Atonement (44 page)

“Do you have any idea how many people you've just—” Piñero began.

“Shhh,” Bacco hissed, then added softly, “I want the head of Starfleet Medical and the Federation Institute of Health in my office within the next five minutes.”

“Is this really . . .?”

“Asses in my office,”
Bacco said, carefully enunciating each word.

Piñero stiffened, taken aback. “Right away, Madam President.”

STARFLEET MEDICAL, CLASSIFIED DIVISION

“It was not my intention to re-create her species,” Briggs insisted. “But the potential inherent in Planarian genes for regeneration of diseased tissue was too significant to simply ignore.”

“Of course,” Seven encouraged him.

“The first Planarian cells were created from several humanoid species and a few lower life-forms. Once the DNA sequence was complete, the cells began to multiply at rates I had never imagined. I had an embryo within days. She shouldn't have lived more than a few hours.
But she did.
And as she continued to develop, I found the thought of destroying her unconscionable.”

“It must have been very difficult for you,” Seven said with as much sympathy as she could feign.

“Naria and I worked together for more than two years before Coridan. After, she
wanted to help.
She
demanded
that I use her and her sisters as test subjects. She knew how critical my work was and only wanted to see me succeed. I have never imposed my will upon her or any of them. If anything, they've pushed me.”

“Coridan?” Seven asked.

Briggs became more animated as he spoke, beginning to pace the small room and gesture broadly as if to conjure the images he was creating from thin air.

“I was on Coridan, attending a medical conference, when the Borg attacked. Naria was with me. She was my
assistant
. We always listed her species as Kyppran, given the deep pink color of her flesh when her emotional state was unstressed. No one ever questioned it.

“As soon as the attack began, all officers with medical training were ordered to triage facilities. It was grisly work. There was
little we could do for most of our patients. Our supplies were extremely limited, and there was no way for Starfleet to get aid to the planet's surface with so many cubes in orbit.

“At the end of the second day, I was called away from surgery for a special mission. Part of a cube had crashed on the surface and several drones were aboard. I was instructed to study those we recovered, in hopes that I could figure out why they were no longer attempting to assimilate us.

“I'd never seen a Borg before. I'd studied them in the abstract, but the genuine article was something that defied belief. The fusion of organic and technological components, the brilliance of the nanoprobes . . .” Briggs trailed off as if overwhelmed by the remembered ecstasy. “I'd only been at it a few hours when the transformation began. I knew something unusual was happening, but I had no idea at the time that the Caeliar existed, let alone what they intended to do. I thought perhaps I had activated some sort of self-immolation program within the drone. I
had to stop it
for my analysis to continue. I fired a phaser at point-blank range into his head, hoping it would slow the destruction of his nanoprobes. He died instantly. The transformation ceased. The particles I detected that had flooded his body during the transformation, his
newborn catoms
, however, did not give up the fight so easily.”

“You extracted them?”

“I began to extract as many samples as I possibly could. To this day, I have no idea what airborne virus joined with the catoms I had damaged at the moment of their birth, but within hours everyone who had been anywhere near the drone, including three dozen medical staff members, began to show signs of the plague.”

“Why weren't you infected?” Seven asked.

“I was working in a biohazard suit,” Briggs replied. “I followed all procedures for storing potentially hazardous samples before taking them back to my lab. I was asked to head up this division a few weeks later, when it became clear that the virus had spread. No one ever connected its existence to my work, other than me, of course.”

“Do
you still have those samples?” Seven asked.

Briggs nodded.

Seven smiled in relief. “You chose to lead this project in order to correct your own error,” she said.

Briggs shook his head. “I didn't realize for some time that it was my actions that had created the plague. That became clear about the same time I realized that there was no way to cure it. Only by unlocking the programming of catomic molecules would it be possible to neutralize the particles that had joined with the virus. Quarantine was our only option.”

“If you knew this to be true, why continue?” Seven asked. “Why not simply institute the strictest quarantine procedures possible and allow the plague to die a natural death by denying it further hosts?”

“How can you of all people even ask that question?” Briggs demanded, clearly incensed. “The Borg killed sixty-three billion people in a matter of days. The Caeliar ended them in minutes. Did they ask your permission before they stripped you of your Borg components? No,” he answered for her. “They simply decided that
they knew best
. Is this the action of a benevolent, peace-loving species? If individual rights are irrelevant to them because they do not exist as individuals, how can our way of life ever mean as much to them as it does to us?

“The Caeliar are now the greatest potential threat the Federation faces. They will return and when they do, we must be ready. We must unlock the secrets of catomic matter. We must master catoms and we must learn how to turn them against their creators, or like the Borg, when the Caeliar do return, we will be every bit as vulnerable to their will as the Collective was.”

There were a number of flaws with this premise, but Seven did not bother to enlighten him. It was clear that there was no point in wasting her breath. Briggs was a man defined by fear. It was understandable, given the magnitude of the horrors he had witnessed. But he would never accept that adding to the horror, even with the best of intentions, was not an appropriate response.

“Did
you make this argument to your superiors when you realized that curing the plague was not an immediate option?” Seven asked.

Briggs shrugged. “When I floated the possibility to the head of Starfleet Medical, I was advised that further study of catomic matter was ongoing but that
aggressive
experiments were years away from approval.”

“You knew that your work would only continue as long as the plague did,” Seven realized.

“It's difficult to be the lone voice in the wilderness, particularly when you know you are right,” Briggs admitted. “Without Naria, I could never have continued. But
she
encouraged me.
She
understood. A handful of cells are all that is required to re-create her, and her genetic memory is astonishing. Each new iteration is born with accumulated knowledge of her predecessors. Each one is born with the same determination to assist me. I could spend the rest of my days studying Naria and her sisters and barely scratch the surface of the wonder that is the Planarian species. I've set aside that work,
my true calling
, because my oath to Starfleet demands that above all, I protect the people of the Federation, even from their own ignorance.

