Part VII: Collapse
1
Michael couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t felt pain or some form of dread.
It had become like a constant, unwelcome companion over the last few hours and in some way he had thought he had managed to ignore it, to ban it away to the farthest reaches of his mind to allow him to focus his entire being on the task in front of him, the only mission that truly mattered.
But, as he was quick to realize, the human body had limits and pain was there to remind him of those.
He found it difficult to focus on much of anything as he steered the shuttle away from the wreck that had once been the
Lead Belly. Amaya Donners’ ship.
Amaya, the woman he loved and who had died, not once, not twice, but three times now and each time, there had been nothing he had been able to do to stop it.
And soon, every single Amaya in the quantum-verse would follow that fate, along with him and everyone and everything else that had ever existed.
He forced himself to think of his Amaya. He wouldn’t fail her again. He’d do whatever needed to be done to ensure she was safe. Not because he loved her—although that played a large role—but because it was far easier for his relatively simple human mind to focus on saving one person rather than an infinite number of individuals.
An explosion of red and green, directly in front of him compelled his attention back to his immediate surroundings and to find his way back to the supercollider.
Tyrantus’ vessel was tearing itself apart in a fiery explosion after it had finally succumbed to the combined forces of three Klingon Bird-of-Preys and a couple of Gorn capital ships.
Michael didn’t shed a tear for the demise of his counterpart, if anything, he was relieved not to have to worry about his cyborg clone’s obsessive and relentless pursuit.
But the sight that greeted him once the remains of the spherical Borg ship had dissipated was anything but encouraging.
The galaxy had turned into a madhouse and he was caught right at the center of it all.
As far as he could see, space was littered with starships of every shape, size, and configuration. Many were meandering around aimlessly, simply seeking to avoid barreling into other objects as if they were racing an obstacle course. Some were less successful than others, as ships and stations collided, some blowing apart on impact. The communications channels were jam-packed with an infinite amount of unintelligible chatter while many others were less concerned about making or avoiding contact and instead let their weapons do the talking, firing at anything or anyone unfamiliar.
Michael spotted massive Romulan Warbirds fighting Ferengi Marauders. He could see obviously Vulcan-designed ships engaged with Andorian Imperial Cruisers, there were Dominion vessels fighting Cardassians and starships that looked like Bajoran ships, but far larger and better armed than he had ever seen, battling what he believed to be an enormous First Federation sphere ship.
He couldn’t be entirely certain but within this free-for-all melee, he thought he could see ship designs he had only ever read about, belonging to civilizations thought to be long dead in his universe such as a brightly-gleaming Iconian Dreadnought, a bird-shaped Tkon Man-o-War, and an Hyterian Star Gatherer.
Michael understood that he didn’t stand much of a chance to reach his destination within his small, unarmed shuttle, considering the countless ships between him and the threshold to in-between space.
Thankfully, not all ships out there appeared hostile, and he set course for the closest Federation ship he could find.
Although the design seemed familiar, he couldn’t immediately place it, it was certainly unknown to the limited shuttle computer database. There was, however, no denying that the ship with her oval-shaped saucer section connected to a smaller secondary hull as well as to large, blue-shimmering warp nacelles complete with bright red Bussard ramscoops was distinctly Starfleet, as was her name; USS
Europa.
He was not aware of any ship by that name but the more he studied the design, the more he was certain he had seen it before, at least as a concept. It was a
Luna-class cruiser, a ship expected to go into service shortly and designed to return Starfleet to its roots of deep-space exploration.
Michael toggled the comm. “
Europa, this is Captain Michael Owens of the Starfleet vessel
Eagle. I’m seeking urgent assistance.”
The ship turned toward him as if it had set her sights on his shuttle, then his hail was answered.
The face that greeted him on the heads-up display of the shuttle was familiar. “Sandhurst?”
Michael didn’t know Donald Sandhurst well. In his reality, the man had been a capable Starfleet engineer who many of his peers believed had been promoted to a captaincy too quickly, although, in the aftermath of the devastating Dominion War, there had been far too few qualified candidates to fill out many empty command billets.
He had met the man only once before, during a war game exercise just a month earlier when
Eagle had squared off against his aging and underpowered
Constitution-class ship, the
Gibraltar. Surprisingly, Sandhurst had managed to best him and his ships in that encounter thanks to some clever ploys and admittedly, Michael and his crew making the error of underestimating his outdated, little ship.
The man on the screen certainly looked like Sandhurst but at the same time, there was something very different about him. He looked far thinner, almost gaunt, his eyes were dark and his cheeks sunken. His stare was eerie as though he was looking right through Michael.
