doctor. For the next few days, I want you to set aside some time to actively relax. Eliminate external stimuli as best you can. Clear your mind. Maintain that state for as long as you can. A few minutes will suffice at first, but the longer you can go, the better.”

  “Counselor, I really don’t think . . .”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “I most certainly am not.”

  A low, clucking sound began to chirp through the counselor’s closed lips.

  A sharp, merciful trill sounded from the door.

  “Come in,” Cambridge and the Doctor said in unison.

  Lieutenant Barclay entered. “Hello, Doctor, Counselor. I am sorry to interrupt.”

  “It’s all right, Reg,” the Doctor assured him.

  “Admiral Janeway just came aboard. She’ll be departing again for Voyager when she’s done with Commander Glenn. She wants the counselor and me to accompany her.” Barclay swallowed hard. “Meegan is being transferred to Voyager’s brig as we speak.”

  Cambridge rose to his feet. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I will return as soon as I am able, Doctor, and you and I can resume our work.”

  “Counselor?”

  “Yes?”

  “May I . . . I mean, I would very much like to go with you.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll be resuming my duties as Voyager’s temporary CMO tomorrow. I may as well report now.”

  Cambridge sighed wearily. “Why?” he asked again.

  The Doctor paused. Thus far, Cambridge had refused to accept anything less than the truth from the Doctor’s lips. “I need to see for myself what she has become,” he finally admitted.

  “Doctor,” Barclay interjected, “every analysis I’ve done of my files and the last readings I took of Meegan suggest that none of her personality subroutines survived. The holomatrix remains, but Meegan is gone.”

  “I understand,” the Doctor said. “But I still need to see her.”

  Cambridge considered him, almost compassionately. Finally he shrugged, saying, “I see no medical reason to deny your request. But I am curious.”

  “It’s one thing to be told a person has died. It’s something else to see their corpse,” the Doctor said.

  “Have you always been this morbid?”

  “I require . . . closure,” the Doctor finally said.

  “Closure or revenge?” Cambridge asked. “You understand I’m not philosophically opposed to either.”

  “I don’t know,” the Doctor admitted.

  “Do you have any objections?” Cambridge asked of Barclay.

  “No,” Barclay replied.

  “Then let’s not keep the admiral waiting, gentlemen,” Cambridge said.

  • • • • •

  “Both Tirrit and Adaeze have agreed to permit any tests you require, Commander, but you will observe the security protocols I have ordered at all times,” Admiral Janeway advised Commander Glenn. “Under no circumstances will you remove the prisoners from their cells or deactivate the anti-psionic field surrounding them.”

  “Lieutenant Velth will be working with our security chief, Lieutenant Bamps, and we will post only organic guards outside their cells,” Commander Glenn assured her. “It’s a shame we can’t use our holographic security team for this, but given what happened to Meegan, I just don’t think it’s wise.”

  Although Voyager would have been Janeway’s first choice for holding all of the Seriareen prisoners, she didn’t want to pass up the opportunity for a qualified doctor to settle the question once and for all as to whether or not the Seriareen’s possession of Veelo, Dhina, and Kashyk was permanent. Glenn was the best choice for that.

  General Mattings had asked to take custody of Emem for the duration of their joint mission to locate Seriar, and Janeway had agreed. In what would likely be the only real exchange of technology between the Confederacy and the Federation, Janeway had provided the general with an anti-psionic force field generator. It would prevent Emem from launching any sort of telepathic attack on the Calvert’s crew should the opportunity present itself.

  The general had departed for Confederacy space once Presider Cin had agreed to allow Voyager and Galen to join the Third Calvert in searching for Seriar. As soon as he returned, Emem would be relocated to his brig, and the three ships would set their course.

  Janeway nodded. “I’m going to bring Lieutenant Barclay back to Voyager for the next few days, just to confirm his findings about the possibility of separating Lsia from our hologram. He doesn’t think we can do it. I’m hoping that because Dhina and Veelo are living beings, there might be a way even though Lsia swears that there isn’t.”

  “I’ll do my best, Admiral.”

  “I know you will.”

  “But even if I can, would you really risk providing them with holographic bodies like Lsia’s?” Glenn asked.

  “It’s troubling on so many levels,” Janeway acknowledged. “If you find it is possible to separate the Seriareen from their current hosts while saving the lives of the hosts, I might be just as inclined to return them to stasis canisters similar to the ones they were in when you first encountered the Indign.”

  “I’ll check our records and talk to Benoit about re-creating them, just in case,” Glenn said. “Is there any chance I might have the Doctor’s assistance?”

  “I’ll talk to Counselor Cambridge,” Janeway said. “Reg tells me he’s once again functioning within normal parameters. The problem is, it’s a new normal, and I want to make sure he’s adjusted to it as best he can before I ask too much of him.”

  “Having something other than his own problems to focus
on might help,” Glenn suggested. “We’ll be keeping pace with Voyager once we set course for Seriar. Since our communications restrictions have been lifted within the Confederacy, there’s no reason I couldn’t consult with him while I work,” Glenn said.

  “As long as the counselor agrees,” Janeway said.

  “One more question, Admiral.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I know we’re not going to be able to do anything to change the state of medicine in the Confederacy, at least in the short run. But after I finished going through the material ownership decrees you requested I research, I spent some more time looking at some of the central library’s other records.”

  “To what end?”

  “I just wanted to see if there was anything there that might help Doctor Kwer or her clinic.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Not yet, but with your permission, I’d like to keep looking.”

  “As long as it doesn’t interfere with your other duties.”

  “Of course not, Admiral,” Glenn said.

  “Velth to Captain Glenn.”

  Glenn tapped her combadge. “Go ahead, Ranson.”

  “The prisoners have been secured.”

  “Admiral Janeway and I are on our way,” Glenn advised.

  VOYAGER

  Lsia had found the sensation of being suspended in open space surrounded by an energy field intensely disconcerting. For this, she was grateful. Since she had taken this holographic form, she had experienced nothing similar. She had believed that as long as she was trapped in this holomatrix, she was damned to a half-existence, one where she understood the feelings various situations should provoke, but would forever remain insensate of them. Every hour she spent enclosed in that invisible cage had produced ever-increasing, visceral fear. This had been progress, in a manner of speaking.

  Perhaps this form had more to offer than she once thought.

  Her new home was no larger than her previous prison. Its only furnishing was a long bench that ran along the back wall. A shield of visible light separated her from the rest of the brig, which contained four other empty cells.

  She had not spoken to any of the others since they had turned themselves over to General Mattings. Tirrit and Adaeze were older than Lsia, having survived more than a dozen transfers each. Little could shake them. Emem was another story. He was only two transfers into immortality when he had been captured and contained. His shattered hopes for Admiral Janeway’s tribunal and the loss of their allies could easily have driven him to extreme anxiety by now. She hoped he had used the last few days in patient reflection, analyzing his mistakes and learning from them.