String Theory_ Fusion (Book 2) - Kirsten Beyer [109]
What differentiated this moment from his actual recollection of the game was that as he sat staring at the configuration of metal pieces, he could actually see the solutions.
All of them.
The complexity of the game lay partially in the fact that hundreds of different combinations could result in a victory. A skilled player could see several dozen steps ahead of any given move. Tuvok could probably see twice that many.
But when Vorik played, he was, invariably, making a best guess with each move.
Until now.
Somehow the precise order of nineteen moves that would lead to the quickest victory, no matter how Tuvok chose to counter, was as clear to him as any text on a padd. Fifty variations that would draw the game out longer but lead to the same conclusion were also vividly playing out in his mind.
What was overwhelming about this experience was the absolute peace that accompanied the certainty which consumed him. It was unlike anything he had ever known before.
Vorik.
The voice again.
This time Vorik knew it was Tuvok’s voice.
Turning his head slightly to the right, he saw Tuvok lying behind the forcefield, a mass of pulsing tentacles obscuring most of his body. But Tuvok… whole and separate from the entity that was joining with him… was still an individual apart from that creature.
And Tuvok needed him.
Over the Doctor’s strenuous objections, Vorik sat abruptly up and crossed to the forcefield.
“You must allow me to pass,” he said with a soft urgency.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Ensign,” the Doctor replied. “Now kindly return to your biobed. You may be in serious danger…”
With uncharacteristic rage, Vorik slapped his hand against the forcefield. Willing himself to endure the pain as his fingers began to fry, he stared hard at the Doctor, who called within seconds, “Computer, lower the forcefield around station one.”
Without another glance, Vorik moved to the head of the bed and gingerly placed his hands on what little flesh of Tuvok’s face remained visible.
“Ensign, what are you…?” the Doctor stammered, fully aware that he was not in control of this moment but somehow flabbergasted just the same at how quickly the worm had turned.
“My mind to your mind,” Vorik said softly, initiating the mind-meld that he somehow knew would be Tuvok’s last link to the living world. “My thoughts to your…”
But before he could complete the last word… thoughts… the meld took him and he returned to the state of peace and harmony that he had never before known.
The Doctor stood by, virtually helpless. True, he could have overpowered Vorik had he chosen and forced him to comply with his wishes. He was not a huge fan of mind-melds in theory or practice, though he had to acknowledge that this skill had come in handy on a few occasions in his practice aboard Voyager.
But the simple fact of the matter was that he had run out of options for treating Tuvok. The creature would be fully formed in a few hours, perhaps less. Tuvok was about to die, and there was nothing… absolutely nothing… that he could do about it unless Tuvok stopped resisting his only treatment option. He allowed himself to nurture a silent hope that whatever Vorik was doing might somehow bring Tuvok to his senses. After his last disastrous attempt to separate Tuvok from the creature, he had been forced to conclude that the cause of his failure had been Tuvok himself. He did not want to be cured. He had indicated in every way imaginable from the moment he had been brought back on board that he wanted this transformation to happen. At the very least, should Vorik succeed, he might gain some insight into Tuvok’s thoughts. The Doctor had faced failure of this magnitude on precious few occasions and didn’t like to admit to himself that he hesitated to stop Vorik because the attempt was the lesser of all evils he was currently facing.
Vorik stood perfectly