Unworthy - Kirsten Beyer [110]
It was close enough to taste.
And then … she was there.
“You know this cannot be allowed. You have come all this way for nothing. Your cowardice does you no credit.”
Willem could only find one word in response.
“ Please,” he begged.
Meegan stared in wonder at the creature Admiral Batiste had become. The “human” part of her programming, all that remained of the true Meegan McDonnell, which had become little more than an annoying gnat to be swatted down whenever it appeared, roared forth in terror at the sight. “Meegan,” however, saw only the grace, the majesty, and the raw power of Species 8472.
It was beautiful to behold.
Meegan briefly considered releasing one of her fellow prisoners to this magnificent form. She dismissed the idea, uncomfortable with the thought that one of them could enjoy something she was denied by settling upon the frail hologram as her host.
Glorious as he was, she must be rid of him.
She quickly located the shuttle’s hatch controls and with only a moment’s regret, activated them. The change in pressure as the hatch opened to the vacuum of space immediately sucked the creature from the shuttle. She was unaffected by the shock, or the pressure, and calmly sealed the hatch, wondering how long it would take for the organic ship to lose interest in the shuttle and turn its attention to the creature now at the mercy of open space.
It took longer than she’d hoped, almost thirty seconds, before she felt the shuttle lurch beneath her as the tractor beam dispersed.
She immediately plotted her new course and brought the shuttle’s warp engines online. Meegan allowed the shuttle to drift clear of the immediate vicinity of the organic ship, primarily to avoid arousing undue suspicion. As far as anyone on Voyager or Galen knew, the shuttle was now empty. She knew she could not wait too long. Eventually they’d get around to attempting to retrieve the shuttle.
Finally, at a critical point in the conversation between the aliens and Voyager’s command crew, she discreetly maneuvered the shuttle beyond Voyager’s visual range and engaged the warp drive. Finally, she and the rest of The Eight were free.
A collective gasp sounded on the bridge as the crew watched the shuttle’s hatch blow and send a singular form tumbling into space. It struggled for a few moments to right itself and once it had attained a floundering sort of equilibrium, literally began to claw its way toward the rift like a drowning man trying desperately to gain a distant shore.
“No …,” Eden said softly.
“It’s all right,” Chakotay said, trying to reassure her. “He can survive indefinitely in open space.”
Eden should have remembered that. But watching Batiste struggle so pathetically made her breath come in short gasps.
“Valerie, listen to me,” Chakotay said. “You spent months outside your realm doing what you thought you must for the security of your people. Obviously they welcomed you back. Why is he any different?”
Valerie was not oblivious to his plight. She quickly transferred the tractor beam from the shuttle to Batiste’s form. His ungainly motion was instantly stilled, which was somehow more horrifying to witness than his earlier, flailing efforts.
“Thousands of us returned to fluidic space at once,” she replied. “It was disruptive, but necessary. His form has been altered, however, for long-term exposure to your dimension. He can never be fully restored like those of us who had only been separated briefly from fluidic space.”
“There must be a way,” Chakotay insisted.
Eden turned to him, amazed that, given Willem’s treatment of him, Chakotay would now take on Willem’s cause as passionately as if it were his own.
“ I’m sorry, Chakotay.”
“Valerie, you know us. You know the lengths to which we were willing to go to return home. Everything said it was impossible. Time and again we should have turned back and given up. But that’s not who we are. And perhaps by sending him to live among us for so long, we have corrupted more than his physical form. It’s