Quirell, River and T’vana stood frozen in fear and awe as the ever-shifting form of Naeric seemed to grow in size, filling out the whole room. He was a vast structure of glistening wheels that rotated and intersected in incomprehensible ways, shifting and reconfiguring, with countless eyes blinking in eerie synchronicity.

Quirell’s legs shook as if her body was bled dry of the energy that sustained it, as her mind threatened to succumb to the telepathic pressure that had built within the runabout.

And then, a sound began to intrude. Perhaps a minor vibration at best, but the tone was clear as much as it was unstructured. The noise multiplied, voices overlapping, until they rose to a crescendo of song and melody.

Perhaps it was not speech at all. Perhaps it spoke in riddles too abstract for them, but in the end, all voices coalesced into a semblance of language, unlike anything Quirell had heard before.

It was a serenade and a heartfelt letter as much as it was a harsh scolding from a concerned parent. There was no rhyme nor reason, it just was.

“You desire the release of those you call hostages. You do not believe they came willingly, and remain of their own volition.”

“Y-.. yes. We are.. .”, said Quirell, trying to steady her voice. “We are here to… to negotiate the release of the hostages.”

Behind her, T’vana staggered backwards, while River was leaning heavily against the wall, still clutching her head. For a moment, Quirell turned to look for Edwardson – and suddenly, she was no longer in the runabout.

A building. A house. A home. A candlelit table. A celebration. Her favourite song in the background, Edwardson already seated along with the missing crew, laughing and conversing amongst one another, as if they were never missing.

A chair destined for Quirrell swirled, directly facing the seating toward her.

“Please, you are welcome in this house. Come. Together, we shall speak for matters past and present.”  

“The hostages…”, Quirell tried, but words faltered.

The room creaked and groaned, as if the material attempted in utter futility to resist the changing of its entire structure.

Windows, doorways, walls all bent as if made of sand, and the sensation of drowning, hopelessness, indecision, inaction, and inability were forced into her mind. Overpowering yet tempered.

Once more, darkness appeared, a sickening mixture of pain, sorrow, and grief.

Quirell squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them, she was within a prison.

There were others here. The very same people who had been seated around the table now desperately shouting for release, freedom, and justice.

“Is this what you expected to see? We shall speak for all dimensions, true or no, all realities, for they are as open to me as they are closed to you. There is no wrong answer.” 

“The officers you coerced into leaving the Callisto and the Givens. The ones that followed you and beamed down to Asada. What have you done to them?” Quirell demanded to know, her voice rising to a high pitch.

Gradually, the shouting of the others stopped, replaced by euphoria. A moment of true bliss. Naeric remained quiet as Quirell addressed the manifestations of the mission crew.

Then, each crew member replied after the other, each sentence uttered by the next.

“I was tired of being alone”
“I wanted my family to be safe.”
“I was tired of having to look for meaning.”
“Naeric is the only one who truly cares about it.”

“Naeric is….”

“Naeric.”

The name echoed in unison, and it felt like a chant. Naeric, bringer of justice, freedom and deliverer from pain. Ever chosen, Ever wanted. Ever needed.

“But we… We know that Naeric.. We know that you”, she turned to the entity “ You intrude in the memories of those you claim to follow you willingly. You pretend to have been their friend and mentor all along, but it’s not true.”

Once more, the room shifted. Crew members began merging together, their voices switching intermittently between the merged parties when finishing words or sentences. Confusion. The need to understand. The requirement to understand. The obsession to understand.

“Do you understand longing? The longing for true love, true acceptance, safety, protection. A mother’s embrace, a friend’s advice.  I am he, she, it, they. I am all yet I am none. They have chosen me to be all.”

“They didn’t choose.”, Quirell insisted “They were manipulated.”

Another shift. The firmament seemed to buckle under its own predetermined weight. And as if made out of bricks without mortar, the room, the others, and any and all sensations were taken by an unnatural current of water and wind as if it were nothing.

Once more, after the tapestry was wiped clean, replaced with only the endless abyss, the vibrations began. Nothing was there. There was nothing to interpret. No movement. No scent. No sensation. Just the sound of a beating heart, but was it Naeric’s or was it her own?

“Manipulation?”, a chorus of voices spoke eventually.

“Yes. We make decisions based on what we know. You altered their memories so they only knew you – it wasn’t a choice. What do you want from them?”

For a brief moment, the entity did not return the exchange. Once more an overpowering sensation of confusion entered Quirell’s mind, reverberating throughout the absolute empty space that Naeric had created.

“To remain in the now forever, not the ever changing future. There is no acceleration and there is no driving force. The tapestry was woven before the spinner began.”

The sense of being left behind. Abandoned. Lights rose from the ground and ascended into the sky.

“I remember C’aeniroth and Oros. A family. Pantheon. Harmony. Disharmony. Betrayal. I recall Aronos and Boralas. They are names given to me and to them. The universe hears not their song. Now I listen to my flock as they listen to me.” 

“There were others like you….”, Quirell whispered. “And they left. Why did you not leave with them?”

A mural from an ancient civilisation. Naeric was there, watching over them. It uplifted the people and the people showed reverence, even when the others had left. Belonging. Family. Unity. Home.

But it didn’t last.

“Betrayal…”, Quirell closed her eyes, trying to remember what she had learned about the species native to Asada. They were a pre-warp civilization, and they had surpassed the stage where religion was a deciding factor in their society. In a few centuries, they would achieve warp travel.

“The native species… they… they stopped needing you, didn’t they?”

“All comes and goes, whereas I am what I am now. I seek nothing but the now, not the future or the past. All that matters is now.”

“That’s why you are looking for devotees elsewhere. What happens to you when you are no longer worshipped.”

The sensation of dying. Blood seeping from a lifeless body, an inevitable end. Clinging to survival. Fear.

“You need them…”, Quirell muttered. “But it isn’t real. It’s not like how the people on Asada regarded you.”

“It… is not. I do not relieve my children of their voice, for they must speak it. I relieve them not of their hands, for they must act. I relieve them not from thought, for they must consider.”

“Then give them that choice, and see what they choose.”, Quirell urged. “You have altered their memories, and their voices – their choices – cannot be truthful. Give them a chance to decide what they want to do, and if they want to stay. That’s all we’re asking.”

Silence.

“It will never be the same. You will never be loved in the same way.”, Quirell continued. “Let them choose.”

Slowly, the telepathic pressure seemed to grow heavier, almost suffocating. Her head felt like it was splitting.

“You took them. You took them from friends and families that are waiting, just like you were waiting.”

Desperation won over, but was it hers, or did it belong to Naeric?

“Starfleet-… We will not let you fade!” Then, a far more personal promise. “I will not let you die.”

And finally, an answer.

“I expect you to be true to your heart, and not to your mind.”

The ephemeral voice trailed off until the vibrations were but a whimper, snuffed out of existence in the end.