Star Crossed Fanfic
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darthdavid
- Pathetic Attention Whore
- Posts: 5470
- Joined: 2003-02-17 12:04pm
- Location: Bat Country!
With out scanning through 30 pages of comment, can some one point out which chapter I need to go to to catch up?
I left off with Kirk in the cave, but after Fett attacked him. I'm in a reading phase again.
I left off with Kirk in the cave, but after Fett attacked him. I'm in a reading phase again.
They say, "the tree of liberty must be watered with the blood of tyrants and patriots." I suppose it never occurred to them that they are the tyrants, not the patriots. Those weapons are not being used to fight some kind of tyranny; they are bringing them to an event where people are getting together to talk. -Mike Wong
But as far as board culture in general, I do think that young male overaggression is a contributing factor to the general atmosphere of hostility. It's not SOS and the Mess throwing hand grenades all over the forum- Red
But as far as board culture in general, I do think that young male overaggression is a contributing factor to the general atmosphere of hostility. It's not SOS and the Mess throwing hand grenades all over the forum- Red
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darthdavid
- Pathetic Attention Whore
- Posts: 5470
- Joined: 2003-02-17 12:04pm
- Location: Bat Country!
Which, if I had total recalldarthdavid wrote:Just go the the cleaned up version and skim till you come to new stuff...
, would be chapter about what?They say, "the tree of liberty must be watered with the blood of tyrants and patriots." I suppose it never occurred to them that they are the tyrants, not the patriots. Those weapons are not being used to fight some kind of tyranny; they are bringing them to an event where people are getting together to talk. -Mike Wong
But as far as board culture in general, I do think that young male overaggression is a contributing factor to the general atmosphere of hostility. It's not SOS and the Mess throwing hand grenades all over the forum- Red
But as far as board culture in general, I do think that young male overaggression is a contributing factor to the general atmosphere of hostility. It's not SOS and the Mess throwing hand grenades all over the forum- Red
Check around 55. Thats when Nemesis and Kirk have their duel in the cave,Knife wrote:Which, if I had total recalldarthdavid wrote:Just go the the cleaned up version and skim till you come to new stuff...
Wherever you go, there you are.
Ripped Shirt Monkey - BOTMWriter's Guild Cybertron's Finest Justice League
This updated sig brought to you by JME2
Ripped Shirt Monkey - BOTMWriter's Guild Cybertron's Finest Justice League
This updated sig brought to you by JME2
Sorry, didn't mean for you to have to respond. About where are you now?Stravo wrote:
Check around 55. Thats when Nemesis and Kirk have their duel in the cave,
They say, "the tree of liberty must be watered with the blood of tyrants and patriots." I suppose it never occurred to them that they are the tyrants, not the patriots. Those weapons are not being used to fight some kind of tyranny; they are bringing them to an event where people are getting together to talk. -Mike Wong
But as far as board culture in general, I do think that young male overaggression is a contributing factor to the general atmosphere of hostility. It's not SOS and the Mess throwing hand grenades all over the forum- Red
But as far as board culture in general, I do think that young male overaggression is a contributing factor to the general atmosphere of hostility. It's not SOS and the Mess throwing hand grenades all over the forum- Red
No need to apologize you are getting it straight from the horses mouthKnife wrote:Sorry, didn't mean for you to have to respond. About where are you now?Stravo wrote:
Check around 55. Thats when Nemesis and Kirk have their duel in the cave,
Currently on Chapter 73. So you have a good chunk of reading ahead for you.
Wherever you go, there you are.
Ripped Shirt Monkey - BOTMWriter's Guild Cybertron's Finest Justice League
This updated sig brought to you by JME2
Ripped Shirt Monkey - BOTMWriter's Guild Cybertron's Finest Justice League
This updated sig brought to you by JME2
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Grand Admiral Thrawn
- Ruthless Imperial Tyrant
- Posts: 5755
- Joined: 2002-07-03 06:11pm
- Location: Canada
Chapter 74: Brief Interludes
The two men sat quietly watching the star field. The office was silent save for the soft ticking of a time piece on the corner of the simple desk. Stacks of datapads were neatly piled on almost every available inch of work space.
“You’re worried aren’t you?” The blind man whispered softly breaking the silence that had endured for several hours now.
“Is it that obvious?” Grand Admiral Kittaine sighed and took a sip of his drink. The tea was warm and soothing. He had discovered it in the Romulan replicator archives.
Ernesto Ochoa, former Federation Captain of the starship Thunderchild and prisoner of war shook his head and smiled. His blank eyes continued staring ahead as he spoke.
“You’re a good commander, Admiral. As such you cannot help but be concerned about your men. Remember I sat in the center chair and I know what it’s like. But in the end you cannot concern yourself with what might have been. You know as well as I do that the end result of this mission will mean that your Imperium is going to have to face Grand Admiral Thrawn’s forces.”
“That may be so.” Kittaine replied. “But that does not make it any more palatable to me. I used to be one of them you know. I was a loyal member of the Empire. There will be officers and men in Thrawn’s fleet who served under me or whom I served under at one time or another. This is not like killing aliens, this war will be killing friends.”
Ochoa said nothing but pursed his lips in thought before speaking.
“You know, each of those starships you destroyed in your little war against the Federation contained hundreds of people that I cared about, knew and were friends with. Yet I can put aside the anger I feel for your little dictatorial regime because I set my sight on a long term and far more important goal.” Ochoa replied evenly. Kittaine was unnerved by the sudden attention given him by the blank eyes of the Federation captain. They bore into him as if the young blind man could actually see him.
“You want to know something Captain Ochoa?” Kittaine asked as he slowly rose from his chair and walked over to his desk. “I have heard this often from you since I freed you from your prison. You keep talking about the bigger picture, the long term goal. I have no idea what you mean. My goal is simple. Keep the Imperium in one piece. Short term goal, find Lord Nemesis at all costs.”
“Isn’t it enough that I help you? Lord Nemesis came to me for advice.”
Kittaine nodded as he picked up some data pads and gave them cursory glances.
“And there’s the problem. After speaking to you he left the fleet and vanished, ending up as prisoner on some crime lord’s world.”
“You’re trying to blame me for this?” Ochoa asked in confusion. “Nemesis is and always has been his own man.”
“Yet he seemed to confide in you a great deal How do I know you have not steered him into certain courses of action? I mean, I must admit you are a charismatic young man, made even more so oddly enough after your incident.”
“You can say my blinding. After all your Imperium hospitality has put me through saying what I am is not going to hurt my feelings.” Ochoa countered.
“Alright damnit then I’ll come out and say it. You got your revenge against Nemesis by planting the notion in his head that he should leave the fleet and find himself or whatever damn fool thing he was doing out there in the hopes that he would be killed or captured.” Kittaine snapped.
Ochoa smiled sardonically.
“Poor little me. I talked a Sith lord into putting his life in danger. My, my Grand Admiral, whatever shall I do next as an encore, maybe convince you to surrender to James Kirk’s Federation remnant, perhaps?”
Kittaine frowned.
“Your sarcasm certainly isn’t helping.”
“What else am I supposed to say? Nemesis is his own man and he has been thinking about leaving for some time. He came to me as a sounding board for his own ideas. I merely told him the truth.”
“And that would be?”
“That you can’t truly listen unless you’ve quieted your own mind. I certainly didn’t have time to listen to the truth until I could no longer see.”
Kittaine was silent for a long while as he quietly regarded the young man. His anger was misplaced. He knew it as soon as he listened to Ochoa. This was anger at fate, at circumstances that had drawn him into this moment in history.
“You know I dispatched my finest warship and the best Captain I have.”
Ochoa said nothing.
“Tarsi is an attack dog. I never met a more aggressive commander. He does not see things in your standard tactical and strategic terms. For him it’s all about winning and losing.”
“That would be the kind of commander I would want to lead the rescue.” Ochoa replied.
“But I know that we will not be the only ones to pick up the Sith beacon.”
“And you’re afraid of what will happen should Vader come knocking.”
