Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [3]
“He’s stabbed her… we have to stop that bleeding! Get a transfuser in here stat!” Seska shouted.
Janeway vaguely recalled what she could only assume was a shock-induced hallucination that she’d been having before she roused from unconsciousness. Something about being assimilated by the Borg Queen. This is the way the world ends….
Her eyes closed.
She heard a cry for help.
Let go, Kathryn. The next phase of your existence awaits you….
The darkness returned.
She sighed. Blinked. Looked up to see the dimpled, good-natured countenance of a Nechani temple attendant. What the hell…?! Tuvok? She blinked again, hoping she could muster enough logic to overcome her sense of disorientation. Studying her surroundings, she hoped, would help her recall where she was-what had brought her here. Then she remembered: Kes, the biogenic field, the ritual to find the cure. This ritual testing has sure messed with my head… my mind’s wandered to the oddest places. Why would I be daydreaming about the Borg? And what’s that about Tuvok being crazy? Must be the stress.
Brushing aside straying hair from her eyes, Janeway felt the clammy warmth of her cheeks, still sticky with sweat. The familiar ache of lactic acid buildup in her limbs reminded her of previous exertions. “I’m exhausted,” she said, gratefully accepting a mug of hot tea from the guide. She sipped off the rim, relishing the moisture on her parched lips.
“Your microprobe must be giving your doctor plenty of good data,” the guide said amusedly, then turned away to retrieve a waist-high rustic basket, which she placed before Janeway. “It’s a Nesset,” she said.
The basket rattled, uncomfortably reminiscent of a rattlesnake. Janeway’s eyes widened. If this is what I must do to save my crew…
The guide continued, “They’re able to travel from this world into the spirit realm; they serve as gatekeepers.”
“Gatekeepers…” Janeway whispered. “Then I’m ready to enter the spirit realm?”
“Do you think you’re ready?”
She considered the question, contemplating all she’d been through. Finally: “Yes, I do.”
“Then you are.”
The guide’s warm, cheerful tone soothed Janeway’s worries, but she couldn’t help wishing for the Nechani woman to be more definitive in her pronouncements. Giving her trust so blindly terrified her. Her fears grew as she listened to the guide instruct her to put her hand through the leather folds covering the top of the hissing basket. But she’d committed to do this for Kes and she never backed away from a commitment.
Warily, Janeway knelt before the Nesset, and extended her hand toward the opening. Without warning, the noise in the basket became more agitated: she flinched.
“We can stop right now if you like,” said the guide, obviously attuned to Janeway’s hesitation.
“No, I’m not quitting,” she said, determined to see the ritual through to the end. She shut her eyes, clenched her teeth, and plunged her arm into the basket nearly to her shoulder, tentatively feeling her way toward the bottom. Nearly imperceptible air currents ruffled the hair on her arm. She sensed the thing inside, rustling, slithering.
And it struck.
Screaming, Janeway ripped her arm out of the basket. Just under the elbow, on the fleshy part of her inner forearm, she saw the trio of fang marks. The wound burned like acid pouring over her skin; her breath came hard and short as her throat muscles tightened, pushing the air out of her body.
“Don’t be afraid,” said the guide placidly.
Her vision swimming, Janeway drifted toward unconsciousness. The electronic hiss and sputter of exploding equipment echoed through the descending gray… the Borg Queen’s corpse twitched and jerked. The Borg?
Her eyes flickered open; she’d been moved. Where-she couldn’t tell. From somewhere above, she heard the soothing maternal clucks of her guide. Glancing to the side, Janeway saw her reflection in the polished obsidian-like stone. The youthful crown of waist-length hair, tangled, matted with sweat, captured her attention.