StarDestroyer.Net BBS

This is a sequel to Worlds Without End and Shadows of the Night. While it is a stand alone story, some aspects will be confusing without proper context. Kaz, I'm looking in your direction.

Part I


In the endless night of space slid the silent form of a white predator, an Imperator-class Star Destroyer. Its powerful thrusters gradually stopped firing, allowing inertia to continue the last leg of its journey as it neared the planet, the image of its distant sun peaking over the horizon as it approached. Its reverse thrusters slowed it until its relative speed was virtually nil, and a shuttle exited, crossing the distance to the looming shape of the Vendetta, flagship of the newly resurrected Empire. Minutes later, the shuttle's occupant, along with several other admirals and generals from throughout the fleet, sat at the long conference table on board the Executor-class star destroyer.

There were few words spoken among the officers as they sat, waiting with typical impatience. They neither liked nor trusted each other, and that became even more evident as General Delric Taar stepped into the room, closely followed by a woman in black. She stood just behind and to his right as he took a seat at the head of the table, much to the surprise of everyone present. "What's the meaning of this?" demanded Admiral Horris. "Where's Thrawn?"

"Thrawn," Taar said with an uncharacteristic tone of malice, "is dead."

The shock that enveloped the table quickly descended into anarchy as they began arguing with each other and shouting things at Taar. He held up a hand, and after a short while the room quieted down. "He betrayed us in the worst possible way," Taar continued. "I had no alternative but to kill him while I had the chance."

"That's an outrage!" Admiral Nemmit sneered at him. "What gave you the right to decide that?" He leaned back slightly as a Taar skidded a metal object across the smooth surface of the table, stopping about three-quarters from the end.

"This," Taar said with disgust.

The general nearest the object, reached forward and, with absolute care, picked it up. "What is it?" he asked.

"This device was removed from just below the lower brain of Grand Admiral Thrawn by the chief medical officer," Taar said. "It has been identified as a Borg Neural Transmitter."

"You can't be serious?" someone asked. "You think Thrawn was working for the Borg?"

"I know he was," Taar said grimly. "He was a traitor, and suffered the penalty for treason accordingly." This didn't sit well with many of the assembled generals, but for some strange reason, they didn't seem to dwell on it.

"That may be all well and good," Adm. Horris said, "But it leaves us with a rather, complicated, situation."

"It is nothing to be concerned about," Taar said. "The only fear we need have is of rebellion and attack, should Thrawn's treachery be made known. I have classified the medical examiner's report and he has been... dealt with. I expect you all shall have no trouble stilling your tongues."

"Of course," Admiral Nemit said. "But what of the future of the Empire?"

"I will assume command of the fleet-" He was interrupted by the explosion of noise as the admirals began to object. "We can stand together gentlemen," Taar said over the throng, "or be torn apart. Which would you prefer?" The room finally started to quiet down. "You've seen what happens when we divide ourselves. You remember when we stood alone, with only a handful of systems in this pathetic corner of the galaxy. That was the result of a conflicted attitude. Now, now the galaxy is ours again. Do we wish to make the same mistakes as we fight amongst ourselves?"

"But what makes you think we should accept your leadership?" a general demanded.

"You are free to choose another," Taar said. "But consider; whom do you trust more? You know I have no political aspirations; can you say the same for any other you might choose?"

There was a general feeling of unease throughout the room. They didn't like it, but the fact was Delric Taar was an unknown element politically. Each would have preferred to grab control themselves; all knew they would fail to attain it. At least with Taar in command they would have room to maneuver in the future, to take advantage of his naiveté. The decision was unanimous to leave him in control, though he was expected to heed the wishes of the rest of the high-ranking officers.

Taar remained behind as they gradually filed out, waiting in silence until he and Darth Whind were alone in the room, wondering. "Did you influence their decision?" he asked.

"We both must use our talents to preserve the Empire," Darth Whind said. "If I can use their self-centeredness to strengthen your position, what harm is there?"

Taar said nothing. He didn't like the thought of it, especially as he briefly thought on Thrawn's words. Was he really a puppet? Quickly the thought vanished. Thrawn was a traitor, and would say anything to try and fool Taar. He had done the right thing, killing him. He turned as he saw Darth Whind heading for the exit. "Where are you going?" he asked suspiciously.

"I have an appointment with destiny," she said simply.
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Darth Whind walked through the corridors of the Vendetta, not even bothering to hide the smirk she wore. It had taken some time, but she'd done it, and soon she'd have everything she wished... starting now. She entered the docking bay even as the X-Wing touched down; she'd made certain it was expected so that no one would fire upon it. She approached as the cockpit opened and the figure emerged. Skywalker was radiating powerful emotions... this was all so new and confusing for him. She offered him a knowing smile as his feet hit the deck. "I can help you," she said soothingly. "I can give you control, power, and pleasure the likes of which you'd never imagined." She stepped up to him. "Be mine," she whispered, "and nothing will be beyond your grasp."

He looked into her face, and a single word crossed his mind: Annika.

Darth Whind growled at him. "She's gone," she rebuked. "Do you imagine that she could accept this? Think of the power you had against the Borg! She held you back! She disapproved even to the very end! I accept what you are... I embrace what you are..." She pulled close to him, her lips brushing his while she spoke. "The Dark side revels in power," she said breathily, "passion... become mine, Skywalker... I can feel it's what you truly want."

He kissed her, firmly, passionately, as if there were no one else in the universe but him and her... as if there never had been anyone else at all.
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Lt. Commander Seven of Nine, also known as Annika Hansen, opened her eyes slowly, and then went through a series of emotions that she had experienced once before, but in reverse. It was months ago, and yet it felt like a lifetime. You might say it was; after all, it was the day she emerged, fully grown, as a new person. She had been somewhat uncertain of expressing herself, and her behavior had seemed erratic, but fortunately she'd done something she hadn't done before, and took a chance. She opened herself up to him, fully knowing that she was risking great pain for herself by doing so, but believing that she had to express these feelings that she'd kept buried. And, in fulfillment of all her hopes, she found out his feelings for her were the same. Emotionally, she had never felt so good in her life, and after that... Even if she didn't have a perfect memory she would still have remembered that. His strong, rough hands moving over her delicate skin, caressing her back as she felt his hot breath move from her lips down her neck and to her chest. She had never imagined anything could feel that way, that a soul could experience pleasure like she was. It wasn't lust, it was love; a deep rooted joining of two people in body and soul, and long after he brought the woman in her the feeling of connection did not fade. And for the first time in nearly two decades, she chose to sleep rather than regenerate... because she'd be close to him.

