Part I
In the endless void between the stars the mile-long form of a starship moved silently, its chalk-white surface in perfect contrast with the infinite night. The almost casual motion of this ship and its two escorts was quietly observed. Star Destroyers, a powerful front-line ship for the Galactic Empire, and a source of terror across its territory. The recent arms race with the guerrilla movement to overthrow their leadership had continued to push their weapons technology further. It is this short time right now when that Empire would be at its strongest, when they have their most advanced technologies and an intact chain of command.
“Yes,” said a voice with satisfaction, unconcerned with such physical limitations on sound in a vacuum. “This will do nicely.”
When those words were spoken, a change took place that was to be felt across the universe. In some parts of the galaxy, some special individuals noticed inexplicable feelings of uncertainty and dread. For the two remaining masters of the Force, each the polar opposite of his counterpart, it produced a disturbance unlike any they had ever experienced in their long lives. And while these two were wont to agree on anything, both could sense the potential doom that had come into being.
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On the other side of the universe a hopelessly mismatched battle was about to come to its inevitable conclusion. One was the Federation Starship Voyager, which has been cut off from its people for over five years. Its opponent was a gigantic ship belonging to the Federation’s greatest enemy: the Borg. Unlike Voyager, it was heavily-armed and effectively shielded, and there was no doubt who would be the victor. But as it happened, this single battle between two rather insignificant ships was in fact the most important one in all of history, although neither side knew it.
"Any signs of other vessels in the vicinity," asked Captain Kathryn Janeway, commander of Voyager.
"Negative, captain," Ens. Kim replied. "No other vessels in range of our sensors."
The ship rocked under the impact of another Borg weapon. “Direct hit, Deck 12," reported Lt. Tuvok at Tactical.
Janeway’s first officer, Comm. Chakotay, stepped to her side. In all crises he was her closest advisor. Unfortunately, there was little to offer under the present circumstances. "Maybe there's somewhere we can hide,” he offered, “at least for a little while. Give us a chance to patch the ship together."
The ship was struck again, and below in Astrometrics, Seven of Nine was hastily examining their sensor readings. The fact that she was a Borg herself was only relevant in that she knew what she was fighting to escape. If there was any irony in her mind being pitted against the hive collective that had trained her it was lost on her. “Anything that can provide some cover?” Janeway asked over the comm.
“Nothing yet, captain,” Seven replied, her voice even despite the anxiousness of the moment. Seven was not one to panic, regardless of the situation. She was adjusting the long-range sensors in the vain hope of finding something when her console began to beep for her attention. She tapped the panel and her brow furrowed in momentary confusion. “Captain,” she said, “Sensors have picked up what appears to be a wormhole less than five hundred thousand kilometers from here.”
The ship shuddered again, and Seven could feel the explosive decompression despite the room’s seal. They wouldn’t last much longer. “How the hell did we miss that?” Janeway asked. “It’s practically on our doorstep.”
“I’m not sure,” Seven said, looking at the readings. “But it is a wormhole.” She continued tapping the panel as she analyzed the readings. “Stable, but I have no idea where it leads.” Seven’s stomach twisted as the inertial dampeners failed for a fraction of a second. She passed the coordinates on to Navigation.
"Away from here, and that's good enough for me,” Janeway said. "Alter course, Mr. Paris."
Voyager turned tightly, and the cube altered direction to pursue. Not long after, space opened up and swallowed both of them without a trace.
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Standing on the main deck of the Star Destroyer Incaciad, Admiral Thrawn gazed at the space beyond. His crew was far too busy ensuring the smooth running of the ship to pay much attention, and even less time to wonder what he might be looking at, or thinking about. It was a pointless exercise anyway; few could understand all that went on behind those alien eyes, and yes he was alien. His ascent to his current rank did nothing to change that fact in the minds of the Imperial Navy, although it mattered little to those under his command. Whatever feelings they might have for non-humans were suspended for the grand admiral, and newcomers to the ship were quickly educated in that fact by his crew. It takes extraordinary effort to overcome a prejudice; but then, there was nothing ordinary about Thrawn.
As it happened, he was thinking about the future, and how the galaxy was going to change soon. The Empire was constructing a second Death Star at Endor, supposedly more powerful than the first. Rather redundant in Thrawn’s estimation; a planet-destroying weapon’s only real benefit was in overwhelming planetary shields, which the first Death Star was quite capable of doing. Even then, in practical military terms it wasn’t a terribly effective weapon. Perhaps to eliminate the center of your enemies’ leadership or to terrify a populace into surrender, but what good, in the end, was blowing up a planet you want to conquer? The Death Star was useful, but the extra effort was a bit of a waste in Thrawn’s estimation.
According to the secret communication, the Death Star’s construction was behind, and Darth Vader and the Emperor would oversee the final stages of construction in person. Yes, the Emperor was leaving the impenetrable security of Coruscant to personally observe the construction of an inoperable and defenseless battlestation. Seemed rather obvious a trap, but the Rebels had been suffering several setbacks, and the Emperor’s rather obvious trap did have a particularly attractive piece of bait. He considered who might be commanding the Imperial forces; probably Piett. Not a bad commander, but not a very brilliant tactician either.
Thrawn was just considering some attack scenarios, were he in charge, when he heard one of the crewmen speaking to Captain Jarrol. "Sir, two ships have appeared on our scope."
Thrawn turned around and looked down towards the young man. There was almost a sense of casualness about the way he acted. "Out of hyperspace?"
"No sir," the crewman quickly responded to Thrawn, "they just appeared out of nowhere."
"Indeed," replied Thrawn, still nonplused. "Let's have a look," he said as he stepped towards the control station. He didn’t waste time telling the crew to raise the shields; they knew what he expected of them. He examined the ships for several seconds. They were clearly alien, and they didn’t share any similar designs. The smaller ship was visibly damaged, but if the larger cube-shaped vessel was responsible, it showed no interest in making the kill just yet.
“Admiral,” Jarrol said, returning from a quick discussion with his deck officer, “we have an intruder on board. Engineering.”
“I assume you’re not referring to a rebel spy.”
“No,” Jarrol said. “According to witnesses it appeared out of thin air.”
“’It?’” Thrawn replied. Jarrol offered him the datapad and Thrawn looked at the intruder. Mechanical components, but obviously a living thing. “A cyborg,” he said quietly.
“It made no threatening motions,” Jarrol continued. “But when it didn’t heed instructions it was shot. They’re taking it to the infirmary to study it.”
Thrawn looked up from the datapad to the two ships beyond the windows. “So,” he asked no one in particular, “which one did you come from?”
“Sir, we’re receiving a hail from the cubical vessel,” an officer reported. The sudden voice was chilling, as if a million voices were speaking as one in some horrible chant. “We are the Borg. We have analyzed your defensive capabilities and judged them to be inadequate. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add your distinctiveness to our own. You will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile.”
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On board the battered remains of Voyager, Captain Janeway rose from her chair. "Hail them again."
Lt. Tuvok sent the message, but... "No response."
"Captain," Harry Kim said anxiously, "the Borg have beamed over to the alien ship, the center one."
"How many drones?"
"One." Ens. Kim checks his instruments. "They must have beamed over while their shields were still down."
Janeway turned to her first officer, unable to hide her confusion. "Why would they not answer our hails? If they were hostile, why haven't they fired? If they're peaceful, why ignore us?"
"Perhaps their communication technology is incompatible with ours," he offered.
"We did receive energy readings earlier which may have been a communication device," Tuvok informed them.
Janeway turned, her hand stroking her chin. Finally she walked towards the turbolift with a quick gait. "Analyze those signals, see if you can communicate with them. I'll be in engineering - we still have a ship to put back together."
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Thrawn watched the Cube advance. It was certainly big, but there was no visible sign of any armored defenses, a rather odd construction given the appearance of the cyborg below. “Flank them,” Thrawn ordered, and the Kartinian and Lucinda advanced on the Cube while the Incaciad moved into position. “Have the fighter crews standing by,” he ordered, “but don’t launch until my order.”
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“Commander,” Tuvok said, “the energy signal the Borg sent earlier was similar in nature to the one we received from the alien vessels. It might be their method of communication.”
“Look at modifying our communications equipment to broadcast using those signals,” Chakotay said. “Whatever their intentions, we’ve got to warn them before the Borg try something.”
“Looks like we’re too late for that,” Tom Paris, Voyager’s pilot, said as Chakotay’s attention returned to the screen. “It’s heading right for them.”
Chakotay took a deep breath. “Let’s hope they learn quickly,” he said quietly.
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“Use the Ion Cannons,” Thrawn said, his voice with a steel edge to it. “Perhaps we can take it intact.”
Silvery-blue beams launched from the three star destroyers, washing over the Cube’s surface. It was clear that they were striking the ship itself, but there was no noticeable effect, not even on the sensors.
“Cease fire,” Thrawn said. There was an unusual tone to his voice, as if he were about to make a chess move right into a trap that he could feel was there but couldn't quite see. “Turbolasers,” he ordered.
While the message was relayed to the stations Jarrol stepped over to Thrawn’s side. “Shall we launch our missiles as well?” he asked.
Thrawn didn’t answer at first, he just stared at the image of the cyborg on his datapad. “No,” he said finally. “And no fighters. Just fire our lasers and let’s see what happens.”
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Due to the sheer size of the Borg Cube the star destroyers turned their ships so the heavy turbolaser batteries on their dorsal side could all be brought to bear, much like it did during a Base Delta Zero. That much firepower could normal eradicate all life on a world in little time, and with the rate the plasma bolts tore through the tritanium hull of the Cube it seemed that would be the case here as well.
But for the Borg the purpose of the attack wasn’t to fight, it was to learn about this new species. Their scans had revealed new types of technology, and what little information their lost drone had gathered indicated that there was some that could be of use to the Collective. Because even though they had been cut off from the hive mind, the Borg never for a moment deviated from their purpose: to consume technology and cultures that would increase their own perfection. That it would involve their own destruction wasn’t even a factor.
The Voyager bridge crew watched in amazement as the cube was slowly torn to pieces by the aliens with few retaliatory shots of their own. The last time they’d seen anything like this--the only time actually--was Species 8472. It was clear that Chakotay wasn’t the only one thinking that. “It doesn’t look like the Borg have adapted yet,” Harry Kim observed.
“I don’t think they’ll get the chance,” Chakotay said as a corner ten times Voyager’s size broke off from the main mass of the Cube.
Paris swiveled nervously in his pilot’s chair. “I hate to be the pessimist here,” he remarked, his eyes glued to the screen. “But, I have a feeling they’re not going to just ignore us after they’re through with the Borg.”
Chakotay had been thinking the same thing. “Any progress, Tuvok?”
“I believe I have the answer,” Tuvok said, “but I am unable to send the response.”
“Was the comm system damaged?” Chakotay asked as he came around to the tactical panel.
“Negative. But there is a powerful distortion field that’s blocking our ability to communicate.”
“Some kind of energy noise,” Harry Kim said. “It’s playing havoc with our sensors as well. I think it’s coming from those alien ships.”
Any further discussion was halted when the Cube ruptured in a series of smaller explosions as individual power distribution nodes failed. Random debris scattered across space, buffeting Voyager with shrapnel. Mercifully the shields held, but as they watched the three ships responsible close on their location it was clear that was where there good fortune ended.
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It was fifty thousand lightyears from where the battle just ended to the Imperial capital of Coruscant, but for a master of the Force distance was something that happened to other people. The Emperor hadn’t moved since he had summoned Mara Jade hours before. His meditation was so deep she wondered if he would ever return. It was clear why she had been called here; with Vader overseeing construction on the Death Star she was the only one left who could feel that he was still alive. Even this deep there was no mistaking the powerful impression he left on the fabric of life, a neutron star on the rubber sheet that was the Force. Despite herself Mara jumped when he spoke. "There is a great disturbance in the force."
"Yes master, you have told me.” She tried to disguise her fear. There was something different about him, but she was afraid to probe it for fear of rebuke or, even worse, actually discovering what it was.
"No, not that. No mere Jedi can do this. This is something... alien."
Mara Jade had received little training in the Force, so she could only wait while her master pondered what he’d felt. He seemed to reach a decision. "You will remain here with me on Coruscant."
That hadn’t been what she’d expected. "But, I was to kill Skywalker."
"He is no longer a cause for concern," the Emperor said flatly. “We must prepare for an even greater challenge.” He stood up and reached out for Mara. “Come.” Mara climbed the steps and then knelt before him. “Are you prepared to give up the life you have led until now? Will you leave that person behind, if it meant limitless power at my side?”
“Yes, my master,” she said. Immediately she felt her mind stabbed. It was hate, a cold hate, a hate that was born from isolation in the frozen stars, a hate weaned on pain and nurtured by abandonment and isolation. It was a hatred so black it consumed the light, boundless and barren, it allowed no room for pity or mercy or compassion, but it offered a strength that Mara could never have imagined.
It had been an instant, and it had been forever, but the sensation ended and Mara found herself panting on the stairs to the Emperor’s throne. “Rise,” he ordered, but with a touch of friendship to his voice. “It is time to begin your training, my young apprentice.”
Unity I: Worlds Without End, Redux (Complete)
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Unity I: Worlds Without End, Redux (Complete)
Last edited by Sonnenburg on 2006-06-21 06:09pm, edited 40 times in total.
Chuck
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Yeah, it seemed like a good idea at the time.Spice Runner wrote:Very cool. I remember reading this on the ASVS archive. The fic's multicolor text on the archive always leaves me feeling dizzy.
Yes, the story's getting a complete workover because its age and my early flounderings show a bit too much. There'll be several additions, a few subtractions, a few tying up of loose ends, and a workover of the controversial ending that will hopefully properly cap the story without conflicting with the "continuity" of the series.Spice Runner wrote: Are you doing a rewrite?
Oh yeah, and all forty chapters will be written and posted before the end of March.
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Part II
On a small, isolated world in a back corner of the galaxy that the universe seemed to have forgotten, there was a single settlement. On this world sat a tiny mud hut which happened to be the home of one of the two most powerful masters of the Force that lived. If any had somehow found themselves in this particular area of the swampy planet they would have heard the sound of a heated argument between that master and a particularly unruly student.
“Unfortunate that I know the truth?!” Luke Skywalker exclaimed, unable to restrain his frustration. To have spent years believing that his father had been a champion of good only to learn that he was the very symbol of darkness wasn’t easy, and the fact that his teachers had deliberately perpetuated that illusion made it all the more painful. Darth Vader, greatest enemy of all Luke held dear, was his own father. Considering the weight of that statement, he was taking it pretty well.
“Not ready for the burden were you,” Yoda said wearily, although Luke wasn’t really listening. The master coughed, but whether it was to get his attention or just succumbing to his age was unclear. “There is a great evil coming. Stopped it must be. Time you will have, but squander it you must not. Mind what you have learned, save you it can.” He was interrupted by another coughing fit. “Hear, and remember: Once you start down the dark path,” he warned with a choke in his voice, “forever will it dominate your destiny.”
Luke could sense his master’s lifeforce starting to fade, and his own concerns were pushed aside. “Master Yoda...” he said impotently, knowing that very soon he’d be gone, just like Ben... just like so many people he’d cared about. It was so hard to keep burying the people he loved, and now, when this horrible truth was placed before him, the one he most needed to guide him was going to die too.
Master Yoda, sensing his fear, spoke to him, his voice broken as he struggled for every breath. “There... is... another... Skywalker.” And with that, he vanished.
After taking a few moments to come to terms with his grief, Luke exited the small hut and walked towards his ship. Artoo, the most loyal droid ever built, warbled at him with concern. Even he could tell something was wrong, and there definitely was. This was his burden now; Ben, Biggs, Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru, and now even Master Yoda, they were all gone, leaving him to face this impossible task. “I can’t do it, Artoo,” he said quietly, more to himself than to his droid. The emptiness weighed on his soul. “I can’t go on alone.”
“Yoda will always be with you,” a distant voice told him, and it took Luke a moment to realize he’d actually heard it out loud.
“Obi-Wan,” Luke said, feeling a mix of emotions. He was glad for the company of his long lost friend, but the lie was so fresh in his mind he couldn’t hide his sense of betrayal. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The shade sat on a log and Luke joined him, listening as the old man explained what had happened. His father had been the champion that he had remembered, but the promises of the dark side in the end had been too much for him. He had fallen... become so afraid of losing the woman he cared about that he’d become the agent of the evil the two of them had always fought so hard to stop. That was why Luke had been hidden away, to save him from the same fate as his mother; and so had she. “Leia,” Luke said, the answer suddenly so clear. “Leia is my sister.”
