Star Trek: Voyager - 041 - The Eternal Tide Read online

  “It’s better this way,” he tried to reassure her. “She’ll be with us.”

  “We’re going back to Borg space.”

  “Near Borg space.”

  “Oh, that’s terribly comforting.”

  “And Seven is absolutely certain we’re not going to find anything.”

  “What if she’s wrong?”

  Tom shrugged. “We have beaten them before.”

  “Do you think Admiral Janeway was thinking along those lines . . . ?”

  “Don’t,” Tom practically pleaded.

  “I’m sorry,” B’Elanna replied, clearly chagrined. “I just can’t shake this feeling.”

  “I know,” Tom said. They’d already discussed this several times since rumors of the fleet’s next mission had begun floating around. B’Elanna had suggested Miral might be safer with the Doctor, rather than aboard Voyager. After the trauma they’d endured at the hands of the Warriors of Gre’thor, Tom was amazed B’Elanna was willing to let Miral out of her sight. He’d privately wondered if her choice to keep Miral close on Achilles, while repairs were being made to the Quirinal several weeks earlier, had more to do with her unspoken fears than the bond developing between Miral and Captain Drafar. Tom was beginning to realize that whatever B’Elanna feared about their latest mission was greater than her need to personally see to her daughter’s safety.

  “I don’t understand this,” B’Elanna said, clearly frustrated. “Every time I think about the coming weeks, I get this knot in my stomach.”

  “I’d be lying if I said I was looking forward to revisiting the Borg’s old home,” Tom admitted. “We could leave her with Neelix. I’m sure he’d jump at the chance.”

  “He would,” B’Elanna agreed. “And now that Miral’s immunizations are up to date, there’s no risk, especially with Galen still close by.”

  “So?” Tom asked.

  B’Elanna took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She glanced again toward Miral, who had just knocked a tower over and let out a small warrior’s cry of delight. Finally she said, “No. She comes with us.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know why I feel this way. But part of me thinks that the only thing worse than exposing her to it would be leaving her alone—”

  “Don’t even think it,” Tom insisted, pulling her into a tight hug.

  B’Elanna buried her head in his shoulder for a moment, and Tom felt a shudder pass through her.

  • • •

  She’s never going to forgive me, Counselor Hugh Cambridge thought as he directed his steps toward the holodeck. He had felt Seven’s attempts to make eye contact with him during the morning briefing. He had chosen to appear professionally distant throughout the meeting. But he feared he would not do as well when it came to hiding the enthusiasm he felt for his upcoming mission with Captain Eden, which was about to impinge on the first “personal” time he and Seven had scheduled: breakfast on the holodeck, or the safest possible “first date.”

  The weeks that had followed Voyager’s encounter with the Children of the Storm and their “mother” had been uncharacteristically busy for the counselor. The destruction of one of the fleet’s sister ships created a ripple of post-traumatic stress through the survivors, complicated by the diplomatic victory that had been wrenched from the disaster. Cambridge was pleased that the encounter had resulted in quantifiable positive results for the fleet and the Children, but the price had been too many lost lives.

  As a ship’s counselor, it had been Cambridge’s job to listen and to remind his patients that those who accepted a Starfleet commission did so knowing that their service might end in self-sacrifice. He assured them that, in time, they would make peace with the loss.

  Personally, Cambridge did not believe that the Planck’s crew had died for a higher purpose, despite the final outcome. Their deaths had been pointless. But then, most deaths were. As best Cambridge could tell, the resulting benefits for both sides had more to do with dumb luck and the willful, brilliant arrogance of Commander Liam O’Donnell than any nobility of action displayed by Voyager or Planck’s crew. But he would take the good and the bad, believing that it was a rare day when good even showed up, let alone bothered to make itself comfortable.

  However, the best thing that had happened in recent days—or the worst, depending on how he looked at it—had nothing at all to do with the mission, and everything to do with his former patient, Seven of Nine.

  From the moment they had met, Seven had captivated the counselor. She had a similar effect on most people. She was, quite simply, the most compelling, complex combination of intelligence, strength, and innocence he had ever encountered. It also didn’t hurt that she was a perfect physical female specimen. Cambridge didn’t bother lying to himself that he was interested only in her mind. He also didn’t deceive himself that a purely physical relationship with her, like most he had enjoyed throughout his life, could have been an option. He knew that a casual fling would do unspeakable and malicious harm to her, and that he could not countenance.

  It had come as a complete surprise several days ago when Seven had marched into his office, kissed him, and announced that she was willing to pursue a more intimate relationship, were he so inclined. His primitive lizard brain had no trouble answering the question. The rest of him was proving a harder sell. Cambridge agreed to test the waters and suggested the most innocuous breakfast date.

  When the counselor entered the holodeck, he was surprised to find no program running. Seven stood against a stark black field, lit only by an orange grid of holographic generators.

  “Simple,” he said, attempting joviality. “Classic. I like it.”

  Seven faced him with a hard stare. “I did not see the point in wasting the time necessary to create an appropriate romantic environment as I will clearly be dining alone this morning.”

  That’s my girl, Cambridge thought, relieved.

