Cohesion

  “I will if you will!”

  “What?” B’Elanna opened her eyes and then immediately snapped them shut again. “Too bright!” she rasped.

  “Keep your voice down,” Kaytok hissed. “We don’t know who’s around here.”

  B’Elanna opened her eyes slowly, this time remembering to shield the Borg implant. Kaytok hovered over her, poised to clamp his hand over her mouth if she shouted again. Abruptly, the engineer remembered that the last time she had seen Kaytok, he’d nearly squeezed the life out of her.

  She batted his hands away, rolled on her shoulder, and tried to get her feet underneath her, but the loose soil slipped away beneath her. The roll became a tumble until she became jammed up against a rocky outcropping. Scrabbling at her belt, she searched for her phaser, but found nothing. B’Elanna looked up, expecting to see Kaytok holding the weapon, but was instead surprised to see the Monorhan squeezing himself into a cleft between two large boulders.

  Quickly looking around, B’Elanna saw that they were in a stand of low, scrubby trees, all with bare branches. Several boulders, none more than a meter high, were bunched up against the tree trunks as if they had tumbled down the hillside and been stopped.

  Torres twisted from side to side, searching for movement in the gray dawn. The sun could not have risen more than a few minutes ago, so the blinding glare she had seen when first opening her eyes must have been a result of the pupil being too far open. Remembering the Borg appliance, she willed the aperture open and carefully scanned the horizon for signs of movement. An idle internal question—I wonder if I can see in infrared?—flitted through her mind, and suddenly the world was painted in bands of red and blue.

  The only living thing besides herself in the immediate vicinity was Kaytok, barely visible in his hiding place, but gesturing for her to stay low, a suggestion she completely ignored. Scaling the steep hillside as quickly as she could, B’Elanna yanked the Monorhan up by the front of his jacket and rasped, “Why did you attack me?”

  Frantically scanning from side to side, more afraid of the attackers he could not see than the one he could, Kaytok whispered, “I didn’t. I was trying to protect you. I smelled patrols last night, and in my haste to pull you to safety, I may have misjudged my own strength.”

  “There’s no one nearby,” B’Elanna said, tapping her eye. “This says so. Now tell me what’s been going on or I’ll make you wish someone was.”

  Visibly relaxing, sagging back against the boulder, Kaytok said in normal tones, “I don’t know. I don’t remember. When I awoke, you were unconscious. When I couldn’t wake you, I carried you up here.” He looked around. “In the dark, it looked sheltered. I thought about starting a fire, but was afraid someone might see it.”

  Pointing at the Monorhan’s small backpack, B’Elanna asked, “Do you have my weapon? My tricorder?”

  Nodding, Kaytok opened the bag and handed the equipment back to her. “I was afraid they’d fall off your belt while I was carrying you and we’d never be able to find them.” B’Elanna had to concede that this sounded like a sensible precaution and not an excuse to rob her.

  “Do you have any water?” she asked.

  Kaytok handed her one of their two water skins and she took a long pull, clearing the dust from her mouth, then gently touching what she suspected must be bruises on her throat. “How long was I out?” she asked.

  “A couple hours, I think. Hard to say since I was out myself for a while.” He examined her more carefully, searching for injuries, B’Elanna suspected. “Did I really attack you?”

  B’Elanna nodded. “You began to foam at the mouth. The last thing I remember is you trying to throttle me.” The memory was dim, but she tried to recall the last moments before her world dimmed. “And you were talking, but not to me. You said, ‘Sem.’”

  “Sem?” Kaytok’s neck contracted until his chin was practically lying on his chest. “I said, ‘Sem’?”

  “I take it Sem is not a nice word,” B’Elanna said.

  “It’s not a word, it’s a person.”

  “A bad person?”

  “Yes. Or, at least, bad for me.” He waved at her to sit down. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” Opening his own water bottle, he took a small sip.

  “I’m not worried.” And she wasn’t. She would keep a closer watch on the Monorhan now, but B’Elanna didn’t feel he was a threat.

