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“Monorhan space was the place… in between,” Janeway said in recognition. “It was the first place in our space-time that was damaged by your play, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“It was. Those of us who remained behind chose exile rather than return. This reality was created after the Others had retreated to Exosia. Life was not meant to exist here. The Others had forbidden it.”

“But why?” Janeway asked. “Why not return to Exosia with the Others?”

“And spend eternity tending to the strings?” Phoebe asked.

Janeway remembered the strange figure seated in the chair and its constant fruitless sewing. Compared to Phoebe and her fellow Nacene, those who were actively engaged in constructing and deconstructing an entire universe, she could easily understand Phoebe’s choice, however irresponsible it might have been.

Another thought struck her.

“You said life was not meant to exist here. But Monorha is filled with life. How did that happen?” she asked.

“Our life gave life to this place. It is of us, though the creatures that arose once we had left are not,” Phoebe replied.

“Is that why the Monorhans, and the ships that they built using their natural resources cannot leave this system?” Janeway asked.

“They are anomalous, just as you consider this region of space to be anomalous,” Phoebe answered. “They should not exist here. The one that gave our potential for life to them did not foresee that the very life he gave them would bind them to this place for all eternity. Though that which is impossible exists here through his will, that will did not stretch beyond the gateway and could not sustain them beyond its borders.”

“Who is the one that you are speaking of?” Janeway asked.

“Look…”

Janeway turned again to the field. The single Monorhan-looking Nacene was moving among the dead. As he did, he collected them, gathering up their remains and forming them into an object he held firmly with both hands.

“The Key,” Janeway said in utter disbelief.

“Yes,” Phoebe answered.

“And what does the Key do?” Janeway asked.

“It was created so that when we learned from this existence how to solve the problem, how to balance the strings without destroying this dimension or countless others, we could return home and share our knowledge with the Others. Without it, those who remained behind and undertook this great cause will be trapped here forever. The Key opens the conduit, and is the only safe way for us to return home.”

Janeway didn’t want to sympathize with Phoebe. The reckless abandon with which her entire species had wreaked havoc on their own dimension and now hers, was unpardonable. But the simple truth of Phoebe’s words resonated in a way she could not help but relate to.

Home.

Every moment of whatever life Janeway had left would be selflessly devoted to the same quest. Here, at least, she finally met Phoebe on a small shard of common ground.

“If the Key was made by your kind and left here to be used when you had collected the knowledge you seek, why am I important?” she asked.

“It was unforeseen,” Phoebe replied. “The Key lives still… in its way… and has the right to choose its owner.”

“How is that possible?” Janeway asked. “The first Nacene we encountered, the entity known as the Caretaker, told us he was dying. The form that he reverted to at the end… that was death, wasn’t it?”

“In this dimension, yes,” Phoebe replied. “We are eternal, but the longer we stay here, the more energy is required to sustain our existence. The entity you encountered waited too long. Had he returned to Gremadia, he would have found the energy he required to continue his existence in his chosen form. But he has never known death as you understand it.”

Suddenly another truth was clear to Janeway. “That’s why you built the array, isn’t it?” Janeway posited.

“Gremadia is a place where all the exiles must return from time to time in order to replenish themselves if they wish to continue their explorations.”

“And those who do not…”

“Some have chosen to cease the struggle. They