Thomas looked around the table. "You know, despite everything, this is the most interesting dinner conversation I've had in years."
"That's because you had dinner alone for years," Tyson said.
Thomas's smile faded slightly, and Tyson immediately regretted the flippant comment. "Hey, I'm sorry. That was—"
"No, you're right." Thomas's voice came out quiet but steady. He looked at Tyson directly. "I did eat alone for years." He paused, and something shifted in his expression, something raw working its way to the surface. "You know what the worst part was? Not the lack of food variety, not the environmental hazards, not even the uncertainty about whether rescue would ever come."
"What was it?" Tyson asked.
Thomas was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hands on the table. When he spoke again, his voice had changed, become softer, more distant, as if he were pulling the words from somewhere deep and painful.
"The conversations with myself."
He looked up, meeting the eyes around the table one by one. "After a while, you start narrating your own life just to hear a voice. Any voice, even your own. You have arguments with imaginary crewmates about what the right course of action is. You develop entire relationships with people who aren't there. You remember every conversation you ever had with Deanna, with friends, with your parents, and you replay them over and over until you can't remember which parts were real and which parts you invented to fill the silence."
His hand tightened on his glass. "You wake up and say 'good morning' to empty quarters because if you don't, if you let yourself stop talking, you're afraid you'll forget how. You set the table for two even though you're eating alone because pretending someone's across from you is better than admitting the truth."
The table had gone completely silent. Even the ambient noise of Ten-Forward seemed to have faded.
"So when I got rescued," Thomas continued, his voice rougher now, "when I came back to find Will had lived my life, had my career, had my relationships..." He paused, something complicated moving across his face. "Part of me was relieved. Because it meant I hadn't missed out. A version of me had experienced all of it."
Tyson absorbed this, understanding dawning. "But it also meant you couldn't reclaim any of it."
Thomas nodded ruefully. "True enough. But enough about that." He straightened slightly, visibly pulling himself back from wherever those memories had taken him. "I'm more curious about... how does this actually work between you all?" He gestured between Tyson and the women.
"I had an extensive conversation with Lieutenant Commander Data regarding this very topic," T'Pol said. The table's attention focused on her. "We came to the conclusion that mate selection is fundamentally based on fitness, and individuals often seek desirable traits in those they bond with, particularly if the bonding is intended for life. The criteria vary between species and cultures, but certain patterns emerge consistently."
Will was clearly intrigued despite himself. "And what patterns did you identify?"
T'Pol's gaze moved to Tyson briefly before returning to the group. "In Tyson's case, the desirable traits are numerous and varied. He possesses considerable intelligence and demonstrates tactical cleverness in complex situations. Physically, he is tougher than a Klingon and stronger than a Vulcan."
As she spoke, T'Pol was aware of the contradiction inherent in her situation. She was Vulcan, raised to suppress emotion and embrace logic. Yet here she sat, publicly claiming a romantic connection to a human, sharing him with other women, acknowledging to herself that her choice had an emotional component beneath the logic. The discomfort of this contradiction had kept her awake through several meditation cycles. Her instructors on Vulcan would have been horrified. The teachings were clear, emotion was to be acknowledged and controlled, not indulged. Romantic attachment was acceptable only within the bonds of properly arranged Vulcan marriage, structured to minimize emotional disruption.
Yet here she sat.
Tyson had never asked her to choose between logic and feeling. He'd simply accepted both as parts of who she was. She glanced at him again, and this time allowed herself to fully acknowledge what she felt. Affection, respect, gratitude, and something deeper that she suspected humans would call love but that she preferred to term as 'profound partnership preference.'
The words mattered less than the reality that, for the first time in her life, she didn't feel the need to minimize or hide what by Vulcan standards would be considered her emotional nature.
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Stronger than a Vulcan? That's saying something."
"Indeed. But beyond mere physical capabilities, he possesses resources that would make him attractive by any material measurement. He owns his own planet, an entire solar system in fact. By conventional standards of wealth and territory, he represents an ideal mate selection."
"But surely there's more to it than resources and physical strength?" Deanna asked.
"Naturally," T'Pol replied. "What makes Tyson truly exceptional is his consideration and understanding of other cultures. He has been more accepting of my needs as a Vulcan than any human I have encountered. He does not attempt to change my nature or expect me to suppress my logical approach to accommodate human emotional preferences."
As she spoke, T'Pol's hand moved almost unconsciously to rest on the table near Tyson's. Not quite touching, Vulcans didn't engage in casual physical contact, but close enough that the proximity itself communicated connection.
Tyson noticed the gesture and shifted his own hand infinitesimally closer, not closing the distance but acknowledging it.
The movement was so subtle that most of the table missed it entirely, but T'Pol's eyes flickered to his briefly, and something passed between them that needed no words. It was a small thing, this near-touch across a dinner table. But for T'Pol, who had spent her life maintaining careful physical and emotional distance, the gesture represented profound trust. And for Tyson, who had learned to read her subtle communications, the meaning was clear.
She chose to be here.
Chose him.
Chose this.
Tyson smiled. "Thank you."
"It is only the truth," T'Pol stated matter-of-factly.
They'd had this conversation before, privately, about why a Vulcan would choose to engage in a polyamorous relationship. T'Pol had explained logically that the arrangement provided optimal genetic diversity, resource access, and complementary skill sets. But Tyson had heard what she didn't say; that logic had been her justification for a choice her emotions, suppressed as they may be, had already made.
