Atonement (43 page)

“What is that?” he asked.

Torres and Janeway stepped away from the main console and moved to Neol's display panel.

After a moment, Janeway said softly, “The Source.”

•   •   •   •   •

Captain Chakotay had no idea what he was looking at but he did understand General Mattings's reaction. An area several million kilometers in diameter, void of any stars, planets, or debris, was surrounded by the energy field. At its center was a bright white ring that seemed to spin on an unseen axis. Its constant motion was throwing off massive amounts of exotic radiation. A steady stream of protectors collected the highly charged particles and carried them to the surrounding field, where they were contained.

Chakotay had seen several artistic renderings of the Confederacy's “Source” in the last few months. None of them had captured the magnificent power of whatever this thing was or the awe it truly inspired.

“You were never looking for Seriar, were you?” Chakotay asked.

Lsia's
eyes remained glued to the viewscreen as she replied, “Seriar was destroyed in the conflict that led up to our incarceration. This
was
its location, but I could not be certain he had returned here until now.”

“That's a life-form?” Chakotay demanded in disbelief.

“The Obihhax,” Lsia replied. “A living god.”

“Would you mind giving us a better look?” Chakotay requested of Tirrit.

“It's that one there,” Waters advised Tirrit.

Tirrit followed her direction, and the magnification was increased until the Obihhax filled the main viewscreen. From Chakotay's left, Lieutenant Kim let out an audible gasp.

It wasn't just a perfect torus. It was an ouroboros: a massive white serpentlike creature that had caught its tail in its mouth, absolute stillness in constant motion.

“Let me guess,” Chakotay ventured, “this Obihhax is one of the creatures that your people used to carve the subspace corridors.”

“The
hax
, yes,” Lsia replied, nodding. “At the height of our glory, there were dozens. They are subspace-born and must be trained to remain in normal space. They prefer to live and feed in their natural home. We taught them to carve our corridors with great precision. All but this one were destroyed in the last battle.”

“Then what's an
Obihhax
?” Kim asked.

“In the end, nine Seriareen remained. Our ship was the
Solitas.
We served under Obih. We were on the run, attempting to protect the last living hax. We were confronted by a large armada of Nayseriareen. They were about to destroy the hax. There was only one way to save it. Obih was released from his body, and his consciousness entered the hax. We were captured shortly after he fled. But when I saw the vast quantity of new corridors the Confederacy claims, as well as many beyond their territory, I knew the Obihhax had survived. He must have searched for us, carving new corridors as he went. Those not sustained by new wave forms or
protectors
have begun to collapse. The Confederacy's remain in use because they learned how to create new wave forms for themselves.”

“Are the protectors naturally created by the hax?”

“They are a by-product of its motion through subspace. They are
drawn to its energy. Even now, they are tending to its needs. They are
of the hax
and serving it is their highest purpose,” Lsia replied. “Countless wave forms have abandoned their corridors to come here and wait on its pleasure.”

General Mattings pulled himself to his feet. His face glistened with tears that continued to fall.

“I don't believe it,” he said simply.

Lsia shrugged. “You would deny the evidence of your own eyes?”

“Whatever use you people made of this creature thousands of years ago is no longer relevant,” the general replied. “It has a new purpose now, a sacred purpose. Do
your eyes
not see that?”

“The circumference of the hax is more than a hundred kilometers,” Kim noted. “We've never encountered a corridor that wide.”

“It has grown,” Lsia admitted.

“Do you intend to use it to carve new corridors?” Chakotay guessed.

“We must awaken it first. Obih must know that we have returned. Once that is done, he will follow us to a safer place from which to begin to rebuild our civilization. In time, all inhabitants of this quadrant and, eventually, this galaxy, will understand their proper place in the order of things. They will revere the hax, they will worship it, just as your people have come to revere and worship the Source, General,” Lsia insisted.

“It seems to me that the people of this quadrant decided a long time ago that your idea of order was not to their liking. What makes you think now will be any different?” Chakotay asked.

“It will take time,” Lsia conceded, “but what is time to those who live forever?”

Lsia entered a series of new commands.
Voyager
's course was altered and the ship began to move on a direct line toward the center of the Obihhax.

“Wait,” Chakotay said. “Just how close do you intend to take us to that thing?”

“There is only one way to rouse him,” Lsia replied.

“Ensign Gwyn, how long until we reach the hax?”

“Nine
and a half minutes,” Gwyn replied.

Chakotay had waited patiently until now for some sign that Kathryn, B'Elanna, or Conlon would restore control of
Voyager
's systems. Time was about to be up.

PALAIS DE LA CONCORDE

T
he room into which Commander Paris was led was filled with antique benches, sofas, and settees spaced artfully over dark wood floors and ornate rugs to create several intimate sitting areas, though it could easily hold a hundred people. The light-yellow walls were lined with ancient maps of several Federation worlds.

President Bacco moved to the nearest corner, where a small oval table rested. Crossing her arms at her chest, she said, “Let's have it, Commander Paris.” Akaar stood at her side. The security detail was ordered to keep watch out of earshot.

Paris nodded, then tapped his combadge again. This time, two short trills were followed by a longer signal. After a few moments of silence, during which Paris dared not breathe, the signal was repeated back to him. He placed a hand on the table to steady himself as he exhaled his relief.

“Seven is in,” he advised them.

“Are we in the middle of a report or a covert operation?” Akaar asked.

“A little bit of both, sir,” Paris replied. “This combadge has been modified to allow me to retain a constant open channel with Seven.”

“Can she hear us?” Bacco asked.

“No, Madam President. But as soon as she is in position, we will be able to hear everything she does.”

“Why don't
you grab us some chairs, Leonard?” Bacco asked. “
Carefully
; that pair over there is about seven hundred and fifty years old.”