“Your insight serves you well,” Obi-Wan said with approval.
Luke knew what he meant, that this wasn’t his burden alone. If he could train his sister in the ways of the Force, if she too became a Jedi, there might be a way to accomplish the impossible. “There is still good in him,” Luke told the elder. “Perhaps together-“
“You have time,” Obi-Wan said, “but not as much as you might think. You must prepare yourself for the destiny that awaits you. You face not only Darth Vader, but the Emperor and the forces of evil. Do not take Yoda’s warning lightly.” Luke could sense his teacher’s anxiety. “I’m afraid that in the trials to come you will face enemies more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”
Luke was resolute. “I can save him.” There was no doubt in his mind.
“You must do what you must,” Obi-Wan said. “But never forget what he is. Whatever has happened, destiny is clear. You will face Darth Vader again.”
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Traveling across the universe, a single message defied physics by exceeding the speed of light due to a few scientific technicalities. Even then, it took centuries to cross the great emptiness between galaxies. It was a perfect metaphor for the eventual recipients: unfeeling, ever patient, inevitable. The Borg are not so much a force of arms as they are a force of nature. And when they received the message and learned about the existence of a race with new technology to acquire, their reaction was predictable. Unfeeling, and ever patient. It would be theirs; it was inevitable.
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Captain Janeway and her senior officers stood at attention in the main shuttlebay as they watched the Imperial ship dock. There was a palatable excitement in the room as the door opened and the first member of the Galactic Empire set foot on a Federation starship. Hours before, they had feared it would be as a conqueror.
“They defeated the Borg,” Janeway had said with dismay as Chakotay filled her in from the bridge.
Her first officer nodded. “They made it look easy. We were nervous for a little while, but once Tuvok contacted them we were able to explain the situation. They’re called the Galactic Empire.”
“I guess that means we’re a little farther from home than we thought,” Janeway said.
Chakotay nodded. “Harry estimates we’re on the other side of the known universe. Fortunately the wormhole is still stable, but I’m not sure heading back yet is such a good idea.”
“Agreed,” Janeway said. “The last thing we need are more Borg looking for their missing cube.”
“Admiral Thrawn has offered to tow us to an Imperial station where we can repair the ship.”
And that was the man: Admiral Thrawn. The man who had destroyed a Borg Cube in minutes, and who had brought their ship to the station for repairs. What they hadn’t realized was that the station was one hundred eighty light-years away, a journey of several weeks for Voyager. The Incaciad had done it in eleven minutes. As the captain of a ship trapped thirty-five thousand light-years from home, that wasn’t the kind of thing you failed to notice. With that ability, Voyager could be home in days, and Janeway was ready to do anything to get her hands on it, even if she had to resort to stealing it.
Janeway stepped forward and greeted Admiral Thrawn. His skin was blue, and his red eyes were rather intimidating, but he wore a friendly enough expression as she approached. He was polite as she made introductions and then began a tour of their ship. Eventually, he seemed to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“I’m rather interested in that ship you were fighting,” Thrawn said as they left astrometrics. “The Borg?”
“The Borg,” Janeway said, briefly reflected on her own experience with them. “Not exactly the friendliest of races from our side of the wormhole.”
“Certainly not very personable,” Thrawn agreed. “Are they your enemies?”
“Only in the sense that we exist,” Janeway said as they entered the turbolift for the lower decks. “The Borg don’t see anyone besides themselves as anything except raw materials.”
“Charming,” Thrawn said as they exited the lift. A short way up the corridor Janeway directed him to a door on the right.
“This is our transporter room,” Janeway said.
Thrawn looked about it, his brow furrowed. “I’m not quite sure I understand.”
Janeway gestured towards the transporter pad. “This device allows us to break down matter in one location and reconstitute it in another.” She was starting to feel hopeful; if this was technology alien to the Empire she could possibly trade it for their own technology: the hyperdrive.
“You do this with people?” he said, attempting to hide his distaste.
“It’s perfectly safe,” Janeway said a bit too quickly.
Thrawn tapped his lips as he looked at the pad and the controls thoughtfully. “I could see how it could be useful in moving large amounts of cargo,” he said finally.
“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” Janeway said with a smile that would put a Ferengi to shame.
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In a different part of the galaxy, near Sullust, Luke wasted little time in shedding his flight suit and heading down to the meeting room in Home One. He wasn’t certain what was being discussed, but he knew it would revolve around the Emperor’s new Death Star. Having already gone against one, he was leery about a repeat performance.
In a group like the Rebel Alliance there’s always an attempt to maintain military command and discipline, but in the end you are dealing with just bush pilots, pirates, and militia. The noise of the many arguments was a bit surprising, so Luke quickly slid over to where Leia Organa and Han Solo, his closest friends, were sitting. “What’s going on?” he asked, noting the scowl on Han’s face.
“Just five hundred people with five hundred different ideas about how we should end the war,” Han said cynically.
“The Emperor has changed his plans,” Leia said. Her face was a mask, but he could sense the conflict in her. She seemed uncertain about what they should do herself. “Originally he was going to inspect the Death Star, but now he seems content to wait for them to get on schedule themselves.”
Luke understood. “We were hoping to take advantage of it.”
“Exactly,” Lando Calrissian said, taking a seat next to Luke. “The old man never leaves Coruscant, it would’ve been the perfect opportunity to take him out of the picture for good.”
“The Emperor is incidental,” General Blissex said emphatically as the argument toned down slightly. “The Death Star is a weapon of unimaginable destruction and it must be destroyed.”
“Agreed,” General Madine said, “But at what cost? We prepared for this assault knowing we had an opportunity to behead the Empire. Without the Emperor the Death Star is a less important target.”
“We need to do this now,” Admiral Ackbar said. “With the weapons systems non-operational we stand our best chance against it.”
“It’s too great a risk for too small a prize,” Madine replied. “The plan commits all of our resources. If we attempt and fail the Alliance is finished, and with it any hope of restoring freedom to the galaxy.”
“If we wait, we only postpone the inevitable,” General Blissex said. “The Empire has already proven this weapon is not for show. They used it against Alderaan because they sympathized with us. If that weapon is complete, no one is going to be willing to risk helping us. We’ll lose our support and eventually be wiped out.”
“Princess Organa,” Mon Mothma said over the din. “You are the senator from Alderaan. You’ve seen this weapon used first hand. What is your opinion of all this?”
“She’s not a military officer-“ Blissex began, but wilted under Mon Mothma’s stare.
Leia took a deep breath, and Luke could feel that she was even more conflicted. “The Emperor does nothing on a whim,” she said finally. “He has shown throughout his reign that he carefully plots out his every choice. His tight rein on the military high command is proof enough of that.” Luke could sense the pain as she thought about her homeworld. “No one is more aware than I of the threat that weapon poses, but we can’t let fear blind us to reality. The Emperor’s sudden behavior is indicative of something important, more important than his pet project. Or, even worse, I fear he may have learned our intentions, and altered his plans accordingly.”
“How could he know?” General Reikken asked. “Are you suggesting a spy amongst us?”
“I’m suggesting that the Emperor might have laid a trap for us at Endor,” Leia said. “And if so we’d be fools to step into it. If not, if he changed his plans for some other reason, we may have our priorities out of order.”
“What could be more important than a Death Star?” Ackbar demanded.
“That, admiral,” Leia said, “is exactly what I’m afraid of finding out.”
After some time the group finally agreed to hold off on the attack until the rebel spy network was able to learn more about the Emperor’s plans. There was still an almost funeral-like tension in the air, regardless of everyone’s view of the decision. They had had their first real glimpse of the end, and it had been just as suddenly lost. But as Ben had told him, Luke had time ahead of him, and he planned to put it to good use. After the meeting he took Leia aside. He didn’t want to have to do it now, given her own burden at the moment, but she had to know. “Leia,” he said, finally finding the courage to say the words, “I need to tell you something... something rather incredible.”
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Admiral Thrawn’s smile vanished after Janeway was transported off the bridge of the Incaciad. It seemed like the woman would never shut up, but after three days of conversations –enough time for the engineering crews to install the new hyperdrive on Voyager– she had filled him in on much of what lay on the other side of that wormhole. Tens of thousands of splintered powers vying for their own little share of their galaxy. Thrawn had little doubt what the Emperor and his advisors would have in mind, and given his own proximity to the anomaly... he suspected he’d have a very interesting opportunity in that little ship. “Captain,” he said, not even turning his head.
“Yes, admiral,” Captain Jarrol replied.
“Have our fleet escort Voyager to the wormhole,” Thrawn said, his eyes never leaving the vessel. “Let’s make sure she doesn’t lose her way.”
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“Engineering to the bridge,” B’ellana Torres, Voyager’s Chief Engineer, said over the comm. “We’re ready down here.”
Janeway was literally on the edge of her seat in anticipation. “Seven?”
“I’ve established a link between our astronavigational database and long-range sensors,” Seven said as she entered some commands in astrometrics. “I’ve fed the data through to the helm.” She finished tapping the panel. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Paris.”
“You heard her, Tom,” Janeway said, fidgeting with excitement. “Set course for the wormhole, maximum...” she stopped short. “Velocity,” she shrugged at Chakotay, who smirked at her.
“I’m sure they’ll come up with a name for it soon enough,” he replied.
“Course laid in,” Tom Paris said at the helm. “Engaging the hyperdrive.” With a single push of a button, the stars began to stretch and turn, and the Voyager crew found space suddenly replaced with a kind of milky-white pattern around them.
Janeway stood up and approached the screen. She had been in Engineering when the Incaciad had brought them to the Imperial station, and hadn’t witnessed hyperspace before. “It’s beautiful,” she said quietly, the tiniest hint of emotion in her voice.
“Yes it is,” Harry said. “It’s the way home.”
Almost as suddenly the starlines returned, and the normal ebony of space spread out before them. “Are we there?” Janeway said, her voice still barely audible.
“Yes, captain,” Paris said. “And for the record we made it in 12 minutes, 41 seconds. Just might be a new Starfleet record.”
“Let’s hope we have an opportunity to challenge that record,” Janeway said. “Give our thanks to-“
Captain Janeway never finished. Instead space twisted in on itself before her, and the ominous sight of three Borg Cubes filled the screen in front of her. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “They found the wormhole.” She watched the Cubes pass Voyager and fly towards their star destroyer escort. “What have we done?”
On a small, isolated world in a back corner of the galaxy that the universe seemed to have forgotten, there was a single settlement. On this world sat a tiny mud hut which happened to be the home of one of the two most powerful masters of the Force that lived. If any had somehow found themselves in this particular area of the swampy planet they would have heard the sound of a heated argument between that master and a particularly unruly student.
“Unfortunate that I know the truth?!” Luke Skywalker exclaimed, unable to restrain his frustration. To have spent years believing that his father had been a champion of good only to learn that he was the very symbol of darkness wasn’t easy, and the fact that his teachers had deliberately perpetuated that illusion made it all the more painful. Darth Vader, greatest enemy of all Luke held dear, was his own father. Considering the weight of that statement, he was taking it pretty well.
“Not ready for the burden were you,” Yoda said wearily, although Luke wasn’t really listening. The master coughed, but whether it was to get his attention or just succumbing to his age was unclear. “There is a great evil coming. Stopped it must be. Time you will have, but squander it you must not. Mind what you have learned, save you it can.” He was interrupted by another coughing fit. “Hear, and remember: Once you start down the dark path,” he warned with a choke in his voice, “forever will it dominate your destiny.”
Luke could sense his master’s lifeforce starting to fade, and his own concerns were pushed aside. “Master Yoda...” he said impotently, knowing that very soon he’d be gone, just like Ben... just like so many people he’d cared about. It was so hard to keep burying the people he loved, and now, when this horrible truth was placed before him, the one he most needed to guide him was going to die too.
Master Yoda, sensing his fear, spoke to him, his voice broken as he struggled for every breath. “There... is... another... Skywalker.” And with that, he vanished.
After taking a few moments to come to terms with his grief, Luke exited the small hut and walked towards his ship. Artoo, the most loyal droid ever built, warbled at him with concern. Even he could tell something was wrong, and there definitely was. This was his burden now; Ben, Biggs, Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru, and now even Master Yoda, they were all gone, leaving him to face this impossible task. “I can’t do it, Artoo,” he said quietly, more to himself than to his droid. The emptiness weighed on his soul. “I can’t go on alone.”
“Yoda will always be with you,” a distant voice told him, and it took Luke a moment to realize he’d actually heard it out loud.
“Obi-Wan,” Luke said, feeling a mix of emotions. He was glad for the company of his long lost friend, but the lie was so fresh in his mind he couldn’t hide his sense of betrayal. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The shade sat on a log and Luke joined him, listening as the old man explained what had happened. His father had been the champion that he had remembered, but the promises of the dark side in the end had been too much for him. He had fallen... become so afraid of losing the woman he cared about that he’d become the agent of the evil the two of them had always fought so hard to stop. That was why Luke had been hidden away, to save him from the same fate as his mother; and so had she. “Leia,” Luke said, the answer suddenly so clear. “Leia is my sister.”
“Your insight serves you well,” Obi-Wan said with approval.
Luke knew what he meant, that this wasn’t his burden alone. If he could train his sister in the ways of the Force, if she too became a Jedi, there might be a way to accomplish the impossible. “There is still good in him,” Luke told the elder. “Perhaps together-“
“You have time,” Obi-Wan said, “but not as much as you might think. You must prepare yourself for the destiny that awaits you. You face not only Darth Vader, but the Emperor and the forces of evil. Do not take Yoda’s warning lightly.” Luke could sense his teacher’s anxiety. “I’m afraid that in the trials to come you will face enemies more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”
Luke was resolute. “I can save him.” There was no doubt in his mind.
“You must do what you must,” Obi-Wan said. “But never forget what he is. Whatever has happened, destiny is clear. You will face Darth Vader again.”
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Traveling across the universe, a single message defied physics by exceeding the speed of light due to a few scientific technicalities. Even then, it took centuries to cross the great emptiness between galaxies. It was a perfect metaphor for the eventual recipients: unfeeling, ever patient, inevitable. The Borg are not so much a force of arms as they are a force of nature. And when they received the message and learned about the existence of a race with new technology to acquire, their reaction was predictable. Unfeeling, and ever patient. It would be theirs; it was inevitable.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Captain Janeway and her senior officers stood at attention in the main shuttlebay as they watched the Imperial ship dock. There was a palatable excitement in the room as the door opened and the first member of the Galactic Empire set foot on a Federation starship. Hours before, they had feared it would be as a conqueror.
“They defeated the Borg,” Janeway had said with dismay as Chakotay filled her in from the bridge.
Her first officer nodded. “They made it look easy. We were nervous for a little while, but once Tuvok contacted them we were able to explain the situation. They’re called the Galactic Empire.”
“I guess that means we’re a little farther from home than we thought,” Janeway said.
Chakotay nodded. “Harry estimates we’re on the other side of the known universe. Fortunately the wormhole is still stable, but I’m not sure heading back yet is such a good idea.”
“Agreed,” Janeway said. “The last thing we need are more Borg looking for their missing cube.”
“Admiral Thrawn has offered to tow us to an Imperial station where we can repair the ship.”
And that was the man: Admiral Thrawn. The man who had destroyed a Borg Cube in minutes, and who had brought their ship to the station for repairs. What they hadn’t realized was that the station was one hundred eighty light-years away, a journey of several weeks for Voyager. The Incaciad had done it in eleven minutes. As the captain of a ship trapped thirty-five thousand light-years from home, that wasn’t the kind of thing you failed to notice. With that ability, Voyager could be home in days, and Janeway was ready to do anything to get her hands on it, even if she had to resort to stealing it.
Janeway stepped forward and greeted Admiral Thrawn. His skin was blue, and his red eyes were rather intimidating, but he wore a friendly enough expression as she approached. He was polite as she made introductions and then began a tour of their ship. Eventually, he seemed to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“I’m rather interested in that ship you were fighting,” Thrawn said as they left astrometrics. “The Borg?”
“The Borg,” Janeway said, briefly reflected on her own experience with them. “Not exactly the friendliest of races from our side of the wormhole.”
“Certainly not very personable,” Thrawn agreed. “Are they your enemies?”
“Only in the sense that we exist,” Janeway said as they entered the turbolift for the lower decks. “The Borg don’t see anyone besides themselves as anything except raw materials.”