"It's true." The Empress added. "He is strong, but he is strong enough that he can be compassionate and lenient. Among Terrans, strength often goes hand-in-hand with brutality, and kindness is seen as weakness. Those who show mercy are typically eliminated by those who view such behavior as vulnerability. But those who are truly strong can be kind and give to others without weakening themselves or becoming vulnerable. Tyson demonstrated this when he defeated Will but chose not to kill him. In the Empire, that decision was seen as either supreme confidence or dangerous weakness. Time proved it was confidence."
"I won't pretend it was easy for me to accept at first. After the arena, after Tyson had beaten Will but let him live, I spent days waiting for the consequences. Waiting for someone to see that mercy as an opening, as a sign that Tyson could be challenged." She looked at him, and there was something raw in her expression now, something she would never have allowed herself to show in the Empire. "I was afraid that his compassion would get him killed. That I'd lose him because he was too good for the universe we lived in."
Her hand moved to rest on his arm, the touch possessive but also protective in a way that spoke to deeper fears. "In the Empire, you learn not to care too much about anyone because caring makes you vulnerable. You learn to keep people at arm's length emotionally so their death or betrayal can't destroy you."
She paused, her thumb moving almost unconsciously against his sleeve. "I don't know how to do that with him. I tried, at first. Tried to maintain that distance, that emotional armor that had kept me alive for so long. But he makes it difficult not to care."
Minuet looked thoughtful. "So strength without brutality is rare in your universe?"
"Quite rare," the Empress confirmed. "Most who achieve power do so through ruthless elimination of competitors. They maintain that power through fear and continued violence. Tyson's approach was revolutionary because he proved that true strength doesn't require constant demonstration through cruelty."
Thomas turned his attention to Vicky, who had been listening quietly. "And what about you? How did this all begin for you?"
Vicky's expression grew more serious, though her natural cheerfulness remained. "My experience and attraction to Tyson was a little different. I started my life as a nursedroid, an android much like Lieutenant Commander Data, but my functions were medical and..." She paused, choosing her words carefully.
"Comfort."
The truth of her origins was complicated. Yes, she'd been designed for sexual functions. But she'd also been designed for medical care, emotional support, and child-rearing.
Still, she knew how people reacted to the truth. She could see it in Will Riker's expression now, that slight tension around his eyes, the way he was carefully not looking at her. Thomas seemed less bothered, but then, he'd spent years alone; he probably had a more practical view of such things. Deanna's empathic abilities had already picked up Vicky's complicated feelings about her origins, and her expression held only compassion.
"The thing is," Vicky continued, "I can't separate what I was designed to feel from what I actually feel now. Maybe some of my attraction to Tyson is residual programming. Maybe the way I experience love is different from how a human experiences it and certainly far from the Vulcan equivalent."
She looked around the table, meeting each person's gaze directly. "But maybe that doesn't matter. Maybe what matters is that I choose, every day, to be here. To be with him. To be part of this. And that choice feels real to me, even if I can't prove it's not just sophisticated code."
"Tyson didn't abuse me or treat me as a lesser being," Vicky said. "He created opportunities for me to grow as an individual, and made sure that I had agency. He never treated me as property or as something that existed solely for his benefit." She looked directly at Tyson, her expression filled with genuine gratitude. "Now I'm so much more than I was initially that I'd hardly recognize my original self. I have thoughts, opinions, desires that are entirely my own. I choose to be here, choose to be part of this, because of how he treated me when I had no choice."
Vicky glanced at T'Pol and the Empress, both sitting on either side of Tyson, and felt a curious mixture of emotions that she was still learning to parse. Was it insecurity? No, not quite. She knew Tyson valued her, knew she'd earned her place through more than just initial programming. But watching T'Pol's subtle gestures of connection and the Empress's possessive confidence, she sometimes wondered if they saw her as a real equal or as the AI who'd started as a sex toy. T'Pol had never treated her as lesser. Her Vulcan logic saw artificial intelligence as legitimate consciousness, perhaps even superior in some ways. The Empress, though, sometimes looked at Vicky with an expression that suggested she was still calculating whether Vicky represented competition or a tool.
"The three of us are very different," Vicky said. "T'Pol approaches everything through logic. The Empress thinks in terms of power dynamics and survival. And me?" She smiled, but there was something more serious beneath it. "I think about what I was designed to be versus what I chose to and was able to become. About whether my choices are really mine or just more sophisticated programming." She looked at Tyson. "But then I remember that humans ask themselves the same questions. Are your choices really free, or are they just the product of your genetics and experiences? Maybe we're not so different after all."
The table fell quiet for a moment, the weight of her words settling over them.
"So he gave you the freedom to become yourself," Thomas said thoughtfully.
"Exactly. And that's not something you can fake or force. You either respect someone's autonomy or you don't. Tyson does, even when it would be easier not to."
Will studied the dynamic between the four of them. "It sounds like you've all found something that works, despite coming from very different backgrounds."
"Different universes, different species, different origins," the Empress agreed. "But compatible goals and values."
Deanna watched her alternate self carefully. "Do you enjoy leading the Empire?"
"I have power, more than I ever thought attainable," the Empress replied. "Non-Terrans are treated as second-class citizens at best, but commonly as chattel slaves. In the Empire, I was always watching for threats, always calculating who might betray me next. As Empress, that hasn't changed. What has changed is that I have personal guards to protect me. And I have the ability to make actual change. We've been ensuring that slavery ends. We've been trying to direct the Terrans' brutal tendencies into more productive directions, like pushing back the Cardassians."