Tossing Paris a glance of restrained contempt, Akaar did as she had asked.

“How much do you know about Commander Briggs?” Paris asked President Bacco.

“I'd never heard of him until a few minutes ago,” Bacco replied.

Akaar returned with a single chair for the president, and as she seated herself, he said, “Briggs is a senior medical research specialist. He has done groundbreaking work in genetics and epidemiology. He was the only candidate Starfleet Medical seriously considered assigning when the catomic plague was discovered.”

“His work in genetics included extrapolating the Planarian genome,” Paris interjected. “They were an extinct race that possessed unique and powerful regenerative capabilities.”

“
Were
?” Akaar asked pointedly.

Paris nodded, but before he could continue, a female voice came clearly through his combadge. “
This way
,” it said simply.

“Seven has activated her combadge,” Paris whispered.

“I thought you said she couldn't hear us,” Bacco whispered back.

“She can't.”

“Then why are we whispering?” Bacco asked.

“
Hello, Seven,”
said a male voice Paris immediately recognized.

Paris raised a hand to forestall further conversation as Bacco and Akaar leaned forward to listen.

STARFLEET MEDICAL, CLASSIFIED DIVISION

“I hoped you had received my message,” Briggs said. He was seated in his private office behind a workstation. Seven stood opposite him.

“If by
message
you are referring to the pain and suffering of nineteen former residents of Arehaz whose catomic molecules
you attempted to modify and then injected into your test subjects, then
yes
, Commander Briggs, I did,” Seven replied.

“You left me no choice, Seven,” Briggs insisted. “Your samples as well as Patient C-1's and Doctor Frazier's no longer accept modification. In fact, they disappear completely from any test subject into whom they are injected after only a day.” Briggs rose and circled his desk. Leaning against it and facing Seven directly, he asked, “How did you do that?”

“What makes you think I did anything?” Seven asked.

“You are the only random factor in this equation. My previous experiments failed, but they were instructive failures. There is no other explanation beyond your involvement for what I'm seeing now. You somehow still control the catoms that were once yours, don't you? Even after they have been extracted, they are still connected to you.”

“It is my belief that all catomic particles exhibit collective properties,” Seven advised him.

His eyes widened at this.

“Upon what do you base this belief?”

Seven smiled mirthlessly. “Experience.”

Briggs stood upright. “Excellent,” he said. “We've wasted too much time already. I've held up my end of our agreement. It's time for you to honor yours. You will begin by giving me a full report on all of your catomic research.”

“You have reneged on several key points of our agreement,” Seven corrected him. “I will, however, provide you with the data you require insofar as it is instrumental in curing the catomic plague.”

Briggs sighed. “Fine. We'll start there.”

“There is one piece of data I require in order to properly direct your efforts.”

“What?”

“Did you intentionally create the catomic plague?”

Briggs was clearly taken aback at the inference. “Of course not,” he retorted.

“Allow me to rephrase,” Seven said. “Did you
accidentally
create the catomic plague?”

Briggs closed his mouth in a tight line and his eyes hardened. Finally he began, “I don't see the relevance . . .”

“If I can determine the precise point of origin, it will enable me to track down every mutation, variation, and replication. In order to completely eradicate the plague, every affected particle must be neutralized.”

“That will never be possible,” Briggs said. “We don't even know how many people might have been affected who were never brought in for treatment. The plague's viability so many months after it first appeared suggests—”

“Your infection rates have been artificially inflated, Commander,” Seven cut him off.

Briggs shook his head sadly. “Surely you have not given credence to the unfounded speculations of Doctor Sharak and Lieutenant . . . what was her name?”

“Wildman.”

“Yes, Wildman.”

“Long before I was briefed on the discoveries of Doctor Sharak and Lieutenant Wildman, I saw you perform multiple experiments on the same alien female. This was troubling, apart from the fact that she was clearly not suffering from the plague. More than once, I saw you kill that female and irradiate her remains. It made no sense until Doctor Sharak exposed Ria, the Planarian you had planted on Coridan. They then discovered the exact same woman hiding within the evacuated area on Aldebaran. There were several additional versions of her developing in maturation chambers.”

“You have no proof,” Briggs began.

“I know. No proof of your Planarians' existence will ever be found. Your control over them is absolute. Not only were they willing to infect countless innocent individuals with the plague at your request, their work is equally thorough when it comes to destroying themselves and all evidence of their lives. I imagine there is a great deal about Planarians that you have learned since you re-created them, just as I assume there is a lab somewhere off-world where a steady stream of
replacement test subjects are being grown as we speak. How many times have you regenerated this female to further your research?”

Briggs smiled warily. The look in his eyes suggested that she had just gone from a source of help to an imminent threat. But there was pride in it as well. Part of him
wanted
Seven to know the depth and breadth of his genius.

Finally he said softly, “One thousand, nine hundred and sixty-one.”

PALAIS DE LA CONCORDE

President Bacco had listened with growing consternation to the conversation transmitted through Paris's combadge. Akaar had placed both of his meaty fists on the table and was leaning over it, completely absorbed by Briggs's words.

When Briggs admitted to re-creating almost two thousand copies of a single life-form in order to conduct his experiments, Bacco rose from her seat. She looked ready to crawl through the combadge and throttle Briggs with her bare hands.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, Admiral,” she said softly, “but didn't the Federation outlaw genetic engineering of sentient life-forms a few hundred years back?”

“Yes, Madam President.”

Bacco waved over a security officer and said, “Get me Esperanza immediately.”

The officer nodded and departed. As Seven questioned Briggs further about the regenerative properties of the Planarians, the president's chief of staff, Esperanze Piñero, entered and hurried toward her.