  “I’m not the only one who was talking in his sleep,” he said. “What’s a Tom?”

  “Tom is a who, not a what. He’s my…my partner, I guess you’d say.”

  Kaytok snorted derisively. “Interesting coincidence. Sem was my partner.”

  B’Elanna thought back. “The one who was part of your group, then left? And she works for the Emergency Council now? The bad guys?”

  “They’re not all bad,” Kaytok said. “Some of them genuinely believe they’re doing good. And, no, that’s Morsa I was thinking about. Sem…Sem was never part of our group. I knew her a long time ago, back when I was still a student, still inside one of the cities.”

  “So, why did you say her name right before you tried to throttle me? Does thinking about her usually affect you that way?”

  Kaytok’s head sank back down to his shoulders. “Now that you mention it, yes. But I don’t think I was thinking about her. It was more like, for a brief second, she was inside my head. I could feel her there, glowing like a…like a sun, I guess. She was angry, yelling at someone.”

  “Did anything like that ever happen before?” B’Elanna asked, now worried that maybe the Monorhan was not merely a bit eccentric, but mentally unbalanced.

  But Kaytok clicked and shook his head. “No, never. And I mean never. I can’t share like the others. Remember, na-hara?” He took another sip of water, then sealed his canteen. “What about you? Were you in communication with your friend again? I heard you talking and for a few seconds it even sounded like she was here with us.”

  “Never use the words ‘friend’ and ‘Seven’ in the same sentence,” B’Elanna said, but hearing the name brought details of her dream.

  I would also find that acceptable, Lieutenant.

  B’Elanna started, sat up too quickly and cracked the crown of her head on an outcropping. “Ow! Dammit! Seven!” She fumbled at her combadge, but she quickly realized the voice did not have an external source. “Seven?” she asked.

  “Who are you talking to?” Kaytok asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” B’Elanna said, then had to wonder. “I think. Shut up and let me listen. Seven?” Seven?

  I am here, Lieutenant.

  How are you doing this? Is this the nanoprobes?

  Apparently, yes. I am pleased to discover that this is possible while you are awake. I would hate to have to eavesdrop on your dreams again.

  You were trying to contact me while I was dreaming?

  No, I learned that we could contact each other while you slept. The more…forceful images…crept into my consciousness. I had to counteract them by any means possible. I nearly destroyed a very valuable piece of equipment.

  A thought struck B’Elanna. Why don’t you just call me on the communicator?

  I have tried, Seven said. But the radiation from the Blue Eye has increased over the last several hours. Without more sophisticated scanners, I cannot say why, but I fear the situation may be growing exponentially worse.

  Wonderful, B’Elanna replied. Anything I can do?

  Move faster, Lieutenant. The sooner you get to the shuttle and return, the sooner we can use Kaytok’s equipment to contact Voyager.

  So, you see, B’Elanna taunted. It was a good idea for me to leave immediately.

  No, it was not. You’ve been asleep for two hours in a ditch. If you had simply rested for two here in moderate safety, you would be that much closer to your goal.

  B’Elanna frowned. “Get out of my head, Seven!” And don’t contact me again unless it’s an emergency.

  Believe me, Lieutenant. I t
ake no pleasure in our mingled condition. And at this juncture everything is an emergency. Seven of Nine breaking contact.

  B’Elanna suppressed an urge to swipe at the air.

  “What is going on?” Kaytok asked, his tone wavering somewhere between fear and annoyance.

  “I have bugs in my head,” B’Elanna said. “And they’re talking to me.” The Monorhan drew back farther into the small nook where he had been hiding. “Never mind,” she said. “I’m fine. Are you ready to go?”

  Though she couldn’t say why he would, Kaytok seemed to relax. He was, B’Elanna realized, depending on an alien who talked to thin air to save his planet. The situation couldn’t be much worse than it already was. “I suppose,” he said, sliding out of his nook. “Are you sure you trust me?”

  “I trust you,” B’Elanna said. “As long as you walk in front of me.”