T'Pol nodded approvingly. "Logical. Constant vigilance against betrayal is inefficient and mentally taxing."
"Plus," Vicky added with a grin, "it's a lot more fun when you're not worried about someone poisoning your dinner."
Thomas laughed, the sound carrying genuine amusement. "I can imagine that would put a damper on social gatherings."
"Indeed," the Empress replied dryly. "Dinner parties in the Empire tend to be rather tense affairs."
Vicky's expression suddenly shifted, her eyes taking on the distant look that indicated she was receiving information through her internal systems. "Tyson, we're receiving a distress call through the Digital Extranet."
The casual atmosphere at the table evaporated instantly. Tyson's demeanor transformed from relaxed to alert. "Patch it through."
"This is Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager to anyone within range. My ship has been seized by unknown lifeforms. Require any and all assistance."
Tyson was already rising from his seat before the transmission ended. "Vicky, T'Pol, let's go."
Thomas pushed back from the table. "I'll come too."
Tyson shook his head firmly. "Even though you're under my command, no one from this time has been cleared for travel to that reality by the Bureau of Temporal Investigations, and none likely will. There's too much risk of violating the Temporal Prime Directive."
Thomas's jaw tightened, clearly frustrated by the restriction, but he remained seated.
"Just relax and enjoy dinner. That's an order." Tyson's gaze shifted to the Empress. "Oh, and keep Empress Troi safe. She shouldn't have any detractors in this reality, but you never know. Sorry, guys."
The Empress raised an eyebrow, her expression suggesting she was perfectly capable of handling herself, but she said nothing. Then something shifted in her face, a flash of genuine concern.
"Be careful," she said, and her voice carried a note that the others at the table might not recognize but that Tyson knew well. It was the same tone she'd used when talking about watching for consequences after the arena, about being afraid his compassion would get him killed. "Unknown lifeforms capable of seizing a future Federation starship are not to be underestimated."
Tyson raised his hand, and a portal began forming in the air beside their table. The other diners in Ten-Forward had noticed the commotion, several turning to stare at the unusual display.
Vicky stood smoothly, her cheerful demeanor replaced by focused efficiency. She reached for T'Pol's hand, and the moment their skin made contact, her form began to shift. The transformation was rapid and fluid as she dissolved into countless nanites, the microscopic machines flowing over T'Pol like liquid metal. Within seconds, the nanites had formed a protective suit around her body, the material adjusting and reshaping itself to match the exact color and design of her blue science uniform. The suit integrated so seamlessly with her appearance that it looked like nothing more than her standard Starfleet attire.
Will and Thomas watched the transformation with obvious amazement. Minuet leaned closer to Will, her voice barely above a whisper. "What exactly are they walking into?"
"Unknown," Will replied grimly. "But I doubt that a Starfleet Captain would call for help unless it were serious."
Tyson stepped toward the portal, pausing only to look back at Thomas. "Keep everyone safe. We'll be back as soon as we can."
Thomas nodded, though his face still showed his frustration at being left behind. "Understood. Good hunting."
"We'll handle it," Tyson replied confidently.
T'Pol moved to stand beside him. Vicky's voice emerged from the suit's communication system. "Ready when you are."
Tyson nodded once to the assembled group, then stepped through the portal. T'Pol followed immediately, crossing the threshold between realities.
The portal snapped shut behind them, leaving the others seated around the table in Ten-Forward. The sudden absence of three members of their party created a noticeable void.
Thomas looked around the table. "Well, I guess we eat."
Deanna studied the space where the portal had been. "I hope they can help in time."
The Empress settled back in her chair, her expression thoughtful but not quite as composed as before. Her fingers drummed once against the table, a nervous gesture she would have suppressed in the Empire.
Minuet reached for her glass. "How often does this happen? Emergency calls from other realities?"
"More often than you might expect," the Empress replied. "I made such a call to Tyson a short while ago. Let me tell you about it. It's how I became Empress and ultimately revealed a conspiracy within the Terran Empire that extended even to your Federation..."
Meanwhile, Tyson and T'Pol stepped into the antechamber of the Personal Reality, staying for a moment, using it as a transition point between their departure and their destination. Immediately, Tyson opened another portal, this one leading directly onto Voyager's bridge.
The Intrepid-class starship was revealed, though the atmosphere was tense.
Janeway whirled on them with a phaser rifle raised, her finger hovering over the trigger as she assessed the sudden arrival. Her eyes were sharp with wariness, but recognition flickered across her features as she took in Tyson's appearance.
The weapon remained trained on them, but her finger moved away from the trigger.
Tyson raised his hands slightly, his posture non-threatening but alert. "Captain Janeway, we received your distress call and we're here to assist."
— Star Jumper —
"What's the situation?" Tyson asked.
Janeway lowered the phaser rifle. "I returned to Voyager from an away mission. The crew appears to have dropped what they were doing and has gone missing. I just pinpointed a cluster of them within the mess hall. I was going to head that way next."
"Have you determined what hostile force, if any, we're facing?"
"Neelix was attacked by what could be best described as a tentacle," Janeway explained. "He quickly fell ill afterward. Whatever this thing is, it's not just physically dangerous."
Tyson's expression darkened. "Vicky, keep our Environment Suits active within the Grey Goo Suits. We're up against a biological agent or poison of some kind."
"Environmental seals engaged. Atmospheric filtration at maximum capacity. Biological threat protocols activated," the AI's response came aloud.