“Charming,” Thrawn said as they exited the lift. A short way up the corridor Janeway directed him to a door on the right.
“This is our transporter room,” Janeway said.
Thrawn looked about it, his brow furrowed. “I’m not quite sure I understand.”
Janeway gestured towards the transporter pad. “This device allows us to break down matter in one location and reconstitute it in another.” She was starting to feel hopeful; if this was technology alien to the Empire she could possibly trade it for their own technology: the hyperdrive.
“You do this with people?” he said, attempting to hide his distaste.
“It’s perfectly safe,” Janeway said a bit too quickly.
Thrawn tapped his lips as he looked at the pad and the controls thoughtfully. “I could see how it could be useful in moving large amounts of cargo,” he said finally.
“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” Janeway said with a smile that would put a Ferengi to shame.
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In a different part of the galaxy, near Sullust, Luke wasted little time in shedding his flight suit and heading down to the meeting room in Home One. He wasn’t certain what was being discussed, but he knew it would revolve around the Emperor’s new Death Star. Having already gone against one, he was leery about a repeat performance.
In a group like the Rebel Alliance there’s always an attempt to maintain military command and discipline, but in the end you are dealing with just bush pilots, pirates, and militia. The noise of the many arguments was a bit surprising, so Luke quickly slid over to where Leia Organa and Han Solo, his closest friends, were sitting. “What’s going on?” he asked, noting the scowl on Han’s face.
“Just five hundred people with five hundred different ideas about how we should end the war,” Han said cynically.
“The Emperor has changed his plans,” Leia said. Her face was a mask, but he could sense the conflict in her. She seemed uncertain about what they should do herself. “Originally he was going to inspect the Death Star, but now he seems content to wait for them to get on schedule themselves.”
Luke understood. “We were hoping to take advantage of it.”
“Exactly,” Lando Calrissian said, taking a seat next to Luke. “The old man never leaves Coruscant, it would’ve been the perfect opportunity to take him out of the picture for good.”
“The Emperor is incidental,” General Blissex said emphatically as the argument toned down slightly. “The Death Star is a weapon of unimaginable destruction and it must be destroyed.”
“Agreed,” General Madine said, “But at what cost? We prepared for this assault knowing we had an opportunity to behead the Empire. Without the Emperor the Death Star is a less important target.”
“We need to do this now,” Admiral Ackbar said. “With the weapons systems non-operational we stand our best chance against it.”
“It’s too great a risk for too small a prize,” Madine replied. “The plan commits all of our resources. If we attempt and fail the Alliance is finished, and with it any hope of restoring freedom to the galaxy.”
“If we wait, we only postpone the inevitable,” General Blissex said. “The Empire has already proven this weapon is not for show. They used it against Alderaan because they sympathized with us. If that weapon is complete, no one is going to be willing to risk helping us. We’ll lose our support and eventually be wiped out.”
“Princess Organa,” Mon Mothma said over the din. “You are the senator from Alderaan. You’ve seen this weapon used first hand. What is your opinion of all this?”
“She’s not a military officer-“ Blissex began, but wilted under Mon Mothma’s stare.
Leia took a deep breath, and Luke could feel that she was even more conflicted. “The Emperor does nothing on a whim,” she said finally. “He has shown throughout his reign that he carefully plots out his every choice. His tight rein on the military high command is proof enough of that.” Luke could sense the pain as she thought about her homeworld. “No one is more aware than I of the threat that weapon poses, but we can’t let fear blind us to reality. The Emperor’s sudden behavior is indicative of something important, more important than his pet project. Or, even worse, I fear he may have learned our intentions, and altered his plans accordingly.”
“How could he know?” General Reikken asked. “Are you suggesting a spy amongst us?”
“I’m suggesting that the Emperor might have laid a trap for us at Endor,” Leia said. “And if so we’d be fools to step into it. If not, if he changed his plans for some other reason, we may have our priorities out of order.”
“What could be more important than a Death Star?” Ackbar demanded.
“That, admiral,” Leia said, “is exactly what I’m afraid of finding out.”
After some time the group finally agreed to hold off on the attack until the rebel spy network was able to learn more about the Emperor’s plans. There was still an almost funeral-like tension in the air, regardless of everyone’s view of the decision. They had had their first real glimpse of the end, and it had been just as suddenly lost. But as Ben had told him, Luke had time ahead of him, and he planned to put it to good use. After the meeting he took Leia aside. He didn’t want to have to do it now, given her own burden at the moment, but she had to know. “Leia,” he said, finally finding the courage to say the words, “I need to tell you something... something rather incredible.”
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Admiral Thrawn’s smile vanished after Janeway was transported off the bridge of the Incaciad. It seemed like the woman would never shut up, but after three days of conversations –enough time for the engineering crews to install the new hyperdrive on Voyager– she had filled him in on much of what lay on the other side of that wormhole. Tens of thousands of splintered powers vying for their own little share of their galaxy. Thrawn had little doubt what the Emperor and his advisors would have in mind, and given his own proximity to the anomaly... he suspected he’d have a very interesting opportunity in that little ship. “Captain,” he said, not even turning his head.
“Yes, admiral,” Captain Jarrol replied.
“Have our fleet escort Voyager to the wormhole,” Thrawn said, his eyes never leaving the vessel. “Let’s make sure she doesn’t lose her way.”
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“Engineering to the bridge,” B’ellana Torres, Voyager’s Chief Engineer, said over the comm. “We’re ready down here.”
Janeway was literally on the edge of her seat in anticipation. “Seven?”
“I’ve established a link between our astronavigational database and long-range sensors,” Seven said as she entered some commands in astrometrics. “I’ve fed the data through to the helm.” She finished tapping the panel. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Paris.”
“You heard her, Tom,” Janeway said, fidgeting with excitement. “Set course for the wormhole, maximum...” she stopped short. “Velocity,” she shrugged at Chakotay, who smirked at her.
“I’m sure they’ll come up with a name for it soon enough,” he replied.
“Course laid in,” Tom Paris said at the helm. “Engaging the hyperdrive.” With a single push of a button, the stars began to stretch and turn, and the Voyager crew found space suddenly replaced with a kind of milky-white pattern around them.
Janeway stood up and approached the screen. She had been in Engineering when the Incaciad had brought them to the Imperial station, and hadn’t witnessed hyperspace before. “It’s beautiful,” she said quietly, the tiniest hint of emotion in her voice.
“Yes it is,” Harry said. “It’s the way home.”
Almost as suddenly the starlines returned, and the normal ebony of space spread out before them. “Are we there?” Janeway said, her voice still barely audible.
“Yes, captain,” Paris said. “And for the record we made it in 12 minutes, 41 seconds. Just might be a new Starfleet record.”
“Let’s hope we have an opportunity to challenge that record,” Janeway said. “Give our thanks to-“
Captain Janeway never finished. Instead space twisted in on itself before her, and the ominous sight of three Borg Cubes filled the screen in front of her. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “They found the wormhole.” She watched the Cubes pass Voyager and fly towards their star destroyer escort. “What have we done?”
Chuck
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Part III
The Napuli System was, for the most part, a strategically useless area of space. Little mineral wealth, no known colonies or life, and a hundred light-years from a settled system, it was as important in the grand scheme as a blade of grass is to a wheat field. However, the fact that the first fleet engagement of the Borg War was taking place here showed that things can change in an instant.
“All TIEs stand by,” Thrawn ordered. “But do not launch unless I give the word.” Despite the seriousness of the situation his voice was calm, but firm. He had learned a great deal about these Borg, but most of it was second-hand. Still, Thrawn had experience using little bits of information for his advantage.
“Admiral,” Captain Jarrol said anxiously, “We’re receiving a communication. They-“
“I know what they want,” Thrawn interrupted, his eyes never leaving the three vessels. He was very quiet. “All turbolasers on the center cube,” he finally said. “From all vessels.”
Jarrol hesitated for a moment, but only a moment. To him, it was insane to ignore two-thirds of the opposing forces when they could try to incapacitate all three, but he’d learned more than once to follow his commander’s orders regardless. Immediately their weapons began tearing into the central cube. He kept his eyes on the sensors, watching the devastation. The first cube they had encountered had taken little time to destroy, and this one didn’t look different, until. “Lieutenant,” he said with obvious confusion, “is there a problem with the sensors?”
“Negative, sir,” the lieutenant reported from the crewpit.
Jarrol turned away and stepped over. “Then why do the instruments insist our weapons are doing less damage?” he said with obvious irritation.
“It’s not the instruments,” Thrawn said quietly, his eyes never leaving the tactical display. “It’s them.”
“What do you mean?” Jarrol asked. “Sir,” he quickly added.
Thrawn looked back at the ship and then the display, and when he spoke, it was as if he were discussion the duty roster. “The Borg, captain, have adapted.”
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“Re-route power to the shields,” Janeway ordered. “Evasive maneuvers. Load all torpedo bays.”
“Captain,” Tuvok said, a calm center on the storm of the bridge as always, “the Borg appear to be focusing solely on the Imperials.”
“Then give them something else to think about,” she replied. “Torpedoes, full spread.”
One after the other the torpedoes exploded from the tubes and impacted on the Borg ship. When the series completed itself, the space glowed from the discharged plasma. But...”no effect,” Tuvok said.
“Bring us around,” Janeway said, taking her seat. “Attack along the same vector as the Imperials; we might be able to punch through.”
“Captain,” Chakotay said quickly, “Maybe we should leave this to the Imperials. They were more than a match last time.”
“The Borg hadn’t adapted yet,” Janeway countered. “This time they will, and the admiral will need every ship he can get.” Chakotay opened his mouth, but Janeway cut him off before he could even start. “We brought them here. We are obligated to stop them. Tom, bring us around.”
The Intrepid-class starship weaved into the conflagration between the titans, phasers and torpedoes trying to breach Borg defenses. After a few minutes the combined efforts blew the cube to pieces. A few words of encouragement were said, then the group moved on to the next cube. “Torpedoes, full spread,” Janeway ordered as the tiny Federation ship dodged the Borg’s energy weapon and closed in.
“There are only two torpedoes left,” Tuvok informed her. “Do you wish me to fire them?”
“Not yet,” Janeway said. In the heat of the moment she’d forgotten how the previous battle had seriously reduced their limited supply. “Try to find an opening, then launch it down their throats.”
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“Sir,” Captain Jarrol said as Thrawn continued looking between the battle and the tactical display, “the Lucinda’s shields are failing. The Borg have been-“
“They’re using a shield draining weapon,” Thrawn finished. “Set the jammers to a randomized pattern.”
“Yes,” Jarrol said as he passed on the order, but his confusion was obvious.
“If the jamming is regular,” Thrawn said, even though his attention was focused on the battle, “they might find a way to minimize it and use their transporters. We mustn’t let that happen. Launch all TIEs.” He tapped the console as he watched the reports coming in from the Lucinda. The Borg had ganged up on it in precisely the same manner as the star destroyers. Shields were failing. “I want TIEs to target all tractor beam emitters. The Borg can’t be allowed to assimilate any part of the Lucinda; not one member of the crew, not so much as a wrench. Are my orders clear?” They were; Thrawn was not one to resort to hyperbole.
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“Captain!” Ens. Kim shouted with concern. “I’m reading hundreds of ships, too many to get a precise count.”
“More Borg?” Janeway asked, her heart in her throat.
“No,” Kim replied, more restrained, “they’re from the Imperial ships. They appear to be large shuttles.”
“They’re not evacuating, are they?” Janeway asked Chakotay in confusion.
“I don’t think so, Captain,” Tom Paris said as he pointed to the display. They watched as the ships swarmed around Voyager and swooped in at the cubes, their weapons tiny pinpoints as they fired at the massive ships.
“It looks like Thrawn had a little surprise planned,” Chakotay remarked.
“Hopefully this will turn the tide,” Janeway remarked as they joined in the attack with the fighters.
“I don’t think so, Captain,” Kim said, his disappointment transparent. “They’ve begun assimilating one of the star destroyers.”
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The bridge was a buzz of controlled activity as the task of running a warship and coordinating a battle continued with the fine precision Thrawn demanded of his officers. The admiral himself was silently weighing the factors in his cold mind. The difference between Thrawn’s thinking and a military computer’s was that the computer was not aware of the moral consequences of its decisions. The difference between Thrawn and most officers was that he didn’t allow that to influence his thinking.
“Give me Captain Tamez,” Thrawn said. Activity in the room quieted slightly; the admiral rarely spoke with the other vessels directly during combat. “Captain,” Thrawn said as the hologram appeared on the bridge, “can you raise your shields?”
“No sir,” Tamez replied, doing his best not to display any emotion as the Borg tried to carve his ship apart around him.
“Captain, I want you to ram the port cube.” He spoke as if it were a minor course correction.
“Say again?” Tamez replied.
“The Borg are assimilating you,” Thrawn said. “They want to take you and your crew and turn you into brainless slaves. If you don’t destroy them, this will happen.”
“We have them outnumbered-“
“You won’t last that long,” Thrawn said, “and we are short on time. You can die a slave or die fighting to save the Empire. I suggest you choose the latter.”
Tamez obviously didn’t like either choice. “Admiral-“
“Ramming speed,” Thrawn said. “Those are your orders.”
Tamez took a deep breath through his nose. “Yes, admiral.” He tried to put as much pride into the words as he could, and the hologram faded. The bridge remained quiet as Thrawn’s order seemed to hang in the air.
Thrawn stepped back to his position in front of the tactical display. He could explain to them that anything the Borg assimilated could be used to learn about the Empire and how to destroy it, and that even obliterating the vessels wouldn’t keep that knowledge from being passed on to the collective. Of course, he was also the admiral, and he explained to no one but the Emperor. “Unless we wish to share their fate,” he said evenly, “we must focus on the task at hand.”
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The bridgecrew of Voyager watched in shock as the star destroyer and the cube collided in an explosion so energetic they were flashblinded. An energy wave struck and knocked them off balance. When Janeway managed to right herself she was able to make out the shattered remains of the cube; the star destroyer was vaporized.
“Death before assimilation,” Chakotay said grimly. “I’m sure a few Federation captains had similar thoughts.”
“Earth,” Janeway said quietly. She looked at Chakotay, and noticed the odd way he looked at her. “Captain Riker was prepared to do the same thing to save Earth when the Borg first came.” She shook her head. “We have more in common with these Imperials than physical appearance.” She called out orders for battle to finish off the remains of the final cube, but part of her couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened.
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Luke looked on with some concern as Leia held the lightsaber tightly in her hands. He could sense her fear, which was an important concern. His family didn’t have a good history with the dark side. "Relax," he told her, "Don't try to force it. Just let it happen." He activated the remote, which began to move with a series of small, deliberate motions. Every few seconds a beam would lash out--not strong, just enough to sting. Leia swung the blade, but missed. This repeated until Luke could sense her frustration. "I know it seems hard, but that's just it. It only seems hard because you think it is. Stretch out with your feelings, and don't worry about whether you block or not. Just let your instincts guide you."
"Easy to say," Leia said through gritted teeth, "hard to do." The blade was brought up, almost blocking the latest bolt.
"Like all things, it takes practice and patience." Which was true, but there was no sense in going too hard on her on her first day. Luke stretched out with the Force and turned the remote to a lower setting. He felt a flash of anger.
"I don't need you to go soft on me," Leia told him. "I just need to get the hang of things."
Luke nodded with a small smile. "How did you know?" he asked.
Leia opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it. "I don't know. I just... just knew."
“Now you’re starting to understand,” he said with approval. “Trust your feelings, don’t second guess them.”
Leia took a deep breath then held the lightsaber out in front of her, eyes fixed on the remote. It fired, slow at first, then faster. The green blade slipped through the air with a quiet hum as it snatched at each sliver of energy, bouncing it away harmlessly. Luke switched it off and clapped his hands a few times. “You’ve taken the first step,” he said with approval. “But there’s something you must always remember. Take these steps only along the proper path.” He paused, realizing that it was only a week ago that he was the pupil. He wished Master Yoda was there to train her, to give the guidance that Leia needed to avoid the trap their father had stepped into and that he nearly succumbed to as well. That was Yoda’s last warning to him, something that, even as he died, he wanted Luke to remember. He would face his father again; would he face the dark side again as well? And more importantly, could he find the strength to refuse it, or would he give in to temptation?
“Are you all right?” Leia asked.
Luke tried to put on a cheerful face. She was definitely growing in her powers. “I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Let’s continue with your exercises.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
“Are they gone?” the Emperor asked.