  Kaytok seemed to find that condition acceptable and rose. “While we’re walking, you could tell me more about Tom.”

  “Or you could tell me more about Sem.”

  “I’ll consider it,” the Monorhan said, and began picking his way down the hillside.

  “And so will I,” B’Elanna said, and fell in behind.

  * * *

  Seven of Nine sighed as her awareness of Torres’s consciousness slipped away. What a strange, solitary, angry person the engineer was. Why would she protest the joining with a greater whole so vociferously? What did she gain from her behavior? Seven could not see the sense of it.

  “Are they all right?” One of Kaytok’s associates, Pad, stood nearby, holding a small brown paper sack.

  Rising, Seven said, “They are currently undetected. How likely are the Emergency Council to have forces out in the field?”

  Pad shrugged. A tiny, gnarled creature, he, like Kaytok, seemed either unable or unwilling to join into a hara. Though he followed in the wake of the group, Seven never sensed the soft fading of the edges of his persona that she saw in many Monorhans. The difference between Kaytok and Pad was that she never sensed desperation from the former. “Maybe not so likely. What’s the point in putting a lot of people out in the field when the world’s coming to an end? I figure if the council hasn’t sent anyone out looking for us by now, they’re not going to.”

  Seven nodded. She had been pondering their situation and wondered why the Emergency Council had not sent out a team to investigate the energy wave. “Why not?” she asked Pad.

  “Because they’re all too busy trying to figure out how they’re going to live another day,” Pad said. “Word of the ships breaking up has probably leaked by now. Some of the council members will try to keep panic from spreading, but a lot of the others will be looking for a crack where they can hide their…Well, you get my meaning.” He looked down at the small bundle in his hand and asked, “You want some lunch? I brought you something.”

  “No thank you,” Seven said. “I do not currently require nutrition.”

  “I haven’t seen you eat since you got here.”

  “I do not need to eat very often. Please give the food to someone else.” Seven looked at Pad with what she hoped was a meaningful expression. “Yourself, perhaps. You look as if more sustenance would do you good.”

  Pad poked a single gnarled digit at the oily package. “Don’t seem to matter too much whether I eat or not. What with the world coming to an end.”

  “Why die on an empty stomach?” Seven asked. “And who knows what tomorrow may bring?”

  Unwrapping the package, Pad muttered, “Now you sound like Kaytok. Pretty soon you’ll be telling us all that the Fourteenth Tribe’ll be coming back to collect us all up and take us to Gremadia.”

  Seven had heard more than one of the Monorhans speak of a Fourteenth Tribe, usually in a manner that was meant to incite a cynical lack of belief, but this was the first mention of Gremadia.

  “Gremadia?” she asked.

  Pad picked at the blob of food. “Just a story some folks’ll tell you. Kaytok—his people were Fourteenth Tribe—he could tell you more if you like.”

  “But Kaytok is not here,” Seven said. “You are. And neither of us appears to be doing anything of significant value.” She hated to admit this, but it was true. After Torres and Kaytok left for the shuttle, she had found appallingly little worth doing. Any adjustments she could make to Kaytok’s shield generator had been completed long ago, and she could discern nothing else of value from the sensor recordings the Dissenters had taken before she and Torres had inadvertently damaged the system. When they had the equipment and tools from the shuttle, they should be able to link into Kaytok’s device quickly and efficiently. Seven was pleased with this, satisfied with the work she had completed, but continued to experience an uncomfortable urge to return to the device and—she knew no other word—tinker with it. Sighing despondently, she attributed this to the influence of Torres’s psyche on her and attempted to remain calm. They would be back on Voyager soon and then they could be rid of each other.

  “Do you know the story of Dagan?” Pad asked. “Picked up any of this along the way?”

  “Assume I have not.”

  “All right,” Pad said and settled down on his haunches. Monorhans, Seven had already noted, seemed built to hunker down, their chairs little more than floor cushions. “This all started about three thousand cycles back, just when things started to be pretty good for most people. The tribes had finally stopped fighting and there was enough good land being tilled to feed all the people. They had a council—we have records of it—and this is where the fourteen rih-hara-tan got together and decided on how the stories told by all the different tribes fit together. It turned out that, you know, all the different aspects of all the gods were really different faces of one god—the Blessed All-Knowing Light. Least, that’s what they said then.”