  “It’s not my fault,” he attempted, opening his arms at his sides, palms out, almost inviting her next attack.

  “Explain,” she requested.

  “I only learned late last night that the mission I am about to undertake—”

  “You could have contacted me ‘late last night.’ You might have suspected that I would be concerned when you failed to make an appearance at the reception.”

  “You must have known that your presence was the only delight that reception would have held for me.”

  Her face softened a little as she considered accepting the compliment.

  “You also could have contacted me this morning, prior to the briefing, or pulled me aside once it was over to advise me of the change in our arrangements.”

  “Seven, we haven’t even had a first date.”

  “You could have made eye contact with me at the briefing.”

  Cambridge hazarded a step toward her. “I’m afraid that might do more to arouse suspicion among our comrades. You see, my dear, we’ve crossed a Rubicon of sorts.”

  “It was one kiss, Counselor.”

  “One kiss was more than sufficient to engender thoughts I fear are too plainly read on my face any time I glance at you.”

  He felt his heart rate quicken and he saw a flush rising in Seven’s porcelain cheeks.

  “What’s the mission?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  Seven stared through him.

  “You’re looking forward to it. You’re not sorry you’re not spending time with me, or you wouldn’t be working so hard to convince me otherwise,” she stated.

  He physically ached to close the few remaining steps between them.

  “You’re right. I am looking forward to it. But you are also wrong.”

  “Explain.”

  Cambridge considered his options: flattery, deception, a plea for compassion. None of them were as tempting as honesty. He realized, with trepidation, that was the most dangerous choice.

  “I’m not sure our attempt
to explore a more personal relationship is a good idea. It’s not something I have a talent for, nor have I met anyone in years that would even tempt me to contemplate it. But I find, much to my dismay, that I am at your mercy. I shouldn’t say yes, but I cannot imagine saying no.”

  After a long pause, Seven took two paces forward, meeting him eye to eye as the warmth radiating from her body assaulted him.

  “Enjoy the mission, Counselor,” she said calmly, then stepped past him and exited the holodeck.

  Her sudden absence chilled him, like a cloud passing over the sun on a warm day. Still, if this was how she took disappointment, their relationship might hold more promise than he’d dared imagine.

  I’m doomed, he decided, without a hint of regret.

  • • •

  Eden resisted the urge to pace the deck before the transporter platform. She had made her decision to accept Hugh, Chakotay, and the Doctor’s recommendation within an hour of her return to her quarters. She had spent a sleepless night attempting to recall what she could of her travels with her uncles and the few crumbs they’d dropped over the years about her past and how they’d found her.

  She’d always had a remarkable memory and a talent for intuiting odd connections between disparate bits of information. Sadly, Eden had learned that these gifts failed her when the subjects had emotional intensity. Her epic blindness to Willem Batiste’s deceit was the best example. As she thought of her uncles, Tallar and Jobin, she felt an inability to connect the dots. Swirling among the feelings of anger at their many lies were deeper and infinitely more intense feelings of love and devotion. Of one thing Eden was absolutely certain: they had loved her, and the choices they had made to mislead her could only have come from a desire on their part to keep her safe.

  At 0600 hours, she had informed Chakotay of her decision, giving him time to alert the Doctor and Cambridge. The Doctor was already waiting for her in the transporter room when she entered. As ever, Cambridge was pushing punctuality to its maximum safe tolerance level.

  The captain turned to admonish Cambridge when she heard the doors swish open, but found Chakotay moving purposefully toward her. He favored the Doctor with a wide smile of greeting before taking quick inventory of her expression.

  “You made the right decision,” he said without preamble.

  “I think you’re just looking forward to having this ship all to yourself,” she teased.

  He pretended to consider the remark. “You might have something there.”

  As her eyes narrowed into a glare, Chakotay added, “I promise to return Voyager to the fleet on schedule without a scratch on her.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” Eden replied.

  “It’s a gift, Afsarah,” Chakotay assured her. “That our current flight plan takes us close enough to the Mikhal Outpost for Achilles to detour to it might be taken as a sign.”

  “A good one?”

  “Absolutely. Most of us have to find a way to live with the mysteries of our past, the questions we never thought to ask, roads never traveled. But I’m happy you may find your answers.”

  “Is your ship’s counselor always this rude?” the Doctor interrupted.

  Chakotay turned to him with a sigh. “Doctor, you haven’t seen the half of it.”

  “Oh, good,” the Doctor replied.

  “But he is also vital to this mission’s success,” Chakotay advised him seriously. “He and Captain Eden are old friends. The counselor was the first person she took into her confidence. That, along with his background in comparative psychological and mythological studies, should reassure you that his presence is more than warranted. I know you will work together constructively.”

  “I’ll try, Captain,” the Doctor replied with a very put-upon air.

  “Doctor,” Chakotay said softly, “I’m asking you this as a friend.”

  “Understood,” the Doctor said, nodding.

  For a brief moment, Eden found herself envying the closeness these two shared. Though it was true she had begun to open herself up to the possibilities of real friendships with those she commanded, she knew what she was seeing here was a bond, forged through years of facing the impossible together. The last two people who had created such a space in her heart had been Tallar and Jobin.