“Yes, your highness,” the hologram replied. Mara stopped her exercise, her instincts telling her that something important was going on. After a few seconds she recognized the hologram as Thrawn, one of the more gifted military commanders, but nevertheless an alien. However good they might be, never trust an alien, or so the Emperor had taught her; and he was right. Thrawn may command in his navy, but the Emperor did not for an instant allow that to cloud his judgment of the creature.
“What do you know about this Federation?” the Emperor asked.
“They are but one of thousands of minor powers located in their galaxy,” Thrawn replied. “Many have little knowledge of the existence of most of the others. Communication on the galactic scale is virtually non-existent.”
“That can be used to our advantage,” the Emperor replied. “What of the leader you spoke with?”
Thrawn chuckled. “Janeway is extremely naïve. She seems to take everything at face value. After the Lucinda was destroyed she gave us all tactical information they had on the Borg, no matter how obscure. There is a multitude of details we can use to deduce information about tactical and strategic possibilities against a great deal of powers in their galaxy. And of course, the information on the Borg itself will be extremely useful.”
“Indeed,” the Emperor said. “What is your assessment of these Borg?”
“They are obviously a threat, you highness,” Thrawn replied simply. “They no doubt want to assimilate us as well, and since it’s impossible to negotiate with them, armed conflict is unavoidable.”
“Then you are recommending that we prepare for war,” the Emperor replied.
“Your Excellency, I suggest that we deter them from that course. A retaliatory strike into their territory as a direct response to their invasion would demonstrate that further conflicts with the Empire would not be in their best interests.”
Mara could sense the Emperor’s mood sour. Was Thrawn attempting some duplicity? “I thought you said these Borg are unreasonable.”
“Your highness, the Borg cannot be reasoned with, but they are, in the end, beings of logic.”
The Emperor was silent for several minutes, but Thrawn said nothing, a wise choice as far as Mara was concerned. Her master was right, this alien couldn’t be trusted. However, the Borg were definitely a threat if they could cause the destruction of a star destroyer. “I want you to take command of a task force of vessels from the nearest space station, and cross into this Milky Way galaxy.”
“Yes, your excellency,” Thrawn replied.
Mara could sense the Emperor’s irritation. He had no doubt been expecting Thrawn to presume he would command the war effort, and thus humiliate him by denying it. “I want a station built on the other side of the wormhole to serve as a launch platform for our efforts and to maintain communication throughout the conflict. See that it is built quickly and protected from the Borg.”
Thrawn nodded and the hologram faded. The Emperor turned towards Mara, his gaze causing her to wither slightly. The more she grew in her power, the more she could sense how great the gap was between them. He noticed her reaction, as he noticed everything, and a smile drew to his lips at her fear. “Good,” he said slowly. “Fear is the path to strength. Terror, hatred, passion, these are the things of power. Embrace them, my young apprentice.”
“Yes, my master,” she replied with a slight bow. She hesitated, unsure if it was her place to speak with him of such things. “Master, do you really trust such an important matter in the hands of the Chiss?”
The Emperor waved the remark away as he returned to his throne. “He is an able planner and a skilled tactician, but I would not be so foolish as to trust him with this campaign. Darth Vader’s fleet has the most capable officers in the navy; they will deal with the Borg.”
“But what of the rebels,” Mara replied. “If they attack while the fleet is gone-“
“The rebels will not attack,” the Emperor replied. “And if they were so foolish, the battlestation is shielded, and no army in existence can equal the one I have placed to guard the generator. No, my young pupil, the rebels are no threat.”
Mara nodded her agreement, but the Emperor could sense her thoughts. He chuckled. “Yes, you are correct child. One must never underestimate one’s enemy, no matter how nearly vanquished they might be.” It was a lesson her master had impressed on her from day one; a lesson one of her predecessors had learned from a lightsaber point. “The rebel support will wither once my battlestation is operational, lest they suffer the same fate as Alderaan. You need not always battle to win, young Mara, you can succeed merely by using your enemy’s fears against them.”
“I still don’t understand.”
The Emperor smiled, and Mara could sense he was thinking about the Federation and its neighbors. “You will child. You will.”
The Napuli System was, for the most part, a strategically useless area of space. Little mineral wealth, no known colonies or life, and a hundred light-years from a settled system, it was as important in the grand scheme as a blade of grass is to a wheat field. However, the fact that the first fleet engagement of the Borg War was taking place here showed that things can change in an instant.
“All TIEs stand by,” Thrawn ordered. “But do not launch unless I give the word.” Despite the seriousness of the situation his voice was calm, but firm. He had learned a great deal about these Borg, but most of it was second-hand. Still, Thrawn had experience using little bits of information for his advantage.
“Admiral,” Captain Jarrol said anxiously, “We’re receiving a communication. They-“
“I know what they want,” Thrawn interrupted, his eyes never leaving the three vessels. He was very quiet. “All turbolasers on the center cube,” he finally said. “From all vessels.”
Jarrol hesitated for a moment, but only a moment. To him, it was insane to ignore two-thirds of the opposing forces when they could try to incapacitate all three, but he’d learned more than once to follow his commander’s orders regardless. Immediately their weapons began tearing into the central cube. He kept his eyes on the sensors, watching the devastation. The first cube they had encountered had taken little time to destroy, and this one didn’t look different, until. “Lieutenant,” he said with obvious confusion, “is there a problem with the sensors?”
“Negative, sir,” the lieutenant reported from the crewpit.
Jarrol turned away and stepped over. “Then why do the instruments insist our weapons are doing less damage?” he said with obvious irritation.
“It’s not the instruments,” Thrawn said quietly, his eyes never leaving the tactical display. “It’s them.”
“What do you mean?” Jarrol asked. “Sir,” he quickly added.
Thrawn looked back at the ship and then the display, and when he spoke, it was as if he were discussion the duty roster. “The Borg, captain, have adapted.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
“Re-route power to the shields,” Janeway ordered. “Evasive maneuvers. Load all torpedo bays.”
“Captain,” Tuvok said, a calm center on the storm of the bridge as always, “the Borg appear to be focusing solely on the Imperials.”
“Then give them something else to think about,” she replied. “Torpedoes, full spread.”
One after the other the torpedoes exploded from the tubes and impacted on the Borg ship. When the series completed itself, the space glowed from the discharged plasma. But...”no effect,” Tuvok said.
“Bring us around,” Janeway said, taking her seat. “Attack along the same vector as the Imperials; we might be able to punch through.”
“Captain,” Chakotay said quickly, “Maybe we should leave this to the Imperials. They were more than a match last time.”
“The Borg hadn’t adapted yet,” Janeway countered. “This time they will, and the admiral will need every ship he can get.” Chakotay opened his mouth, but Janeway cut him off before he could even start. “We brought them here. We are obligated to stop them. Tom, bring us around.”
The Intrepid-class starship weaved into the conflagration between the titans, phasers and torpedoes trying to breach Borg defenses. After a few minutes the combined efforts blew the cube to pieces. A few words of encouragement were said, then the group moved on to the next cube. “Torpedoes, full spread,” Janeway ordered as the tiny Federation ship dodged the Borg’s energy weapon and closed in.
“There are only two torpedoes left,” Tuvok informed her. “Do you wish me to fire them?”
“Not yet,” Janeway said. In the heat of the moment she’d forgotten how the previous battle had seriously reduced their limited supply. “Try to find an opening, then launch it down their throats.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
“Sir,” Captain Jarrol said as Thrawn continued looking between the battle and the tactical display, “the Lucinda’s shields are failing. The Borg have been-“
“They’re using a shield draining weapon,” Thrawn finished. “Set the jammers to a randomized pattern.”
“Yes,” Jarrol said as he passed on the order, but his confusion was obvious.
“If the jamming is regular,” Thrawn said, even though his attention was focused on the battle, “they might find a way to minimize it and use their transporters. We mustn’t let that happen. Launch all TIEs.” He tapped the console as he watched the reports coming in from the Lucinda. The Borg had ganged up on it in precisely the same manner as the star destroyers. Shields were failing. “I want TIEs to target all tractor beam emitters. The Borg can’t be allowed to assimilate any part of the Lucinda; not one member of the crew, not so much as a wrench. Are my orders clear?” They were; Thrawn was not one to resort to hyperbole.
--------------------------------------------------------------
“Captain!” Ens. Kim shouted with concern. “I’m reading hundreds of ships, too many to get a precise count.”
“More Borg?” Janeway asked, her heart in her throat.
“No,” Kim replied, more restrained, “they’re from the Imperial ships. They appear to be large shuttles.”
“They’re not evacuating, are they?” Janeway asked Chakotay in confusion.
“I don’t think so, Captain,” Tom Paris said as he pointed to the display. They watched as the ships swarmed around Voyager and swooped in at the cubes, their weapons tiny pinpoints as they fired at the massive ships.
“It looks like Thrawn had a little surprise planned,” Chakotay remarked.
“Hopefully this will turn the tide,” Janeway remarked as they joined in the attack with the fighters.
“I don’t think so, Captain,” Kim said, his disappointment transparent. “They’ve begun assimilating one of the star destroyers.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
The bridge was a buzz of controlled activity as the task of running a warship and coordinating a battle continued with the fine precision Thrawn demanded of his officers. The admiral himself was silently weighing the factors in his cold mind. The difference between Thrawn’s thinking and a military computer’s was that the computer was not aware of the moral consequences of its decisions. The difference between Thrawn and most officers was that he didn’t allow that to influence his thinking.
“Give me Captain Tamez,” Thrawn said. Activity in the room quieted slightly; the admiral rarely spoke with the other vessels directly during combat. “Captain,” Thrawn said as the hologram appeared on the bridge, “can you raise your shields?”
“No sir,” Tamez replied, doing his best not to display any emotion as the Borg tried to carve his ship apart around him.
“Captain, I want you to ram the port cube.” He spoke as if it were a minor course correction.
“Say again?” Tamez replied.
“The Borg are assimilating you,” Thrawn said. “They want to take you and your crew and turn you into brainless slaves. If you don’t destroy them, this will happen.”
“We have them outnumbered-“
“You won’t last that long,” Thrawn said, “and we are short on time. You can die a slave or die fighting to save the Empire. I suggest you choose the latter.”
Tamez obviously didn’t like either choice. “Admiral-“
“Ramming speed,” Thrawn said. “Those are your orders.”
Tamez took a deep breath through his nose. “Yes, admiral.” He tried to put as much pride into the words as he could, and the hologram faded. The bridge remained quiet as Thrawn’s order seemed to hang in the air.
Thrawn stepped back to his position in front of the tactical display. He could explain to them that anything the Borg assimilated could be used to learn about the Empire and how to destroy it, and that even obliterating the vessels wouldn’t keep that knowledge from being passed on to the collective. Of course, he was also the admiral, and he explained to no one but the Emperor. “Unless we wish to share their fate,” he said evenly, “we must focus on the task at hand.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
The bridgecrew of Voyager watched in shock as the star destroyer and the cube collided in an explosion so energetic they were flashblinded. An energy wave struck and knocked them off balance. When Janeway managed to right herself she was able to make out the shattered remains of the cube; the star destroyer was vaporized.
“Death before assimilation,” Chakotay said grimly. “I’m sure a few Federation captains had similar thoughts.”
“Earth,” Janeway said quietly. She looked at Chakotay, and noticed the odd way he looked at her. “Captain Riker was prepared to do the same thing to save Earth when the Borg first came.” She shook her head. “We have more in common with these Imperials than physical appearance.” She called out orders for battle to finish off the remains of the final cube, but part of her couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Luke looked on with some concern as Leia held the lightsaber tightly in her hands. He could sense her fear, which was an important concern. His family didn’t have a good history with the dark side. "Relax," he told her, "Don't try to force it. Just let it happen." He activated the remote, which began to move with a series of small, deliberate motions. Every few seconds a beam would lash out--not strong, just enough to sting. Leia swung the blade, but missed. This repeated until Luke could sense her frustration. "I know it seems hard, but that's just it. It only seems hard because you think it is. Stretch out with your feelings, and don't worry about whether you block or not. Just let your instincts guide you."
"Easy to say," Leia said through gritted teeth, "hard to do." The blade was brought up, almost blocking the latest bolt.
"Like all things, it takes practice and patience." Which was true, but there was no sense in going too hard on her on her first day. Luke stretched out with the Force and turned the remote to a lower setting. He felt a flash of anger.
"I don't need you to go soft on me," Leia told him. "I just need to get the hang of things."
Luke nodded with a small smile. "How did you know?" he asked.
Leia opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it. "I don't know. I just... just knew."
“Now you’re starting to understand,” he said with approval. “Trust your feelings, don’t second guess them.”
Leia took a deep breath then held the lightsaber out in front of her, eyes fixed on the remote. It fired, slow at first, then faster. The green blade slipped through the air with a quiet hum as it snatched at each sliver of energy, bouncing it away harmlessly. Luke switched it off and clapped his hands a few times. “You’ve taken the first step,” he said with approval. “But there’s something you must always remember. Take these steps only along the proper path.” He paused, realizing that it was only a week ago that he was the pupil. He wished Master Yoda was there to train her, to give the guidance that Leia needed to avoid the trap their father had stepped into and that he nearly succumbed to as well. That was Yoda’s last warning to him, something that, even as he died, he wanted Luke to remember. He would face his father again; would he face the dark side again as well? And more importantly, could he find the strength to refuse it, or would he give in to temptation?
“Are you all right?” Leia asked.
Luke tried to put on a cheerful face. She was definitely growing in her powers. “I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Let’s continue with your exercises.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
“Are they gone?” the Emperor asked.
“Yes, your highness,” the hologram replied. Mara stopped her exercise, her instincts telling her that something important was going on. After a few seconds she recognized the hologram as Thrawn, one of the more gifted military commanders, but nevertheless an alien. However good they might be, never trust an alien, or so the Emperor had taught her; and he was right. Thrawn may command in his navy, but the Emperor did not for an instant allow that to cloud his judgment of the creature.
“What do you know about this Federation?” the Emperor asked.
“They are but one of thousands of minor powers located in their galaxy,” Thrawn replied. “Many have little knowledge of the existence of most of the others. Communication on the galactic scale is virtually non-existent.”
“That can be used to our advantage,” the Emperor replied. “What of the leader you spoke with?”
Thrawn chuckled. “Janeway is extremely naïve. She seems to take everything at face value. After the Lucinda was destroyed she gave us all tactical information they had on the Borg, no matter how obscure. There is a multitude of details we can use to deduce information about tactical and strategic possibilities against a great deal of powers in their galaxy. And of course, the information on the Borg itself will be extremely useful.”
“Indeed,” the Emperor said. “What is your assessment of these Borg?”
“They are obviously a threat, you highness,” Thrawn replied simply. “They no doubt want to assimilate us as well, and since it’s impossible to negotiate with them, armed conflict is unavoidable.”
“Then you are recommending that we prepare for war,” the Emperor replied.
“Your Excellency, I suggest that we deter them from that course. A retaliatory strike into their territory as a direct response to their invasion would demonstrate that further conflicts with the Empire would not be in their best interests.”
Mara could sense the Emperor’s mood sour. Was Thrawn attempting some duplicity? “I thought you said these Borg are unreasonable.”
“Your highness, the Borg cannot be reasoned with, but they are, in the end, beings of logic.”
The Emperor was silent for several minutes, but Thrawn said nothing, a wise choice as far as Mara was concerned. Her master was right, this alien couldn’t be trusted. However, the Borg were definitely a threat if they could cause the destruction of a star destroyer. “I want you to take command of a task force of vessels from the nearest space station, and cross into this Milky Way galaxy.”
“Yes, your excellency,” Thrawn replied.
Mara could sense the Emperor’s irritation. He had no doubt been expecting Thrawn to presume he would command the war effort, and thus humiliate him by denying it. “I want a station built on the other side of the wormhole to serve as a launch platform for our efforts and to maintain communication throughout the conflict. See that it is built quickly and protected from the Borg.”
Thrawn nodded and the hologram faded. The Emperor turned towards Mara, his gaze causing her to wither slightly. The more she grew in her power, the more she could sense how great the gap was between them. He noticed her reaction, as he noticed everything, and a smile drew to his lips at her fear. “Good,” he said slowly. “Fear is the path to strength. Terror, hatred, passion, these are the things of power. Embrace them, my young apprentice.”
“Yes, my master,” she replied with a slight bow. She hesitated, unsure if it was her place to speak with him of such things. “Master, do you really trust such an important matter in the hands of the Chiss?”
