A month ago, almost:

“Lost” 

The aperture of the artificial wormhole coalesced before their eyes and it was, clearly, an abomination to every law of astrophysics.  The way the opening sliced into normal space at awkward angles –coming forth in a fiery explosion– it was like the wormhole was seeking retribution on the universe for allowing its detestable creation in the first place.

The loss of the science ship Sef had destroyed any true visual records of the artificial wormhole.  Instead, the holographic imagery being projected on the viewscreen in the Astrometrics lab was the computer’s best estimate of what the wormhole would have looked like, extrapolating from the fragments of sensor data Lieutenant Yuulik had managed to recover on her trek back to Constellation.

Despite the spectacle on the viewscreen, Lieutenant Leander Nune kept his eyes and his hands on one of the control panels lining the perimeter of the lab.  He used a finger to scroll through two separate lists of raw sensor readings.

“I may still be early in my science officer cross-training,” Nune called out, “but I would have expected to find resonance waves emanating from the aperture of a fully formed wormhole.  There are none.  Wouldn’t that mean this wormhole has no destination point?“

From the horseshoe console at the centre of the compartment, Science Officer T’Kaal added, “The sensors detected indicators of a stable subspace axis from the wormhole’s opposite aperture.  Further… two fully distinctive CTL regions.  That should not be possible.”

“Not only that,” Laken said from T’Kaal’s side; “Long-range sensors picked up dense concentrations of verterons.  These are identical formations of verteron nodes that have only ever been found within in the Bajoran wormhole.  Given the sheer magnitude of verteron pulses inside the Bajoran wormhole, we would have every reason to suspect it could behave as a natural attractor to an unstable, artificial wormhole.”

“The computer has analysed the artificial wormhole’s transkinetic vector,” T’Kaal offered, “and it’s drawn directly across the path of the Bajoran wormhole.”

Laken looked to T’Kaal with a muted smirk.  “It’s like you’re saying the artificial wormhole formed an unstable and volatile link inside the Bajoran wormhole itself?”

“What? A wormhole inside a wormhole?” Nune asked.  In a cheeky timbre, he added, “Laken, remind me how you were taught so much about Federation artificial wormhole technology at a Federation university?”

Tonelessly, Laken replied, “My parents defected to the Federation when I was a child.  Long before the supernova.  Long before I learned the error of their ways.”

“I don’t know anything about Dominion fleets.  You have to believe me,” Fillian said breathlessly.  

There had been a shift inside of him.  Ever since being recovered from the Sef’s only surviving escape pod, Fillian had retreated into corners, he’d kept himself to himself.  Now, he was standing tall.  Now, his palms were raised in a defensive manner.  His eyes darted from side to side; he was reacting as if he believed one of his interrogators –Ache the Osnullus security chief or Ketris the mercurial Romulan– were about to hit him, despite the forcefield that both restrained and protected him inside his brig cell.

“My research with Doctor Trojet went only as far as theoretical models,” Fillian explained.  “I’ve spent my career studying tachyons.  I don’t know anything about wormholes, all right?  I never even saw the practical designs for producing the subspace tensor matrix or the magneton pulse.  Trojet brought me back after all that as a mere technician.”

Seated on a stool outside Fillian’s cell, Ketris stroked her chin with her right thumb and forefinger.  Before she said anything, her face told an entire story.  Her brow ridges furrowed and her lips pursed; she made a couple of soft “hm” sounds; her eyes narrowed: every single one of her expressions communicated skepticism.

“Are you telling us,” Ketris said, “it was Doctor Trojet himself who designed this method for creating an artificial wormhole?”

Fillian waved his hands in front of him, shrinking into himself again.  He sighed quickly.

“Designed might be a strong word,” Fillian answered diffidently.  He swept his arms open wide before crossing his arms over his abdomen.  “Doctor Lenara Kahn designed an artificial wormhole.  Trojet is more like this ship?  This Constitution Three class starship.  Trojet created a Lenara Kahn Three class wormhole.”

Staring him down with her hands on her hips, Ache asked, “What are you telling us?”

“I asked around some academic circles before I set foot aboard the Sef,” Fillian said.  “I asked questions about Doctor Trojet.  His proposal to create this wormhole was rejected by every scientific institute in the quadrant.  Even the Corgal Research Centre.  But he persisted.  Trojet repurposed Doctor Kahn’s research.  He cut out what didn’t work and he hired experts to work on new components without context.  The greatest criticism of his theories was the way he filled in the gaps with modeling on how we all think the Bajoran wormhole works.  For Trojet, the Bajoran wormhole was perfection and anything less was a failure.”

Ketris raised an eyebrow at Fillian.  “What does the Bajoran wormhole mean to Trojet?”