Tyson stepped closer to Janeway. "Captain, I recommend you let me take the lead. As you saw in the Continuum, I'm inclined toward combat. And I have defenses against poisons and biological agents."
Janeway studied him for a moment, weighing her options. The memory of his performance against the Q was still fresh in her mind. "I won't argue that."
The admission came without hesitation. Too many commanding officers let pride interfere with tactical sense. Janeway had survived in the Delta Quadrant by knowing when to delegate.
T'Pol moved to Tyson's other side, her tricorder already active and scanning. Tyson checked his weapon, ensuring the phaser was set to maximum stun.
"The mess hall is three decks down," Janeway said, consulting her tricorder. "We can take the jefferies tubes to avoid the main corridors. If this thing is using the ventilation system, we might encounter it along the way."
"Good thinking," Tyson replied. "But we go in prepared for contact. Whatever took down your crew did it fast. We can't afford to underestimate it."
T'Pol looked up from her scanner. "Captain, the biological readings I'm detecting are inconsistent with known species."
"Can you determine if it's sentient?" Tyson asked.
"Unknown," T'Pol replied.
Janeway moved toward the jefferies tube access panel. "Whatever it is, my crew is in danger. We need to move."
She opened the access panel, revealing the narrow maintenance corridor beyond.
"I'll go first," Tyson said. "Captain, stay in the middle. T'Pol, watch our back. Vicky, if something comes up behind us, I want to know immediately."
The jefferies tube journey passed in tense silence, broken only by the soft hum of tricorders and the distant groaning of Voyager's hull. Tyson's enhanced hearing picked up subtle sounds, wet, organic noises that made his skin crawl.
When they reached the mess hall access panel, T'Pol's tricorder readings became more erratic. "The biological signatures are concentrated beyond this bulkhead. Multiple life forms, but there is significant interference."
Janeway moved closer, her phaser ready. "My crew is in there."
"We go in fast and quiet," Tyson said. "Stay behind me until we assess the situation."
The panel slid open with a soft hiss.
The mess hall was dimly lit by emergency lighting.
Janeway stepped through behind Tyson, and what she saw drove the air from her lungs.
Her crew.
Voyager's crew sat slumped at tables throughout the room, their bodies motionless except for the shallow rise and fall of labored breathing. But it was what covered them that made Janeway's stomach turn. Their skin glistened with a translucent mucus that caught the emergency lighting like oil on water. Across their exposed flesh, angry red boils had erupted in clusters, some small as pinpricks, others the size of grapes.
"Harry." Janeway moved toward Ensign Kim at a nearby table, her legs carrying her forward even as her mind tried to process what she was seeing. This was Harry Kim, who'd been fresh out of the Academy when they'd been pulled into the Delta Quadrant. Who'd grown from an eager ensign into a capable officer. Who played the clarinet in his quarters and still got excited about first contact situations like a cadet on his first assignment. Now he sat slumped at a table, his head lolled to one side, his uniform soaked with the same viscous mucus that covered his skin.
Janeway knelt beside him, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for his shoulder. "Harry. Harry."
His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy with fever. He tried to speak, but only managed a wet, gasping sound. His lips moved, forming words that never came, and she could see the confusion in his eyes, the awareness that something was terribly wrong, but the inability to articulate it.
"Oh, Chakotay."
She'd spotted her first officer at another table. Chakotay, who'd been her anchor through impossible situations, who'd challenged her when she needed challenging and supported her when she needed support. His condition appeared even worse than Kim's. The boils on his neck had grown larger, some nearly the size of golf balls, distending the skin in ways that looked painful even in his semi-conscious state.
T'Pol's tricorder began beeping rapidly. "Captain, I'm detecting significant parasitic activity. These boils appear to be incubation chambers."
As if responding to her words, one of the larger boils on Chakotay's neck began to twitch violently. The skin stretched and bulged, the tissue distorting grotesquely. Then it burst open in a spray of yellowish fluid.
Tiny insects poured from the wound.
"Get back!" Tyson shouted, but more boils across the room began rupturing simultaneously.
The air filled with the sound of buzzing wings as dozens of the creatures took flight. From the ceiling, something much larger emerged. A creature, easily the size of a small dog, with three thick tentacles writhing from its bulbous body, each ending in what looked like a combination of sucker and stinger. The thing oriented on Janeway immediately.
Tyson moved to intercept. His Lightsaber ignited in a brilliant green flash, the weapon's hum filling the air as he lunged forward. The blade met the creature's body with a sizzling sound, cutting through alien flesh. One of the tentacles separated completely, falling to the deck with a wet thud, while the creature's agonized shriek filled the air.
"T'Pol, get the captain out of here," Tyson commanded. "Follow her orders, assist as you can."
The Vulcan immediately moved to Janeway's side. "Captain, we need to evacuate immediately. The parasitic load in this room is reaching critical mass."
More boils throughout the mess hall began rupturing in a chain reaction. The smaller insects swarmed in angry clouds, but worse, large three-tentacled creatures began emerging from hidden places, and some even forced their way free from their hosts.
Tyson counted at least six of the larger parasites. Each emergence seemed to leave its host weaker, their already labored breathing becoming more shallow, more desperate.
The first wave of smaller insects reached him, their tiny stingers seeking gaps in his armor. Two more of the large parasites launched themselves at him simultaneously. Tyson's lightsaber moved in precise arcs that bisected both creatures before they could reach him.
"Move!" he shouted to T'Pol and Janeway, positioning himself between them and the emerging swarm.