The Emperor waved the remark away as he returned to his throne. “He is an able planner and a skilled tactician, but I would not be so foolish as to trust him with this campaign. Darth Vader’s fleet has the most capable officers in the navy; they will deal with the Borg.”
“But what of the rebels,” Mara replied. “If they attack while the fleet is gone-“
“The rebels will not attack,” the Emperor replied. “And if they were so foolish, the battlestation is shielded, and no army in existence can equal the one I have placed to guard the generator. No, my young pupil, the rebels are no threat.”
Mara nodded her agreement, but the Emperor could sense her thoughts. He chuckled. “Yes, you are correct child. One must never underestimate one’s enemy, no matter how nearly vanquished they might be.” It was a lesson her master had impressed on her from day one; a lesson one of her predecessors had learned from a lightsaber point. “The rebel support will wither once my battlestation is operational, lest they suffer the same fate as Alderaan. You need not always battle to win, young Mara, you can succeed merely by using your enemy’s fears against them.”
“I still don’t understand.”
The Emperor smiled, and Mara could sense he was thinking about the Federation and its neighbors. “You will child. You will.”
Chuck
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Star Empire
- Padawan Learner
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Sonnenburg
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Thanks. I did wind up fixing those four chapters a little bit more, especially in light of Episode III revelations. That project originally had to give because I was working those crazy hours back then, but with DOF tying things up pretty soon, I thought I'd do this re-write properly before the final chapter of the series came out. This way I can know for sure that the final chapter will tie up every single loose end. 
Chuck
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Dalton
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Ah, Chuck-man, you need to send me the docs for the Archive.
To Absent Friends
"y = mx + bro" - Surlethe
"You try THAT shit again, kid, and I will mod you. I will
mod you so hard, you'll wish I were Dalton." - Lagmonster
May the way of the Hero lead to the Triforce.
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Sonnenburg
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Dalton
- For Those About to Rock We Salute You
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Sure, no worries.Sonnenburg wrote:Sure, but would you like me to just wait. Like I said, I plan to have this story done and posted by the end of March.
To Absent Friends
"y = mx + bro" - Surlethe
"You try THAT shit again, kid, and I will mod you. I will
mod you so hard, you'll wish I were Dalton." - Lagmonster
May the way of the Hero lead to the Triforce.
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Sonnenburg
- Official Dave Barry Clone
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Part IV
Captain Janeway tried not to fidget in front of the admirals, but it wasn’t easy. With the celebrations of Voyager’s return ending, the reality of all that had happened had sunk in. For five years she had no superior officers to deal with, no one to report to but her own conscience. Now that she was home, those five years were about to be placed under a microscope.
"Captain, before we begin," said Admiral Parks, the senior officer present, "I want you to understand that this is not an official inquiry or a disciplinary investigation. We just want to clear up some of the events that took place during your absence."
Janeway nodded. "I understand, admiral." She was glad none of them were telepaths and could tell what a lie that was.
"Good," Parks turned to a white-haired man at the end of the row. "Adm. Jellico, I believe you had a topic of particular concern."
Admiral Jellico nodded. "Captain Janeway. You ascribed your speedy return to a group called the," he turned to his notes, "the Galactic Empire?"
"Yes," Janeway answered, "we worked out an exchange with a representative of the Empire wherein they were given transporter technology and we were given their propulsion device."
Jellico consulted his notes again. "A device called a 'hyperdrive'."
"Yes. They showed interest in our transporters, and we obviously needed their device a great deal."
"Enough to violate the Prime Directive?" Jellico replied.
The suddenness of the remark caught her off guard. "What do you mean, sir?" Janeway replied.
"According to your report,” Jellico said, “the Empire is not only on the other side of the universe, but is existing at a time far earlier than our own.”
“Yes,” Janeway replied. “We discovered that the wormhole displaces in space as well as time, at the speed of subspace in fact.”
"Very convenient," Jellico said with disinterest, "but it doesn't explain why you deliberately gave technology to a society that existed, by your own admission, before our own."
Janeway's voice dropped in pitch. "We didn't know about this at the time. It wasn't until the Borg showed up that we realized it. In either case, I stand by my actions."
"Even though they violate Starfleet regulations?" Jellico asked pointedly.
"Yes," Janeway remained stoic, "I do."
Janeway expected the barrage to continue, but Jellico suddenly reversed thrusters, catching her off guard. "Would you not in fact say that your actions were necessary to ensure the safety of your crew?"
"Yes," she replied, wondering if she’d just stepped into Jellico’s trap.
"Would you describe the Galactic Empire as being hostile?"
Janeway was growing more suspicious, but she firmly believed that the truth justified her. "In every encounter I had with them, the Empire showed they were civilized and cooperative."
Admiral Parks spoke up. "Would you be willing to testify to that before the Federation Council?"
“Yes,” she replied, but didn’t understand. She said as much.
"It's really quite simple, captain,” Jellico said. “We want you to tell all of this to the Federation Council tomorrow."
"To accomplish what?"
"A lot has happened while you were gone, captain." Parks hesitated. "The Federation is in trouble. We've been having diplomatic negotiations with practically every two-bit planet in our part of space. We need support if we are to survive."
She’d been gone too long, Janeway realized. She’d forgotten about how much of a hotbed the alpha quadrant can be. It fell into place in an instant. "Then what you want..."
Jellico finished, "We think the Federation should form an alliance with the Empire."
--------------------------------------------------------------
Seven of Nine waited outside the briefing room, hands clasped behind her back in what passed for a relaxed pose, moving only as much as was required to remain alert. It was for this reason she was aware of the small group of Starfleet personnel - cadets, she noted from their insignia - that had gathered to stare at her since she and Captain Janeway had arrived. Scoptophobia was an irrational fear, as was paranoia; human foibles that she as a Borg had grown far beyond. Their whisphered discussions about her were of no concern, no concern at all.
“Do you require something?” she asked, causing the small crowd to jump at the suddenness of her remark. Despite herself she hadn’t been able to keep the belligerence out of her voice.
“Um,” one of the female cadets said as her classmates distanced themselves from her slightly, “we were wondering if it was true... what they said, I mean. That you’re a Borg.”
“I am an individual now,” Seven replied.
“But, you were a Borg,” the cadet replied. “You used to be.”
Seven resisted the pointless desire to rub her hands together at the uncomfortable situation. “Yes,” she finally replied.
“Does it hurt when you’re assimilated?” someone else asked.
“I don’t remember,” Seven replied.
“I thought Borg never forget anything,” the first cadet replied.
“We do not waste valuable resources on the pointless recollection of pain.”
“Did you ever help assimilate anyone?”
Seven wrung her hands instinctively. “Yes,” she replied quietly.
“Did they show they were in pain? Did they want you to stop?”
“I don’t remember,” she said sharply.
“Mr. Hicks,” a voice came from behind Seven, “are you in charge of this gathering?” All the cadets drew to attention. Seven glanced between them and a white-haired man that had just exited the briefing room.
“No, sir,” the female cadet replied.
“You are now,” he said. “Since your classmates have nothing better to do than gawk in a hallway, I think you can find the time to inventory the cargo containers at Docking Platform #2. I’ll inform the quartermaster that you will personally have it on her desk by 2100 hours.”
“Yes sir,” she replied, and with a nod from the officer they rushed off. As they left the man joined with a small group of others who had just left the briefing room. Seven noted the smile on Captain Janeway’s face, a complete reversal of her previously somber attitude.
“Your debriefing went well?” Seven asked.
“Better than well,” Janeway replied as the two started walking through the corridors of Starfleet Command. “It seems our little detour through the wormhole may have a much larger consequence than we’d thought.”
“The hyperdrive will bring substantial changes,” Seven remarked. “Further tradings for Imperial technology would be wise.”
“Off the record,” Janeway remarked, a phrase that Seven still failed to understand, “it’s going to be a lot bigger than that.” They drew to a halt as the cadet returned. “Can we help you?” Janeway asked politely.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she replied nervously, then turned to Seven. “I just wanted to apologize on behalf of myself and everyone else. We didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I do not take offense,” Seven replied.
“Well, what we did was rude, and as future Starfleet officers we should’ve known better.”
Seven looked at Captain Janeway nervously, then back. “You should be completing the admiral’s orders. It would be a mistake to neglect your duty by talking to me.” She continued walking, the girl looking oddly between her and Janeway before the captain rushed to catch up.
“Was there a problem?” Janeway asked with concern.
“No,” Seven said curtly.
Captain Janeway nodded, clearly not believing it but knowing better than to bring it up now. “Let’s get back to the ship. I think we’ve spent enough time on Earth for right now.”
Seven took a deep breath. “Agreed,” she replied with a hint of exhaustion.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Lt. Delric Taar tapped his datapad absentmindedly on the table in front of him as he waited for the fleet-wide briefing to begin. Whatever was going on made him edgy; the zero hour for the rebel attack had come and gone, and command refused to breathe a word to the lower decks of what was going on, even though it was obvious something was up. The fleet had left the incomplete Death Star undefended days ago, a dangerous move in his opinion. Of course, there was no love lost between himself and the Death Star. More than one of his friends had left the service over Alderaan, their hatred overwhelming their loyalty for order and peace. Now he’d been forced to blow his former wingmates away, and all because of a superweapon that was, by its very nature, a tactically useless tool.
According to the rebellion, Alderaan had been destroyed by Grand Moff Tarkin just to spite a rebel spy. Of course, it was probably just propaganda, but down deep Taar had to wonder whether or not anyone could command such power and be able to show restraint. He wasn’t optimistic, especially with Moff Jerjerrod in command. He’d seen the moff’s reaction to Lord Vader, and putting ultimate power in the hands of a whiny sycophant was like giving an infant a thermal detonator to play with.
Before he could continue the thought the holograms of other squadron leaders appeared throughout the room, the fleet flight coordinator appearing in the center. Taar got his datapad ready as the briefing began.
“Squadron leaders,” the major began, “meet your new enemy.” The rotating image of a cube-shaped object appeared on each table, a smaller one of a star destroyer alongside it for scale. “They’re called the Borg, and it is our responsibility to ensure that they pose no threat to the Empire.” Taar took notes as the previous battles involving the Borg were given, the known points of their defenses, and the reason for the upcoming mission.
“We are going to cross through the wormhole and into Borg space,” the major continued. “Since they have no concept of diplomacy we plan to annihilate enough ships and planets to show them that further attacks on the Empire would be a devastating mistake. Any questions?”
Taar spoke up. “Sir, Interceptors, as the very name implies, are meant to deal with fighter craft. They cause minimal damage to corvettes. What possible use do they have against a ship this size?”
The major exhaled in annoyance. “We’ve determined that swarming the cubes with fighters will provide a distraction that will allow our star destroyers to do their work.”
Don’t say it, Delric. Don’t say it, Delric. “So we’re flying targets. Sir.” You shouldn’t have said it. The major’s look of scorn agreed with that sentiment.
“I think the major was impressed with your tactical assessments,” Lt. Starrunner, squadron leader for Grey Squadron, remarked after the briefing was over.
“Kriff him,” Taar said with disgust. “These guys get taken out of the pilot seat and suddenly they forget what it’s like to have inches of plexisteel between you and death.”
“This is messed up,” Starrunner agreed. “You heard how accurate those Borg can get. They’re asking us to basically die when we can’t fight back. And do you think my bombers have a chance of staying ahead and outmaneuvering these Borg?”
“Not without cover,” Taar said. He sighed, then rapped his datapad on the hull a couple of times. “Lohl,” he said finally, “let’s get our squadrons together for some simulations. Maybe there’s a way we can fight back against the Borg after all.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
Jean-luc Picard, captain of the Federation flagship, Enterprise, sighed with impatience as he waited outside the office of Adm. Parks. After six weeks of separation from my ship you would think I’d be used to it, he thought gloomily. He wasn't accustomed to being out of the loop, at least not when it came to the Enterprise. That Data, Geordi, and his engineering staff were allowed on board was all the more infuriating, but at least now he could speak to someone who could give him information, maybe even access to his ship again. He got to his feet as that someone arrived.
“Apologies for the delay, Jean-luc,” Adm. Parks said, shaking his hand.
“Not at all,” Picard lied. “It seems these days time is something I have plenty of.”
Parks laughed as he led Picard into his office. “Yes, there’s a fine line between R&R and boredom, isn’t there.”
“Exactly,” Picard said, hoping this meant the admiral was going to let him in on what was happening.
Parks took his seat, offering Picard a chair as he did. “Jean-luc, I know it’s not easy being kept in the dark on what goes on on your own vessel, but believe me, it’s in the name of Federation security.”
“Indeed,” Picard said neutrally. It seemed to him that a lot was being done in the name of Federation security lately, and he wasn’t all that pleased with where that was leading. The declaration of martial law remained a particular sore spot with him, and a reminder that their society was not as rock-solid as he’d like to think.
“We have an opportunity to forever change the balance of power in this quadrant,” Parks continued. “A chance to ensure that the Romulans, the Cardassians, not even the Dominion will be able to threaten the Federation again.”
“A new weapon?”
“An ally,” Parks answered. “Someone with resources and technology that, along with our own strength, will deter practically any power that might try to wage war on us.”
“And you’re afraid someone might form a treaty with these people first,” Picard said.
“Not exactly. No one can reach them in any reasonable amount of time; they exist on the other side of a wormhole that’s over halfway across the galaxy.”
Picard was a bit baffled. “I’m not sure I understand. How helpful can this power be if it would take decades just to reach them?”
Parks smiled. “Because right now we’re the only ones who can reach them without taking decades.” He explained to Picard about Voyager’s encounter with the Borg, the Empire, and the new hyperdrive.
“And this is what you’ve been doing with the Enterprise all this time,” Picard concluded at the end. “Installing this hyperdrive.”
“Yes,” Parks confirmed. “You can see the need for security. Even without the possibility of an alliance, the ability to deploy our forces at hundreds of times the speed of our enemies gives us an incredible advantage. If that technology were stolen, it could be damning.”
“I understand,” Picard added. “But there’s something I’m not clear on. If this treaty with the Empire is so important, why did we not send Voyager? They have a functioning hyperdrive.”
“Yes, but that’s about all that’s functioning. Voyager’s been flying through Borg space for some time; she wasn’t in the best shape when she returned. And besides that, a mission of this importance requires a captain with a skill for diplomacy, and I think there’s no one better qualified.”
With each passing second the frustrations of the previous weeks was replaced with anticipation as Picard thought of the magnitude of this mission. A mission of diplomacy to a civilization that spanned an entire galaxy was beyond the expectations of even the most fanciful cadets. “When do we leave?” he asked, now all the more impatient to get back to his ship and begin this historic trip.
“Three days,” Parks replied. “The hyperdrive should be finished tomorrow, which should give your people enough time to familiarize themselves with the new equipment and prep for the mission.”
“Will Captain Janeway be giving us a briefing?”
“Better. She’s re-assigning a member of her crew to act as your advisor on both the delta quadrant and the Galactic Empire.”
“Who?”
“She hasn’t decided yet,” Parks answered. “She needs someone who’s not only familiar with their technology, but has expertise in delta quadrant astrometrics and dealings with the Imperials. Finding someone who fits that bill won’t be easy, and giving them up will probably be even harder.”
“Well,” Picard said as he rose to his feet, “I’ll certainly look forward to meeting whoever is up to that challenge.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
Seven of Nine walked through the door to the captain's ready room. As always, Capt. Janeway was seated behind her desk, a PADD in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other. She was nothing if not predictable. "You wished to see me, captain," Seven stated.
Janeway continued to look at the PADD. "Yes, Seven, please sit down."
"Unnecessary, I'm comfortable standing."
Janeway put down the PADD. "Yes, of course you are. I forgot, the Borg even sleep standing."
"Inaccurate. The Borg regenerate, they do not sleep."
Janeway came around and sat on the edge of her desk. "Yes...." Janeway continued after a brief pause. "Everything is in order, all damage to the ship has been repaired, and I've finally got my private dining room back," she added with a slight smile. "Some of the Maquis officers have asked to transfer to Starfleet, and permission has been granted for them to remain at their current posts. I've even persuaded them to keep the Doctor on line as our chief medical officer, although that took a little convincing."
"I assume you're not updating the ship's status with the entire crew in this manner."
"No." Janeway had a look of disappointment. "That leaves us with our two resident civilians. Mr. Neelix has already departed. That leaves us with you."
Seven breathed a little heavily, then began to speak. "If you do not wish me to remain on board I will leave. I understand that circumstances have changed."
