Atonement Read online

  Admiral Janeway entered, greeted the general warmly, and took the seat beside him at the table. Her aide was with her and provided the admiral with a small data tablet and a cup of something dark and steaming before taking his place at the far end of the table.

  “I apologize for my absence,” the general began.

  “No apology is necessary,” Janeway assured him. “In the interim we have completed preparations for our upcoming joint mission and taken custody of three of the Seriareen prisoners.”

  “My men are welcoming Mister Emem on board as we speak and have reported no difficulty integrating your anti-psionic technology into our security systems,” Mattings reported. “But I’m afraid my apology is going to have to stand, Admiral.”

  She looked puzzled until he said, “You see, I’ve just returned from Grysyen.” These were the first words the general had spoken that clearly sparked Captain Chakotay’s interest.

  “Why did you go there?” Chakotay asked.

  “Two reasons,” Mattings replied. “Captain Chakotay is the first officer I’ve ever met to describe the Unmarked as anything other than terrorists. It would have been easy to blame his error on cultural differences, but I’ve come to know him quite well over the last few months and found it difficult to dismiss the passion with which he argued for the lives of the four individuals he captured at Lecahn.

  “I know it doesn’t matter now, Captain, but what I saw at Grysyen convinced me that you had the right of that discussion, and my actions, while proper based on my orders, were misguided.”

  Chakotay bowed his head, taking this in. Finally he nodded at the general.

  “I visited the planet’s surface. I was appalled at what I found there. What I learned convinced me that the CIF’s actions there were not based on any real understanding of the circumstances, the needs of our citizens, or compassion. I’ve ordered all tactical operations in the system halted until a thorough review can be conducted. It’s going to take a long time to make things right on that planet, but if I have anything to say about it, we will.”

  “Will the presider approve?” Chakotay asked.

  Mattings shrugged. “She’s fighting on every front right now. Normally this wouldn’t even see the surface of her desk. Dreeg would have seen to that. She’ll allow me to make my case, and I believe she’ll agree with my assessment.”

  “That’s good to hear, General,” Janeway said. “But you indicated that you had two reasons for going.”

  “The presider didn’t lie when she told you that nothing in our records exists regarding the Seriareen or Nayseriareen. But there are worlds, like Grysyen, whose writings have been less widely dispersed over the years, given their controversial nature. Grysyen is the closest Confederacy world to the wastes where we believe Seriar might be found. Grysyen’s academies contain millions of documents that never made it to our central database. I spoke with a number of scholars, asking for records that might confirm what Lsia has told us.”

  “Did you find any?” Janeway asked.

  “I found more than I cared to know,” Mattings replied. “A lot of it was fragmented. I’m told that’s common when the records in question are so ancient. The historians on Grysyen have long referred to the period we’re talking about, between five and ten thousand years ago, as the ‘dark times.’ ”

  “They were that bad?” Kim asked.

  “What little we know of them was, but I believe the term is meant to convey the paucity of data available more than any judgment on the people or their actions.”

  “Were there explicit references to the Seriareen or Nayseriareen?” Janeway asked.

  “No. But there were many tantalizing and suggestive ones. There are myths about sacrifices to powerful gods who demanded the bodies of the youngest and strongest. Those children ‘died to themselves’ but were reborn as gods.”

  “That does sound vaguely familiar,” Chakotay agreed.

  “There’s an epic ballad that tells the story of a boy who had fallen in love with a girl. The gods came for him and tried to take him, but he refused their gifts. He died fighting them, but never succumbed.”

  “So perhaps not all of the Seriareen’s hosts were as excited about their new lives as we’ve been led to believe,” Chakotay said.

  “I don’t read a lot of love poetry, Captain,” Mattings admitted, “but that was my conclusion as well.”

  “Still, the presence of these artifacts does give credence to Lsia’s story,” Janeway observed.

  “The strongest support came from another, very unlikely place,” Mattings continued. “You have to understand that when my people came here, armed with their faith in the Source and ready to convert all who intended to join us, old ways were set aside in favor of our new revelations.”

  “That’s not uncommon,” Chakotay said.

  “The Grysyen people’s reputation as upstart troublemakers also makes sense in hindsight, as do the lengths the Consortium has gone to maintain this fiction. Their Science Academy contains records going back thousands of years prior to our discovery of the planet,” Mattings admitted. “Among those records are detailed descriptions of experiments done to create the protectors.”

  “What?” Kim interjected.

  “My people first discovered the technology we use to create protectors on the last lemm, as you know,” Mattings replied. “I never knew we had any idea where that technology originated.”

  “On Grysyen?” Chakotay asked.

  “As best I understand it, the few spacefaring races that existed at that time had already discovered the streams, although none of them credited the existence of the streams to the Source. The streams we use now are a small percentage of those that originally existed. Some had been destroyed, as Lsia said. But many others simply collapsed. There weren’t enough protectors left to sustain them. The ancient inhabitants of Grysyen pooled their resources and expertise and found a solution.”

  “They learned how to make new protectors, to stabilize the streams,” Kim guessed.