“One day, the Caeliar will return. With Naria's help
and yours,
” he said with emphasis, “they will find our people ready to meet them as equals and to fight them, if need be. My peers might think me foolish, but history will judge me as wise.”

Seven bowed her head.

“There is so much to be done,” he said, smiling. “I should have told you sooner. I see that now. I apologize, Seven.”

PALAIS DE LA CONCORDE

As soon as Briggs had begun to elaborate on Naria's creation, Bacco had shot Akaar a meaningful glance. He had stepped away briefly from the table to order a security detachment assembled to transport into the classified lab and take the Commander into custody.

By the time Briggs had begun to wax rhapsodic about the threat the Caeliar posed to the Federation, Bacco moved closer to Paris, saying, “You have my thanks, Commander Paris. It appears the debt of gratitude I and the Federation owe to Seven keeps growing. You'll leave this to us for now. I swear to you, we will make this right. The admiral and I are going to need a full briefing from both you and Seven, along with Doctor Sharak and Lieutenant Wildman, before this day ends.”

“Of course, and thank you, Madam President,” Paris replied.

Akaar joined them again at the table. “Commander Paris?”

Paris immediately shot to attention.

“At ease,” Akaar ordered. Then he extended his hand and Paris shook it firmly. “Job well done, Commander. Your father,” he began, then shook his head. “
You
should be very proud of yourself.”

“If you'll excuse me,” President Bacco interjected, “I need to go fire a few people.”

“I'll join you shortly, Madam President,” Akaar advised her.

STARFLEET MEDICAL, CLASSIFIED DIVISION

“Your apology is irrelevant,” Seven said as the whine of transporter signals filled the room.

Six security officers armed with phaser rifles appeared to the shock and dismay of Commander Briggs.

“What is the meaning of this?” Briggs demanded.

“By order of Admiral Leonard Akaar, you are under arrest, Commander Briggs,” one of the officers replied as a second moved to secure Briggs's hands behind his back with restraints.

“You?” Briggs asked of Seven.

“Me,” Seven replied.

“This is a mistake,” Briggs warned. “You need me. You need men and women willing to do whatever is necessary to defend the Federation.”

“The Federation
you
would create is indefensible,” Seven said simply. “The Federation is, above all, an idea, a belief, a moral and ethical framework you have abandoned. How have your choices
differed significantly from those you ascribe to the Caeliar and judged horrific? You have seen darkness, you have witnessed atrocity, and your response was to become what you beheld.”

“The plague—” Briggs began.

“You've told me all I need to know,” Seven cut him off. “I no longer require your assistance to complete the task you were originally assigned.”

“But . . .”

“He is yours,” Seven said to the lead security officer. With a nod, he tapped his combadge and two of the men flanking Briggs were transported away with their prisoner. The others followed Seven from the office. Together they began to search for the chamber where Axum and Riley were still being held in stasis.

The hard part was over, but Briggs had been right about one thing. There was still much to be done.

VOYAGER

C
hakotay tensed as the doors to the turbolift were forced open. When Lieutenant Decan slipped through them, his face slightly flushed, the captain relaxed. Decan had clearly climbed up the shaft leading to the bridge from several decks down.

“Don't move,” Emem ordered Decan, raising a phaser at him.

“I have no intention of moving,” Decan said.

“Did the admiral send you?” Chakotay asked.

“Yes.”

“Silence!” Emem shouted, crossing to the Vulcan and placing the business end of his phaser at Decan's temple.

“Lower your weapon,” Chakotay ordered forcefully. “We will proceed calmly as long as you refrain from injuring my people. If you'd rather turn this into a free-for-all, we can do that too.”

“Do as he says,” Lsia ordered Emem, who complied. Decan
moved quickly to stand by Chakotay's side.

“I don't know about you, Captain,” Mattings said, “but I don't take kindly to anyone who presumes to give orders in my control center. In fact, I can't understand why you haven't lifted a finger yet to end this fiasco. Hostile aliens have taken control of your ship, and you act like we're on a routine mission. That one says she wants to rouse the Source, but have any of you considered the possibility that she could harm it?”

Chakotay turned to face Mattings. Decan hadn't spoken another word, but he didn't have to. That Kathryn had sent him meant that help was on the way. His job was to keep everyone alive long enough for it to arrive.

“I think there's a great deal our Seriareen friends are missing here,” he replied evenly.

“Captain?” Mattings asked, clearly disgusted that Chakotay hadn't met this situation with force sufficient to put an end to Lsia and her people by now.

Turning back to Lsia, Chakotay said, “Your goal, unless I've missed something, is to take the hax to some distant, secluded area of space and, from there, use my ship to begin forcing other species into alliances like the one you formed with the
Kinara
. The hax will take you anywhere you like at speeds that surpass even our slipstream capabilities, and you will attack or coerce other civilizations as necessary. Over time, you will begin to build a base of power from which you will expand your influence over all sentient species you encounter in this quadrant.”

“Yes,” Lsia said.

“Lsia,” Emem said, his tone of warning clear.

“But the Obihhax has already achieved this goal more simply and elegantly than your proposed course of action ever will,” Chakotay said.

Lsia turned to face him, clearly puzzled.

Chakotay continued quickly, “You want power to direct the actions of others. You want them to acknowledge your will and your choices for them as superior to their own sense of
self-determination. You will impose your own sense of order, your own code of conduct upon them and, in return, demand obedience, respect, and faith in your abilities to lead them through the challenges all sentient beings face as they move through their lives.”