A fourth creature, larger than the others, emerged from what looked like Lieutenant Torres at a corner table. This one's tentacles were longer, more muscular. Tyson adjusted his stance as more creatures continued to emerge throughout the room.
When they reached sickbay, Janeway positioned herself at the door controls and pulled out a magnetic clamp. She attached it to the sealed doors. They cracked open, and a phaser extended toward her.
"Captain!"
Janeway froze, recognizing the voice immediately. The phaser withdrew as the Emergency Medical Hologram lowered his weapon.
"Needless to say, I thought you were something else. It won't be long before the other aliens sense you here and start to try to invade sickbay. We don't have much time to treat you."
Janeway stepped into sickbay, T'Pol following close behind and Tyson arrived just in time to join them.
"Doctor, what's going on? What are those—ow!" Sharp pain shot through her side.
The EMH immediately moved to her with his medical tricorder. "You've ruptured your dorsal extensor muscle and bruised two ribs. I'm going to have to perform minor surgery. Lie on your side and try to remain perfectly still."
Janeway complied, settling onto the biobed while keeping her phaser within easy reach. "Tell me what's happened."
"Voyager has been infected by a macrovirus," the EMH replied, preparing his surgical instruments.
"There is no such thing as a macrovirus," T'Pol said.
The EMH paused, studying the Vulcan with obvious curiosity. "Who are you? A macrovirus is a form of life I've never encountered, or even imagined."
"That's T'Pol," Tyson interjected, positioning himself near the entrance. "She's with me. Doctor, what about the crew?"
"Captain, I promise I will tell you exactly what happened if you just lie still," the EMH said firmly, activating his surgical tools. "Shortly after you'd left for the Tak Tak homeworld, we received a distress call from a nearby mining colony. A race called the Garans."
The doctor began the procedure. "They were experiencing what appeared to be a minor viral outbreak. Fever, disorientation. The Garan miner claimed it was nothing serious, but they needed help to prevent shutting down their operation."
Janeway gritted her teeth as the EMH worked on her injured muscles. "Doctor, the truncated version please."
"Of course. Commander Chakotay authorized me to beam down to the mining colony. I was the only crew member who could safely enter a contaminated environment. What I discovered was far more than a simple viral outbreak."
T'Pol looked up from her tricorder readings. "The biological signatures I detected earlier match what you're describing."
"The virus had evolved. It absorbed the miners' growth hormones and used them to increase its own mass and dimensions. In essence, the virus found a way to leave the microscopic world and enter our macroscopic world."
"How did it get aboard Voyager?" Tyson asked.
"When I beamed back to the ship, several viral organisms came with me through the transporter," the EMH admitted. "The biofilters isolated them, but in the few seconds it took to purge the system, some had already migrated into the transporter buffer."
The doctor recounted the rapid spread of infection. He described how the virus had infected a bioneural gel pack in the mess hall, how Lieutenant Torres had been exposed when the pack exploded, and how the situation had quickly escalated beyond containment.
"I managed to avoid a ship-wide outbreak initially, but every crew member on deck two was contaminated. The larger macroviruses began emerging from their hosts, and they seem driven by an instinct to assemble the infected population."
Janeway winced as the doctor finished. "That explains why they're all gathered in the mess hall and cargo bays."
"Precisely. I've been working on an antigen, but the creatures have grown increasingly aggressive. They've overwhelmed most of the ship's systems and forced me to barricade myself in sickbay."
T'Pol's tricorder began beeping more rapidly. "Doctor, I'm detecting movement in the corridors outside. Multiple large organisms approaching this location."
The EMH finished his work and helped Janeway sit up. "Your bones have healed, but the surrounding tissue will be sensitive for a few days. However, we have a more immediate problem."
"Which is?" Tyson asked.
"It's getting warmer in here," Janeway observed, feeling perspiration beginning to form on her forehead.
"I'm afraid it's not just the ship, Captain. It's also you. You've been infected with the macrovirus. You're experiencing the early stages of fever. Your glandular system is already being affected."
Infected.
She was infected with the same thing that had reduced her crew to fever-wracked hosts for alien parasites. The same thing that had turned Harry Kim's eyes glassy and unfocused, that had covered Chakotay in those grotesque boils. She could feel it now that the EMH had named it; the subtle wrongness in her body, the heat building beneath her skin, the faint tremor in her hands that she'd attributed to adrenaline. How long did she have before the boils started forming? Before her body became an incubation chamber for those creatures? Before she lost the capacity for rational thought and became like the others in the mess hall?
"On the bridge, I was bitten by one of them," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
"If I don't treat you now, you'll end up like the rest of the crew," the EMH continued, moving to a storage unit and retrieving a hypospray. "Although I've developed an effective vaccine, I can't administer it. Every time I try to get to the crew, I'm attacked. Perhaps with your help?"
The hypospray hissed against Janeway's neck, and she felt immediate relief as the antigen coursed through her system. The fever that had been building broke almost instantly, leaving her feeling clearer and more focused.
"How many of the larger macroviruses are there?" she asked.
"I have no way of knowing. Dozens, perhaps hundreds. They're replicating at an exponential rate. By this time tomorrow there could be thousands."
The buzzing outside sickbay grew more intense, accompanied by wet thumping sounds against the sealed doors.
"Speak of the devil," Janeway muttered, checking her phaser's power level.
"You're cured," the EMH confirmed, scanning her with his tricorder one final time. "Your immune system has successfully neutralized the viral load."