Kittaine shook his head ruefully.
“No. I know precisely what will happen when Vader arrives. Tarsi will not back down and we will have a war on our hands that I do not want nor am ready for.”
“This war happened the moment Thrawn came through the wormhole.” Ochoa noted.
“I’d like to think that sometimes war is not inevitable.” Kittaine sighed.
“Funny.” Ochoa said tightly. “War certainly seemed inevitable when your fleet came into this galaxy and took what it wanted. After all you burned a bloody path through the Alpha quadrant never once thinking that you may have been welcomed with open arms if you had offered to share what you had with all of us instead of conquering us and then giving us the benefits of your technology.”
Kittaine’s eyes narrowed on the young man. Ochoa’s back was to Kittaine, as the Grand Admiral’s eyes bore into it.
“Your galaxy was a chaotic quagmire of competing feudal powers. Lord Nemesis came and imposed order.”
“The litany of the tyrant.” Ochoa laughed bitterly. “My world and much of the Federation left those impulses behind long ago for something better. A world where might does not make right but might is FOR right. Where you help your enemy see the good in him instead of blasting him in self righteous anger.”
“And look where that got you.” Kittaine said it before thinking. He stopped himself short and opened his mouth to apologize but quickly shut it. There was an awkward silence in the room.
The doors opened and Lwaxana Troi strolled in holding several datapads in one hand while primping her hair with the other. Her Stormtrooper escort grimly strode in lockstep one step behind her.
“Oh you two have been marching around after me all day. Go to that mess hall or whatever it is you call it and get something to eat, you must be famished.”
The stormtroopers hesitantly glanced at each other.
“Oh shoo! Go away and get something to eat. And don’t fret what the Admiral will think. He has far too much on his mind and I intend to be here long enough for you to get something proper to eat.”
“Lwaxana, these men are—”
“Too scared of you to make the right decision. Now go. Please and try the Lamek soup, it is particularly good.” Lwaxana clucked like a mother hen and swung her arms in a shoving motion forcing the stormtroopers back through the door.
“And don’t think I won’t ask whether you two actually went to eat.” She added.
“Yes ma’am.” The duo replied like scolded children as the doors slid shut again. Lwaxana smiled and turned to face Kittaine and Ochoa. As she adjusted her hair again her eyes narrowed on Kittaine.
“You know, even if I weren’t a telepath I could tell that you two have been fighting again.”
Kittaine frowned.
“Nonsense.”
Ochoa remained silent.
Lwaxana nodded sagely. “Do you two want to tell me what this is all about? We were getting along so splendidly and now I can’t leave you two alone for more than 10 minutes before you’ve been at each other’s throats.”
“This is none of your concern. And since when did your position as my aide mean that you can question me? Do you have the data I asked for or not?”
Lwaxana's lips pursed into a thin line.
“Yes I most certainly do.”
“And?”
“Thrawn is going to attack Andor.” Ochoa interjected softly. He slowly rose to a standing position and adjusted the guidance control on his belt buckle. It was a gift from Kittaine. The belt was a device used to assist those who could not see to navigate as they walked, small buzzes acted like a sonar letting the wearer know when he was too close to an object.
“You’re leaving?” Lwaxana asked with concern, sparing Kittaine a harsh glare.
“I find, Miss Troi that my services are no longer required here. I’ve been accused of being an undue influence on the man that captured my ship, killed much of my crew and tortured the others. I wouldn’t want to give the Grand Admiral any advice that may lead to him making a disastrous decision.” Ochoa explained as he carefully walked towards the door, unerringly avoiding furniture.
“You’re being unfair.” Kittaine accused.
“Am I?” Ochoa asked sharply as he turned his head and seem to stare right at Kittaine.
“Ernesto, calm yourself dear. I’m sure the Admiral has been stressed by all that is happening. It’s only going to get worse when he hears what I have to report about Thrawn.” Laxwanna leaned in close to him. “He needs you…we need you.”
Ochoa quietly stood still for a moment, the betazed’s soft touch on his forearm.
“Perhaps I’ve been pushing my point of view too hard.” He replied. “I think that I need to pull back from this.”
“That’s not it entirely is it?” Laxwanna pressed as she felt the strands of his thoughts flowing.
“That’s not very nice now is it?” Ochoa snapped.
“What are you afraid of?”
Kittaine watched the exchange with great interest. It seemed sometimes that the blind man was privy to knowledge that he and the others were not. He always had some secretive half smile on his face when he made his cryptic proclamations. As if sharing in some private joke between himself and the universe.
“I’m not afraid of anything. I’m merely looking at what is to come.”
Lwaxana blinked. What was he driving at?
“Ernesto you’re being far more cryptic than usual today.” She gently chided.
Ochoa looked up at her, his eyes were brimming with tears. Her brow furrowed with concern. There was real anguish flowing from him.
“Listen to me. Both of you.” Ochoa announced. Kittaine stiffened, the starship Captain’s voice was thick with emotion. “There is one thing that I have tried to teach you, especially you Grand Admiral. Only time will tell if Luke listened to me as well. You see there is hope in even the darkest places of the universe. No matter how dark the night there will always be the dawn, no matter how long and deep the tunnel there will always be a light at the end of it. And in this war of the Starcrossed our single greatest weapon is hope. Hold on to it, do not let it go. Too many of us already have, whole worlds have lost it, the universe seems dimmer for it but as long as we few hold on for all the others there is a chance at final victory.”
Lwaxana was stunned by the passion in his words. Kittaine looked at the blind man with a new found respect. Ochoa reached out for Laxwanna with his hand. She gently clasped it. He reached up to her face and cupping her cheek before leaning in and kissing her ever so gently.
“You have been kind to me. I will never forget you. Take care of him. For all his faults he is a good man and we have so few left.” He whispered like a lover to her before parting.
Ochoa turned to leave and paused at the door.
“Holding on to hope is all we have.” He smiled softly. “Even a blind man can see that.” With those words, Ernesto Ochoa, Captain of the starship Thunderchild walked out of Grand Admiral Kittaine’s quarters.
The doors slid shut leaving Lwaxana Troi and Kittaine alone.
“Uh, I don’t quite know what to say. He seemed to be in anguish but he’s perfectly healthy…well except for the eyes.” Lwaxana began furtively touching her cheek where he had kissed her and trying to fill the uncomfortable silence.
“For all your telepathic talent you could not tell me what was bothering him?” Kittaine asked but his eyes were on the door, as if expecting the man to return.
Lwaxana shook her head. “Remarkable really. But there was no doubt that he was in pain. If only I knew why.”
“You know what bothers me more than anything else my dear.”
“Grand Admiral?”
Kittaine watched the door intently for a moment, as if he could will himself to see past it. His hands clasped the edge of the desk.
“That sounded very much like a goodbye.”
Picard reached out and grunted as he pulled himself over the lip of the cliff face. Beneath him stretched out the ancient fossilized remains of a city. He paused at the edge to catch his breath as Seven of Nine negotiated the ruins above him. She was moving at a fairly rapid pace and he was starting to fall behind.
He could not ask her to slow down. He knew why she was moving as if possessed.
The man she loved was somewhere down in that ghost city and he was going to die if they did not catch the Borg Queen and stop her attempt at restarting the Collective.
The lead she had on them had been shaved down but she was still far ahead and Picard was beginning to have serious doubts that he may not be able to keep up this pace for very long. He could almost hear his artificial heart pumping frantically in his chest.
He had dispatched R-7 ahead to try and reach the Queen. Seven and Picard had concluded that there was no way they could have a good chance of reaching her at this pace but the tireless android was another matter altogether.
Picard remembered watching the android bounding over the debris and disappearing from sight within moments after being ordered to track her and if necessary eliminate her. Now it was just him and Seven and he had no idea what R-7’s status was since he was under strict communications silence.
But he found himself hoping for the best. He did not want to see the android lose its life at this point in its development where he reminded Picard so much of Data.
