“But they did it in a way that did not completely destroy the person he was,” Kim noted. “That’s promising. It suggests that they recognize his value as an individual to us and were trying to honor that while still finding a way to communicate clearly.”
“There is at least one other significant change to his respiratory system while in his alternate state,” the Doctor added.
“Which is?”
“The alveoli in his lungs cease to process oxygen.”
“How does that not kill him?” Glenn asked.
The Doctor shrugged. “In his normal state, it probably would, but in the new one…”
“He could walk in space without the EV suit,” Barclay said.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” the Doctor noted. “Right now, we have no way of knowing if Velth can control when and how he transitions.”
“We need to wake him and see if we can communicate with the ‘new’ Velth,” Conlon said. “If they intend him to speak for them, we need to know what they were trying to say.”
“Agreed,” Glenn said. “But how do we do that safely?”
“We can bring him back into the main medical bay and place him behind a level-ten force field,” Barclay said.
“I’m not certain that will contain him,” the Doctor advised.
“It’s all we have.”
“I would prefer we do this in a less sensitive area of the ship,” Glenn said. “Let’s erect a temporary holding area in the cargo bay. Can we transport him directly there?”
“I wouldn’t,” Kim said. “They have the ability to transport anything anywhere they want to. They could have transported Velth back onto the ship when they were done with him, but they didn’t. They used the airlock. Let’s follow their lead on this and move him the hard way.”
“Agreed,” Conlon said.
“What are our contingencies should he become unstable or hostile?” Glenn asked Kim pointedly.
“The cargo bay has an exterior door. If we only have the Doctor and Conlon present for questioning, they can render themselves permeable in an instant and we can decompress the bay.”
“Which apparently wouldn’t kill him, so that’s good,” Conlon said.
“It’s not my favorite plan. It’s just better than any other I can think of,” Glenn said. “Let’s get started.”
As the group disbanded, Kim approached the Doctor. “I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to…?” he began uncertainly.
“Reg ran the diagnostics twice. The power fluctuations occurred before we initiated the transfer. The transfer itself, as you know, did not go entirely smoothly. There are no processing problems. Everything that was transferred has merged perfectly with the holomatrix. And as far as I can tell, the only absences in terms of her memory relate to you and to your child.”
“She doesn’t remember either of us?”
“No. And more important, she doesn’t seem concerned about that absence. I have explained the nature of your relationship and took her to see the baby. Her response was to state quite calmly that she understands but can’t remember the feelings that accompany these relationships. It is not inhibiting her ability to perform her duties or engage in normal social interactions in any way. It’s as if you and the child were simply excised from her memories.”
“And you don’t know how or why?”
The Doctor sighed deeply. “I have a theory.”
“Do I want to hear it?”
“I think she might have done it,” the Doctor said, nodding toward Conlon’s still body beneath the surgical arch that was keeping her alive and comatose, “although I’m not certain it was intentional.”
“How is that possible? And why would she?”
“It shouldn’t have been possible. I certainly never considered it as a potential outcome. But this is only the second time of which I am aware that anyone has ever had their consciousness transferred in this way, so a lot of this is simply uncharted territory. If the lag in the transfer was a problem on her end, if during the procedure she was afraid, even panicked and attempting to resist it, it is possible that these specific parts of her were somehow psychologically segregated. You were the one that helped her complete it. You were connected to her physical body at that time. You were holding her hand. That might have been enough to keep those parts of her rooted in her physical body.”
“But if you’re right, our relationship, what we are to each other and to our child—all of those memories—are still in her physical mind?”
“It’s an oddly specific loss otherwise,” the Doctor said. “The hope, of course, is that I will find a way to heal her body and that once her consciousness is reintegrated, she will remember everything.”
“So, I shouldn’t try to help her do that now?”
“I wouldn’t. We do have slightly bigger challenges before us, though it might not feel that way to you, personally.”
Kim nodded. “Even if I wanted to fix this, you don’t condense a relationship over a year in the making into a few conversations. And if this is what she actually wanted, it would be both useless and disrespectful for me to try. I want to drop everything and simply fix this, but I can’t. Everything is on fire. This, whatever it actually is, is just going to have to wait,” he said miserably.
“I promise you, we are going to find a way to heal her,” the Doctor said, placing a comforting hand on Kim’s shoulder.
Kim stared at him for a long moment, then departed for the cargo bay.
Nancy Conlon was quickly becoming accustomed to her new form. Although it lacked certain physical sensations that she had taken for granted her entire life, the upsides were considerable. There was no pain, emotional or physical, of which she was aware. Not a twinge, an ache, a weary muscle or tension headache to distract her. Only now did she realize how many small discomforts she had come to think of as normal since her illness had first been diagnosed.
The