  “It looked like they had some help from another alien species that wasn’t local,” Mattings said. “Eventually, they set out to map the rest of the existing streams and apparently, once they were too far from this area to utilize the technology they’d left here, they re-created it on other worlds, like the last lemm.

  “We don’t know why the inhabitants of Grysyen abandoned this work,” the general added. “We only know that by the time we arrived, they had.”

  “Once the problem was solved,” Kim suggested, “they might have simply turned their attention and efforts elsewhere.”

  “A choice that left them ripe for conquest when the Confederacy came calling,” Mattings admitted sadly.

  “Did anything you discovered contradict what Lsia has told us?” Janeway asked.

  “No,” Mattings replied.

  “Very well,” she said.

  “I’ll be honest, Admiral. I went there hoping to prove her a liar.”

  “I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if you had, General,” Janeway acknowledged. “That said, I think we’re ready to proceed. Captain Chakotay will brief you on our analysis of the wastes. We both believe that the risks inherent in traversing the area are too great for both of our ships to venture in. Voyager is prepared to take the lead in our initial investigations.”

  “Why don’t we make that decision when we’ve both had a chance to take a good look, Admiral,” Mattings suggested.

  “Fair enough,” Janeway agreed.

  • • • • •

  “But even if we could identify the source of any individual engram, how would we segregate it?” Commander Glenn asked.

  The Doctor considered the question carefully. He’d been reinstated as Voyager’s CMO that morning and spent most of the day consulting with Glenn. The Commander had already subjected Tirrit and Adaeze to a battery of tests, and while their neural scans distinctly showed the presence of multiple engrammatic patterns, she was correct that determin
ing which individual engrams were essential to each of the essences now sharing a single body was not possible with their technology.

  “Wouldn’t the weaker ones most likely belong to the host, while the stronger ones are part of the invading consciousness?” the Doctor asked.

  “Yes, but we’re talking about a fluid process. We all hold thoughts in our minds for fractions of seconds. ‘Weakness’ as you are describing it might as easily point to the significance of the thought as its origin.”

  “And we are talking about essences that had multiple previous hosts. Some of the weaker signals might have carried over from former victims.”

  Glenn shook her head. The Doctor could see her weariness. “I’d hoped this analysis would reveal the tapestry of these minds,” she said. “I thought I’d be looking at individual threads we could follow and remove.”

  “Instead, you’re looking at a cake,” the Doctor agreed. “The eggs, flour, and sugar are still there, but once the cake is baked, you can’t remove the eggs anymore.”

  “I know this isn’t what Admiral Janeway’s hoping to hear,” Glenn noted.

  “The admiral knows how to deal with disappointment,” the Doctor reminded her as a soft alarm began to sound on the Doctor’s data panel.

  “What’s that?” Glenn asked.

  The Doctor sighed deeply, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I am going to have to sign off for a few hours.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s part of my treatment,” the Doctor replied, his disdain for the word clear. In response to Glenn’s puzzled look he continued, “Counselor Cambridge believes it is essential that I engage in brief periods of rest. During these times, I am not permitted to work on medical issues—except in the event of an emergency, obviously.”

  “What are you supposed to do?”

  “Meditate,” the Doctor replied.

  “And the thought of that fills you with anxiety?” Glenn asked kindly.

  “I suppose,” the Doctor admitted.

  Glenn smiled. “Would you like a little help?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “I spend a fair amount of time meditating daily,” she replied. “It’s an active process, intended to clear and focus the mind. It is incredibly effective and restorative.”

  “Hm.”

  “My first experiences were with guided meditations. One of my teachers would help me settle and focus my thoughts. From there, I learned to enter a meditative state without external cues.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Commander, but I know how busy you are.”

  “I’ve been at this for twelve hours straight, Doctor. I could use a short break as well. Come on, let’s give it a try.”

  After a few more half-hearted protests, the Doctor relented. At Glenn’s instruction, he dimmed the lights in his office, locked the door, assumed a supine position on the deck, and closed his eyes.

  Glenn’s voice quickly became the only exterior sensation of which he was aware. She spoke in a calm, low tone, asking him first to imagine a pristine lake bordered by soft grass bathed in warm sunlight.

  The Doctor soon realized that much as he tried to focus only on her words and the images they evoked, other thoughts would intrude. She counseled him to simply observe these thoughts without following them. Eventually, his imaginary mental landscape became his sole focus. He was only vaguely conscious of Glenn’s voice. All other mental processes ceased.

  Half an hour passed before the Doctor realized how effective Glenn’s guidance had been. She brought him out slowly, and by the time he was sitting up inside his darkened office, all anxiety at the prospect of engaging in Cambridge’s “treatment” was gone. He thanked Glenn profusely and she promised to work with him daily and forward him some other meditations she found particularly helpful.

  The Doctor rose and increased the illumination of his office to a standard setting. He turned back to his desk and was momentarily disoriented to see himself sitting before his data screen, tears streaming down his face.

  “She’s dead. I failed her.”