He glanced around the ruins where they stood, or at least he crouched down, hands resting on his knees trying to catch his breath and saw a massive mangled mess of steel hanging askance far to his left at the edge of these ruins.
“That looks like a gantry of some sort or maybe even a crane.” He commented.
Seven stopped her movement and paused as her tricorder beeped. She flipped it open and watched the liquid crystal display with interest, occasionally adjusting a control.
“This must have been some sort of landing platform, perhaps a space port.” Picard concluded as he swept some dust and debris away with his foot and revealed the flat black surface beneath and what looked like the edges of large numbers that most likely acted as markers for pilots. The archeologist in him was excited. He was standing on ruins that predated the Borg and could help explain the evolution of their culture and society.
“Captain. I’m picking up odd subspace signals.”
“Oh?” Picard gasped as he stood straighter.
“I believe there is some sort of power source ahead. The presence of debris and heavy metals in the air is making it difficult to pinpoint precisely.”
Picard walked to her position, feeling some relief now that the pace had stopped for a moment.
“Could be an ancient device left on after the war, maybe a piece of equipment or vehicle buried under all this rubble.” Picard suggested as he wiped sweat from his brow and scanned the wreckage. Always looming above them was the fortress like structure that was their destination.
“I would normally agree with you.” Seven replied, she regarded him with a quizzical arch of her brow. “However the source of the signature has been moving the last few minutes.”
“Not just moving randomly either.” Picard noted instantly concerned as he watched the movement on the screen of the small tricorder. His finger jabbed down at the latest movement trace. “It’s been stalking us.”
The air around them exploded with a shrill shrieking like metal tearing itself apart. The debris in front of them exploded into the air in a thick hazy cloud driving Picard and Seven of Nine down to the ground. Seven’s tricorder buzzed a warning as the air rippled above them and the explosive destruction continued chewing up the ruins around them before suddenly stopping just as quickly as it began.
They heard a high pitched whining as if a motor were overheating and the sound was drowned out by a low rhythmic beating of something heavy crunching through the debris in a slow deliberate walk.
“Captain, the tricorder indicates that the hostile fire is most likely some advanced rail gun.”
“Rail guns? That’s not standard armament that I’m aware of among the Borg or anyone else of note for that matter.” Picard gasped as he rolled onto his knees and crouched low, trying too peer past a hunk of metal deposited squarely by his side after the attack. The ruins were smoking from the impact of the enemy rail gun, Picard could spy several white hot metal slugs smoldering deep inside the earth and the debris around them.
If just one of those just struck them they would most likely be killed instantly.
The clomping heavy metal foot steps paused. The high pitched whine turned into the metallic shriek as the slugs tore through the air.
“Down!” Picard shouted and dropped to his belly and placed his hands over his head. The debris field erupted into a chaotic storm of metal and earth. Some of the debris sliced his hands and back.
The attack stopped suddenly once again and the clomping grew louder.
Seven immediately checked her tricorder. She shielded it with her body in the last attack. It was their main advantage in this engagement. They were obviously out gunned at the moment.
“Captain, the signature is much stronger and clearer now. I am picking up a clear antimatter reaction and heavy armor of some form of tritanium remarkably similar to the armor on Borg drones save significantly heavier.”
“It’s pinning us down with heavy fire and closing for the---”
The high pitched shriek of metal ripped through the air much louder now and Picard caught sight of muzzle flashes top his right. The debris was further reduced to shards and shavings by the hot slugs.
The war machine drew close enough to be seen roughly. Picard estimated the attacking mechanical killer was roughly 5 meters tall and its vaguely humanoid shape was badly distorted by armor plating that covered nearly every inch of the machine.
He took his phaser rifle and adjusted the power settings quickly.
“Let us hope that unlike the Borg this war machine is not shielded.”
“Captain, a direct confrontation would be foolhardy. The machine seems to be designed to take out large concentrations of infantry. But I have an idea.”
“Now would be the time.” Picard replied as he set the power up to max. He rolled back to lie on his belly and aimed his rifle up towards the looming behemoth. He could now see the rail guns, much like the ancient Earth gatling guns with multiple spinning barrels, mounted on the machines arms. The barrels began to spin again.
Seven pressed a button on her tricorder and she dashed out away from Picard through the debris field. The war machine paused and let out a rumbling sound like an old engine starting up. Picard watched its head follow Seven, eyes mounted on armored turrets independently tracked her movements from separate angles.
What was she doing?
The war machine suddenly lurched forward and began following Seven. Using one of its battering ram like arms to swipe aside a chunk of molten concrete as it made a path for itself.
Picard noticed that the war machine’s armor was indeed thick and heavy, perhaps heavy enough to repel his phaser strikes. But the rear and sides of the machine were not as heavily armored and Seven’s ploy became obvious. She was trying to maneuver the killing machine into a more vulnerable position.
Picard brought the stock of the rifle up under his chin and aimed carefully. He needed to make every shot count.
The war machine emitted another loud roar of cogs and gears as its eyes tracked through the mountains of fossilized debris with an eerie precision. Whatever sensor packet it used, Seven’s trick was blinding it to everything else including himself.
Now to make it pay for that weakness.
Picard pressed the trigger and fired a volley of bright white phaser fire. The salvoes danced up the ‘spine’ of the machine, accompanied by a shower of sparks and smoke upon each strike. The machine roared again, a strange cacophony of electronic noise and squealing gears as it turned quickly, spinning on its waist like a top.
Picard was completely surprised by the machine’s speed and agility as the return fire of rail gun slugs screamed through the air. He rolled to his left and managed to squeeze off another shot before ducking in under cover.
The rail gun fire tore through the ground where he had lain only moments before and swept back and forth for a moment before stopping. The machine turned its body completely around now and squared up to face Picard’s direction. Its eyes were now tracking back and forth, scanning the field for its assailant.
Picard’s communicator clicked once. He tapped it but said nothing.
“Captain…this is Seven…the machine is using a form of thermal imaging coupled with a magnetic detection grid. My tricorder can fool its sensor suite but you are vulnerable. I will attempt to draw its attention again.”
Picard nodded as he shifted quickly and scuttled along the floor. If he remained in one place too long – the place where he had been crouched only moments before exploded into a haze of metal fragments and dust as the machine liberally doused the zone with heavy fire. It began walking towards him, the thunder like foot falls made the very floor reverberate.
“We have another problem Seven.” Picard explained as he hefted a heavy piece of stone and let it fly in the opposite direction. He got up into a running crouch and started to race towards the twisted skeletal remains of the crane far to his left.
The stone evaporated as the rail gun fire followed it unerringly and destroyed the area around it.
“The machine seems to be nearly impervious to phaser fire even at its weakest point.”
“I was afraid of that.” Seven replied. “Perhaps I can find another antimatter power source among these ruins and rig a small antimatter grenade.” Seven offered.
Picard shook his head as he dove over a gaping chasm where the landing pad had been blasted away and rail gun fire sang behind him.
“No Seven. We don’t have time. I’m running out of space…” the war machine suddenly erupted from one of the walls of fallen debris behind Picard and turned its square head to pin him with a cold calculating gaze.
“And time!” Picard exclaimed as he leapt up and caught the end of the crane’s structure. He swung himself up with one arm, the other jerked forward and fired a round into the machine’s arm, ruining one of the rail guns in an explosion of molten metal.
The war machine began sprinting towards him.
Picard climbed faster than he ever had before. The crane was easily ten stories tall and he was only near the base, hands desperately grasping for the dust covered metal spines and spokes as he negotiated the intricate framework of steel.
“Captain I am coming!”
Picard took another breath and tucked into the heart of the cranes framework as the machine aimed upward with its remaining rail gun and unleashed a horrid barrage. Metal fragments pinged off the framework and one lanced right through Picard’s left bicep. He bit back his scream as he waited for his moment.
The war machine’s guns silenced again as it scanned the upper portions of the towering crane for signs of Picard,
Picard ducked back out and aimed his rifle down. The machine immediately raised a protective arm over its head as it brought the arm with the still functioning rail gun around to protect it from Picard’s fire.