There is a point after waking where the brain must bridge the gap between the shadow world of dreams and the harsh reality of the waking world. It is during that brief time that confusion sets in. The brain accepts that the dream world is gone, and that it must abandon it for other, less ideal things. It can be a disappointment. When Seven awoke that day her brain believed, for an instant, that what had happened was a dream, as has happened so often before. It was quite understandable; who could imagine that such pleasure, so much happiness, could actually be real. And then, the realization set in, and as Seven had seen Luke's sleeping form by her side she knew a joy like no other; it was quite literally having her dreams come true.

But this time was different. At this moment, she believed that it had all been a dream. Luke wasn't gone, he's right beside you, don't you know that? What nonsense; like he would actually turn to the Dark side; that he would leave you behind, alone. Won't he have a good laugh at that! But an empty bed and aching muscles intruded on that all too brief fantasy; yes Seven, this is real. Once again, the real world with nothing but sorrow and heartache is waiting for you. Your holiday was fun while it lasted, but now girl it's back to what life is about: pain. That void you feel, that's the lover's equivalent of a hangover; it's the price you pay for feeling so good.

Seven had once been brutally tortured by an expert Imperial interrogator for hours. Q had asked her if having Luke there would have made it easier. The answer, she knew, was a resounding yes. With him, she could endure anything. Without him... without him the pain was worse than anything a mere machine could cause. Then she thought about it more, and laughed without humor. The omnipotent son of a bitch knew... "Even if you overcame your stifling inhibitions and brought all your adolescent fantasies to life, he'll still cause you more pain than you can possibly imagine."

With effort, she pulled herself off the bed, looking with pain-filled eyes at the place where his lightsaber lay. "Promise you won't give up on me," he had asked; and she made that promise. What logic is there to this, her mind asked. He's gone; the galaxy is huge, and he's vanished without a trace, you'll never see him again, and even if you do he won't be the same. No, he'll be evil, a twisted version of the man you let into your heart. It's over Annika, it's all over. And that's why he left the blade for her, it was a reminder that there was something beyond logic at work here, there was hope. It was all that she had left, and there was no way anyone, not even herself, was going to take that away.

Seven got up and activated the terminal. "Chief Science Officer's log, Stardate: 57209.1. The mission into the Borg citadel was a success, though it was not without its price. Many of our shipmates were lost to the Borg in its final struggles... including my fiancé, Luke Skywalker." She paused to retain her firm tone. "The Borg threat has been eliminated, though in the wake of what has happened there are countless ex-drones left stranded throughout the galaxy. The Alliance has rightly decided that they are to be rescued and a way found for them to continue their lives without the Collective." She cleared her throat. "They were victims of the Borg as well, as I am of course aware... yet I confess that in the wake of my personal loss, it is hard not to resent them. The captain has suggested I take an extended leave of absence under the circumstances, and I have decided to accept. Under normal circumstances I would be the most logical choice to deal with the former drones, but now it's only too obvious to me that my emotions are not under sufficient control. Hopefully in time they will be." She laughed humorlessly. "It would be the greatest irony of all if I, a victim of anti-Borg prejudice for many years, experienced the same hate for those just like myself."

Seven closed the entry, then cleaned up, got dressed, and left for DS19. As expected, Leia was still there. She answered the door personally when Seven chimed; she must have sensed Seven was coming. "I heard," Leia said with grief, and embraced her right there in the hall. "I'm so sorry, Seven."

Captain Janeway had often referred to Voyager as a family, and over time Seven had come to assume it was correct. But then when she became engaged to Luke she really understood the meaning of the word. With Luke, Leia, Han, Chewie... she didn't have to put on a face. When they looked at her, there was never any judgment, just love and acceptance, and right now, she hadn't realized how much she needed that until Leia held her. Seven cried again, as much as she had the night before, and Leia soothed her more than anything else could. Eventually she sat Seven down and let Seven ramble, listening, really listening. "I'm taking a leave of absence," Seven said finally. "I don't know how to ask this, but... I've never not been on a starship."

"You can come to Earth, with us," Leia said with an inviting smile. "You can stay as long as you like."

"It may take some time," Seven warned. "The Borg project will require several months-"

"Then I'll have someone to help me get ready for the twins," Leia said. "If that sounds all right?"

Seven swallowed and smiled. "It sounds wonderfully... human."

"It is," Leia said. "And it is so much fun, believe me. You just wait, when Luke comes back and you have your own, you're not going to believe it."

It was meant to be comforting, but it came as a punch to the solar plexus. She was Borg... and that meant that having a child was something she'd never personally experience. It wasn't enough they took him away, they took away that too. But Leia didn't know any better, so Seven forced a smile to her face. "I look forward to the fun," she said.
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Time passed, as it always does without concern for the mortals bound by it. On Deep Space 13, Lt. Lowe strolled casually through the dimly lit area of the promenade as he made his rounds. 0300 didn't usually see a whole lot of activity, but the security chief didn't like taking chances. So every night he took his quiet walk through the sleeping station on the off chance someone would be stupid enough to try something. He didn't mind really, it gave him a chance to think. His thoughts received a rather surprising interruption.

First was a wind, a rather odd thing to find within a space station. Then the lights throughout the promenade began to glow brighter and brighter. Then there was a strange sound, kind of like a growl but more... crystalline? It was a bit difficult to describe. Then, as if the situation couldn't get any stranger, a man appeared in the middle of the air, lightning crackling around him, and collapsed to the floor, everything returning to normal as he did. Lt. Lowe quickly rushed over to the gasping shape as he tried ever so slowly to get up.