  This was a memory. The Doctor had not accessed it since he was deactivated, but the black curtain in his mind behind which his “muted” memories now lived had been pulled back ever so slightly. The Doctor was reliving an experience he’d had shortly before the cascade failure that had destabilized his program. Or was this shortly after? He did not know. Fortunately, he did not feel the same emotional distress he was observing. Simple awareness of this fact allowed the memory to fade. As soon as the connection was made, the Doctor found himself alone again in his office.

  Conscious that he should record this event in his personal log, and actually looking forward to sharing it with Counselor Cambridge, the Doctor moved toward his desk.

  A tall male alien with deep-red-tinted flesh stood before him. “Release me!” he bellowed. A strange short sword rested in the alien’s hand. Distant crashes and booms echoed all around them.

  The Doctor did not hesitate. He stepped toward the figure, took the sword, and plunged it into the alien’s chest.

  • • • • •

  Commander B’Elanna Torres knew better. She should be sleeping, but her brain was not cooperating.

  Miral had been in a rare terrible mood at dinner. Torres had assumed Tom’s absence was to blame until, while tucking Miral in for the night, the little girl had revealed that Nancy had forgotten their ice-cream date. The chief engineer had become quite close to Miral, especially since Tom’s departure, spending several free hours distracting the child, but those free hours had disappeared from everyone’s schedule when the deflector dish was destroyed. Conlon had promised to make it up to Miral this afternoon, but apparently she’d forgotten.

  Torres didn’t blame her. The computer indicated that Conlon was in her quarters, but she wasn’t answering hails. She’d probably already turned in for the night. Torres had broken down and replicated delicious sundaes for both of them, which they finished off in bed. Mollified, Miral had fallen asleep.

  Torres had then decided that the quickest path to joining Miral lay in reviewing the last few days of engineering reports. The fleet chief had already received verbal updates, but she was required to sign off on the written ones as well. One or two at the most should dull her mind sufficiently and sleep would soon follow.

  It didn’t.

  The first report contained the full analysis Conlon had completed on Harry’s mysterious and destructive power surges. Conlon’s conclusions were reasonable, just not probable, given the supporting data. It seemed the lieutenant had taken a few shortcuts in her analysis, particularly when it came to the issues of the affected shuttle. That wasn’t like Conlon. Of course, it wasn’t like she had nothing else to do, Torres told to herself.

  Torres was so focused on the report that she barely heard the chime at her door. Only when Harry began to knock softly and call her name did Torres ask the computer to grant him access.

  “Hey, Harry,” she greeted him as he crossed to her replicator, ordered a synthetic ale, and settled himself on her sofa, putting his feet up on the coffee table. Realizing he intended to stay, she began, “Is everything okay?” meaning to follow it quickly with because I have a ton of work to do.

  But Kim’s forlorn face stilled the words. Rising from her workstation, she moved to sit across from him.

  “What’s going on?” she prodded.

  “Nothing,” Kim replied. “Want to watch a little TV?” he asked, nodding to the antique set that had been a fixture in Tom Paris’s personal quarters even before he and Torres were married.

  “It’ll wake Miral,” Torres replied. “She’ll probably think Tom’s back. He’s the only one who ever watches it with her. She misses him a lot.”

  Kim nodded. “She’s not the only one.”

  “Oh, come on,” Torres said. “Acting first officer. That’s huge for you. And you’re doing a great job.”

  “Yeah, but my work-life balance is suffering,” Kim noted.
<
br />   Torres smirked. “What’s that?” she teased.

  Kim shrugged. “It’s my fault. I’m giving it everything I have. I can’t do less. But I also can’t shut it off. Tonight I made a special effort. Nancy and I haven’t had dinner in days. But by the time I got to her quarters, she was already asleep.”

  “I think the exhaustion has finally caught up with her,” Torres agreed. “She forgot a date with Miral today.”

  “Miral and Nancy are dating now?” Kim asked.

  “Yep. And the kiddo is stiff competition, so you’d better step up your game.”

  “I can’t compete with that face,” Kim conceded.

  Torres laughed lightly. She hadn’t done that in a while, and it felt good.

  “Why aren’t you asleep?” Kim asked.

  Torres nodded toward her desk. “Reports.”

  Kim brought his feet to the floor and started to rise. “I’ll leave you to it so you’re not up all night.”

  “What are you going to do?” Torres asked gently.

  Kim shrugged. “I think I’ll spend the next few hours trying to figure out why we’re not all dead.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s been bugging me for weeks. I need to review the tactical logs of our battle at the Gateway. Looks like I finally have some time.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “The answer is probably in the Scion’s rate-of-fire indices. I just remember knowing that right after the dish went, we were dead too. But the Voth held their fire.”

  “No, they didn’t,” Torres said. “The Shudka called for a cease-fire. The Scion was honoring that.”

  “There wasn’t time,” Kim argued. “The cease-fire order came several seconds too late to save us. But there might have been a power drain or delay or something else going on. They destroyed, what, thirty other ships in five minutes? Why were we spared?”

  “Harry, that’s a really depressing thing to be fixating on when . . .” Torres began, but a new thought caused those words to trail off. Rising quickly, she returned to the report she had just been reviewing, the one where Conlon blamed their power surges on faulty bioneural interface regulators.