“You’re as smart as I thought you’d be.” Picard muttered as he began firing.
The war machine did not immediately notice that the fire was not directed at it at all. It let out a quizzical snort of derision at the poor marksmanship only to be answered by a slow tortured groan of steel grinding on steel. The foundations of the ruined crane were blown away by the intense phaser fire.
The warmachine’s head jerked up with an almost comical expression on its plain tritanium plated features. It opened its mouth an bellowed a challenge that Picard answered with a roar of his own as the crane began to collapse.
The machine raised its remaining rail gun up at its human target and began to unleash its final volley. Picard leapt from the crane, legs splayed out wildly, arms flapping as the tower collapsed down on top of the warmachine. The high pitched squeal of the rail gun was silenced in an instant by the roar of steel falling steel, hundreds of tons crashing down with a titanic boom.
A thick billowing cloud of black dust and powdered concrete swept ahead along the entirety of the landing platform enveloping everything in a pervasive silence that followed the crash.
The landing platform was still for a long while, the only sound was the occasional clatter of debris and shifting steel beams as they settled in to their new resting place. The silence was finally broken by Picard’s coughing.
He sat up and winced in pain as his felt his ribs. There was a stabbing pain in his left side. Damnit. He spat blood out from his mouth and tried to rise to his feet. Someone was sliding in to his position through the debris. Picard quickly raised his rifle but immediately stopped himself as Seven approached and dropped down to one knee beside Picard.
She ran her open tricorder over him as she glanced back at the crane.
“I did not foresee your strategy until it was too late to help.”
“That’s alright.” Picard gasped in pain. “The general idea was to not be anticipated. From its reactions to out tactics I gleaned that the war machine has a sophisticated enemy AI software. I had to take action that one would think of as rash and irrational but get the job done.”
“You have three broken ribs and a fourth one fractured. I would recommend we stop and camp here while I tend to those injuries.” She paused. “You also have a ligament damage in your left ankle and knee.”
“Well, unfortunately we do not have the luxury of doing that. She’s bound to be at the laboratory already. That behemoth may not have killed us but it did the next best thing.” Picard reached out for Seven and she clasped his hands helping him to his feet. He groaned softly. “It stalled us here, giving her time.”
“I’m not sure you are in any condition to continue.”
“You let me be the judge of that.” Picard countered. He heard something. Softly at first, almost lost in the wind but it became more insistent.
“Do you hear that?”
“Yes. It’s coming from the direction of the machine.”
Picard and Seven exchanged a troubled glance but Picard began to walk towards the wreckage and stopped in mid-rise almost collapsing in pain. Seven was instantly by his side, supporting him on her shoulder.
“You were saying about being your own judge.”
“I think I may have misjudged my injuries. My knee feels like its going to explode.”
“The ligament damage was severe. You will need surgery in order to walk properly.”
“Locutus.”
The whisper was insistent now and much louder.
“I have to get over there.”
Seven nodded and helped him get to the wreckage of the crane. The warmachine lay beneath much of the twisted metal, both arms shorn off, the torso was traversed by several beams neatly pinning it to the ground like a dissected animal.
Its head was slowly flailing about and its mouth opened speaking in the Queen’s voice.
“Locutus.”
“I’m here.” Picard replied stonily.
The warmachine’s head turned slowly and regarded Picard with a blank stare. It opened its mouth again.
“Locutus. Somehow I knew that this ancient would not be able to stop you.”
“But that was never your goal was it?” Picard replied with a frown.
“No. I needed time and it bought me more than enough. I am inside the laboratory as we speak. Everything is almost ready.”
“I never thought of you as the gloating type.” Picard said acidly.
“I do not have to gloat Locutus. My victory was a foregone conclusion and now I am merely missing the final ingredient to my plans.”
“And that would be?”
“You.”
Seven and Picard suddenly vanished in swirling pillars of emerald light. The platform was silent again as the warmachine bowed its head one last time and switched off.
Archer shivered as he pulled the survival blanket closer to him. The cold was pervasive even within the confines of his makeshift shelter under the cover of a downed ancient craft.
The cold did not bother him, or the wind, even the dull throbbing pain of his injuries were not as horrible as the voices he had been hearing the last hour. They were whispers at first. He had assumed it was a trick of the wind coupled with his weary mind but they became clearer, more audible and soon it was obvious that he was actually hearing voices.
They were speaking as if to someone else. He was an unseen witness to a conversation that he wanted no part of. But now, the voices were the least of his concerns.
Now he was seeing things.
Shadows at first, flitting by the corners of his shelter. Movement out of his peripheral vision that maddeningly disappeared when he turned to look directly at it. However he was always relieved when the shadows vanished once confronted. It was a cold comfort to someone who believed that he may be losing the one faculty he had left that was still in perfect working order – his mind.
When he turned and actually saw one of the shadows taking shape and moving he wanted to scream. Not from terror or fear, those emotions were far removed from someone who had seen entire worlds stripped of life by a relentless enemy. It was from the abject horror that indeed he was losing his mind.
He did not want to look, tried to force himself to look away but the shadows became more solid, more substantial. They moved like people now and they were talking. Wandering. Yes, that was the term. They seemed to be wandering, completely oblivious to him.
“This can’t be real.” He muttered.
One of the shades paused as if it heard him.
“Can you hear me?” it whispered in a plaintive wail. Archer crew his legs up closer to his chin and began rocking back and forth.
“This isn’t happening. There are no such things as ghosts.”
“You must hear me. We need to be heard. The pact was broken. Our people consigned to oblivion.”
Archer slowly looked up. The voice was oddly like Seven’s. Strip away the cold tone of her voice, the calculating diction and it sounded so much like her.
“Please listen. There was a pact. It was our final attempt at peace. The machines were on the verge of wiping us out, whole worlds were burned away by their legions and this world, our home world was our last stronghold. We decided to make our stand here. But the machines kept coming until we decided that there was only one possibility left to us. A possibility that we had feared but was the only road left for survival. The road of the trinity.”
Archer leaned forward. This sounded so real. The story had a ring of truth to it. What happened on this world. How did this hell birth the Borg.
“But the pact was broken. Someone decided to eliminate the trinity and instead formed a simple union. But it was incomplete, mindless, a cacophony of voices that needed guidance.”
“The Collective.”
“Yes…yes, that’s it the Collective.” The shade implored.
“What is the trinity then? Man and machine?”
“No. The trinity is the perfect union of human and machine not man and machine.”
“I don’t understand the difference.” Archer protested. The shade drew closer and he could make out a hint of flesh and hair in the swirling shadows.
“This is humanity.” She stated proudly and grasped his wrist. Archer stiffened as his mind was assaulted by images. Flashes of Seven and him. The way she looked at him, his heart stirring that first time he met her on the transporter platform. The way her presence placed him at ease even in the thick of battle. The electric jolt of her touch making his skin come alive. The rush of passion as he kissed her for the first time and the horrible sorrow that had crept into his heart as they parted. He felt alone.
Incomplete.
“My god.” He gasped as the shade withdrew her touch. “I understand.” He exclaimed and rose to his feet despite his injuries. “She needs me.”
“Go to her.” Another shade urged. Archer saw the image of a machine in his mind, towering and massive, green light surged along crystalline circuit path ways and he saw her. Seven standing in the center of the machine, her long luxurious blonde hair flowed around her as if she were in standing in a tempest. She stretched her arms out to him as light enveloped her like a lover.
“Complete the ancient pact, seal the breach.”
“Free us.” Several more whispered like a fervent prayer.
“Become one, seal the Breach and give birth to something new.”
Archer looked back and saw a young man clearly among the shades.
“What will I become?”
“Something wonderful.” The young man promised.
Archer limped frantically over to the downed ship. There was no way he could walk. The ship would give him what he needed.
“It’s old.” He reasoned as he opened a panel. Dust of ages lay within the exposed circuitry.
“She will fly again.” The female shade vowed.
“We built our machines well.” The male shade noted with a ghost of a smile.