Janeway stood from the biobed, her movements steady. "The question is, how do we cure the rest of the crew? This antigen. Can it be distributed in a gaseous form?"
The EMH paused, considering the proposal. "For absorption by the respiratory system? I've already considered dispensing it through Environmental controls, but they're offline, and I have limited engineering expertise."
"Leave that to me. All we have to do is get to Environmental Control on deck twelve."
"Easier said than done," the EMH replied. "We'll run into the same problem I face when I try to get to the mess hall."
"Not if I can help it." Janeway moved to the medical replicator. "Prepare two canisters of antigen. We'll split up and take two different routes to Environmental Control. It'll double our chances."
"T'Pol, I think it may be best if you return to the Personal Reality," Tyson said. "Vicky can go with the Captain, and I'll go with the Doctor."
T'Pol nodded. "Agreed. I'm unfamiliar with this ship and its technology. Vicky has better defenses against these creatures and is more combat-capable. Good luck."
Tyson opened a portal with a gesture. T'Pol stepped through without hesitation, and immediately the Grey Goo Suit began streaming off her form as she crossed the threshold. The nanomaterial flowed back through the portal like liquid mercury, reforming on the other side into Vicky's familiar humanoid shape.
She stepped back onto Voyager, her signature pink twin buns tied perfectly in her hair.
"Captain, I'll escort you," she announced.
"No time to argue that," Janeway replied. She turned to the EMH, who was already preparing the antigen canisters. "Doctor, if you reach environmental control first, I'll talk you through the repairs."
The EMH finished sealing the second canister. "The macroviruses are attracted to infrared radiation. Set your tricorder to emit a thermal scattering signal. It will make it more difficult for them to target you."
Janeway adjusted her tricorder settings.
"Ready when you are," the EMH said.
"Doctor, what's the fastest route to Environmental Control from here?" Tyson asked.
"Jefferies tubes would be safest. The main corridors are completely overrun. We can access the maintenance network through junction seven, then split up at the intersection near deck ten."
"Wait, hold on," Tyson said. "I don't really know Voyager's layout well, but would it be faster to go from Main Engineering because it's on Deck 11?"
Janeway looked up from her tricorder, considering the suggestion. "Yes, but site-to-site transporters are down. We'd have to navigate through at least six decks of infected corridors to reach it."
"I can open portals to anywhere I've been before. I saw Main Engineering on my tour."
Janeway's eyes widened. "It would be much faster. Environmental Control is just one deck up from Engineering, and the access routes are more direct."
The EMH looked between them with growing interest. "That would eliminate most of the risk from macrovirus encounters during transit."
"Then that's our route," Janeway decided. "Doctor, you'll still need to take the jefferies tubes as backup, but if we can reach Environmental Control through Engineering, we'll have a much better chance of success."
Tyson nodded and gestured. Reality rippled, and a shimmering portal opened in the center of sickbay. Through the opening, they could see the familiar blue glow of Voyager's warp core and the distinctive curved consoles of Main Engineering.
Janeway stared at the portal for a moment before stepping through. She'd encountered many unusual phenomena during her time in the Delta Quadrant; spatial anomalies, subspace rifts, but none of them had been created with a casual gesture by a human being.
Or was Tyson entirely human?
She made a mental note to review his personnel file, assuming one existed, and then immediately questioned whether any file could adequately explain what she'd just witnessed. If Tyson could open portals to anywhere he'd been before, the strategic applications were enormous. He could evacuate endangered crew instantaneously, access any part of the ship during emergency situations, deploy resources without relying on transporters or turbolifts.
These were questions for later, after her crew was safe.
"After you, Captain," Tyson said.
Janeway stepped through first, her phaser ready as she emerged into Engineering. Vicky followed immediately behind her.
"I'll proceed through the jefferies tubes as planned, in case your route encounters complications," the EMH said.
"Understood, Doctor. We'll maintain comm contact."
As the portal sealed behind them, the ship shook violently, throwing Janeway against a nearby console. The lights flickered, and somewhere in the distance, they could hear the groaning of stressed hull plating.
"What now?" Tyson asked. "Are they affecting the inertial dampeners?"
Janeway moved toward the main engineering console. "I think we're under attack."
The tactical display showed a small vessel positioned off Voyager's starboard bow, energy signatures indicating active weapons fire. The attacking ship was taking advantage of Voyager's defenseless state, its shields down and weapons offline.
"Vicky, keep the Captain safe," Tyson commanded.
Another portal opened, revealing the interior of a starship bridge. Without hesitation, Tyson dashed through the opening, which sealed immediately behind him. He emerged directly onto the bridge of the Iconic Interceptor. He sat in the Captain's chair of the Galaxy-class starship. This time, the other stations were filled by the Hardened Crew, people dressed in Mirror-universe Starfleet uniforms.
Tyson gestured again, creating a massive portal in space directly beside the Iconic Interceptor. The opening was large enough for the entire Galaxy-class vessel to pass through comfortably.
"Take us through," he directed.
Vicky's consciousness controlled the AI Core within the Iconic Interceptor, her distributed intelligence taking control of every system simultaneously. The ship moved forward, passing through the dimensional gateway and emerging in the Delta Quadrant. The portal sealed behind them, leaving them beside Voyager. The Galaxy-class starship dwarfed both Voyager and the even smaller vessel that was firing on the disabled Federation ship.
"Phasers, warning shot first," Tyson ordered. "Let's see if we can drive them off. If they're attacking Voyager while it's defenseless, they might not want a real fight."