When the lieutenant reached him the man looked up into his face with restrained pain. It was only now that he noticed the Starfleet uniform he wore. "Are you all right?" he asked the struggling form.

"Where are they?" the man asked, slowly pulling himself to his feet.

"Take it easy," he said with concern. "Who?"

"The Imperials," the man replied. "They're not here."

"The Imperials are about thirty thousand light-years away," Lt. Lowe replied.

The man looked around at the promenade, carefully taking in the details.

"It's not time yet," he said distantly. "Too soon."

"Security, this is Lowe," he said, tapping his comm badge. "Please come to the promenade."

"What's the situation?" came the reply.

He watched the man walk slowly about, looking at the promenade with a kind of wonder. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

"I saw them destroy DS9," the man said sadly. "Terrible thing. So awful, so many deaths. But I couldn't interfere; the time wasn't right. Even though Jake was there..."

Suddenly, like a flash of insight, the lieutenant understood. "Captain Sisko."

The man turned at the mentioning of his name. "I am the emissary to the Prophets," he said calmly. "The time is coming." He stepped about the promenade with almost a dazed expression, as if he was seeing something truly alien. His steps were like those of a man searching desperately for something.

"Time for what?" the lieutenant asked.

Sisko stopped as he stared at a portion of the wall. He touched it, and then gave it a slap. "Unity," he said as he stepped back. "Unity is coming." And he jumped forward into the wall and vanished.

The Sisko has returned..... hahahaha

CERC

What I love most about AAO is the way Dark Luke never says a work.
It's just great.

Such a good bridge to it all, and the reflection of children makes what comes of all of this so good.

Excellant. I'd half forgotten that Sisko returned.

CERC wrote:The Sisko has returned..... hahahaha

"I'm here to comb hair and kick ass, and I'm all out of hair!"

Chris OFarrell wrote:What I love most about AAO is the way Dark Luke never says a work.
It's just great.

Thanks. There's something menacing about silence, unless you're Kevin Smith, of course.

Ghost Rider wrote:Such a good bridge to it all, and the reflection of children makes what comes of all of this so good.

Thank you.
I think it makes the moment all the more sweeter when we finally find out. It finally gives Seven substantial hope that things will eventually get better.

Heh, I was just thinking... I obviously knew this already, but it just hit me that Bastian hasn't even been born yet. And Janeway is still mundane Janeway. How many stories are there between now and DoF anyway?

Three. Including this one the series is:

"The Road to Unity" Trilogy:

Worlds without End
Shadows of the Night
Against All Odds

"The Price of Unity" Trilogy:

Paradise Lost
The Blood of Heroes
Dawn of Forever

120 chapters between now and the start of DoF.

Part II


"Seven?" Leia asked in a tone that implied this was going to be a sensitive question. "Can we talk a moment?"

"Of course," Seven said. She took a seat while Leia carefully eased into a chair; she was going to deliver any time now, but she was still handling Republic affairs. She was a tower of strength. "What's this about?"

"A sensitive subject," Leia said. "The Borg. I wouldn't ask, but there's a couple questions that have come to light."

Seven cleared her throat. "I think I can manage that," she said, but there was a nervous tone there.

"Starfleet has removed countless former drones," Leia said. "But things haven't gone as expected. As I understand it, when you were separated from the Collective, your humanity reasserted itself, and your implants were rejected."

"That's right," Seven said.

"Well, the thing is, none of the other drones are showing the same thing," Leia said. "We can remove them of course, but it seems strange that they're not rejecting their implants as you did. Do you have any idea why?" Seven's hand fidgeted over her mouth. "Seven?"

"I can't help you," she said, getting up and heading into the bathroom. She closed and locked the door, covered her face, and cried. She'd been wrong, it was too freshly scarred over. The pain ran so deep, she was amazed. But then, that's how much she loved him, right? It was so incredible... She walked over to the sink, ran some water, and splashed it on her face, washing the remains of the tears away. She looked in the mirror at the woman staring back. Her vision focused on the spot over her right eye...
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The door opened to Science Lab 1 and Data entered. "You wanted to see me, Seven?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you for coming, Data." Seven had been newly commissioned, but over the course of her stay they'd become close enough to skip on rank when it was a private, personal discussion. For Seven, it didn't get any more personal. "I am facing a problem that requires your unique talents."

"I will provide whatever assistance I can, Seven. What is the nature of the problem?"

"It is, as humans say, a long story. Some years ago," Seven explained, "when I was still Borg, Commander Chakotay used a neural transceiver to enter my mind and sever my connection to the Collective permanently. In the wake of that event, two anomalous events took place. First, I began experiencing extreme emotions: anger and fear."

"I would imagine those would be justifiable under the circumstances," Data commented.

"Perhaps," Seven said, "but they were clearly also a sign of a larger problem. The other event was the spontaneous rejection of the majority of my Borg implants. You will recall that when the captain was returned after assimilation he did not experience rejection; he merely requested that they be removed."

"I recall," Data said. "You believe these events are significant?"

"Yes," Seven said. "The cortical array is a bridge between my connection with the hive mind and my cortical node. The cortical node is responsible for maintaining all the implants within a drone; if it fails, they too will begin to fail. It also contains a Borg fail-safe that is intended to protect drones from strong emotions."

Recognition emerged on Data's face. "I see. Your hypothesis is that Commander Chakotay inadvertently damaged your cortical node, causing the rejection of your implants and allowing you to experience emotions without restriction."

"Exactly," Seven said. "The emergence of my humanity was an unintended malfunction. I now find myself trapped between two very... unpleasant scenarios, Data. On the one hand, I suspect the damaged node will eventually fail, in which case I would die. On the other, if I replace the node, my ability to fully experience emotion will be forever stifled."

Data offered one of his intrigued nods. "It is a most difficult dilemma. Having fully experienced emotions, the thought of my emotion chip being taken away to preserve my own life would be most distressing."

"I was hoping there would be a third option," Seven said. "A cortical node is too complex to repair normally; however, I speculate it currently suffers from mild damage. You are familiar with Borg technology and artificial life, and you are a very brilliant individual. My hope was that the two of us might find a way to repair the damaged node while still retaining my emotions."