The two men sat quietly watching the star field. The office was silent save for the soft ticking of a time piece on the corner of the simple desk. Stacks of datapads were neatly piled on almost every available inch of work space.
“You’re worried aren’t you?” The blind man whispered softly breaking the silence that had endured for several hours now.
“Is it that obvious?” Grand Admiral Kittaine sighed and took a sip of his drink. The tea was warm and soothing. He had discovered it in the Romulan replicator archives.
Ernesto Ochoa, former Federation Captain of the starship Thunderchild and prisoner of war shook his head and smiled. His blank eyes continued staring ahead as he spoke.
“You’re a good commander, Admiral. As such you cannot help but be concerned about your men. Remember I sat in the center chair and I know what it’s like. But in the end you cannot concern yourself with what might have been. You know as well as I do that the end result of this mission will mean that your Imperium is going to have to face Grand Admiral Thrawn’s forces.”
“That may be so.” Kittaine replied. “But that does not make it any more palatable to me. I used to be one of them you know. I was a loyal member of the Empire. There will be officers and men in Thrawn’s fleet who served under me or whom I served under at one time or another. This is not like killing aliens, this war will be killing friends.”
Ochoa said nothing but pursed his lips in thought before speaking.
“You know, each of those starships you destroyed in your little war against the Federation contained hundreds of people that I cared about, knew and were friends with. Yet I can put aside the anger I feel for your little dictatorial regime because I set my sight on a long term and far more important goal.” Ochoa replied evenly. Kittaine was unnerved by the sudden attention given him by the blank eyes of the Federation captain. They bore into him as if the young blind man could actually see him.
“You want to know something Captain Ochoa?” Kittaine asked as he slowly rose from his chair and walked over to his desk. “I have heard this often from you since I freed you from your prison. You keep talking about the bigger picture, the long term goal. I have no idea what you mean. My goal is simple. Keep the Imperium in one piece. Short term goal, find Lord Nemesis at all costs.”
“Isn’t it enough that I help you? Lord Nemesis came to me for advice.”
Kittaine nodded as he picked up some data pads and gave them cursory glances.
“And there’s the problem. After speaking to you he left the fleet and vanished, ending up as prisoner on some crime lord’s world.”
“You’re trying to blame me for this?” Ochoa asked in confusion. “Nemesis is and always has been his own man.”
“Yet he seemed to confide in you a great deal How do I know you have not steered him into certain courses of action? I mean, I must admit you are a charismatic young man, made even more so oddly enough after your incident.”
“You can say my blinding. After all your Imperium hospitality has put me through saying what I am is not going to hurt my feelings.” Ochoa countered.
“Alright damnit then I’ll come out and say it. You got your revenge against Nemesis by planting the notion in his head that he should leave the fleet and find himself or whatever damn fool thing he was doing out there in the hopes that he would be killed or captured.” Kittaine snapped.
Ochoa smiled sardonically.
“Poor little me. I talked a Sith lord into putting his life in danger. My, my Grand Admiral, whatever shall I do next as an encore, maybe convince you to surrender to James Kirk’s Federation remnant, perhaps?”
Kittaine frowned.
“Your sarcasm certainly isn’t helping.”
“What else am I supposed to say? Nemesis is his own man and he has been thinking about leaving for some time. He came to me as a sounding board for his own ideas. I merely told him the truth.”
“And that would be?”
“That you can’t truly listen unless you’ve quieted your own mind. I certainly didn’t have time to listen to the truth until I could no longer see.”
Kittaine was silent for a long while as he quietly regarded the young man. His anger was misplaced. He knew it as soon as he listened to Ochoa. This was anger at fate, at circumstances that had drawn him into this moment in history.
“You know I dispatched my finest warship and the best Captain I have.”
Ochoa said nothing.
“Tarsi is an attack dog. I never met a more aggressive commander. He does not see things in your standard tactical and strategic terms. For him it’s all about winning and losing.”
“That would be the kind of commander I would want to lead the rescue.” Ochoa replied.
“But I know that we will not be the only ones to pick up the Sith beacon.”
“And you’re afraid of what will happen should Vader come knocking.”
Kittaine shook his head ruefully.
“No. I know precisely what will happen when Vader arrives. Tarsi will not back down and we will have a war on our hands that I do not want nor am ready for.”
“This war happened the moment Thrawn came through the wormhole.” Ochoa noted.
“I’d like to think that sometimes war is not inevitable.” Kittaine sighed.
“Funny.” Ochoa said tightly. “War certainly seemed inevitable when your fleet came into this galaxy and took what it wanted. After all you burned a bloody path through the Alpha quadrant never once thinking that you may have been welcomed with open arms if you had offered to share what you had with all of us instead of conquering us and then giving us the benefits of your technology.”
Kittaine’s eyes narrowed on the young man. Ochoa’s back was to Kittaine, as the Grand Admiral’s eyes bore into it.
“Your galaxy was a chaotic quagmire of competing feudal powers. Lord Nemesis came and imposed order.”
“The litany of the tyrant.” Ochoa laughed bitterly. “My world and much of the Federation left those impulses behind long ago for something better. A world where might does not make right but might is FOR right. Where you help your enemy see the good in him instead of blasting him in self righteous anger.”
“And look where that got you.” Kittaine said it before thinking. He stopped himself short and opened his mouth to apologize but quickly shut it. There was an awkward silence in the room.
The doors opened and Lwaxana Troi strolled in holding several datapads in one hand while primping her hair with the other. Her Stormtrooper escort grimly strode in lockstep one step behind her.
“Oh you two have been marching around after me all day. Go to that mess hall or whatever it is you call it and get something to eat, you must be famished.”
The stormtroopers hesitantly glanced at each other.
“Oh shoo! Go away and get something to eat. And don’t fret what the Admiral will think. He has far too much on his mind and I intend to be here long enough for you to get something proper to eat.”
“Lwaxana, these men are—”
“Too scared of you to make the right decision. Now go. Please and try the Lamek soup, it is particularly good.” Lwaxana clucked like a mother hen and swung her arms in a shoving motion forcing the stormtroopers back through the door.
“And don’t think I won’t ask whether you two actually went to eat.” She added.
“Yes ma’am.” The duo replied like scolded children as the doors slid shut again. Lwaxana smiled and turned to face Kittaine and Ochoa. As she adjusted her hair again her eyes narrowed on Kittaine.
“You know, even if I weren’t a telepath I could tell that you two have been fighting again.”
Kittaine frowned.
“Nonsense.”
Ochoa remained silent.
Lwaxana nodded sagely. “Do you two want to tell me what this is all about? We were getting along so splendidly and now I can’t leave you two alone for more than 10 minutes before you’ve been at each other’s throats.”
“This is none of your concern. And since when did your position as my aide mean that you can question me? Do you have the data I asked for or not?”
Lwaxana's lips pursed into a thin line.
“Yes I most certainly do.”
“And?”
“Thrawn is going to attack Andor.” Ochoa interjected softly. He slowly rose to a standing position and adjusted the guidance control on his belt buckle. It was a gift from Kittaine. The belt was a device used to assist those who could not see to navigate as they walked, small buzzes acted like a sonar letting the wearer know when he was too close to an object.
“You’re leaving?” Lwaxana asked with concern, sparing Kittaine a harsh glare.
“I find, Miss Troi that my services are no longer required here. I’ve been accused of being an undue influence on the man that captured my ship, killed much of my crew and tortured the others. I wouldn’t want to give the Grand Admiral any advice that may lead to him making a disastrous decision.” Ochoa explained as he carefully walked towards the door, unerringly avoiding furniture.
“You’re being unfair.” Kittaine accused.
“Am I?” Ochoa asked sharply as he turned his head and seem to stare right at Kittaine.
“Ernesto, calm yourself dear. I’m sure the Admiral has been stressed by all that is happening. It’s only going to get worse when he hears what I have to report about Thrawn.” Laxwanna leaned in close to him. “He needs you…we need you.”