Janeway stepped forward and grabbed Seven's hand. "That's not what I'm saying. You've been an asset to this ship. There's a chance that we wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. We don't want you to leave. But it would be selfish of us to force you to remain on board. We'd be denying you new experiences, a chance to explore your humanity." Seven was uncharacteristically silent. “Going from life on Voyager to life on Earth isn’t going to be an easy transition,” Janeway continued. “I think that’s obvious to the both of us.”
Seven nodded slowly, not looking at her captain. “Adapting would be... difficult.”
“Perhaps it’s time for a small step in the right direction.” Janeway turned and picked up the PADD off her desk. "And I think we have the perfect opportunity for you to take that step. Tell me, are you familiar at all with the Enterprise?"
Captain Janeway tried not to fidget in front of the admirals, but it wasn’t easy. With the celebrations of Voyager’s return ending, the reality of all that had happened had sunk in. For five years she had no superior officers to deal with, no one to report to but her own conscience. Now that she was home, those five years were about to be placed under a microscope.
"Captain, before we begin," said Admiral Parks, the senior officer present, "I want you to understand that this is not an official inquiry or a disciplinary investigation. We just want to clear up some of the events that took place during your absence."
Janeway nodded. "I understand, admiral." She was glad none of them were telepaths and could tell what a lie that was.
"Good," Parks turned to a white-haired man at the end of the row. "Adm. Jellico, I believe you had a topic of particular concern."
Admiral Jellico nodded. "Captain Janeway. You ascribed your speedy return to a group called the," he turned to his notes, "the Galactic Empire?"
"Yes," Janeway answered, "we worked out an exchange with a representative of the Empire wherein they were given transporter technology and we were given their propulsion device."
Jellico consulted his notes again. "A device called a 'hyperdrive'."
"Yes. They showed interest in our transporters, and we obviously needed their device a great deal."
"Enough to violate the Prime Directive?" Jellico replied.
The suddenness of the remark caught her off guard. "What do you mean, sir?" Janeway replied.
"According to your report,” Jellico said, “the Empire is not only on the other side of the universe, but is existing at a time far earlier than our own.”
“Yes,” Janeway replied. “We discovered that the wormhole displaces in space as well as time, at the speed of subspace in fact.”
"Very convenient," Jellico said with disinterest, "but it doesn't explain why you deliberately gave technology to a society that existed, by your own admission, before our own."
Janeway's voice dropped in pitch. "We didn't know about this at the time. It wasn't until the Borg showed up that we realized it. In either case, I stand by my actions."
"Even though they violate Starfleet regulations?" Jellico asked pointedly.
"Yes," Janeway remained stoic, "I do."
Janeway expected the barrage to continue, but Jellico suddenly reversed thrusters, catching her off guard. "Would you not in fact say that your actions were necessary to ensure the safety of your crew?"
"Yes," she replied, wondering if she’d just stepped into Jellico’s trap.
"Would you describe the Galactic Empire as being hostile?"
Janeway was growing more suspicious, but she firmly believed that the truth justified her. "In every encounter I had with them, the Empire showed they were civilized and cooperative."
Admiral Parks spoke up. "Would you be willing to testify to that before the Federation Council?"
“Yes,” she replied, but didn’t understand. She said as much.
"It's really quite simple, captain,” Jellico said. “We want you to tell all of this to the Federation Council tomorrow."
"To accomplish what?"
"A lot has happened while you were gone, captain." Parks hesitated. "The Federation is in trouble. We've been having diplomatic negotiations with practically every two-bit planet in our part of space. We need support if we are to survive."
She’d been gone too long, Janeway realized. She’d forgotten about how much of a hotbed the alpha quadrant can be. It fell into place in an instant. "Then what you want..."
Jellico finished, "We think the Federation should form an alliance with the Empire."
--------------------------------------------------------------
Seven of Nine waited outside the briefing room, hands clasped behind her back in what passed for a relaxed pose, moving only as much as was required to remain alert. It was for this reason she was aware of the small group of Starfleet personnel - cadets, she noted from their insignia - that had gathered to stare at her since she and Captain Janeway had arrived. Scoptophobia was an irrational fear, as was paranoia; human foibles that she as a Borg had grown far beyond. Their whisphered discussions about her were of no concern, no concern at all.
“Do you require something?” she asked, causing the small crowd to jump at the suddenness of her remark. Despite herself she hadn’t been able to keep the belligerence out of her voice.
“Um,” one of the female cadets said as her classmates distanced themselves from her slightly, “we were wondering if it was true... what they said, I mean. That you’re a Borg.”
“I am an individual now,” Seven replied.
“But, you were a Borg,” the cadet replied. “You used to be.”
Seven resisted the pointless desire to rub her hands together at the uncomfortable situation. “Yes,” she finally replied.
“Does it hurt when you’re assimilated?” someone else asked.
“I don’t remember,” Seven replied.
“I thought Borg never forget anything,” the first cadet replied.
“We do not waste valuable resources on the pointless recollection of pain.”
“Did you ever help assimilate anyone?”
Seven wrung her hands instinctively. “Yes,” she replied quietly.
“Did they show they were in pain? Did they want you to stop?”
“I don’t remember,” she said sharply.
“Mr. Hicks,” a voice came from behind Seven, “are you in charge of this gathering?” All the cadets drew to attention. Seven glanced between them and a white-haired man that had just exited the briefing room.
“No, sir,” the female cadet replied.
“You are now,” he said. “Since your classmates have nothing better to do than gawk in a hallway, I think you can find the time to inventory the cargo containers at Docking Platform #2. I’ll inform the quartermaster that you will personally have it on her desk by 2100 hours.”
“Yes sir,” she replied, and with a nod from the officer they rushed off. As they left the man joined with a small group of others who had just left the briefing room. Seven noted the smile on Captain Janeway’s face, a complete reversal of her previously somber attitude.
“Your debriefing went well?” Seven asked.
“Better than well,” Janeway replied as the two started walking through the corridors of Starfleet Command. “It seems our little detour through the wormhole may have a much larger consequence than we’d thought.”
“The hyperdrive will bring substantial changes,” Seven remarked. “Further tradings for Imperial technology would be wise.”
“Off the record,” Janeway remarked, a phrase that Seven still failed to understand, “it’s going to be a lot bigger than that.” They drew to a halt as the cadet returned. “Can we help you?” Janeway asked politely.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she replied nervously, then turned to Seven. “I just wanted to apologize on behalf of myself and everyone else. We didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I do not take offense,” Seven replied.
“Well, what we did was rude, and as future Starfleet officers we should’ve known better.”
Seven looked at Captain Janeway nervously, then back. “You should be completing the admiral’s orders. It would be a mistake to neglect your duty by talking to me.” She continued walking, the girl looking oddly between her and Janeway before the captain rushed to catch up.
“Was there a problem?” Janeway asked with concern.
“No,” Seven said curtly.
Captain Janeway nodded, clearly not believing it but knowing better than to bring it up now. “Let’s get back to the ship. I think we’ve spent enough time on Earth for right now.”
Seven took a deep breath. “Agreed,” she replied with a hint of exhaustion.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Lt. Delric Taar tapped his datapad absentmindedly on the table in front of him as he waited for the fleet-wide briefing to begin. Whatever was going on made him edgy; the zero hour for the rebel attack had come and gone, and command refused to breathe a word to the lower decks of what was going on, even though it was obvious something was up. The fleet had left the incomplete Death Star undefended days ago, a dangerous move in his opinion. Of course, there was no love lost between himself and the Death Star. More than one of his friends had left the service over Alderaan, their hatred overwhelming their loyalty for order and peace. Now he’d been forced to blow his former wingmates away, and all because of a superweapon that was, by its very nature, a tactically useless tool.
According to the rebellion, Alderaan had been destroyed by Grand Moff Tarkin just to spite a rebel spy. Of course, it was probably just propaganda, but down deep Taar had to wonder whether or not anyone could command such power and be able to show restraint. He wasn’t optimistic, especially with Moff Jerjerrod in command. He’d seen the moff’s reaction to Lord Vader, and putting ultimate power in the hands of a whiny sycophant was like giving an infant a thermal detonator to play with.
Before he could continue the thought the holograms of other squadron leaders appeared throughout the room, the fleet flight coordinator appearing in the center. Taar got his datapad ready as the briefing began.
“Squadron leaders,” the major began, “meet your new enemy.” The rotating image of a cube-shaped object appeared on each table, a smaller one of a star destroyer alongside it for scale. “They’re called the Borg, and it is our responsibility to ensure that they pose no threat to the Empire.” Taar took notes as the previous battles involving the Borg were given, the known points of their defenses, and the reason for the upcoming mission.
“We are going to cross through the wormhole and into Borg space,” the major continued. “Since they have no concept of diplomacy we plan to annihilate enough ships and planets to show them that further attacks on the Empire would be a devastating mistake. Any questions?”
Taar spoke up. “Sir, Interceptors, as the very name implies, are meant to deal with fighter craft. They cause minimal damage to corvettes. What possible use do they have against a ship this size?”
The major exhaled in annoyance. “We’ve determined that swarming the cubes with fighters will provide a distraction that will allow our star destroyers to do their work.”
Don’t say it, Delric. Don’t say it, Delric. “So we’re flying targets. Sir.” You shouldn’t have said it. The major’s look of scorn agreed with that sentiment.
“I think the major was impressed with your tactical assessments,” Lt. Starrunner, squadron leader for Grey Squadron, remarked after the briefing was over.
“Kriff him,” Taar said with disgust. “These guys get taken out of the pilot seat and suddenly they forget what it’s like to have inches of plexisteel between you and death.”
“This is messed up,” Starrunner agreed. “You heard how accurate those Borg can get. They’re asking us to basically die when we can’t fight back. And do you think my bombers have a chance of staying ahead and outmaneuvering these Borg?”
“Not without cover,” Taar said. He sighed, then rapped his datapad on the hull a couple of times. “Lohl,” he said finally, “let’s get our squadrons together for some simulations. Maybe there’s a way we can fight back against the Borg after all.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
Jean-luc Picard, captain of the Federation flagship, Enterprise, sighed with impatience as he waited outside the office of Adm. Parks. After six weeks of separation from my ship you would think I’d be used to it, he thought gloomily. He wasn't accustomed to being out of the loop, at least not when it came to the Enterprise. That Data, Geordi, and his engineering staff were allowed on board was all the more infuriating, but at least now he could speak to someone who could give him information, maybe even access to his ship again. He got to his feet as that someone arrived.
“Apologies for the delay, Jean-luc,” Adm. Parks said, shaking his hand.
“Not at all,” Picard lied. “It seems these days time is something I have plenty of.”
Parks laughed as he led Picard into his office. “Yes, there’s a fine line between R&R and boredom, isn’t there.”
“Exactly,” Picard said, hoping this meant the admiral was going to let him in on what was happening.
Parks took his seat, offering Picard a chair as he did. “Jean-luc, I know it’s not easy being kept in the dark on what goes on on your own vessel, but believe me, it’s in the name of Federation security.”
“Indeed,” Picard said neutrally. It seemed to him that a lot was being done in the name of Federation security lately, and he wasn’t all that pleased with where that was leading. The declaration of martial law remained a particular sore spot with him, and a reminder that their society was not as rock-solid as he’d like to think.
“We have an opportunity to forever change the balance of power in this quadrant,” Parks continued. “A chance to ensure that the Romulans, the Cardassians, not even the Dominion will be able to threaten the Federation again.”
“A new weapon?”
“An ally,” Parks answered. “Someone with resources and technology that, along with our own strength, will deter practically any power that might try to wage war on us.”
“And you’re afraid someone might form a treaty with these people first,” Picard said.
“Not exactly. No one can reach them in any reasonable amount of time; they exist on the other side of a wormhole that’s over halfway across the galaxy.”
Picard was a bit baffled. “I’m not sure I understand. How helpful can this power be if it would take decades just to reach them?”
Parks smiled. “Because right now we’re the only ones who can reach them without taking decades.” He explained to Picard about Voyager’s encounter with the Borg, the Empire, and the new hyperdrive.
“And this is what you’ve been doing with the Enterprise all this time,” Picard concluded at the end. “Installing this hyperdrive.”
“Yes,” Parks confirmed. “You can see the need for security. Even without the possibility of an alliance, the ability to deploy our forces at hundreds of times the speed of our enemies gives us an incredible advantage. If that technology were stolen, it could be damning.”
“I understand,” Picard added. “But there’s something I’m not clear on. If this treaty with the Empire is so important, why did we not send Voyager? They have a functioning hyperdrive.”
“Yes, but that’s about all that’s functioning. Voyager’s been flying through Borg space for some time; she wasn’t in the best shape when she returned. And besides that, a mission of this importance requires a captain with a skill for diplomacy, and I think there’s no one better qualified.”
With each passing second the frustrations of the previous weeks was replaced with anticipation as Picard thought of the magnitude of this mission. A mission of diplomacy to a civilization that spanned an entire galaxy was beyond the expectations of even the most fanciful cadets. “When do we leave?” he asked, now all the more impatient to get back to his ship and begin this historic trip.
“Three days,” Parks replied. “The hyperdrive should be finished tomorrow, which should give your people enough time to familiarize themselves with the new equipment and prep for the mission.”
“Will Captain Janeway be giving us a briefing?”
“Better. She’s re-assigning a member of her crew to act as your advisor on both the delta quadrant and the Galactic Empire.”
“Who?”
“She hasn’t decided yet,” Parks answered. “She needs someone who’s not only familiar with their technology, but has expertise in delta quadrant astrometrics and dealings with the Imperials. Finding someone who fits that bill won’t be easy, and giving them up will probably be even harder.”
“Well,” Picard said as he rose to his feet, “I’ll certainly look forward to meeting whoever is up to that challenge.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
Seven of Nine walked through the door to the captain's ready room. As always, Capt. Janeway was seated behind her desk, a PADD in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other. She was nothing if not predictable. "You wished to see me, captain," Seven stated.
Janeway continued to look at the PADD. "Yes, Seven, please sit down."
"Unnecessary, I'm comfortable standing."
Janeway put down the PADD. "Yes, of course you are. I forgot, the Borg even sleep standing."
"Inaccurate. The Borg regenerate, they do not sleep."
Janeway came around and sat on the edge of her desk. "Yes...." Janeway continued after a brief pause. "Everything is in order, all damage to the ship has been repaired, and I've finally got my private dining room back," she added with a slight smile. "Some of the Maquis officers have asked to transfer to Starfleet, and permission has been granted for them to remain at their current posts. I've even persuaded them to keep the Doctor on line as our chief medical officer, although that took a little convincing."
"I assume you're not updating the ship's status with the entire crew in this manner."
"No." Janeway had a look of disappointment. "That leaves us with our two resident civilians. Mr. Neelix has already departed. That leaves us with you."
Seven breathed a little heavily, then began to speak. "If you do not wish me to remain on board I will leave. I understand that circumstances have changed."
Janeway stepped forward and grabbed Seven's hand. "That's not what I'm saying. You've been an asset to this ship. There's a chance that we wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. We don't want you to leave. But it would be selfish of us to force you to remain on board. We'd be denying you new experiences, a chance to explore your humanity." Seven was uncharacteristically silent. “Going from life on Voyager to life on Earth isn’t going to be an easy transition,” Janeway continued. “I think that’s obvious to the both of us.”
Seven nodded slowly, not looking at her captain. “Adapting would be... difficult.”
“Perhaps it’s time for a small step in the right direction.” Janeway turned and picked up the PADD off her desk. "And I think we have the perfect opportunity for you to take that step. Tell me, are you familiar at all with the Enterprise?"
Chuck
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Sonnenburg
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Part V
"There is something wrong."
It was the voice you hoped to never hear, especially directed at yourself. It was, on its own intimidating, with its resonant bass overlaid on that haunting rhythm. The mechanical breathing chilled, as if a subtle reminder of universal mortality. Yet even then the voice did nothing to prepare you for the man; two meters of strength embodied in flesh and machinery. An imposing body that was completed by an expressionless mask for a face to leave this man all the more inhuman. Throughout the Empire his reputation was so legendary, so terrifying, he literally needed no introduction.
Commander Pakkib knew that reputation as well, and ever since the Dark Lord of the Sith had arrived on the incomplete Death Star he had felt fear gnawing at his entrails. The personal inspection had gripped the entire station with similar despair, given that Darth Vader’s disappointment rarely led to anything but death. At the moment, he sounded too disappointed for Pakkib’s liking.