"I will endeavor to find a solution, Seven," Data said.

Seven wet her lips. "Thank you, Data. You cannot imagine the relief I feel."

"I believe I can," Data said. "I strove for many years to experience emotion. You and I are in many ways alike, Seven. Technology is responsible for what we are, and yet, it has also held us back." He seemed to consider. "You are perhaps the first human who can truly understand what my life has been, how difficult it is to be singular and inhuman. It is perhaps why I consider you to be such a friend, because you yourself know what it is to be 'just a machine.'"

Seven's eyes flicked down. "Yes... I suppose I do." She hesitated. "Since you consider me a friend, may I perform a spontaneous action outside normal protocols?"

"Yes," Data said.

Seven stepped up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she said softly, "for being my friend."
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Seven touched the spot over her right eye. There it is, she thought, working just fine after all these years; her conscious control over her implants was proof enough of that. And she certainly knew that Data's work had succeeded, because ever since the emergence from her coma she'd been on an emotional rollercoaster, the highest joy to the deepest sorrow and everything in between. She'd been able to love Luke with all her heart, and miss him so much it tore her apart, and it was all thanks to her old friend. "Thank you, Data," she said to her reflection, a tear escaping from each eye. "You've given me the greatest gift anyone could ever ask for."
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Two Nebulon-B Frigates and four Corellian Corvettes slid through the pitch of space, their fighter escorts swarming about them as they plodded along. Their mission was the same as it had pretty much been the past few months: transport equipment and raw materials to Borg-Republic colonies located in the Alpha Quadrant. An amazing thought, if one dwelt on it for a moment. Former members of the Borg Collective, torn unwillingly from their worlds in their distant galaxy, now building a new life in this alien realm. Some had been willing to try and return to their homeworlds, knowing they would be forced to return to Imperial-held territory, but for the most part they had refused to have anything to do with the Empire. They knew the secret, they knew about Anansi.

Few actually could recall the details of it, to be sure. Oh, they knew that it was Thrawn, that he had been working with the Borg during recent events, but few really knew what had been going on. They either couldn't or wouldn't remember that many of them were assimilated solely to further Thrawn's efforts to retake control of the galaxy from the Republic, and that he had destroyed worlds and committed genocide to pursue those ends. It was all incidental anyway; he was dead and so were the Borg, and it was time for life to move on.

Unfortunately, when a great displacement like this occurs there is often trouble. The Republic, even with the aid of the Federation and the Romulans, struggled to provide its exiled people with the materials to survive and thrive. It was difficult to try and rebuild on alien worlds, when even your body wasn't quite the same any more, despite the efforts of the best med-droids and doctors. But they had accepted it, and worked to rebuild. It's a pity then that their neighbors weren't quite so dedicated. It's been a sad but true fact that throughout history some work, and some prey on the work of others. They are the ones whose predecessors had torn down city walls to pillage, who had fallen upon unprotected ships and seized their cargo, and who now sought to loot the essential goods of the Republic. Cardassian pirates. They wouldn't get so much as a meal pack without a fight.

"Rogue leader, this is Blue leader," came the voice over the comm.

"Copy Blue leader," Wedge reported. "Three Galors."

"Affirmative. We're making our attack runs now."

"Copy, we'll cover you."

Wedge yanked his X-Wing around and, together with his wingman, formed up flanking the B-Wing that now twisted towards the approaching Cardassian vessel. Around them, the pattern was repeated as the daring pilots of the most elite squadron in the remains of the Republic fought for this final remnant. As they closed the distance the X-Wings pulled ahead to take the brunt of the attack, allowing the more heavily armed B-Wing to bring its weapons to bear. They fired a few laser blasts for show, then allowed a few concussion missiles to batter the shields of the Galor. Despite the devestating impact it ignored them and fired on one of the Corvettes.

"Masanya, your scrambler still functioning?" the leader of the convoy asked.

"Yes, and shields are holding."

The Cardassians had been performing acts of piracy throughout this area of space ever since the Empire destroyed their homeworld. Some, like Gul Tulvek, tried to rebuild Cardassia into a respected power in the quadrant; the raiders weren’t exactly helping. Regardless, pirates were now a fact of life to transports in this area of space, and they had learned to take precautions.

The standard pirate attack in this area of space isn’t anything as glamorous as you might think. There are no boarding parties valiantly charging into the ship, or complex tricks to get on board the enemy vessels or to get them to surrender. You battered their shields down, then you beamed off the cargo; easy as 3.14. That’s when the Republic and Federation began taking steps, such as the scramblers which interfered with a transporter lock, to ensure that their hit, grab, and run tactics would fail. Their new policy of traveling only in groups with armed escorts had emerged as a necessity to ensure that the cargo would reach those who depended on it. As a result, pirate activities on their ships had become far more rare, but no one wanted to take chances. Fortunately for the Borg refugees, their cargo was protected by the best the Republic could find.

The second pass was a joint effort among several of the tiny fighters. This time, to try and cause more grief for the Cardassians, the X-Wings fired their proton torpedoes along with the B-Wings’ missiles, and together the shields of the Galor crumpled and the hull blackened with the released energy. The return fire, which caused the fighters to scatter temporarily, showed that they had now gotten the Cardassians’ attention.

“Form up,” Wedge ordered. “They seem intent on continuing, so we’ll have to finish this. Attack pattern delta.”

Immediately the X-Wings veered away from their B-Wing allies and formed a long line of ships, one right after the other. It was a technique designed to take advantage of a limited firing arc of Imperial Armor, a tactic Luke had adapted from some indigenous people on his homeworld. They had since found it useful in sustained attacks on targets with limited maneuverability, such as running the Borg blockade. It could be devastating when performed correctly; there was little doubt it would be. Wedge’s ship, taking the lead, lined up and fired it’s proton torpedoes, pulling up as he did so and allowing Tycho Celchu, the pilot of the X-Wing immediately after him, to fire and veer off in a different direction, and so on down the line. The Cardassians fired at the torpedoes, but there was simply too many of them, and the glowing cones slammed into the peach-colored armor and detonated. Then, in a glorious display of matter-energy conversion in action, their warp core detonated and the ship exploded, filling space with expanding gas and deadly shrapnel as the tiny fighters sought escape.