Ochoa quietly stood still for a moment, the betazed’s soft touch on his forearm.
“Perhaps I’ve been pushing my point of view too hard.” He replied. “I think that I need to pull back from this.”
“That’s not it entirely is it?” Laxwanna pressed as she felt the strands of his thoughts flowing.
“That’s not very nice now is it?” Ochoa snapped.
“What are you afraid of?”
Kittaine watched the exchange with great interest. It seemed sometimes that the blind man was privy to knowledge that he and the others were not. He always had some secretive half smile on his face when he made his cryptic proclamations. As if sharing in some private joke between himself and the universe.
“I’m not afraid of anything. I’m merely looking at what is to come.”
Lwaxana blinked. What was he driving at?
“Ernesto you’re being far more cryptic than usual today.” She gently chided.
Ochoa looked up at her, his eyes were brimming with tears. Her brow furrowed with concern. There was real anguish flowing from him.
“Listen to me. Both of you.” Ochoa announced. Kittaine stiffened, the starship Captain’s voice was thick with emotion. “There is one thing that I have tried to teach you, especially you Grand Admiral. Only time will tell if Luke listened to me as well. You see there is hope in even the darkest places of the universe. No matter how dark the night there will always be the dawn, no matter how long and deep the tunnel there will always be a light at the end of it. And in this war of the Starcrossed our single greatest weapon is hope. Hold on to it, do not let it go. Too many of us already have, whole worlds have lost it, the universe seems dimmer for it but as long as we few hold on for all the others there is a chance at final victory.”
Lwaxana was stunned by the passion in his words. Kittaine looked at the blind man with a new found respect. Ochoa reached out for Laxwanna with his hand. She gently clasped it. He reached up to her face and cupping her cheek before leaning in and kissing her ever so gently.
“You have been kind to me. I will never forget you. Take care of him. For all his faults he is a good man and we have so few left.” He whispered like a lover to her before parting.
Ochoa turned to leave and paused at the door.
“Holding on to hope is all we have.” He smiled softly. “Even a blind man can see that.” With those words, Ernesto Ochoa, Captain of the starship Thunderchild walked out of Grand Admiral Kittaine’s quarters.
The doors slid shut leaving Lwaxana Troi and Kittaine alone.
“Uh, I don’t quite know what to say. He seemed to be in anguish but he’s perfectly healthy…well except for the eyes.” Lwaxana began furtively touching her cheek where he had kissed her and trying to fill the uncomfortable silence.
“For all your telepathic talent you could not tell me what was bothering him?” Kittaine asked but his eyes were on the door, as if expecting the man to return.
Lwaxana shook her head. “Remarkable really. But there was no doubt that he was in pain. If only I knew why.”
“You know what bothers me more than anything else my dear.”
“Grand Admiral?”
Kittaine watched the door intently for a moment, as if he could will himself to see past it. His hands clasped the edge of the desk.
“That sounded very much like a goodbye.”
Picard reached out and grunted as he pulled himself over the lip of the cliff face. Beneath him stretched out the ancient fossilized remains of a city. He paused at the edge to catch his breath as Seven of Nine negotiated the ruins above him. She was moving at a fairly rapid pace and he was starting to fall behind.
He could not ask her to slow down. He knew why she was moving as if possessed.
The man she loved was somewhere down in that ghost city and he was going to die if they did not catch the Borg Queen and stop her attempt at restarting the Collective.
The lead she had on them had been shaved down but she was still far ahead and Picard was beginning to have serious doubts that he may not be able to keep up this pace for very long. He could almost hear his artificial heart pumping frantically in his chest.
He had dispatched R-7 ahead to try and reach the Queen. Seven and Picard had concluded that there was no way they could have a good chance of reaching her at this pace but the tireless android was another matter altogether.
Picard remembered watching the android bounding over the debris and disappearing from sight within moments after being ordered to track her and if necessary eliminate her. Now it was just him and Seven and he had no idea what R-7’s status was since he was under strict communications silence.
But he found himself hoping for the best. He did not want to see the android lose its life at this point in its development where he reminded Picard so much of Data.
He glanced around the ruins where they stood, or at least he crouched down, hands resting on his knees trying to catch his breath and saw a massive mangled mess of steel hanging askance far to his left at the edge of these ruins.
“That looks like a gantry of some sort or maybe even a crane.” He commented.
Seven stopped her movement and paused as her tricorder beeped. She flipped it open and watched the liquid crystal display with interest, occasionally adjusting a control.
“This must have been some sort of landing platform, perhaps a space port.” Picard concluded as he swept some dust and debris away with his foot and revealed the flat black surface beneath and what looked like the edges of large numbers that most likely acted as markers for pilots. The archeologist in him was excited. He was standing on ruins that predated the Borg and could help explain the evolution of their culture and society.
“Captain. I’m picking up odd subspace signals.”
“Oh?” Picard gasped as he stood straighter.
“I believe there is some sort of power source ahead. The presence of debris and heavy metals in the air is making it difficult to pinpoint precisely.”
Picard walked to her position, feeling some relief now that the pace had stopped for a moment.
“Could be an ancient device left on after the war, maybe a piece of equipment or vehicle buried under all this rubble.” Picard suggested as he wiped sweat from his brow and scanned the wreckage. Always looming above them was the fortress like structure that was their destination.
“I would normally agree with you.” Seven replied, she regarded him with a quizzical arch of her brow. “However the source of the signature has been moving the last few minutes.”
“Not just moving randomly either.” Picard noted instantly concerned as he watched the movement on the screen of the small tricorder. His finger jabbed down at the latest movement trace. “It’s been stalking us.”
The air around them exploded with a shrill shrieking like metal tearing itself apart. The debris in front of them exploded into the air in a thick hazy cloud driving Picard and Seven of Nine down to the ground. Seven’s tricorder buzzed a warning as the air rippled above them and the explosive destruction continued chewing up the ruins around them before suddenly stopping just as quickly as it began.
They heard a high pitched whining as if a motor were overheating and the sound was drowned out by a low rhythmic beating of something heavy crunching through the debris in a slow deliberate walk.
“Captain, the tricorder indicates that the hostile fire is most likely some advanced rail gun.”
“Rail guns? That’s not standard armament that I’m aware of among the Borg or anyone else of note for that matter.” Picard gasped as he rolled onto his knees and crouched low, trying too peer past a hunk of metal deposited squarely by his side after the attack. The ruins were smoking from the impact of the enemy rail gun, Picard could spy several white hot metal slugs smoldering deep inside the earth and the debris around them.
If just one of those just struck them they would most likely be killed instantly.
The clomping heavy metal foot steps paused. The high pitched whine turned into the metallic shriek as the slugs tore through the air.
“Down!” Picard shouted and dropped to his belly and placed his hands over his head. The debris field erupted into a chaotic storm of metal and earth. Some of the debris sliced his hands and back.
The attack stopped suddenly once again and the clomping grew louder.
Seven immediately checked her tricorder. She shielded it with her body in the last attack. It was their main advantage in this engagement. They were obviously out gunned at the moment.
“Captain, the signature is much stronger and clearer now. I am picking up a clear antimatter reaction and heavy armor of some form of tritanium remarkably similar to the armor on Borg drones save significantly heavier.”
“It’s pinning us down with heavy fire and closing for the---”
The high pitched shriek of metal ripped through the air much louder now and Picard caught sight of muzzle flashes top his right. The debris was further reduced to shards and shavings by the hot slugs.
The war machine drew close enough to be seen roughly. Picard estimated the attacking mechanical killer was roughly 5 meters tall and its vaguely humanoid shape was badly distorted by armor plating that covered nearly every inch of the machine.
He took his phaser rifle and adjusted the power settings quickly.
“Let us hope that unlike the Borg this war machine is not shielded.”
“Captain, a direct confrontation would be foolhardy. The machine seems to be designed to take out large concentrations of infantry. But I have an idea.”