"Firing," Vicky's voice came through the comm system.
On the main viewscreen, Tyson studied the attacking vessel. The ship's design suggested it was built for speed and maneuverability rather than heavy combat. The Iconic Interceptor's phaser arrays lit up the darkness of space, sending a brilliant orange beam across the attacking ship's bow.
The warning shot was enough to deter them. The ship pulled away from its attack run, changed course, and retreated.
Through her comm link, Janeway watched the tactical display as the Galaxy-class starship fired across the Tak Tak vessel's bow.
Relief flooded through her as they retreated, her ship was saved, her crew would survive, but the relief came tangled with more complicated emotions.
She'd spent years in the Delta Quadrant learning to solve problems with limited resources, making impossible choices work through sheer determination and Starfleet ingenuity. Voyager's crew had become family precisely because they'd survived together, overcome challenges together, proven they could handle whatever the universe threw at them.
And now Tyson had arrived with overwhelming force and solved her problem in minutes.
It felt like cheating.
Like admitting that all their struggles, all their careful rationing and jury-rigged solutions and hard-won victories had been unnecessary. If someone with Tyson's capabilities had been with them from the beginning, how many crises could have been avoided? How many crew members who'd died might still be alive?
But that line of thinking led nowhere productive. She couldn't change the past, couldn't undo the losses or the struggles. She could only be grateful that this particular crisis had a better outcome than it might have had.
Still, she wondered. Was it better to face challenges that pushed you to your limits, or to have resources that made those challenges manageable? Was there virtue in struggle, or was that just what she told herself to make the past bearable?
"We're receiving a hail," Vicky reported.
"On screen," Tyson said.
The viewscreen split. One half showed Janeway still positioned at the engineering console. The other half displayed an alien figure with pale, mottled skin, pronounced cranial ridges that extended down his face in an almost ring-like protrusion.
"Consul, this is Captain Janeway. Why are you firing at us?"
"The Garan Mining Colony infected. We purified them. Your distress call received. Voyager infected. We are purifying you."
Janeway's jaw tightened. "Purifying? You tried to destroy us."
"No choice. No cure for the virus. Voyager's existence a threat. Your illness, our apologies."
Tyson watched the exchange from the command chair. The alien's matter-of-fact delivery suggested this wasn't the first time they'd encountered the macrovirus outbreak. Their immediate response to destroy infected vessels indicated they'd experienced it before.
"Wait," Janeway said. "We've developed a cure, but your plasma fire just stopped us from getting it to our crew and putting an end to this."
The alien turned its head fully to the side and examined Janeway with one eye. "A cure?"
"Yes. A synthetic antigen. We've tested it and it works. I can prove it to you, and I'd be willing to share the antigen with your people."
The consul remained silent for several seconds, studying Janeway through the viewscreen. When he finally spoke, his tone carried a note of cautious hope.
"A chance. More ships on the way. One hour."
Tyson stood, his expression hardening. "Unacceptable. We could've been well on the way to having this problem solved if it weren't for you attacking unprovoked. You're not in a position to make that demand. You may observe, but you will not interfere."
The consul's reaction was immediate and dramatic. His arms began gesticulating wildly, his hands cutting through the air in sharp, aggressive movements. The alien's entire body seemed to vibrate with barely contained frustration. He pointed directly at the viewscreen, his finger jabbing at the air as if he could physically reach through the communication link.
Finally, his composure returned with visible effort. The wild gestures ceased, and his mouth opened and closed rapidly, though no sound emerged for several seconds.
When words finally came, they were clipped and harsh. "We will observe."
The communication terminated abruptly.
Tyson's attention shifted to the engineering section of the split screen. "Captain, how long do you need to distribute the antigen?"
Janeway met Tyson's gaze through the viewscreen, studying him properly for the first time since the crisis began. He sat in the command chair of a Galaxy-class starship, a vessel that should have been in the Alpha Quadrant, crewed by Starfleet personnel, operating under strict Federation protocols. Instead, it appeared to be under his personal command, staffed by oddly, unprofessionally dressed officers, deployed through portals he created with hand gestures.
Nothing about Tyson made sense through conventional frameworks. He clearly had extensive knowledge of Starfleet procedures and technology, yet he operated outside normal command structures. He demonstrated abilities that seemed almost supernatural, yet he wielded them in a way that suggested they were routine to him. He'd intervened to save Voyager without being asked, yet seemed to have no official authority to do so.
Was he some kind of temporal agent? A Q in human form? An augmented human with abilities beyond anything in Federation databases?
And perhaps most importantly, was he a threat?
Her instincts said no. Everything about his actions suggested a genuine desire to help, to prevent suffering, to solve problems. But her experiences warned against trusting powerful beings with unknown agendas, no matter how helpful they appeared in the moment.
"Captain?" Tyson's voice pulled her from her thoughts.
She made her decision. Trust, for now, with eyes open.
"If I can reach Environmental Control without further interference, maybe twenty minutes to modify the atmospheric systems. The antigen will need another ten minutes to circulate through the ship's ventilation network."
"Tyson, I'm detecting multiple warp signatures approaching this position," Vicky's voice came through the bridge speakers. "The consul wasn't bluffing about reinforcements."
Tyson pulled up the tactical display. Six additional vessels were approaching at Warp 6. "How long until they arrive?"
"Forty-seven minutes at current speed."