While this was going on the B-Wings continued their assault on the other Cardassian ships. It didn’t take long before they realized the reality of the situation and turned and disappeared at high warp.

“What’s your condition?” Blue Leader asked the capital ships.

“Took a few licks, but nothing a few taps with a hammer won’t fix.”

“Casualties?” came the commander’s voice.

“One ship with heavy damage,” Wedge reported. “I think he’ll need to be tractored and given a lift the rest of the way.”

“Two ships destroyed; I have one with light damage,” Blue Leader reported.

“Can you make it?”

“My droid’s already working on it,” came the voice of Blue 9. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Then let’s form up and continue; we’re nearly there.”

The assorted ships of the Republic moved together as they skimmed past the nearby lunar surface and journeyed on towards the hopeful remnants of their people.
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Paris, Earth, has the distinction of being the capital of two distinct forces in the galaxy. On the one hand it serves as the center of the Federation, as it has for several centuries in fact. It is located on the homeworld of the Terrans, the most prolific members of the Federation by far. It is also the capital of the final remnant of a government in exile: the Republic. In thanks to the Republic for their aid in stopping the Borg attack, and under political pressure from the Romulans, the Federation gave them planets and materials to try to rebuild their fallen realm, as it once again languishes under the Empire.

It is for this reason that the newest additions to the Solo family were in fact born on Republic soil rather than in an alien place. It was the smallest of comforts, but a comfort nonetheless. Leia lay back in exhaustion, the delivery having been completed over an hour ago, but the pain still quite fresh in her mind. It could do nothing, however, to possibly hamper the joy she was feeling in her heart right now. Two healthy children; what more could a mother ask for?

There was a quiet knocking at the door, the kind that tries to show a presence without disturbing anyone within; the kind often heard in hospitals. The door opened a small amount as a face peaked in quietly, and immediately recognized Leia as she lay wide-awake with a small smile. "Was the med droid right?" Seven asked.

"Boy and a girl," Leia said proudly. "Jacen and Jaina."

"Wonderful," Seven said. "I take it the proud father is with them now?"

"He wanted to be with them during the post-natal medical check," Leia confirmed. "I think he's already a little overprotective."

"Good," she replied as one of the nurses came in with a little bundle, Han close behind. Leia watched with a mixture of devotion and humor as she saw him looking down at his child, the goofiest grin on his face. Leia reached out and took the baby out of the nurse’s arms, cradling it to her chest. "Jacen," she said, sensing the distinction between the twins.

"Very good," the nurse said with approval. "Most parents can't tell at first." After a few moments she left as Han took a seat with his daughter.

Seven pulled the chair right next to the bed, looking down at Jacen with a smile. "I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful," she said quietly as she gently stroked his cheek.

"Hello," Leia said with that voice reserved for small children and the terminally stupid. "Hello. This is your Auntie Seven. Say 'Hello, Auntie Seven.'"

"I think it's a little early," Seven said, doing her best to hide her smile at Leia's silly behavior. She couldn't help it; the child just brought out the best in her.

"You'll see," Leia said. "When you and Luke have your own, you'll understand." She felt Seven’s emotions suddenly dim, from the joy and happiness of the moment to a deep grief, although the young woman did her best to hide it. "He'll come back," she said reassuringly. "Trust me, I know him."

"Yeah," Han said from across the room, his eyes never leaving his daughter, "Luke's too stubborn to give in. The kid'll be back before you know it."

"I know," she said quietly, but her mood remained the same. Nevertheless, she forced a smile as she gently stroked her nephew's head. "So, two new citizens for the Republic. Is this how you plan to defeat the Empire, by outbreeding them?"

"It seems our best option at this point," Han remarked. "With the widespread control they have now, I can't see us going toe-to-toe against them. We just don't have the resources."

"So is it back to the rebellion?" she asked.

"Not for us," Leia said, pulling Jacen's tiny cap down a little as she felt him shiver. "Even if it weren't for these two, we couldn't participate. We have to consider the political consequences of supporting an open revolt. It could give the Empire an excuse to attack our shipyards or even try to overrun our worlds."

"Like they need an excuse," Han muttered.

Leia's joy faded to sadness as that universe outside started pressing into this little room. Even now, she thought glumly, you have to intrude on this peace. "I had hoped you would be born into a galaxy without conflict," she said to Jacen. "I'm sorry it hasn't turned out that way."

"You can't solve all the problems in the galaxy," Seven remarked. Han snickered. "Something funny?"

"Just reminded me," Han said, "I said the same thing to Luke once."

"Good advice," Seven replied.

"It was about his crazy idea to try and resuscitate you," Han said as he bounced his daughter just slightly. "Damn foolish thing that it was." He paused. "Two rules when dealing with this family, Seven. Don't ever tell someone something can't be done, and don't get in their way when they try to do it."

"I guess not," Seven admitted. "You're okay?" she asked Leia. "Need anything."

"I've got everything I need right here," Leia said, cradling her son to her breast.

Heh. It's all Ironic once you get to BoH.

Nice.... "easy as 3.14" and here I was thinking it was pie, not pi.

CERC

Crazedwraith wrote:Heh. It's all Ironic once you get to BoH.

Yeah, shit happens.

CERC wrote:Nice.... "easy as 3.14" and here I was thinking it was pie, not pi.

CERC

Half a million words, not all the jokes are going to work.

Sonnenburg wrote:

CERC wrote:Nice.... "easy as 3.14" and here I was thinking it was pie, not pi.

CERC

Half a million words, not all the jokes are going to work.

oh now, I didn't say it didin't work.... I appreciate wit and subtlety


CERC

Part III


Seven was sitting in the dark, crying quietly when Chewbacca entered. "I want to be alone," she said to him firmly. Chewie, of course, turned the lights on, sat next to her, and wrapped his big furry arms around her, offering a growl. She laughed a little, turned around, and grabbed onto him like a big teddy bear. "You know me better than I know myself," she said as she squeezed him tight.