“Now would be the time.” Picard replied as he set the power up to max. He rolled back to lie on his belly and aimed his rifle up towards the looming behemoth. He could now see the rail guns, much like the ancient Earth gatling guns with multiple spinning barrels, mounted on the machines arms. The barrels began to spin again.
Seven pressed a button on her tricorder and she dashed out away from Picard through the debris field. The war machine paused and let out a rumbling sound like an old engine starting up. Picard watched its head follow Seven, eyes mounted on armored turrets independently tracked her movements from separate angles.
What was she doing?
The war machine suddenly lurched forward and began following Seven. Using one of its battering ram like arms to swipe aside a chunk of molten concrete as it made a path for itself.
Picard noticed that the war machine’s armor was indeed thick and heavy, perhaps heavy enough to repel his phaser strikes. But the rear and sides of the machine were not as heavily armored and Seven’s ploy became obvious. She was trying to maneuver the killing machine into a more vulnerable position.
Picard brought the stock of the rifle up under his chin and aimed carefully. He needed to make every shot count.
The war machine emitted another loud roar of cogs and gears as its eyes tracked through the mountains of fossilized debris with an eerie precision. Whatever sensor packet it used, Seven’s trick was blinding it to everything else including himself.
Now to make it pay for that weakness.
Picard pressed the trigger and fired a volley of bright white phaser fire. The salvoes danced up the ‘spine’ of the machine, accompanied by a shower of sparks and smoke upon each strike. The machine roared again, a strange cacophony of electronic noise and squealing gears as it turned quickly, spinning on its waist like a top.
Picard was completely surprised by the machine’s speed and agility as the return fire of rail gun slugs screamed through the air. He rolled to his left and managed to squeeze off another shot before ducking in under cover.
The rail gun fire tore through the ground where he had lain only moments before and swept back and forth for a moment before stopping. The machine turned its body completely around now and squared up to face Picard’s direction. Its eyes were now tracking back and forth, scanning the field for its assailant.
Picard’s communicator clicked once. He tapped it but said nothing.
“Captain…this is Seven…the machine is using a form of thermal imaging coupled with a magnetic detection grid. My tricorder can fool its sensor suite but you are vulnerable. I will attempt to draw its attention again.”
Picard nodded as he shifted quickly and scuttled along the floor. If he remained in one place too long – the place where he had been crouched only moments before exploded into a haze of metal fragments and dust as the machine liberally doused the zone with heavy fire. It began walking towards him, the thunder like foot falls made the very floor reverberate.
“We have another problem Seven.” Picard explained as he hefted a heavy piece of stone and let it fly in the opposite direction. He got up into a running crouch and started to race towards the twisted skeletal remains of the crane far to his left.
The stone evaporated as the rail gun fire followed it unerringly and destroyed the area around it.
“The machine seems to be nearly impervious to phaser fire even at its weakest point.”
“I was afraid of that.” Seven replied. “Perhaps I can find another antimatter power source among these ruins and rig a small antimatter grenade.” Seven offered.
Picard shook his head as he dove over a gaping chasm where the landing pad had been blasted away and rail gun fire sang behind him.
“No Seven. We don’t have time. I’m running out of space…” the war machine suddenly erupted from one of the walls of fallen debris behind Picard and turned its square head to pin him with a cold calculating gaze.
“And time!” Picard exclaimed as he leapt up and caught the end of the crane’s structure. He swung himself up with one arm, the other jerked forward and fired a round into the machine’s arm, ruining one of the rail guns in an explosion of molten metal.
The war machine began sprinting towards him.
Picard climbed faster than he ever had before. The crane was easily ten stories tall and he was only near the base, hands desperately grasping for the dust covered metal spines and spokes as he negotiated the intricate framework of steel.
“Captain I am coming!”
Picard took another breath and tucked into the heart of the cranes framework as the machine aimed upward with its remaining rail gun and unleashed a horrid barrage. Metal fragments pinged off the framework and one lanced right through Picard’s left bicep. He bit back his scream as he waited for his moment.
The war machine’s guns silenced again as it scanned the upper portions of the towering crane for signs of Picard,
Picard ducked back out and aimed his rifle down. The machine immediately raised a protective arm over its head as it brought the arm with the still functioning rail gun around to protect it from Picard’s fire.
“You’re as smart as I thought you’d be.” Picard muttered as he began firing.
The war machine did not immediately notice that the fire was not directed at it at all. It let out a quizzical snort of derision at the poor marksmanship only to be answered by a slow tortured groan of steel grinding on steel. The foundations of the ruined crane were blown away by the intense phaser fire.
The warmachine’s head jerked up with an almost comical expression on its plain tritanium plated features. It opened its mouth an bellowed a challenge that Picard answered with a roar of his own as the crane began to collapse.
The machine raised its remaining rail gun up at its human target and began to unleash its final volley. Picard leapt from the crane, legs splayed out wildly, arms flapping as the tower collapsed down on top of the warmachine. The high pitched squeal of the rail gun was silenced in an instant by the roar of steel falling steel, hundreds of tons crashing down with a titanic boom.
A thick billowing cloud of black dust and powdered concrete swept ahead along the entirety of the landing platform enveloping everything in a pervasive silence that followed the crash.
The landing platform was still for a long while, the only sound was the occasional clatter of debris and shifting steel beams as they settled in to their new resting place. The silence was finally broken by Picard’s coughing.
He sat up and winced in pain as his felt his ribs. There was a stabbing pain in his left side. Damnit. He spat blood out from his mouth and tried to rise to his feet. Someone was sliding in to his position through the debris. Picard quickly raised his rifle but immediately stopped himself as Seven approached and dropped down to one knee beside Picard.
She ran her open tricorder over him as she glanced back at the crane.
“I did not foresee your strategy until it was too late to help.”
“That’s alright.” Picard gasped in pain. “The general idea was to not be anticipated. From its reactions to out tactics I gleaned that the war machine has a sophisticated enemy AI software. I had to take action that one would think of as rash and irrational but get the job done.”
“You have three broken ribs and a fourth one fractured. I would recommend we stop and camp here while I tend to those injuries.” She paused. “You also have a ligament damage in your left ankle and knee.”
“Well, unfortunately we do not have the luxury of doing that. She’s bound to be at the laboratory already. That behemoth may not have killed us but it did the next best thing.” Picard reached out for Seven and she clasped his hands helping him to his feet. He groaned softly. “It stalled us here, giving her time.”
“I’m not sure you are in any condition to continue.”
“You let me be the judge of that.” Picard countered. He heard something. Softly at first, almost lost in the wind but it became more insistent.
“Do you hear that?”
“Yes. It’s coming from the direction of the machine.”
Picard and Seven exchanged a troubled glance but Picard began to walk towards the wreckage and stopped in mid-rise almost collapsing in pain. Seven was instantly by his side, supporting him on her shoulder.
“You were saying about being your own judge.”
“I think I may have misjudged my injuries. My knee feels like its going to explode.”
“The ligament damage was severe. You will need surgery in order to walk properly.”
“Locutus.”
The whisper was insistent now and much louder.
“I have to get over there.”
Seven nodded and helped him get to the wreckage of the crane. The warmachine lay beneath much of the twisted metal, both arms shorn off, the torso was traversed by several beams neatly pinning it to the ground like a dissected animal.
Its head was slowly flailing about and its mouth opened speaking in the Queen’s voice.
“Locutus.”
“I’m here.” Picard replied stonily.
The warmachine’s head turned slowly and regarded Picard with a blank stare. It opened its mouth again.
“Locutus. Somehow I knew that this ancient would not be able to stop you.”
“But that was never your goal was it?” Picard replied with a frown.
“No. I needed time and it bought me more than enough. I am inside the laboratory as we speak. Everything is almost ready.”
“I never thought of you as the gloating type.” Picard said acidly.
“I do not have to gloat Locutus. My victory was a foregone conclusion and now I am merely missing the final ingredient to my plans.”
“And that would be?”
“You.”
Seven and Picard suddenly vanished in swirling pillars of emerald light. The platform was silent again as the warmachine bowed its head one last time and switched off.