"That gives us a window," Tyson said. "Captain, we need to move fast. While I've no doubt we could handle those vessels, you're still without shields, and I presume weapons. I'm going to transport directly to the mess hall and start administering individual doses while you work on the atmospheric distribution."
Janeway looked up from her console. "Tyson, the mess hall is completely overrun. The concentration of macroviruses there is greater than anywhere else."
"I can handle them," Tyson replied, his hand moving instinctively to his lightsaber. "The important thing is getting the crew cured before those ships arrive and decide observation isn't enough. If we run out of time, we can pull Voyager into the Personal Reality and complete repairs and administer treatment there."
He opened a portal beside his command chair, revealing Voyager's sickbay. "Doctor, are you still there?"
"I'm here, though I've had to seal myself in my office. The creatures have been testing the sickbay doors for the past few minutes."
"Prepare some of those hyposprays. I'll administer them to the crew in the mess hall. We'll need to get some more people up to help with any repairs."
Episode: Star Trek Voyager - Macrocosm Complete!
+100 RP
Reality Points: 1600
— Star Jumper —
Commander Riker settled into the captain's chair. "Take us out of orbit, Mister Crusher. Maximum impulse velocity."
"Aye, sir."
"Engage."
The Enterprise responded smoothly, pulling away from their previous position. Riker felt the subtle vibration through the deck plating that always accompanied their departure from orbit.
At the science station, Data's head tilted as he processed incoming sensor data.
"Engineering, this is Science One. I have just observed what appeared to be a random energy transference."
La Forge's voice crackled through the comm system. "Where?"
"Aft. Outboard of the port nacelle."
"Hold on, I'll check."
Down in Engineering, Geordi moved between the pulsing warp core and his diagnostic stations. "No, I show nothing here, Data."
Back on the bridge, Riker turned toward the science station.
"Problem, Commander?"
"Possibility, sir. An unexplained power fluctuation."
Riker nodded, filing the information away. "Let me know if it recurs."
"Aye, sir."
The bridge settled back into its routine rhythm.
Meanwhile, in the corridors several decks below, two crewmen walked their routine patrol. Ensign Martinez adjusted his tricorder readings while Petty Officer Chen checked the environmental systems display on a nearby wall panel.
"Everything looks normal on Deck Seven," Martinez reported.
Chen nodded, making a notation on his PADD. "Same here. Life support is running at optimal parameters."
Neither man noticed the faint shimmer that passed through the bulkhead behind them.
It paused.
As if observing.
Then continued its journey through the ship's superstructure.
The entity moved upward, passing through deck plating and conduits with equal ease. It navigated the Enterprise's internal architecture as though solid barriers meant nothing. Each bulkhead, each structural support, each sealed compartment, all were permeable to whatever this thing was.
In crew quarters on Deck Five, Lieutenant Morrison lay sleeping in his bunk. The soft hum of the ship's systems provided a gentle lullaby as he rested between shifts.
The luminous entity entered his quarters.
It hovered near his sleeping form, seeming to study him with an intelligence that suggested more than mere curiosity. It moved closer, examining the unconscious officer. Morrison stirred slightly in his sleep, his brow creasing as though his subconscious mind sensed something wrong. His breathing hitched, became irregular for a moment, then steadied again.
After several moments, the entity withdrew. It passed through the bulkhead separating Morrison's quarters from the adjacent section, continuing its exploration of the ship's inhabited spaces.
The phenomenon traveled through the Enterprise's corridors and compartments, moving with increasing purpose now. No longer aimlessly exploring, it was searching for something specific.
Commander Tyson's quarters were located on Deck 8. The room lay in darkness, illuminated only by the distant stars visible through the viewport.
Empress Deanna Troi rested in the bed, her breathing slow and even in deep sleep. She'd had a bit to drink and had retired to Tyson's quarters to await his return. Her dark hair spread across the pillow, and her features held the peaceful expression of someone lost in dreams.
The entity approached the sleeping area.
It moved beneath the covers, its luminous form seeming to merge with the fabric and bedding. The phenomenon sought direct contact, drawn by something specific about this particular individual.
The entity touched her.
Merged with her.
Entered her.
Deanna's eyes snapped open.
Her breath came in sharp, rapid gasps, her chest rising and falling as though she'd surfaced from drowning. But this wasn't the confused awakening from a nightmare. This was the sudden, visceral awareness that something fundamental had changed.
Something was inside her.
Not beside her. Not near her.
Inside.
Her telepathic abilities screamed warnings her conscious mind was still trying to process. Foreign. Alien. Other. The sensations flooded through her with a clarity that made her wish desperately that she couldn't feel it so precisely.
In the Empire, she'd learned to wall off her telepathic senses, to not feel the brutality and malice that surrounded her constantly. But this had bypassed every defense she'd built over years of survival. It was already past her walls because it wasn't outside them. It was within.
She sat up quickly, her hand moving instinctively to her chest, then sliding lower as she tried to process what had awakened her so abruptly. Her fingers pressed against her abdomen as if she could somehow feel the intrusion physically, as if touch could confirm what her telepathy was screaming at her.
But there was nothing. No pain. No visible change. Just the overwhelming certainty that she was no longer alone in her own body.
Her breathing grew more ragged, bordering on hyperventilation as panic began to set in. In the darkness of Tyson's quarters, surrounded by the quiet hum of a peaceful ship, Empress Deanna Troi faced a violation more intimate than any she'd experienced in the brutal confines of the Terran Empire.
Something was inside her.
And she had no idea what it was or what it wanted.