Chewie growled, and she looked up into his eyes, nodding a little. "Every day," she admitted. "I thought it'd get easier, but it hasn't." She nuzzled up to him; being with Chewie was almost like being a child in her father's arms again. "Did Luke ever tell you about Obi-Wan's 'point of view?'" Chewie shook his head. "He never told me, but we melded several times, and some things stick with you... Obi-Wan told Luke that Vader betrayed and murdered his father." Chewie barked something, but Seven shook her head. "No, it wasn't a lie, at least, not in that sense. It was a lie Obi-Wan told himself because it made it easier to live with... to think the person you know is dead." She felt Chewie squeeze her tighter. "If Luke were dead, I could probably handle this... but he isn't. No point of view is going to change that."

Chewie considered this and offered a few barks. "Because he's everything I could ever want in another person," Seven said. "He's so selfless and loving... the way he could say just the right thing, or touch me in just the right way... And the gifts he gave me. Chewie, you have no idea what it is to finally truly be alive after a lifetime of being confined. I-" She started crying again, and he gently rocked her until she'd spent her tears. "[Thank you,]" she growled, thanks to her vocal subprocessor. "[I'm gonna miss you, you big furball.]"
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There was a quiet hum in the hangar that was occasionally punctuated by the loud whine of a power tool as Commander Wedge Antilles crossed the hangar towards Red 7. From close up he realized just how bad the damage had been; the entire starboard foil assembly had been punctured by shrapnel from the Galor. It looked pretty serious, and that probably meant it was even worse. Great, he thought miserably, I'm sure we can just whip together another X-Wing without a problem. He heard the heavy steps and looked at his mechanic as he came around the ship. "What's the situation, Three?" he asked.

Three of Twelve stopped for a moment and looked at the wing, then back to him. "Structural failure," he said simply. "Several of the power relays have been severed, but the ship was not destroyed due to the damage."

"I suppose that's fortunate," Wedge admitted. "Ships can be replaced, people can't." Three seemed to consider this for a moment. "Any other damage?" Wedge finally asked.

"Minor damage to the outer hull," Three reported. "The starboard sensors have suffered some damage."

"At least she can be salvaged for parts," Wedge said, sticking his fingers through one of the holes in the foil. It looked like the ship had been through a meteoroid shower.

"Repair is preferable to cannibalization," Three said.

"Yes, but we don't have the parts," Wedge said. "And you can't just patch damage like this; the stress'll tear 'em right off."

Three looked at the wing of the X-Wing almost as if he were dead, his red face darkening slightly as he seemed to be concentrating on some idea. "I can construct a series of nanites to attempt to reconstruct the material of the foil. With molecular level bonding, it should be nearly as solid as a fully constructed wing."

Wedge looked at him, feeling a mixture of confusion and outrage. "You want to assimilate the X-Wing?"

"Not nanoprobes," Three replied. "Nanites. Micro-robots. It will take several days if it succeeds, but it is preferable to cannibalizing an entire ship."

Wedge thought about it as he patted the side of the ship. It had served with the Republic for several years, participating in more than one key battle during that time including the Battle of the Pyramid (known as Coruscant's Last Laugh to some of the fleet). It may only be a machine, but it was a machine that had performed admirably; it deserved the same respect as any other member of his squadron.

"It is your decision," Three said.

Wedge gave the ship a final tap. "Alright," he said finally. "But if I come in here and find this thing shaped like a cube, you'll have a lot to answer for." Three looked at him in confusion. "Never mind," Wedge said. "Just be careful." Three nodded and plodded away, no doubt to get started on the task of designing his nanites. Wedge watched him a moment and then walked back towards his own ship to give it the once over.

It was still taking time to accept, he thought as he ran a small scanner over his ship, checking for any micro-fractures that could mean the difference between life or death in combat. The Borg had been like a supernova, exploding into the lives of himself and the Republic, changing the very nature of both galaxies during that relatively brief time. And now they were gone, forever. But like most forces of nature, they left a lasting imprint behind. The Republic had been swept away before the storm, unable to stop them despite superior numbers and power. The Borg knew just how to pick them apart, and of course, everyone knew why. And the Empire had actually gotten away with it.

He had to admit that he hadn't been happy when they said Three was being assigned to his maintenance crew. Three wasn't like the others, he was a lifer, knowing nothing other than being part of the Collective. The others were all victims of the Borg, but him, he was one of the victimizers, or that was how Wedge had felt. Sentiments like this weren't uncommon; he had even heard about former drones being killed by angry mobs, and maybe that was what had forced him to take a second look at Three. The fact was, no matter how angry he was at the Borg for what they had done to the Republic and to Rogue Squadron, Wedge Antilles was simply incapable of holding a prejudice. Three was no more responsible for what had happened than anyone else in the collective, the nature of his origin notwithstanding. Blaming him was like blaming a single snowflake for an avalanche; it was impossible to not move with the mass. He still wasn't a hundred percent comfortable around him, but that's just the way it was. Three's nature was just a little creepy, and Wedge was going to have to live with it as long as he was a mechanic for him.

He returned the scanner to the toolbox and watched Three carry a small supply of alloys over to the wing, no doubt for his nanites to try and reform with the wing. He still wasn't completely comfortable with that plan either, but again, his feelings weren't an issue here. Finally, knowing he had better things to be doing, he turned and strolled out of the hangar.
--------------------------------------------------------------

Three of Twelve watched Wedge exit the hangar. Apprehension was expected... but the commander had agreed with the plan. Three knew he was fortunate to work for someone as open-minded as him; he knew many of his fellow Borg weren't even treated like sentient beings by some. These people, they truly had no idea what the drones had been through...

Three would never forget how those first days went. He remembered with frightening clarity stepping out of his alcove in confusion, wondering what had happened. Had he lost his connection? But the looks on the faces of the other drones who had stepped out showed that it wasn't just him. He saw them look around with surprise and worry. Others didn't step out at all; a quick examination revealing they were dead.