Archer shivered as he pulled the survival blanket closer to him. The cold was pervasive even within the confines of his makeshift shelter under the cover of a downed ancient craft.
The cold did not bother him, or the wind, even the dull throbbing pain of his injuries were not as horrible as the voices he had been hearing the last hour. They were whispers at first. He had assumed it was a trick of the wind coupled with his weary mind but they became clearer, more audible and soon it was obvious that he was actually hearing voices.
They were speaking as if to someone else. He was an unseen witness to a conversation that he wanted no part of. But now, the voices were the least of his concerns.
Now he was seeing things.
Shadows at first, flitting by the corners of his shelter. Movement out of his peripheral vision that maddeningly disappeared when he turned to look directly at it. However he was always relieved when the shadows vanished once confronted. It was a cold comfort to someone who believed that he may be losing the one faculty he had left that was still in perfect working order – his mind.
When he turned and actually saw one of the shadows taking shape and moving he wanted to scream. Not from terror or fear, those emotions were far removed from someone who had seen entire worlds stripped of life by a relentless enemy. It was from the abject horror that indeed he was losing his mind.
He did not want to look, tried to force himself to look away but the shadows became more solid, more substantial. They moved like people now and they were talking. Wandering. Yes, that was the term. They seemed to be wandering, completely oblivious to him.
“This can’t be real.” He muttered.
One of the shades paused as if it heard him.
“Can you hear me?” it whispered in a plaintive wail. Archer crew his legs up closer to his chin and began rocking back and forth.
“This isn’t happening. There are no such things as ghosts.”
“You must hear me. We need to be heard. The pact was broken. Our people consigned to oblivion.”
Archer slowly looked up. The voice was oddly like Seven’s. Strip away the cold tone of her voice, the calculating diction and it sounded so much like her.
“Please listen. There was a pact. It was our final attempt at peace. The machines were on the verge of wiping us out, whole worlds were burned away by their legions and this world, our home world was our last stronghold. We decided to make our stand here. But the machines kept coming until we decided that there was only one possibility left to us. A possibility that we had feared but was the only road left for survival. The road of the trinity.”
Archer leaned forward. This sounded so real. The story had a ring of truth to it. What happened on this world. How did this hell birth the Borg.
“But the pact was broken. Someone decided to eliminate the trinity and instead formed a simple union. But it was incomplete, mindless, a cacophony of voices that needed guidance.”
“The Collective.”
“Yes…yes, that’s it the Collective.” The shade implored.
“What is the trinity then? Man and machine?”
“No. The trinity is the perfect union of human and machine not man and machine.”
“I don’t understand the difference.” Archer protested. The shade drew closer and he could make out a hint of flesh and hair in the swirling shadows.
“This is humanity.” She stated proudly and grasped his wrist. Archer stiffened as his mind was assaulted by images. Flashes of Seven and him. The way she looked at him, his heart stirring that first time he met her on the transporter platform. The way her presence placed him at ease even in the thick of battle. The electric jolt of her touch making his skin come alive. The rush of passion as he kissed her for the first time and the horrible sorrow that had crept into his heart as they parted. He felt alone.
Incomplete.
“My god.” He gasped as the shade withdrew her touch. “I understand.” He exclaimed and rose to his feet despite his injuries. “She needs me.”
“Go to her.” Another shade urged. Archer saw the image of a machine in his mind, towering and massive, green light surged along crystalline circuit path ways and he saw her. Seven standing in the center of the machine, her long luxurious blonde hair flowed around her as if she were in standing in a tempest. She stretched her arms out to him as light enveloped her like a lover.
“Complete the ancient pact, seal the breach.”
“Free us.” Several more whispered like a fervent prayer.
“Become one, seal the Breach and give birth to something new.”
Archer looked back and saw a young man clearly among the shades.
“What will I become?”
“Something wonderful.” The young man promised.
Archer limped frantically over to the downed ship. There was no way he could walk. The ship would give him what he needed.
“It’s old.” He reasoned as he opened a panel. Dust of ages lay within the exposed circuitry.
“She will fly again.” The female shade vowed.
“We built our machines well.” The male shade noted with a ghost of a smile.
Wherever you go, there you are.
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Rogue 9
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First post!
It's Rogue, not Rouge!
HAB | KotL | VRWC/ELC/CDA | TRotR | The Anti-Confederate | Sluggite | Gamer | Blogger | Staff Reporter | Student | Musician
HAB | KotL | VRWC/ELC/CDA | TRotR | The Anti-Confederate | Sluggite | Gamer | Blogger | Staff Reporter | Student | Musician
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Darth Garden Gnome
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Ghost Rider
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Guys...try to read first .
Nice long chapter Stravo...and I like how you made this one head as well as taking the focus off of Luke and Kirk and now onto the rest
.Nice long chapter Stravo...and I like how you made this one head as well as taking the focus off of Luke and Kirk and now onto the rest
MM /CF/WG/BOTM/JL/Original Warsie/ACPATHNTDWATGODW FOREVER!!
Sometimes we can choose the path we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all
Saying and doing are chocolate and concrete
Sometimes we can choose the path we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all
Saying and doing are chocolate and concrete
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Grand Admiral Thrawn
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There are other things going on simultaenously and sometimes you need to remind your audience of that. If you let one subplot remain unaddressed for a very long time all that you have to say about it begins to really pile up to unmanageable levels.Ghost Rider wrote:Guys...try to read first
Nice long chapter Stravo...and I like how you made this one head as well as taking the focus off of Luke and Kirk and now onto the rest
Besides I missed writing about some of these characters.
Wherever you go, there you are.
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Captain Cyran
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Ochoa is so amazingly awesome. I enjoyed the whole sequence between Kittaine and Ochoa. Wonder what the blind man is up to.
The Picard fight was cool. Very well thought out.
Loved the Archer scene, gives us a bunch of questions.
The Picard fight was cool. Very well thought out.
Loved the Archer scene, gives us a bunch of questions.
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darthdavid
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Darth Garden Gnome
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Ochoa is well and truly the man. I missed him a hell of a lot while the focus was primarily on the Darkstar subplot. No doubt, one of the best original characters I've ever read about.
Though now that you've piqued my curiousity (again) surrounding the new Borg (again) I fear you'll go astray and leave me wondering what will become of Picard and Seven. This may be deliberate, but still dastardly.
Though now that you've piqued my curiousity (again) surrounding the new Borg (again) I fear you'll go astray and leave me wondering what will become of Picard and Seven. This may be deliberate, but still dastardly.
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Crazedwraith
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Captain Cyran
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Jane what? Is that like, a highway in NYC or something?Stravo wrote:No one seems to miss poor Janeway.
NO this does not mean she's coming back, I've consigned her to the hell where she belongs.
*someone whispers in Cyran's ear*
OH! THAT Janeway...
Justice League, Super-Villain Carnage "Carnage Rules!" Cult of the Kitten Mew... The Black Mage with The Knife SD.Net Chronicler of the Past Bun Bun is my hero. The Official Verilonitis Vaccinator
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Crazedwraith
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An excellent chapter, Stravo, but may I ask who human and machine could be a trinity? Should it be human and machine and something else to make a trinity?
"I want to mow down a bunch of motherfuckers with absurdly large weapons and relative impunity - preferably in and around a skyscraper. Then I want to fight a grim battle against the unlikely duo of the Terminator and Robocop. The last level should involve (but not be limited to) multiple robo-Hitlers and a gorillasaurus rex."--Uraniun235 on his ideal FPS game
"The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant compared to the power of the Force."--Darth Vader
"The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant compared to the power of the Force."--Darth Vader
The answer is in that chapter I promise you. Think about what Archer asked the shade and what she replied with. It is three parts to make one.Trogdor wrote:An excellent chapter, Stravo, but may I ask who human and machine could be a trinity? Should it be human and machine and something else to make a trinity?
Wherever you go, there you are.
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Ripped Shirt Monkey - BOTMWriter's Guild Cybertron's Finest Justice League
This updated sig brought to you by JME2