"What’s seems to be the problem, my lord," Pakkib managed to ask. While he knew of nothing wrong, it was obvious contradicting Vader could only make things worse.
"A tremor in the Force," Vader declared. No one knew if he was staring at them behind that mask, but no one made any effort to draw attention to themselves. Commander Pakkib tried to ignore the beads of sweat that were forming on his forehead with each inhale and exhale. "I want a complete check of the computer systems," Vader finally said. "And I want it done manually. Every last bit is to be analyzed."
"Understood my Lord," Pakkib replied. He swallowed slightly and continued. "But I must tell you that it will take several technicians to complete this assignment. It may start putting us behind." Better to face Lord Vader’s wrath now than live in fear of its approach.
“Perhaps someone else could impel them to remain on schedule.”
“No,” Pakkib said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I was just keeping your lordship appraised. We will remain on schedule.”
“Good,” Vader implied, but there was no trace of satisfaction. “I’ll expect your report very soon.”
The anticipation was now far worse than whatever punishment the dark lord might offer. Pakkib turned to three of his technicians. "You are relieved of your current assignment. Your new task is to carry out Lord Vader's command - any anomalous files are to be analyzed in detail. This is your top priority." He turned to the others present. "The rest of you continue. We will remain on schedule, whatever the cost," he declared.
Several hours later, one of the technicians hailed him on the comm system, his voice betraying obvious surprise and concern. "Sir," he said, "we've found what looks like some kind of droid memory file in the main computer."
"What?" Droid memory files are rarely backed up at all, and definitely wouldn't be stored in an area where it could potentially access vital systems. Having it on the main computer of a Death Star was about as bad as it could possibly get. "Erase the file immediately," he ordered. The technician acknowledged it, but a second later there was the sound of blaster fire and screaming. The autodefenses had killed him and the other two members of his team. Pakkib realized he was wrong; the worst it could possibly be was a hostile droid with control of the station. Chaos descended as Pakkib and his men began trying to isolate the rogue program, but apparently during all this time, the droid mind had been searching for ways to get around them. Every time they tried to throw up a programming wall, the droid found a way to bypass it. Every time they tried to physically remove its connection, they were attacked by the automated defenses. As the droid continued to assert more and more control Pakkib began contemplating the only solution: evacuate the station and overload the reactor. It would be a disaster, but nothing compared to a rogue Death Star.
"What's the situation?" Vader demanded, causing Pakkib to visibly jump. Pakkib quickly filled him in. "The main computer is located in there?" he asked, pointing at the doorway.
Pakkib nodded. "But the defenses have been activated, which means the laser gate's armed and the computer's shielded, so we can't shoot it. We'd have to cut the power at the junction but it's impossible to reach from outside the room.
Vader walked up to the door to examine it. Beyond, he could see the dead bodies of the other technicians. The lasergate was the ultimate deterrent. Anything trying to penetrate would be blasted, and any attempt to destroy the weapons would cause an explosion strong enough to kill any would be invader. A perfect barrier - for anyone who wasn't a master of the dark side. The crew looked on in astonishment as Vader took three steps back, then ran and dove through the opening. The weapons fired, but the Dark Lord twisted his body to avoid most of them. One blast did strike just below his right shoulder, but the beam dissipated with no effect. Vader rolled once across the floor and into a fighting stance, his lightsaber ignited. Automatic security devices began firing, and the blade snapped out and deflected them. One, two, then the third came and he deflected it right into the junction, causing the shield around the main computer to collapse. He sprang, cape billowing behind him, lightsaber continuing to snatch the blaster bolts out of the air until he landed and stabbed straight through the casing. After that, there was silence, save for the sizzling sound of broken electronics.
Pakkib was so shocked at what had just happened that it didn't really register until the dark lord was standing right in front of him. His awe gave way slowly to fear; he noticed several technicians jump when the lightsaber was turned off. "Who was responsible for checking the programming of that computer?" he demanded.
Pakkib hesitated for a moment, while the various parts of his brain tried to shake themselves loose to dig through the metaphorical files. "Lt. Teklif, my lord."
Vader turned and looked over the assembled group; they shrank back as the blank mask passed over them. "You are aware that this incident will put us even farther behind schedule?" Vader asked.
Pakkib nodded. "Yes," was all he could say.
Immediately, one of the technician's eyes grew wide and he began grasping at his throat. Those who were nearby began moving away slowly as his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell to the floor. Vader turned back to Pakkib, who closed his eyes. At least it would be relatively quick, if not particularly pleasant. But instead of the grip on his throat, Vader began to walk away. "Inform your superior that you will need a new computer." He paused, then turned back. "And a new technician."
--------------------------------------------------------------
"Admiral," the captain said, and Piett walked over to the comm station. There were still a few patrols that hadn't reported in yet; perhaps this was the lead they'd been looking for. Combing through this galaxy was almost as bad as some areas of the Outer Rim; finding the worlds of these Borg that had bloodied Thrawn's nose was proving difficult.
The communications officer spoke up. "Sir, Scoutships are reporting in from Sector 17. They've found a planet, technology seems similar to the one our sensors detected."
"More than likely it's our Borg boogeymen," the captain said.
Piett nodded. "And if not, they could probably point us in the right direction. Alert all commands, converge on those coordinates." And with that order, the fleet of star destroyers slipped into hyperspace.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Picard had been waiting in his ready room when she arrived. He'd been looking over the mission details, and he had to admit that he was practically as giddy as a fresh graduate taking his first assignment. The idea of opening diplomatic relations with a civilization as vast, ancient, and advanced as the Galactic Empire went beyond even the pipedreams of young cadets. Sure, he wasn't going to be actually engaged in negotiations –the delegates on board would handle that– but he'd be the one to get the foot in the door. When the door chimed he gave his standard "Come!" without even pausing in thought. But the sight of her was like dropping several tons of lumber on his mental railroad tracks.
She was dressed in a blue full body suit rather than a uniform, along with a pair of high-heeled boots. The fact that it emphasized her highly-attractive figure, however, didn't really matter. For Picard, it was her face, her hand, the tell-tale signs of the one and only civilization that used that particular type of technology. She is, or was, Borg. "Annika Hansen?" he asked in a voice that said he couldn't imagine the answer to that question being "Yes."
The woman had been examining the room, more like analyzing given the way her eyes seemed to dwell on things. "I suppose that was the name you were provided," she said. "As you are the commanding officer of this vessel, you may choose to address me by that designation, though I should warn you that simply using it will not make me become that person."
Picard was now kicking himself for spending too much time looking over the mission details and not taking the time to check the new crewman's file beyond her name... and it seemed that even that data had been flawed. "What would you prefer?"
"I am Seven of Nine Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One. But you may call me Seven of Nine."
Picard nodded to himself. The commander of this mission is the only Starfleet officer to escape assimilation, and he's going to meet with the Empire immediately after the Borg destroyed one of their ships, so naturally Janeway would choose to send a Borg as his advisor. No wonder they didn't want Voyager handling the diplomacy. "You are a Borg, yes?" he asked, just to be certain.
"I am no longer a member of the collective, I am an individual," Seven informed him.
"Yes, I can see that," Picard said in a neutral tone. "Then you must know about me."
"Our thoughts were one for a time, Captain Picard," Seven said. "But the irrelevant details of your life are not known to me. Am I too assume that this won't be a hindrance to my assignment?"
"I would never allow my personal feelings to interfere in my duty." Picard stopped. Why did he say that? That implied there were some personal feelings involved! "You are familiar with the Empire?"
"Yes, captain," Seven said. "I was involved in most of our direct meetings and have first-hand experience with their technology. I have also been briefed on the experiences of others."
"Good, we'll need you to avoid any missteps. I don't think I have to tell you how important this meeting will be for us. The Empire could be a powerful friend, or a lethal enemy."
"Agreed," Seven said. "I will ensure that you are adequately advised in all circumstances."
Picard nodded slowly. "Your quarters have already been assigned. Do you have any special needs we should be aware of?"
"Yes," Seven said. "I assume I will be provided standard quarters. The bed can be removed; I do not require sleep. I will, however, require a power conduit be adapted to interface with my systems."
"You need an alcove, is that what you're saying?"
"Yes, captain." She noticed the tone in his voice. "Is that a problem captain?"
"So long as you don't go assimilating our ship, no," he said, then mentally kicked himself for the remark. That's twice she's gotten under your skin, Jean-luc, he thought. And it's not her doing it, it's you! "Inform Commander Riker, he'll make the arrangements. If there's nothing else..."
"No, sir."
"Dismissed." Seven nodded and left. Picard dropped the PADD on the desk. How was he going to open diplomatic relations with another galaxy if he couldn't get along with his own crewmen?
--------------------------------------------------------------
The Executor and the rest of its fleet exited hyperspace; five Borg cubes waited for them. They weren't the first they'd encountered, but it was the first time that the Borg would be on the receiving end, and the first time Piett had a speech of his own. "Transmission coming in, sir," the communication officer said. Piett nodded and it came over the speaker, thousands speaking a single chant.
"We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add your..."
"That's enough," Piett said, and the transmission was cut off. "Ready our reply." He waited until the officer nodded. "This is Admiral Piett of the Galactic Empire. You have violated our space and repeatedly attacked our ships without provocation. This will not be tolerated." He turned to the captain. "Alert all commands, engage and destroy."
As the fleet closed in on the Borg world, the cubes rushed to engage them. As before, despite their adaptations, the turbolaser blasts tore massive holes in their ships. Still, the Collective seemed to press on despite the obvious damage, like an animal that had become so rabid it wouldn't stop attacking even if it was being killed by the defender. However, the Borg weren't animals, they were logical and unemotional, so they ignored the damage and instead concentrated their attacks on a single star destroyer. Despite the heavy damage they managed to batter the ship's shields down. They bombarded the ship with bluish-green bombs, which seemed to act as a kind of ion blast. The star destroyer's weapons were becoming less and less effective as the seconds passed.
But outnumbered and outgunned, the cubes couldn't stand up to the rest of the fleet. The last of the cubes was reduced to fragments. "Report," Piett ordered.
"All ships are reporting no damage, sir," the captain said. "Except the Tyrant. Captain Lennox reports that the damage to many of their systems is serious; they'll need to return to the station to make repairs."
Piett nodded. "Send them to Base One. Once the ship's functional, I want it back here with the fleet." The captain nodded and passed the message along. As the Tyrant limped off, the rest of the fleet closed in on the planet. "We'll show these Borg whose resistance is futile." The Imperial fleet bombarded the planet; the Borg offered no resistance. Within minutes every square meter of the crust had been reduced to smoking craters.
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Picard exited his ready room. "I assume we're ready, Number One?" he asked.
"Ready as we'll ever be, sir," Riker said. "Mr. LaForge says all systems are go."
"Helm, take us out of Spacedock; let's see what this engine can do." He took his seat; Riker was on his right as usual, while Seven had been provided the one normally allotted to Counselor Troi for the purpose of the mission. He watched as the doorway opened to allow the massive Sovereign-class ship to exit. "The anticipation is unnerving," he confessed to Riker.
"I feel a bit like Zephram Cochrane," Riker admitted. "Brand new propulsion system, first contact."
"Except we're not first, Will," Picard reminded him. "We're just making this trip. Everyone knows Armstrong and Aldrin were first, who remembers the second?"
"Peter Conrad and Alan Bean, sir," Data said.
Picard turned to him. "Thank you, Mr. Data," he said.
Data nodded. "In ten seconds we will be far enough outside the Earth's gravity well to engage the hyperdrive, captain."
"And we'll see if it's everything we've been told it'd be."
"The technology is effective," Seven informed him.
"I'm sure it is," Picard replied. "On my mark, helm... engage." And with that the stars began to lengthen and twist into starlines, and suddenly, they were gone.
"There is something wrong."
It was the voice you hoped to never hear, especially directed at yourself. It was, on its own intimidating, with its resonant bass overlaid on that haunting rhythm. The mechanical breathing chilled, as if a subtle reminder of universal mortality. Yet even then the voice did nothing to prepare you for the man; two meters of strength embodied in flesh and machinery. An imposing body that was completed by an expressionless mask for a face to leave this man all the more inhuman. Throughout the Empire his reputation was so legendary, so terrifying, he literally needed no introduction.
Commander Pakkib knew that reputation as well, and ever since the Dark Lord of the Sith had arrived on the incomplete Death Star he had felt fear gnawing at his entrails. The personal inspection had gripped the entire station with similar despair, given that Darth Vader’s disappointment rarely led to anything but death. At the moment, he sounded too disappointed for Pakkib’s liking.
"What’s seems to be the problem, my lord," Pakkib managed to ask. While he knew of nothing wrong, it was obvious contradicting Vader could only make things worse.
"A tremor in the Force," Vader declared. No one knew if he was staring at them behind that mask, but no one made any effort to draw attention to themselves. Commander Pakkib tried to ignore the beads of sweat that were forming on his forehead with each inhale and exhale. "I want a complete check of the computer systems," Vader finally said. "And I want it done manually. Every last bit is to be analyzed."
"Understood my Lord," Pakkib replied. He swallowed slightly and continued. "But I must tell you that it will take several technicians to complete this assignment. It may start putting us behind." Better to face Lord Vader’s wrath now than live in fear of its approach.
“Perhaps someone else could impel them to remain on schedule.”
“No,” Pakkib said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I was just keeping your lordship appraised. We will remain on schedule.”
“Good,” Vader implied, but there was no trace of satisfaction. “I’ll expect your report very soon.”
The anticipation was now far worse than whatever punishment the dark lord might offer. Pakkib turned to three of his technicians. "You are relieved of your current assignment. Your new task is to carry out Lord Vader's command - any anomalous files are to be analyzed in detail. This is your top priority." He turned to the others present. "The rest of you continue. We will remain on schedule, whatever the cost," he declared.
Several hours later, one of the technicians hailed him on the comm system, his voice betraying obvious surprise and concern. "Sir," he said, "we've found what looks like some kind of droid memory file in the main computer."
"What?" Droid memory files are rarely backed up at all, and definitely wouldn't be stored in an area where it could potentially access vital systems. Having it on the main computer of a Death Star was about as bad as it could possibly get. "Erase the file immediately," he ordered. The technician acknowledged it, but a second later there was the sound of blaster fire and screaming. The autodefenses had killed him and the other two members of his team. Pakkib realized he was wrong; the worst it could possibly be was a hostile droid with control of the station. Chaos descended as Pakkib and his men began trying to isolate the rogue program, but apparently during all this time, the droid mind had been searching for ways to get around them. Every time they tried to throw up a programming wall, the droid found a way to bypass it. Every time they tried to physically remove its connection, they were attacked by the automated defenses. As the droid continued to assert more and more control Pakkib began contemplating the only solution: evacuate the station and overload the reactor. It would be a disaster, but nothing compared to a rogue Death Star.
"What's the situation?" Vader demanded, causing Pakkib to visibly jump. Pakkib quickly filled him in. "The main computer is located in there?" he asked, pointing at the doorway.
Pakkib nodded. "But the defenses have been activated, which means the laser gate's armed and the computer's shielded, so we can't shoot it. We'd have to cut the power at the junction but it's impossible to reach from outside the room.
Vader walked up to the door to examine it. Beyond, he could see the dead bodies of the other technicians. The lasergate was the ultimate deterrent. Anything trying to penetrate would be blasted, and any attempt to destroy the weapons would cause an explosion strong enough to kill any would be invader. A perfect barrier - for anyone who wasn't a master of the dark side. The crew looked on in astonishment as Vader took three steps back, then ran and dove through the opening. The weapons fired, but the Dark Lord twisted his body to avoid most of them. One blast did strike just below his right shoulder, but the beam dissipated with no effect. Vader rolled once across the floor and into a fighting stance, his lightsaber ignited. Automatic security devices began firing, and the blade snapped out and deflected them. One, two, then the third came and he deflected it right into the junction, causing the shield around the main computer to collapse. He sprang, cape billowing behind him, lightsaber continuing to snatch the blaster bolts out of the air until he landed and stabbed straight through the casing. After that, there was silence, save for the sizzling sound of broken electronics.
Pakkib was so shocked at what had just happened that it didn't really register until the dark lord was standing right in front of him. His awe gave way slowly to fear; he noticed several technicians jump when the lightsaber was turned off. "Who was responsible for checking the programming of that computer?" he demanded.
Pakkib hesitated for a moment, while the various parts of his brain tried to shake themselves loose to dig through the metaphorical files. "Lt. Teklif, my lord."
