Storming Heaven

Qui

“Our minds are one.”

Partly by training and partly by instinct, she interpreted their shared mindscape as a virtual world, an ever-changing theater of memory complete with physical sensations. Focusing her attention on Qui

“We need to go back now, Cervantes,” she said, gently coaching him. “Take me back to that world where you saw the Apostate’s machine.”

All at once she and Qui

“Slow your perceptions,” T’Pry

The moment stolen from his mind slowed to a crawl. She stepped past his self-projection to study the complex machinations of the Apostate’s creation. Every element was in motion. Each revolved around the core, turned on its own axis, or orbited another piece of the machine. All the pieces seemed to be composed of the same silvery crystal, and they varied in shape from organically curved blobs to aggressively angular and symmetrical polyhedrons. Ribbons of multicolored light snaked through the open spaces, traveling chaotic paths through the mesmerizing order of the machine. At the core was an object that repeated a cycle of transformation, transitioning through multiple complex stellations that all were extrapolated from—and every few seconds reverted to—a basic icosahedron.

Just as Qui

The scene became blurry as Qui

T’Pry

After a few minutes, she was sure she had found all there was to know from Qui

She turned to ask him if he was all right. He stood in the midst of his own halted memory, gazing at the projection of the late Bridget McLellan. She was leaning against the cavern wall beside the machine, her broken leg wrapped in a crude splint. Qui

“This was the last time I ever saw her,” he said, on the verge of tears.

His heartbreak was an abyss, opening wide to devour him, and his pain was so deep that he yearned to let himself plunge into it, to lose himself in it and never return. There was more than sorrow in his heart; there was guilt, and regret, and rage at his own powerlessness—all of it churning into a toxic brew that would eventually consume him from within or drive him to self-destruction just to be free of the torment.

Sharing his pain, T’Pry

I could have simply let him go. Starfleet Intelligence did not have specific need of him. Had I not enticed him, he might have been spared this loss.

He shook his head, and she knew he was responding to her thoughts. “Don’t think like that,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault. I wanted this life.”

“I can help you,” she said.

Her suggestion made him angry. “I don’t need your help.”

“You need to let her go, Cervantes. You need to make your peace with this loss.”

The machine and the cave vanished in a storm of fire rolling up the mountainside while the once-frozen lake boiled far below, swallowing five Klingon warships into its bubbling froth. T’Pry

She reached down, took him by the collar of his jacket, and yanked him to his feet.

As they snapped to a standing position, the mountainside vanished, and they stood facing each other inside an observation lounge overlooking Vanguard’s main docking bay. “Do you want to see what I know about this subject?” She grabbed his shoulders and spun him around so that he would see what she saw. Half a second later, the Starfleet cargo transport Malacca was split nearly in half by an orange fireball, and it was all T’Pry

Qui

The fire faded, the observation lounge melted away, and then Qui

“Just close the door,” A

T’Pry

I loved you.

She and Qui