String Theory_ Fusion (Book 2) - Kirsten Beyer [25]
Phoebe sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Janeway’s replicator. The front panel had been removed and placed beside her. She was pulling a damaged piece of conduit from an exposed, sparking wire.
Janeway shook her head in disbelief.
“Phoebe,” she asked. “What are you doing here?”
Tuvok stood bathed in a bright white light. The source of the light was directly over his head at a distance of several meters, if the diameter of the circle on the floor around his feet could be used as any indication. Beyond the circle was an inky darkness. But it was not empty.
They’re waiting for me to begin.
He didn’t know how he knew this. But he was absolutely certain that a few arms-lengths beyond the circle of light, hundred… maybe thousands… were waiting in rapt attention for his next move.
And then it hit him.
He could no longer hear the music.
It should have been a relief. But somehow the strange symphony that had first called to him hours ago had carved out a space of its own within his mind. Its absence left him feeling more than empty. He was suddenly incomplete.
His continuing sense of the presence was a small comfort. He consoled himself with the thought that perhaps this was the next logical step in establishing communication with those that had called him here.
“I have come,” he said quietly. “What do you want with me?”
Each moment of silence that followed added exponentially to the agony of his exquisite loneliness. He wanted to step beyond the circle of light, but somehow he knew that he would not reach them physically. A deep chasm separated him from those he had come to find.
He closed his eyes and attempted to reach out to them with his mind.
Nothingness enveloped him.
The next thing that rose to his consciousness was the 289th verse of Falor’s Journey. Tuvok had sung the epic poem to his children when they were young. He wasn’t certain if this fragment of his past seemed suddenly important because of its haunting melody, or because of this verse’s subject.
Falor entered the temple of Kir
Certain that at last his journey
Had brought him to this place of peace
So that his burdens and sorrows
Could be lifted from his weary mind
But all that greeted his newfound hope
Was silence, only silence.
Tuvok began to sing. The words pulled from his distant past were difficult to find at first. He let the melody lead him forward, until the story of Falor’s encounter with the monks of Kir and the lesson Falor had learned from their silence poured forth as easily as it had when he had sat beside his eldest son’s bed, and used the tale to lull the infant Sek to sleep.
A faint hum of recognition seemed to thrill his audience. He wanted to stop singing, so that he could focus more clearly on their response. But he was afraid to break the subtle connection he was beginning to forge.
He continued, noting with relief that as he did so, the circle of light grew brighter, its range wider, giving powerful support to his rich baritone voice. A little more, he believed, and the light would extend to a range that would illuminate those he was trying desperately to reach.
His right eye began to burn. There had been an uncomfortable stinging sensation present there since the moment he had awakened within the circle, but it was becoming more difficult to ignore. Determined to continue, he wiped his eye, attempting to remove any foreign substance that would account for his discomfort. When he touched his eye, he realized that it was caked almost completely shut by some hardened substance. A warm liquid oozed from the area above his eye, pouring into the small opening that remained, causing the unpleasant burn. He pulled his hand away to examine his fingers and discovered that they were covered with blood… green blood… his blood. He gently allowed his fingers to explore his forehead above his eye, and his alarm was intensified when he discovered a large gaping gash that was the source