“I wish I knew,” Fillian replied.  He stepped back from the forcefield and he sat on the edge of the bunk.  “After all this… I wish I knew.  He was too damn secretive.  He never told me of his convictions, but I could see he was determined.  Trojet didn’t care if he killed the crew of the Sef, he didn’t care if he tore open subspace across light years.  He was prepared to take any risk to succeed in his purpose.”

“And what did you say his purpose was?” Ache asked.

Fillian interlaced his hands behind his neck and he tilted his head back.  He stared up at the overhead as he thought and then he spoke.

He said, “I thought it nothing more than perfectionism at the time.  But then we got blown up by the Jem’Hadar and left adrift in an escape pod.  All I could do was fight to keep Trojet alive and to reflect.  Trojet showed no satisfaction when he created a wormhole on our very first experiment.  Doctor Kahn didn’t even form an unstable aperture on her first try.  Trojet did it.  He opened a wormhole and it wasn’t good enough for him.  No, Trojet needed a wormhole that allowed for passage.

“When the Jem’Hadar fleet flooded out of the wormhole,” Fillian continued, “Trojet understood exactly where they had come from.  I didn’t notice it at the time, but it struck me later.  It made me wonder.

“Would he do this,” Fillian asked, “Would he really do all of this just to publish an article in the Olympic Journal?”

“The patient is dying, captain,” Doctor Nelli advised.  From the vantage point of their office, Nelli waved a vine at the narrow transparent panel that looked into one of the surgical suites.  After tapping another control, the holographic opacity curtaining the window flicked off.  Inside the suite, said patient could be seen laying on a biobed: Doctor Marl Trojet.

“Doctor Trojet’s isoboramine levels have dropped to fifty-five percent.  Benzocyatizine treatment has slowed the decline in neurotransmitters and still there has been no improvement.  Given no further improvement, Trill medical protocol requires me to recover the Trojet symbiont from the host in less than six hours.  Such a procedure will kill the Marl host.  This one… I have never…“

“You’re wrong,” Taes said.  From where she was sitting in one of the office’s guest chairs, there was no challenge in her voice.  Taes spoke quietly, her words aspirational.  She spoke with all the peace of those with conviction.  “You’re going to save Doctor Trojet.  His starship and his research were destroyed by the Jem’Hadar.  We don’t know where he backed up his research on Trill.  Almost all of his crew were killed.  The only survivor has told us Trojet was obsessed with the Bajoran wormhole and he had a purpose in releasing the Dominion’s lost fleet from that wormhole.  That means I will speak with him.”

While Taes spoke, Nelli shuffled on the spot, shifting their weight between their four motor limbs.  Six of their vines coiled around the midsection of their trunk.  The movement lacked the organic grace that Nelli typically embodied.

“I protest, captain.  The prognosis is true,” Nelli affirmed.  “Marl Trojet will never regain consciousness.  Trill physiology may not be a specialty of mine, but my medical team has made every effort.  We can only make Marl comfortable until we reach a specialist starship or hospital.”

Taes nodded gently, understanding her rallying intentions had been lost in translation with her Phylosian physician.  Taes rose from her chair and, even though Nelli didn’t have eyes, Taes’ instinct was still to seek eye contact with them.

“I trust you have done everything medically possible, doctor,” Taes agreed.  “I have set course for Farpoint Station, but we can’t reach their hospital in six hours.  We won’t even make it in twenty-four hours.  Passing through Dominion-occupied space, our course must remain erratic to avoid detection by patrols.  Doctor, I must speak with Trojet.  Fourth Fleet Command needs to understand why he created the artificial wormhole and if anyone else is knowledgeable in his methods.  Frankly, I need to know if he was collaborating with the Dominion this entire time.”

Nelli trotted closer to the surgical suite window and their eye-stalks turned in Trojet’s direction.

“With apologies,” Nelli said, “I cannot transplant the Trojet symbiont into another host.  In Commander Rayco’s absence, we have examined the two Trill officers in our crew and Fillian.  None of them are biologically suitable to host a symbiont.  A joining would kill the host in the process, if not soon after.  In less than six hours, I must remove the symbiont and stabilize it in stasis or an approximation of a rejuvenating pool.”

Taes braced her palms on Nelli’s desk.  Her palms connected solidly with the metallic surface.

Lowering her voice to ensure her words were only heard by Nelli, Taes said, “We don’t know the state of Farpoint or the Deneb Sector at large.  Pagaloa hopes to have restored rudimentary long-range communications by the time we reach Federation space.  It could be days before Trojet is rejoined and an emergency joining is often traumatic.  The new Trojet may not have full access to his memories of what Marl Trojet has done.  I’m sorry doctor, our mission is critical.  We need to understand what motivated him to bring the Dominion fleet out of time and space.  Can you revive him, even for an hour, with pharmaceuticals?”

Nelli was quick to reply, “No, captain.  His brain injury is too severe.”

“You’re not going to be happy with me, doctor,” Taes said.  “This is where it gets complicated.”