When he didn’t speak right away, Michael continued. “Sandhurst, listen to me. We are experiencing a massive quantum-event, a cascade of sorts. Entire universes are starting to overlap and it is all focused right here, in this star system. I believe I know the cause of this and perhaps a way to stop it, but I will need help to get to where I need to go.”
“Michael …. Michael Owens. Of the starship … starship USS … USS Eagle,” Sandhurst said, his face distorting in strange ways as he spoke, his head moving back and forth as if he was caught in some sort of time loop. At first, Michael thought that the comm signal was faulty, unable to handle the transmission in light of the bandwidth overload but as he looked closer, he noticed that the image of
Europa’s bridge was coming through perfectly clear, it was only Sandhurst and his face that distorted in unnatural ways when he spoke.
“You are in possession … in possession of a vessel with unusual power outputs. Sensors … sensors show … quantum and temporal anomalies … temporal anomalies caused by the power plant of your … of your vessel. You will surrender your … your vessel.”
A tractor beam shot out from the secondary hull of
Europa and completely engulfed the shuttle.
“Sandhurst, you’re making a mistake—“
“My name … my name is Zeischt … Zeischt … Zeischt.”
Michael shook his head, not recognizing the name, “It doesn’t matter. You have to let me get to a threshold that leads into a sub-space pocket. There is a massive supercollider structure there that is the cause of all this. If we don’t stop it, all universes will perish. Do you understand?”
“We will … sate … sate …. our hunger,” the man formerly known as Sandhurst said.
Michael had no idea what he was saying and he knew he didn’t have time to find out, he needed a way to free himself from the tractor beam that was pulling him toward
Europa, but his conventional engines were no match for a Starfleet cruiser.
Zeischt turned his head sharply when something new had captured his attention just before the connection was terminated.
Not a moment later, Michael spotted what had likely distracted the other man. Another starship was bearing down on them and he couldn’t help but smile when he recognized the design instantly. It was
Eagle and she opened fire on
Europa with tactically placed phaser bursts that rendered the tractor beam inert.
He promptly responded when
Eagle hailed him, although he wasn’t quite prepared for the person who sat in the captain’s chair. She was a redhead but it wasn’t Tazla Star. It was the last person he had ever thought he’d see commanding his ship.
“This is Captain Elizabeth Shelby of the USS Eagle,” she said and then broke out in a wide grin.
“Michael Owens, needing my help? I suppose some things never change. Where’s Suthy?”
“Suthy?” he said and needed a moment to realize that she was referring to the
Sutherland. A ship that Shelby commanded in his universe. Things were clearly different wherever she had come from.
She nodded.
“I get it, different reality. Boy, those things give me a headache,” she said and then interrupted her conversation with him to give a few rapid-fire orders as
Europa was commencing her counterattack.
“But not as much as the Amon here. Zeischt is a real piece of work.”
“I don’t know who the Amon are,” Michael said truthfully. “And to be honest I don’t have time to find out.”
She nodded again.
“I overheard your conversation. You’re out to rescue the universe from whatever the hell is happening here. I wish I could give you more help, Michael, I really do. But Zeischt is going to keep my hands full. But I can buy you some time.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
She grinned at him again.
“What are friends for? Good luck,” she said before she cut the transmission.
Michael was momentarily gob-smacked. Liz Shelby and him being on good terms was perhaps one of the strangest notions he had to wrap his head around since his strange trip down the rabbit hole had begun.
He didn’t let that slow him down, however, as he quickly kicked up the engines again to put some distance between him and this odd version of Donald Sandhurst.
He didn’t get very far until he noticed his comms light up yet again. Thinking that perhaps Shelby was trying to get in touch with him, he accepted the incoming call and then immediately wished that he hadn’t when his own, Borg-ified face greeted him on the screen.
“You know what is happening here,” he said. It wasn’t phrased as a question.
He checked his instruments for the source of the signal. It was coming from a small probe-like vessel, unmistakably Borg. Tyrantus had survived and somehow managed to escape his doomed ship in this smaller craft that was now quickly gaining on him.
Michael shook his head. “Not specifically, no.”
“Quantum realities are merging. You know why.”
He found it difficult to look at Tyrantus as he spoke, far more so than when he had been forced to deal with his dark doppelganger in another universe. At least with him, he had been able to still recognize the parts that had made him human. “There is a device. A massive particle collider, hidden in subspace. It has been created to annihilate all of quantum-reality.”
The Borg version of himself seemed to consider that for a moment and Michael saw his chance. “Help me stop it. If we don’t, your universe and all others will perish.”
“This collider, it uses Particle 010 as its power source.”
Michael assumed that this was the Borg designation for the Omega molecule and nodded. “Yes.”
“And it has also facilitated your transition into this universe.” Again, not really a question.
He didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“The possibilities such a device would afford are infinite.”
“Look around you,” he said but was interrupted as the shuttle took a couple of strafing hits from passing ships, knocking out several systems, thankfully only minor ones. Michael knew they wouldn’t be the last. “Nothing good will come from this. We need to shut it down and destroy it. For the sake of all realities.”
“No,” he shouted with such intensity, his voice cut out for an instant.
“We must secure Particle 010 no matter the cost. And we will add the collider’s technological distinctiveness to our own.”
Michael regarded the sensor readouts; they had begun to fluctuate from the damage and the sheer amount of data flooding a system that had never been designed to process even a small fraction of it at the same time. But he could see that the Borg probe was still closing in on his position. He was not going to outrun Tyrantus. Not in the shuttle. “We don’t have a choice. You need to think beyond your Borg programming for once. I know there is still part of Michael Owens inside of you. Search his thoughts, his memories, get a different perspective on what is happening to this universe. To the entirety of quantum-reality. You must understand what is at stake here. You can help me put a stop to all of this.”
He was fully cognizant that appealing to a Borg drone’s humanity was a long shot, but he was short on options.
And for a moment, he was filled with the irrational hope that perhaps it could work. That maybe there was a chance that he could cut through all the indoctrination and the years of hearing the voices of countless drones inside his head and actually reach his counterpart, like a fellow sentient being.
Tyrantus glanced away from the screen for a few seconds and then directed his laser eye back on him. Before he even opened his mouth, Michael knew that there was no chance that he could get past the collective Borg consciousness with just a few words.
“You are injured. Your vessel is damaged. Your chances of success are infinitesimal. Provide me with the exact location of the collider. You will comply. Resistance—“
He cut the channel. He had heard that line before.
The Borg probe shook as it started to take fire. Michael thought that it was nothing more than random potshots that were being aimlessly thrown into seemingly every which direction by the mass of confused starships amassing in the system.
But the fire was concentrated enough that Tyrantus was forced to veer off. And then Michael saw why.
Directly behind him, the elongated and smooth lines of a Federation
Excelsior-class starship came into view on his screen after having forced the Borg probe to abandon its pursuit.
He accepted the incoming call with no delay.
“Owens. This is Jason Aubrey of the Intrepid.”
Michael didn’t allow himself to breathe easier just yet. He knew of Aubrey as a fellow starship captain, but then he had thought the same of Donald Sandhurst just a few moments earlier.
He couldn’t be sure if this version was from his universe or not. The man seemed to speak with an unmistakable and crisp English accent that had always bewildered him since he was certain Aubrey hailed from the same North American continent on Earth as he did. He was also sure that he hadn’t worn a beard the last time he had seen the man, although since that had been some time, it was hardly a clue to his origin.
Aubrey wore a familiar uniform, standing on his bridge, flanked by a man with purple skin, white pupils, and coarse black hair.
“The Prism, do you have it?” he practically barked without further preamble.
Michael felt the need to be cautious. “I’m not sure—“
Aubrey shook his head, cutting him off.
“We don’t have time for games, Captain. The Prism is the key. It is unique in all of quantum-reality. It contains the consciousness of the Artilect. If you have any of the shards, they will be able to show you the way.”
Michael’s head felt like it was starting to spin even worse than it had already done before he had come across the fast-talking captain. “You need to slow down. I’m not sure what you’re talking about. What is the Artilect?”
Aubrey uttered a heavy sigh as if he was faced with having to explain the most rudimentary math to a grade-schooler.
“Just give me the Prism. Commander Varon here has a special sensitivity to the quantum-verse, he’s a Marathian,” he said as if that would explain everything.
“I don’t have it.”
Aubrey’s eyes opened wide before he briefly exchanged glances with his first officer. He glared back at him.
“Then how did all this happen?”
“It’s with my people. We have located a device hidden in subspace not far from here. If you can help me get back—“
“
Sir, the Borg probe has recovered. It’s targeting us with some sort of energy-dampening weapon,” Commander Varon called out as he was monitoring a console on
Intrepid’s bridge.
That forced Aubrey’s attention away from Michael and toward the latest crisis, the concern etched deep into his features.
“Evasive maneuvers. Now.”
“It won’t be enough.”
Michael could see the drama unfolding on another screen, watching helplessly as the probe fired a bright blue energy bolt that
Intrepid had no chance of avoiding.
Just before it made contact, Aubrey turned back to him.
“Owens, whatever you do, stay away from the Inth. You hear me? You cannot let them—“
The weapon made contact and the channel abruptly closed as the entire ship began to lose power. Lights on all decks including the bright blues and reds on the ship’s massive warp nacelles began to flicker as
Intrepid lost altitudinal control and began to drift.
