Vice Admiral Quinn Reynolds - Through the Looking Glass
Quinn Reynolds
((Power Relay Section, Unimatrix Seventeen))
The hybrid sucked in a sharp breath, her brain struggling to grapple with the two visions in front of her. The real world, constructed of brutal metal stained in green, and flesh violated with cybernetics. And another world, held only in the shared subconscious of drones. This one also cast in green—but instead of the eerie, sinister glow of Borg technology, it was the lush verdance of flourishing trees and plant life.
In one world, she breathed in the hot, humid air of a Unimatrix. In another, a cool forest breeze flowed over her skin. Her body could hear the hum of air recycling units and power coursing through conduits, her mind the susurrus of leaves and the creak of trees. The conflicts made her head spin, and she grasped onto the edge of the alcove to steady herself. It didn’t help—and maybe made it a little worse.
Reynolds: It’s making me a little nauseous.
Marshall: Your neural oscillations are fluctuating, but nothing’s off the charts yet. Try focusing on one sense at a time—whichever world feels more solid, ground yourself there.
Reynolds: There’s no one here. ::She closed her eyes, trying to eliminate one source of the telepathic vertigo.:: I expected someone to be here.
There was a pause in the real world, and Quinn imagined that two pairs of blue eyes were darting to their tricorder readouts. She took a deep breath, and the warm, cloying air of the Unimatrix filled her lungs at the same time as the crisp, clean air of the forest. It was maddening, and she hated every second of it.
Marshall: Could it be a fragmented consciousness instead of a full presence?
Sevo: Maybe they’re observing still.
Marshall: Either they’re taking their sweet time making an entrance, or something’s blocking them. Can you push deeper, or does that feel like a terrible idea?
Sevo: Can you move in the environment?
It was a peculiar sensation, moving one’s legs without moving one’s legs. But she could do it, and hear the leaves crunching under her feet as she stepped forward. One footstep at a time, she moved through the trees. A thought popped into her head, of the forest trails she’d walked with Walter, and how this place painfully reminded her of a past swallowed up by the very Borg she was walking among.
Reynolds: Yes. ::She swallowed.:: Although it does not help with nausea.
The tricorders softly chirped and trilled, a musical rhythm of reassurance. But Jo and Sevo were both quiet, and that drilled anxiety straight through to Quinn’s core. What were they concentrating on? What captured their attention so much it held their tongues?
Marshall: Hold on… Ayiana, you see that? It’s faint, but there’s a secondary signature shadowing your neural activity, Quinn. It’s not fully formed, almost like it’s… hesitating. There, but not.
Sevo: ::A pause, then,:: Yeah, I see it. Weird.
Reynolds: I’d appreciate something more concrete than “weird”.
She could hear the note of stress in her voice. Was the feeling of being shadowed, being watched, there because Jo had observed a second signature, or because she was becoming aware of it herself? In the forest subconscious of dreaming Borg, Quinn turned, looking about herself for some sign of her hidden company.
Marshall: I’m keeping an eye on the exit sign, just in case. If anything changes, you call it. No heroics.
Sevo: Perhaps they’re having trouble establishing a stable connection. After all, Borg communicate through technology, not telepathy.
Quinn grimaced. It had worked just fine for the Voyager crew—but then, they’d had a telepath who had practised and wasn’t averse to using his skills. She was fumbling in the dark and apparently making a hash of it as she went. She paused, eyes closed and yet still seeing a forest, and felt her stomach churn.
Sevo: We can try increasing her cortical activity. I’m…not sure how. I’m a scientist, not a doctor.
Reynolds: And we didn’t exactly bring a sickbay with us.
Marshall: Response
Sevo: What about a boost of adrenaline? It should give her some clarity and increase mental acuity briefly; just like how it does in “flight or fight.”
The suggestion certainly gave her an adrenaline boost, if nothing else. Quinn had never been comfortable with doctors and sickbays and medication. She’d simply learned she had to set a good example for the rest of the crew. So she attended her physicals when scheduled and marched to sickbay when told to (most of the time)—but the idea of being dosed up when there was nothing wrong made her skin crawl.
Reynolds: Is... that our only option?
Marshall: Response
Tahna: =/\= Tahna to zh'Tisav and…Marshall. ::Her voice cracked slightly.:: We've secured the data. Get out when you can. =/\=
Quinn didn’t care for the crack in Tahna’s voice. But the swell of relief at the news was near indescribable. They’d done it. The Bajoran and her team had secured the chance to put the timeline right, to bring back everyone they had lost. She could laugh with her father again. See her children. Fall asleep in Walter’s arms.
And never see Kael again. With a burred swallow, she took a deep breath and attempted to recall her focus. Fighting against the nausea, she pushed forward in the forest, wheeling about, searching for her shadow.
Reynolds: Whatever you’re going to do to boost the connection, do it now. We need to get back to the ship.
Marshall / Sevo: Response
She couldn’t tell if the sensation came from her body or her mind; from Sevo and Jo’s interventions, or something (someone?) inside Unimatrix Zero. It was like being plunged into an ice bath, every nerve ending shouting out in protest, every synapse in her brain shocked. Her eyes snapped open, looking at two worlds thrown into sharp relief.
And suddenly, there he was. The Kriosian drone stepped out from behind a tree, in all his pre-assimilation glory. The broken nose was still there, his skin flushed with life, his hair an untidy mop of ash brown curls. He stepped forward and grasped her hand, and for a moment, it was the same in both body and mind. Her palm pressed to his cheek, gaze locked, thoughts flowing through the same wavelengths.
Then his other hand came up, and he pushed. Quinn stumbled backward, a bright lance of pain from the whiplash of leaving Unimatrix Zero. Colour danced in her vision, her head throbbing, and she slid her fingers into her hair, pressing against her scalp.
Reynolds: I— I think the message got through.
Marshall / Sevo: Response
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to make sense of the sudden and jumbled echoes the Kriosian—Arnall, his name was Arnall—had left in her mind. One face loomed out of the shadows of deposited memory, familiar and foreign at the same time. The nausea came rolling back, as Quinn discovered a piece of information she had avidly tried to avoid.
Reynolds: Hail the Gorkon, we really need to go. ::She shook her head and immediately wished she had not.:: The Queen of this place. She’s me.
Marshall / Sevo: Response
Commanding Officer
USS Gorkon
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