  As Chakotay grasped the Doctor gently by the arm, careful to avoid the band where his mobile emitter was fastened, the room’s doors again opened and Counselor Cambridge lumbered in, carrying a rucksack over his shoulder. He immediately moved past them and took his place on the transporter pad. After a moment of stunned silence he asked, “Well, what are we waiting for?”

  Eden watched the Doctor bite back a response before offering Chakotay a wary nod.

  “Be good,” Chakotay directed toward Cambridge. “That’s an order.”

  To Eden he offered his hand. “I’ll see you very soon, Captain,” he said warmly.

  “With lots of interesting stories to tell, I hope,” she replied.

  Chapter Five

  ERIS

  The Department of Temporal Investigation’s vault of artifacts on the dwarf planet called Eris was not a place the Q would normally trouble themselves to disturb. The vast majority of devices stored there had long since lost their original utilities for disrupting the timestream, and most of those that hadn’t lacked compatible power sources to make them functional. The reason they were stored here, along with backup copies of all of the DTI’s temporal records, was so they could never be used for their intended purposes, and to that end, they were well protected.

  More important, the Q did not require anything so crude as the vault’s contents to travel through time. As Amanda had learned shortly after she had chosen to accept the reality that she was Q, traveling through time was as simple as deciding where she wanted to go. You didn’t even have to pack for inclement weather. Although being a Q came with its fair share of challenges, it also came with many extraordinary benefits, and on the whole, Amanda was pleased with her lot.

  She had begun experimenting with her time travel abilities as soon as the Continuum had granted her the privilege. While time travel was exhilarating, the fact was, it took . . . well . . . time. When one was effectively immortal, this might not seem like a stumbling block, but Amanda eventually realized that there were moments, such as this one, where time was of the essence. The information she required could be gleaned by a number of well-planned excursions, though she had no doubt Junior had already undertaken them. His certainty that Kathryn Janeway’s death was a fixed point in time could not have come from a random sampling of various timelines. He would have thoroughly researched his claim before he’d ever dared to make it. Hers was the unenviable task of finding something he’d missed. And that would take time, which she was unwilling to spend.

  Thankfully, if she was right, she wouldn’t have to. Junior’s father—who had been a guide of sorts to her in her early years in the Continuum—had let slip he’d hidden a device in the Eridian vault, believing it to be the last place any self-respecting Q would look and confident that no one in the DTI would ever learn anything about it beyond the massive chroniton readings it emitted. This would make its storage on Eris mandatory, from their point of view, and as their mission was to protect time without altering it, there was no chance they would attempt to use it.

  Not that they could. A Q had created it and only a Q could operate it. Q swore it was his design when he first showed it to her. But Amanda had learned, by using it while unsupervised, that it was actually the creation of the Q who had been banished to a comet for bringing disorder to the Continuum. Amanda had only seen that Q in his brief, prerecorded introduction to the device but had decided instantly that she liked him and that whatever “disorder” he’d brought to the Continuum, they probably needed it.

  In appearance the device was unremarkable: a small black stone, known as the “prism.” When focused by a Q, it had the ability to bend time in such a way as to allow one to witness the events of any timeline. Amanda
would have to enter the timeline to experience it, but as a pure research tool, the prism was invaluable.

  Having assured herself that she was alone and would not be disturbed by Eris security, Amanda stood in the darkened subvault, holding the prism in her hand. One of Q’s design quirks required the user to take physical form in order to operate the device. She cleared her being and brought to the forefront of her concentration that which she wanted to see. Turning the prism three times in her palm, she then held it up and peered through it. Within seconds, the scene she sought appeared before her eyes, refracted at an angle through the prism, but easy enough to see.

  It was a grisly sight. What had once been Kathryn Janeway had been assimilated by the Borg. The thing that bore her face had lost all traces of its humanity. Amanda hurried the vision along until the cube that had made her its queen was blown to pieces.

  It was harder, after witnessing this spectacle, to focus on the next inquiry, but Amanda forced herself to do so. Patiently, methodically, she watched timeline after timeline and soon enough concluded that Junior might be right in his assessment of Janeway’s death.

  Finally, Amanda was able to focus her intentions enough to demand that the prism show her evidence of a timeline in which Kathryn Janeway still lived—beyond the moment where she died in every other timeline. She held her physical form’s breath while she waited, almost certain that the attempt would fail. Gradually, she felt the prism’s heat differential rise, and to her amazement, a new scene played out before her.

  It was a moment of chaos on the Voyager’s bridge. Janeway was leading her crew through a crisis, barking orders and clinging to her command chair as if her life depended on it. Amanda could faintly hear communications from another vessel, and she searched all of space-time to locate its source. By the time she had succeeded in pinpointing its location, the crisis for Janeway and her crew seemed to pass. Relief washed over all of those present, until Janeway received a call over the ship’s comm system and hurried from the bridge. The prism allowed Amanda to follow Janeway as she entered the turbolift and ran to sickbay. There the bloody figure of a blond woman, her beauty marred by metallic objects affixed to her face and hand, her flesh scorched, was being gently lifted to a biobed by a distressed man who bore a striking tattoo on his forehead.