  Seven nodded, approving of the evident orderliness of the process.

  “And everything was fine for a few hundred cycles until this farmer in the Fourteenth Tribe, Dagan by name, broke his plow blade on a rock. Except, of course, it wasn’t a rock.” He paused, waiting for Seven to ask the inevitable question.

  Something in her almost rebelled at the expectation, but Seven fought it down, deciding that cooperation was more important at the moment. “Then what was it?”

  “It was the Key,” Pad said. “The Key to Gremadia.”

  “And what is the Key to Gremadia?” Seven was suddenly overcome by a desire to throttle the shriveled little creature.

  Pad held up his hands about twenty-five centimeters apart and said, “I’ve seen drawings of it. About this big. Porous. Nothing special about it except that Dagan says as soon as he touched it, he started getting visions.”

  “About Gremadia,” Seven said. She had analyzed enough of these sorts of stories to know what would come next. “An ancient city of wonders where the pious would live forever in peace and harmony.”

  Pad extended his neck and reared back slightly. Seven hadn’t seen the gesture before and didn’t know how to read it until the Monorhan said, “Not exactly. Gremadia was a city on another world or in another dimension—Dagan wasn’t too clear on this—and it was inhabited by these all-powerful beings that battled for dominance. The gods the fourteen rih-hara-tan had talked about weren’t all one god, Dagan said, but a bunch of different fellows who all wanted to be the leader. Sometimes one person is in charge, sometimes another, and that’s why things rise and fall the way they do.”

  Seven was intrigued. Though there were certainly cultures who had developed myth cycles that revolved around the tales of constant conflict between divinities—Earth’s Norse myths and the ancient Klingon god cycles were prime examples—these were generally legends of warrior civilizations. As confusing as Monorhans were in many regards, they were definitely not a warrior race. “Interesting,” Seven said. “And this Key—what happened when others touched it? Did they share Dagan’s visions?”

  “No,” Pad said. “Some got sick, enough that other folks decided the gods
didn’t want anyone but Dagan to touch it. Of course, that doesn’t explain why he died so young.”

  “How young?”

  “Just a few cycles after he found the Key,” Pad said. “Least that’s what the history books say.”

  “But despite that he managed to gather followers,” Seven said—a statement, not a question.

  “He managed to convince most of the Fourteenth Tribe,” Pad said, crumbling the greasy paper into a ball and throwing it into a dusty corner.

  “He must have been very persuasive.”

  “They say he could persuade anyone of the truth of his words in less time than it took to plow a field a chao long.” He added apologetically, “That’s a small field.”

  “What did the other tribes—the ones who did not hear him speak—think of Dagan?”

  “Nothing good. The rih-hara-tan were threatened by the change. There were lots of border incidents, though it never came to war.” Squinting up at Seven from where he squatted, Pad explained, “We Monorhans have a hard time going to war. We get mad at each other, we fight, but large, organized aggression, it doesn’t come easy to us. Something to do with the linking, the way hara see into each other.” From his tone Seven could hear he was guessing, that he could not know for certain.

  “What happened to his followers? Were they destroyed or…assimilated?”

  “Neither,” Pad said. “The Fourteenth Tribe was forced out of its lands and they wandered the edges of the civilized areas making a living as best they could. Their enhanced psionic talents made people even more suspicious. Nobody really liked them, especially because of all the troubles that started after Dagan died—earth tremors, tidal waves, changes in weather patterns.”

  “People attributed natural disasters to Dagan’s death?”

  “No, they attributed the disasters to the Blue Eye turning blue. They attribute the Blue Eye turning blue to Dagan’s death.”

  “The Blue Eye has only been blue for twenty-five hundred cycles?” Seven asked. This was intriguing new information.

  “Well, a few less than that, but, basically, yeah.”