He'd heard a scream and saw a huge alien, Species 8472 he quickly recalled, grab a drone and throw it into the wall while it howled in anger. Seized by fear, he pushed past the other drones and ran, or at least his best imitation of a run, considering it was something he'd only seen rather than done. The sound of screaming, howling and the smashing of bones and metal compelled him to learn very fast, and his feet pounded the grates as he put as much distance between himself and the alien as he could. That was how he spent the first day, running. After that, he learned a new skill: hiding. That was more effective, since during his running he accidentally ran into another angry alien; not the same species, but no less belligerent. His existence no longer revolved around assimilation or advancement, it was about survival, and that wasn't easy. He was exhausted, starving, and very frightened.

What he hadn't known at the time, since he was no longer connected to the sensor system located throughout the ship, was that nine vessels had formed up around his cube, ready to participate in what they called a humanitarian effort. In truth, it was an attempt to clean up the mess they had made. And so on that day, as Three of Twelve cowered in his hiding place, he saw individuals on the ship that were not Borg. They were dressed in black and grey, with yellow at the collar, and they had weapons. Federation, he thought with horror as he tried to squeeze further into the panel. He looked at the device in one's hand: a tricorder! And sure enough, they began walking towards him.

"Come on out," the person said to him. "We promise not to hurt you; we only want to help." Terrified, he'd burst past them and ran down the corridor. He was so frightened he didn't even hear the heavy footsteps until they were almost on top of him, that huge purple face staring down at him filled him with a terror he had never known.

"Get down!" one of the Federation men said, and in his fear he did what he was told. There was a series of very loud noises, almost like a very deep bass version of things cracking, and he heard the screams of Species 8472. After a few seconds the alien's body thumped down next to him, its body ripped open in several places and oozing blackish-green liquid. In horror he came to his feet with the help of the Federation men. "Team 4C," came the voice, "One to transport." The familiar Cube vanished and he was instead on another ship; Federation, he quickly realized. What was going on? What would they do to him?

A Federation officer came up to him, Three of Twelve focusing his total attention on the weapon: Type-IV pulse phaser cannon. "This way, please," the Terran said, and gestured with his weapon. Hesitantly, Three of Twelve had followed him into the hall and down a corridor. The muffled sound of his steps on the padded deckplates was eerily quiet and only managed to increase his misery at his current predicament. What now? he thought in anguish. What happens to me now? Me? he'd suddenly realized. Yes, me; I, am alone now. Small. He saw the Federation officer out of the corner of his eye. Helpless.

The officer escorted him into a large room with several other Borg inside, all standing in rows. He was led to the end of one of the rows and waited, and after a while the line moved forward. After a while longer it moved again. Finally, how long he couldn't say, there were no other Borg before him. Instead there was a low white desk with a Federation officer sitting behind it, piles of PADDs strewn about in a disorganized and inefficient manner; Three of Twelve felt no desire to point it out. The Terran gestured towards an object: a chair. "Please sit down," the man said with a smile. Hesitantly, Three of Twelve took hold of the chair, and after a moment released and reversed his arms and tried again. Finally, he managed to lower himself into it without too much trouble. He looked over and saw the Terran trying to cover a smile.

"I'm Ens. Harry Kim of the Federation," the Terran said. "I know you're probably a little disoriented, maybe even frightened, but I'm here to help you. Do you understand?" Three of Twelve nodded but said nothing. "The Borg Collective as you know it no longer exists," Ens. Harry Kim of the Federation continued. "You have all been disconnected from each other; you are now an individual, and that can't be changed. Do you understand that as well?"

"What happens now?" Three of Twelve asked, doing his best to hide his fear.

"Well, first we're going to try and help you get adjusted to the situation," said Ens. Harry Kim of the Federation. "Then we'll get you settled in somewhere where you can start a new life." Three of Twelve looked off a little as he thought. Me as an individual? How could he possibly survive alone? His attention jerked back to Ens. Harry Kim of the Federation. "I asked what your designation is," he said.

"Three of Twelve, Primary Adjunct of Unimatrix 13," he said. This, at least, he understood.

"Biological distinctiveness?"

"Species 4078," Three of Twelve said.

"What is the name of that species?" Ens. Harry Kim of the Federation asked.

"I don't know," he replied.

Ens. Harry Kim of the Federation nodded and rifled through the pile of PADDs, finally pulling one up and looking at it carefully. After a few seconds he tapped his communicator. "Kim here. Is there any information on Species 4078?"

"Just a moment," came the reply. After a while there was a beeping sound and Ens. Harry Kim of the Federation began tapping on the PADD. "Congratulations, you're a Hydorian," he said finally. He picked up the other PADD and tapped in the information. "Do you have a name?" he asked.

"Three of Twelve," he replied.

"No other name?" Ens. Harry Kim of the Federation asked.

"No," Three of Twelve said with surprise. What a curious question.

"You were never assimilated?"

"No."

"Well, that complicates things," he remarked. "We'll call you Three of Twelve for now, but if you like later you can change your name." He finished tapping on the PADD and handed it over to him. "Take this with you and give it to the Doctor when he asks for it."

After that another Federation officer had come and lead him to a different part of the room. Again he'd stood and waited, wondering what was going to happen next. Finally, a balding man in a blue uniform came up and took the PADD. "Three of Twelve," he said to himself. "Hydorian. Lifetime member of the Borg Collective." He turned and picked up an object: a hypospray. The Doctor held it up. "This will help neutralize the nanoprobes in your bloodstream and encourage your own DNA to reassert itself. We won't remove any implants unless you want us to." He pressed it against his neck and there was a sound of the tool discharging. The Doctor nodded to the security officer, and again Three of Twelve was lead through the ship until he came to a small slot in the wall.

"You can plug in here for now to regenerate," the guard said. "We'll sort out the rest once you've got your strength back." Three of Twelve stepped hesitantly into the small opening, looking at the port. He slowly reached out with his hand, noting with surprise that the grey color was disappearing, turning more of a brick red. Finally, he'd plugged into the socket and closed his eyes, the regeneration cycle beginning.

