No,Vaughn thought. Notagain. The thoughtscape had been left alone for the first time in its life. Before then, it could not have understood the concept of being alone, because such a thing had been outside of its experience. But then the thoughtscape had learned what it meant to be alone, in the most profound way. And so it continued trying to enter this continuum, and to find other beings.
And now Vaughn was going to seal it back in its own universe. Alone. Forever.
Vaughn had agonized, but he had made his decision, and now he had committed to it. He stood at the edge of the vortex, peering down into its center. Nog’s interdimensional explosives would detonate in fifteen minutes. Even if Vaughn changed his mind now, he could not possibly make his way around the vortex again and undo what he had done.
Predictably, he thought about Prynn. She had always thought of herself as being so much like her mother, and he had always thought that too. Certainly she carried a great deal of Ruriko in her, but he saw now that there was also a lot of him within her as well. That might or might not have been a good thing, but it provided him a small sense of peace right now. He was very proud of his daughter, and he loved her. Just moments from his own death, he hoped that his last desperate act would somehow manage to save her. He should have thought of it as a long shot, but he found that he actually believed that he would be able to communicate directly with the Inamuri, and convince it to save Prynn and Shar if it could.
What bothered him most right now was that, if she lived, he would be leaving Prynn alone again. He felt more than foolish for not having seen how much she had needed him since Ruriko had died. He had selfishly allowed his guilt to override his paternal responsibilities—and that his guilt had been justifiable provided him no solace, and no pardon. He had failed his daughter, and his only regret about his attempt to save her now was that he would definitely fail her again; either she would die with him, or she would live, and be without him.
Vaughn checked the chronometer on his tricorder. Thirteen minutes left now. He turned toward the complex and headed for the corridor from which he had first seen the vortex. He climbed over the rubble, then squeezed past the beam, holding his burden out in front of him. Once past the beam, he found the beacon where he had left it. He picked it up with his free hand and switched it on, then strode the twenty meters down the corridor to the intersection there. He bent down and deposited the bag on the floor. Then, one by one, he examined the eight interdimensional explosives he had removed from around the vortex, and he verified that all of them had been disarmed. When the others detonated, he supposed that the force might set these off as well, but without being armed, they could not slip into other dimensions and have the effect Nog had intended. The vortex would not be closed.
Vaughn stood back up, leaving the explosives and the beacon there. Then he strode back toward the vortex, thinking once more about Michael Collins, the astronaut who had circled the moon alone. He also thought about the tendril from the clouds that had struck down Chaffee.Vaughn wondered if the Inamuri had been trying to communicate with them all along. He did not know for sure, but he understood that all of this was true, that in some rudimentary way, he and Dax, and maybe even Prynn and ch’Thane, had been in contact with the Inamuri through the energy that now covered this planet and permeated its atmosphere. Dax had touched the fragment on Defiant,and Vaughn had experienced the matter that been reorganized for him here, and he had also walked through the mist around the vortex.
After disarming the devices, he made his way back outside, past the beam and over the pile of debris. Outside once more, he strode directly over to the edge of the vortex. Vaughn checked the tricorder again, and saw that the interdimensional devices would detonate in two minutes. He looked up and watched as many of the devices faded out of sight, slipping into subspace or some other dimension.
If Vaughn had started away from here as soon as he had finished deploying all of the devices, he might have been able to escape the effects of the explosions. But after having come to understand the monstrous loneliness of the Inamuri, he had found himself unwilling to consign the creature to a lifetime of such an existence. As he had been reminded so vividly in the last day, Vaughn had known his own moments of loss and abandonment; he could not imagine a life in which such moments occurred unendingly, with not the slightest reprieve.
From his contact with the Inamuri, however tenuous, Vaughn had gained an understanding of what would happen once the interface was thrown wide: the planet would be transformed, and then the Inamuri would emerge into this universe. Once here, it could contact other beings, putting an end to its isolated reality.
Prynn and ch’Thane would be put at risk, he knew, but with the interface expanded, there would be no pulse, and Defiantand the Vahni would be safe. And with the Inamuri in this universe, there would never be another pulse. Vaughn’s own life, he thought, was a small cost for all of that.
He checked the chronometer again. Thirty seconds. He tossed the tricorder aside, then peered down into the churning gray depths of the vortex.
Vaughn spread his arms wide, breathed in deeply, and then dived into the twilight maelstrom.
63
Kira looked up when the door signal sounded. Admiral Akaar waited outside. “Come in,” she said, and the office doors parted to allow him entry.
Kira remained seated and looked up at the admiral, his enormous size still noteworthy even after all the weeks that he had been on the station. “Good evening, Colonel,” he said.
“Good evening, Admiral,” she said. “I imagine the summit has been adjourned for the day.”
“No,” he said. “We are taking a break at the moment, but we will meet for a few more hours later tonight.” He paused, and then added, “And of course, we will be here for at least several more weeks.”
Kira could not tell, but she thought Akaar might be attempting to bait her with this information. He clearly must have perceived the coolness between them—he had been the source of it—and he would have known that his continued presence on the station did not particularly please her. He can’t even use the wordhospitality without me suspecting his motives.Right now, though, she decided not to allow him to bother her.
“Well, you’ve got important work to do,” she said. “What can I do for you this evening, Admiral?”
“Nothing,” Akaar said. “I came here to inform you of the break in our session.” At first, Kira thought that he must have been joking—why would she need to know about that?—but then he went on. “During the interim, First Minister Shakaar will be addressing the people of Bajor.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Kira said. Shakaar had mentioned the address to her at the reception last night, and she had ensured that he had been provided access to a dedicated comm channel today. “He wanted to announce the summit and its purpose to all of Bajor.”
“The first minister will be on the Bajoran communications network five minutes from now,” Akaar told her. “I suggest that you watch him.” As had been the case since the admiral had first arrived on the station, what he claimed to be a suggestion seemed to carry the weight of an order. In this case, it also sounded rather ominous.
“All right, I will,” Kira said. She considered asking Akaar why he wanted her to watch Shakaar’s address, measuring her curiosity against the difficulty of extracting even basic information from him. Before she had even decided, though, the admiral bowed his head and started to leave.