And after that had followed another day of individuality, and another. Slowly with the rest of the billions being processed he was given a chance to decide how to proceed, and eventually asked to use his engineering skills for some purpose. A thousand little decisions were presented to him, until he found himself working as a mechanic for the Republic. Perhaps not as fulfilling as he'd liked, but it was his task, and he carried it out as well as he could. But still, some days when they looked at him, he felt the fear return.
--------------------------------------------------------------

Mara Jade, also known as Darth Whind, tied the belt around her robe as she crossed the cold ornamental floor of her quarters on Bastion. With casual but steady steps she moved to the set of double doors to the patio and stepped out into the quiet night, the cool breeze giving her only the slightest of shivers. She saw Skywalker, staring up at the moon of Bastion in quiet deliberation. She sensed his conflicted thoughts. "Come back to bed," she said simply.

Skywalker said nothing, continuing his gaze up into the heavens. With deliberate care she slid up behind him, wrapping her arms around him and stroking his chest. "Let it go, Skywalker," she said soothingly. "The past is gone."

Skywalker turned away from the sky for only a moment, still not speaking a word. She moved around, whispering into his ear. "This is what was meant to be," her lips brushing the lobe as she spoke. "You know we were destined to be together. You and I are linked, Skywalker, in a way that few can truly say." After a moment, he stepped out of her embrace across the patio. She came up behind him again. "Do you really think you were meant to be with her?" she asked. "It was nothing, Skywalker." His continued silence began to infuriate her. "What you had with her was nothing! She's a machine, Skywalker. Just a machine; you can no more love her than you can your speeder or your ship. She doesn't really feel things the way you and I do. She doesn't understand what it means to love, she just mimics what she sees. She is an automaton, nothing more."

He said nothing, but she could feel his will weakening as she pressed on. "She has already moved on. Let her go to her mechanical ways, while you elevate yourself to a higher state of being." She pulled gently on his shoulder, turning him around until his face was inches from hers, gazing deeply into his eyes. "It is our destiny to be together, Skywalker. You cannot fight destiny, you know that. You learned that lesson quite well, didn't you." He turned away for a moment, but she slowly turned his face back to hers. "Don't despair," she said as she moved her lips closer to his, "The universe has selected us. A passion that is unimagined throughout the cosmos is ours alone. Accept it," her lips brushed his, "embrace it." Their mouths met, and they pulled their bodies together in the glow of the moonlight.

Skywalker jerked back suddenly as Mara’s teeth dug into his lip. There was an evil giggle that escaped her mouth, and Skywalker replied by slapping her with the back of his hand. She stumbled back a step and reached up to her lip, feeling the warmth from a drop of blood on her fingers. Her eyes flicked up to him as she grinned, her tongue sliding out and giving it a small lick. He stepped forward and grabbed her and they pressed together hard as their mouths met again. Together they stumbled and her back was slammed into the wall, causing her to let out a slight groan as she struck.

He slid his mouth off and started nestling down towards her robe, pulling it open as best he could with the belt tied as it was. Suddenly she grabbed a fist full of his hair and yanked his face back up to her mouth. They remained that way for some time, and then Skywalker pulled away, slamming her into the wall once again, a grin twisting at the corner of his lip as she moaned slightly. She quickly grabbed his arm and twisted her body around, pulling him off balance while she gave him a shove, tossing him straight through the glass door. He tripped over the bottom and fell in a heap, only to roll out of it and wind up sitting up in the middle of the floor, a small gash over his left eye. She grinned as she jumped through the remains of the door.

“My lady?” came a concerned voice from beyond the door.

She looked at Skywalker with hunger in her eyes as she stepped barefooted over the pieces of glass. “Kriff off!” she shouted at the door as he slowly came to his feet. When he finally stood upright she growled and leaped through the air at him, knocking him back on the floor with her on top, her mouth wrapped around his once again. They rolled about like that on the broken glass, Mara wincing and moaning at the occasional cut, though Skywalker never uttered a sound.

And after that, it got interesting.

Refresh my memory, does Ensign Kim Ever get promoted?

Man, even in alternate universes it sucks to be him.

On Mara Jade: Freak!

Woohoo! SITH PORN!!!!!

urgh. You're a twisted man, Sonneburg. Besides rhats more like klingon sex than Sith. Sith should be using force lighting on each other's genetalia or something..

consequences wrote:Refresh my memory, does Ensign Kim [Ever get promoted?

Man, even in alternate universes it sucks to be him.

In PL Harry comments that he spent his whole career as an ensign. Poor dumb bastard...

consequences wrote:On Mara Jade: Freak!

Arrow wrote:Woohoo! SITH PORN!!!!!

Crazedwraith wrote:urgh. You're a twisted man, Sonneburg. Besides rhats more like klingon sex than Sith. Sith should be using force lighting on each other's genetalia or something..

What's funny is that I think I added maybe one sentence to the last part, otherwise it's pretty much just what the original Luke-Mara foreplay scene was. Six years ago I wrote this hoping to get the reaction of "urgh. Freak!" and got "Woohoo! More freaky Sith sex!"

If anyone's curious I don't enjoy S&M in any form. I'm not speaking out against it, just that it's not my thing. But this really sets up the contrast between the relationship between these two and the one with Luke and Seven; the latter clearly showed their sexual relationship was built on trust and mutual acceptance, whereas this is built on... whatever the hell this is. You might recall from SotN:

"You're not going to toss me around on the holodeck, are you?"

"You know that's not my thing, sweetie," she said with a smirk.

I somehow don't remember glass sex... and I'm sure i would remember something that painful.... new addition? I mean what would you do if glass cut your epidetimus? lol

CERC

CERC wrote:I somehow don't remember glass sex... and I'm sure i would remember something that painful.... new addition? I mean what would you do if glass cut your epidetimus? lol

Well, I don't know if the actual sex took place on the glass... I kind of stopped speculating on what happened after I stopped writing once I asked myself "If Luke's making out with drone Seven, isn't he going to lose an eye to that optic thingie?"