Vader turned and looked over the assembled group; they shrank back as the blank mask passed over them. "You are aware that this incident will put us even farther behind schedule?" Vader asked.
Pakkib nodded. "Yes," was all he could say.
Immediately, one of the technician's eyes grew wide and he began grasping at his throat. Those who were nearby began moving away slowly as his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell to the floor. Vader turned back to Pakkib, who closed his eyes. At least it would be relatively quick, if not particularly pleasant. But instead of the grip on his throat, Vader began to walk away. "Inform your superior that you will need a new computer." He paused, then turned back. "And a new technician."
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"Admiral," the captain said, and Piett walked over to the comm station. There were still a few patrols that hadn't reported in yet; perhaps this was the lead they'd been looking for. Combing through this galaxy was almost as bad as some areas of the Outer Rim; finding the worlds of these Borg that had bloodied Thrawn's nose was proving difficult.
The communications officer spoke up. "Sir, Scoutships are reporting in from Sector 17. They've found a planet, technology seems similar to the one our sensors detected."
"More than likely it's our Borg boogeymen," the captain said.
Piett nodded. "And if not, they could probably point us in the right direction. Alert all commands, converge on those coordinates." And with that order, the fleet of star destroyers slipped into hyperspace.
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Picard had been waiting in his ready room when she arrived. He'd been looking over the mission details, and he had to admit that he was practically as giddy as a fresh graduate taking his first assignment. The idea of opening diplomatic relations with a civilization as vast, ancient, and advanced as the Galactic Empire went beyond even the pipedreams of young cadets. Sure, he wasn't going to be actually engaged in negotiations –the delegates on board would handle that– but he'd be the one to get the foot in the door. When the door chimed he gave his standard "Come!" without even pausing in thought. But the sight of her was like dropping several tons of lumber on his mental railroad tracks.
She was dressed in a blue full body suit rather than a uniform, along with a pair of high-heeled boots. The fact that it emphasized her highly-attractive figure, however, didn't really matter. For Picard, it was her face, her hand, the tell-tale signs of the one and only civilization that used that particular type of technology. She is, or was, Borg. "Annika Hansen?" he asked in a voice that said he couldn't imagine the answer to that question being "Yes."
The woman had been examining the room, more like analyzing given the way her eyes seemed to dwell on things. "I suppose that was the name you were provided," she said. "As you are the commanding officer of this vessel, you may choose to address me by that designation, though I should warn you that simply using it will not make me become that person."
Picard was now kicking himself for spending too much time looking over the mission details and not taking the time to check the new crewman's file beyond her name... and it seemed that even that data had been flawed. "What would you prefer?"
"I am Seven of Nine Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One. But you may call me Seven of Nine."
Picard nodded to himself. The commander of this mission is the only Starfleet officer to escape assimilation, and he's going to meet with the Empire immediately after the Borg destroyed one of their ships, so naturally Janeway would choose to send a Borg as his advisor. No wonder they didn't want Voyager handling the diplomacy. "You are a Borg, yes?" he asked, just to be certain.
"I am no longer a member of the collective, I am an individual," Seven informed him.
"Yes, I can see that," Picard said in a neutral tone. "Then you must know about me."
"Our thoughts were one for a time, Captain Picard," Seven said. "But the irrelevant details of your life are not known to me. Am I too assume that this won't be a hindrance to my assignment?"
"I would never allow my personal feelings to interfere in my duty." Picard stopped. Why did he say that? That implied there were some personal feelings involved! "You are familiar with the Empire?"
"Yes, captain," Seven said. "I was involved in most of our direct meetings and have first-hand experience with their technology. I have also been briefed on the experiences of others."
"Good, we'll need you to avoid any missteps. I don't think I have to tell you how important this meeting will be for us. The Empire could be a powerful friend, or a lethal enemy."
"Agreed," Seven said. "I will ensure that you are adequately advised in all circumstances."
Picard nodded slowly. "Your quarters have already been assigned. Do you have any special needs we should be aware of?"
"Yes," Seven said. "I assume I will be provided standard quarters. The bed can be removed; I do not require sleep. I will, however, require a power conduit be adapted to interface with my systems."
"You need an alcove, is that what you're saying?"
"Yes, captain." She noticed the tone in his voice. "Is that a problem captain?"
"So long as you don't go assimilating our ship, no," he said, then mentally kicked himself for the remark. That's twice she's gotten under your skin, Jean-luc, he thought. And it's not her doing it, it's you! "Inform Commander Riker, he'll make the arrangements. If there's nothing else..."
"No, sir."
"Dismissed." Seven nodded and left. Picard dropped the PADD on the desk. How was he going to open diplomatic relations with another galaxy if he couldn't get along with his own crewmen?
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The Executor and the rest of its fleet exited hyperspace; five Borg cubes waited for them. They weren't the first they'd encountered, but it was the first time that the Borg would be on the receiving end, and the first time Piett had a speech of his own. "Transmission coming in, sir," the communication officer said. Piett nodded and it came over the speaker, thousands speaking a single chant.
"We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add your..."
"That's enough," Piett said, and the transmission was cut off. "Ready our reply." He waited until the officer nodded. "This is Admiral Piett of the Galactic Empire. You have violated our space and repeatedly attacked our ships without provocation. This will not be tolerated." He turned to the captain. "Alert all commands, engage and destroy."
As the fleet closed in on the Borg world, the cubes rushed to engage them. As before, despite their adaptations, the turbolaser blasts tore massive holes in their ships. Still, the Collective seemed to press on despite the obvious damage, like an animal that had become so rabid it wouldn't stop attacking even if it was being killed by the defender. However, the Borg weren't animals, they were logical and unemotional, so they ignored the damage and instead concentrated their attacks on a single star destroyer. Despite the heavy damage they managed to batter the ship's shields down. They bombarded the ship with bluish-green bombs, which seemed to act as a kind of ion blast. The star destroyer's weapons were becoming less and less effective as the seconds passed.
But outnumbered and outgunned, the cubes couldn't stand up to the rest of the fleet. The last of the cubes was reduced to fragments. "Report," Piett ordered.
"All ships are reporting no damage, sir," the captain said. "Except the Tyrant. Captain Lennox reports that the damage to many of their systems is serious; they'll need to return to the station to make repairs."
Piett nodded. "Send them to Base One. Once the ship's functional, I want it back here with the fleet." The captain nodded and passed the message along. As the Tyrant limped off, the rest of the fleet closed in on the planet. "We'll show these Borg whose resistance is futile." The Imperial fleet bombarded the planet; the Borg offered no resistance. Within minutes every square meter of the crust had been reduced to smoking craters.
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Picard exited his ready room. "I assume we're ready, Number One?" he asked.
"Ready as we'll ever be, sir," Riker said. "Mr. LaForge says all systems are go."
"Helm, take us out of Spacedock; let's see what this engine can do." He took his seat; Riker was on his right as usual, while Seven had been provided the one normally allotted to Counselor Troi for the purpose of the mission. He watched as the doorway opened to allow the massive Sovereign-class ship to exit. "The anticipation is unnerving," he confessed to Riker.
"I feel a bit like Zephram Cochrane," Riker admitted. "Brand new propulsion system, first contact."
"Except we're not first, Will," Picard reminded him. "We're just making this trip. Everyone knows Armstrong and Aldrin were first, who remembers the second?"
"Peter Conrad and Alan Bean, sir," Data said.
Picard turned to him. "Thank you, Mr. Data," he said.
Data nodded. "In ten seconds we will be far enough outside the Earth's gravity well to engage the hyperdrive, captain."
"And we'll see if it's everything we've been told it'd be."
"The technology is effective," Seven informed him.
"I'm sure it is," Picard replied. "On my mark, helm... engage." And with that the stars began to lengthen and twist into starlines, and suddenly, they were gone.
Chuck
-
Sonnenburg
- Official Dave Barry Clone
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- Contact:
Part VI
Even after six days, Picard still couldn't get over the eerie feeling he had whenever he looked out the window of the Enterprise. Instead of the familiar streak of stars, there was an unnatural flow of...something. He didn't know how to describe it; hyperspace is what Seven of Nine called it. Whatever it was, it felt wrong. Still, that was the price that came from crossing the galaxy at such fantastic speeds, and if a journey of decades can be reduced to days, Picard conceded hyperspace could look as ugly as it liked.
Lt. Commander Data's voice brought him back to the present. "We'll be approaching the wormhole in fifteen seconds, captain." Picard acknowledged, and waited, then on Data's order helm shut down the hyperdrive, and hyperspace turned to starlines, then collapsed back into the familiar view of real space, fifty thousand light-years now behind them.... and one very massive object in front of them.
"All stop." Picard ordered. "What is that?"
"It appears to be some kind of space station sir," Data informed him. "Although I am not familiar with any of its design patterns."
Seven of Nine turned to the captain. "It's similar in size and appearance to the Imperial station where Voyager was repaired. It's likely the Empire constructed it to guard the passage to the wormhole from future Borg attacks."
"Captain," Data continued, "I'm also detecting a vessel, 1.6 kilometers in length."
Riker turned to Picard. "Big ship."
"It is an Imperator-class Star Destroyer," Seven of Nine informed him. "We encountered three such ships when we first made contact."
"Star...Destroyer?" Picard asked hoping that wasn't meant to be taken literally.
"Merely its designation captain. Its weapons output is insufficient to destroy a solar body."
Picard acknowledged and turned to Lt. Thomas McClure. "Use the modifications to the deflector you were given. Open a channel." McClure gave Picard a nod. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise. I'm here on behalf of the United Federation of Planets. Is this the Galactic Empire?"
Finally, there was a response. "This is Commander Crovix. State your business Enterprise."
"Not exactly friendly," Riker commented.
"But understandable under the circumstances, Number One," Picard replied. "Open the channel again." McClure did so. "We are here to open negotiations with the Empire. We wish to use the wormhole to travel to meet with your leaders."
"Stand by Enterprise," was their only response.
"Captain," Lt. Travis spoke, "a ship –possibly a shuttle– has left the station and is heading for the wormhole."
"No doubt to check with their superiors on the other side," Picard noted.
Data turned to Picard. "Captain, sensors indicate familiar energy signatures coming from the Star Destroyer. The energy signatures are consistent with those left behind by Borg weaponry."
Picard turned to Seven of Nine. "Could this have been one of the vessels that battled the Borg when Voyager was here?"
"Possibly," Seven admitted. With that, she got up and strode towards the viewer. "Focus on the ship and magnify by a factor of 27," she ordered.
Data looked to Picard, who nodded. A close up view of the plate revealed a very faint pattern on the ships hull.
"This is not the same ship," Seven stated. "The markings on the hull are not the same."
"It seems that the Empire has had more run-ins with the Borg," Picard said. "Data, any similar signs of damage to the station?"
"No, sir. It would seem that this was not a defensive battle."
"Which leads us to only one conclusion," Picard said. "This station isn't the front line of defense, it's their fallback point. They've come to fight the Borg."
"Who seeks out the Borg?" Riker asked. "It's bad enough when they come to you, why go looking for them?"
"That certainly is a good question, Number One. One I hope to find an answer to."
Before the discussion could continue a communication came in from the station. "Permission has been granted to enter the wormhole. Once you pass through, you are to rendezvous with the Star Destroyer Incaciad."
"That is the command vessel of Admiral Thrawn," Seven informed the captain, taking her seat.
"Janeway's savior," Picard said. "Acknowledge the transmission. Set course for the wormhole half impulse. Engage."
And with that, the Enterprise proceeded to the wormhole, and disappeared from the galaxy.
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"Attention! Borg ships approaching. Prep all TIEs for immeditate launch."
Delric Taar blocked out the redundant commands echoing throughout the hangar and headed for his ship. The launch crews had been on constant alert, and Taar knew his interceptor would already be set for launch as soon as he reached it. He checked the rest of his squadron before sealing the hatch, then fired the twin ion engines and roared out into space, his squadron close behind. They slipped into formation, Taar taking the point while his wingman slipped into his eight. As they swept around, he counted no less than seven Borg cubes. Numbers were still on the Empire's side, but the Borg had a knack for bringing something new to the party; apparently Piett had decided it was time to do the same.
"Grey leader this is Ebony leader," Taar said. It was time to put theory into practice, and hope they didn't kill themselves during the experiment. "We're going to cross the tee on cube three port."
"Acknowledged," was the response from Lt. Starrunner. As the TIEs approached the cube, their ranks broke, shifting to a four-point diamond pattern. Ebony 1 took the point of the lead formation, leading the way towards the right-hand side of the Cube. At a kilometer out the fomations broke away from one another, looking for targets of opportunity. The ships began taking random dips and slides as they approached, trying to reach that age-old balance of being evasive while staying on target. "Prime target located," Grey 3 said as the coordinates were sent to his targeting computer. The small formation made a slight course change and continued - Ebony 1 still in the lead with Grey 3 at the rear of the formation. It was a risky situation; the Interceptors were only flying at a fraction of their top speed at the moment to allow him to keep in formation. But it was the best plan he had for the moment.
The cube loomed through the transparisteel window at the front of his TIE. This is nuts, he thought to himself. You don't go after blockade runners with Interceptors, nevermind something like this! "I have a visual on the target," Taar said aloud. It seemed to be a weapons array of some kind. They raced towards it, then on cue, the two TIEs on his eight and four moved accelerated forward, guns blazing. Their laser cannons splashed across the surface of the array, but there was little to show for it. The Borg fired back, narrowly missing Ebony 2. It had been random luck that he'd survived, but turning back wasn't an option, so they continued to fire at the array for all the good it seemed to do.
"Break formation!" Taar ordered, and the three ships split off from one another. Grey 3, now with a clear shot at the weakened structure, launched three concussion missiles before pulling away. The missiles slammed into their target, vaporizing it.
"Ebony 2 and 3, form up,” Taar ordered. "Grey 3 strafing run, we'll cover." The others acknowledged as he swung away from the cube for the moment. Beyond it he saw the Avenger and Devastator advancing on the Borg's right flank. Turbolasers and Borg energy beams crisscrossed space, putting their puny fighter attacks to shame. Did I say this was nuts? he thought. I mean this is pointless! It's not like the Empire isn't going to win this fight regardless of the fighters, why did Piett tip their hand?! But it didn't fall to grunts like him to make those calls, so instead he executed a tight spin to join in on this suicide run.
The diamond formation quickly formed up and raced over the surface of the cube at a mere fifteen meters. The three Interceptors tried providing cover fire for the Grey 3, who was pelting the surface with proton bombs. Half-way across the cube he pushed them to full throttle, leaving the bomber behind but hopefully providing more of a distraction by firing at targets of opportunity. But one problem with the Borg was they just didn't take to distractions, and a green torpedo rose up from the surface and hit the bomber, sending the two pods spiral away and crashing into the surface of the cube. "Pull up!" Taar ordered, but this time an energy beam came up and caught Ebony 2, disintegrating it. Adrenal flooding his veins, Taar put the ship into a Korvel Spiral as he raced away, torpedoes filling the air around him. Finally he pulled clear and formed up with Ebony 3. "Ebony Leader to Grey Leader, we've lost our bomber." The command was acknowledged, but apparently things hadn't been going well for Starrunner's boys. As Taar brought the ship around he saw that the Borg were laying into the Avenger and Devastator, much like they had against the Tyrant. Taar's stomach tightened at the sight. The Borg didn't care how much damage they suffered so long as they continued to wear the Empire down. They could lose ten ships for every one they destroyed, and it wouldn't matter. How do you fight someone like that?
"Grey Leader to Ebony Leader, head to point 03." Taar pulled him and his wingmate around to return to their cube, joining up with another set of TIEs to provide cover for the next bombing run. The new formation –five Interceptors and two bombers– once again skimmed the surface, weapons lashing out at the cube. Again, as if out of no where, weapons fire struck at the tiny ships, vaporizing two TIEs instantly. To avoid being struck by the weapons and debris, Taar pulled a split-S, pulling away from the cube momentarily before his spin brought him back thirty meters behind his bombers, who continued their strafing of the cube despite the attack. Taar planned to increase speed and overshoot the bombers to provide further cover when he passed over one of the craters formed by a proton bomb. Taar frowned at the information his targeting sensors were telling him.
"Ebony 3 do you see what I see?" he called over the comm.
"Yes sir," ES-13-3 replied. "What do you want to do?"
Ebony 1 pulled into a tight loop and began heading for the crater. "Put some plasma up their collective port," he told him as he opened fire on the crater. The weapons' fire managed to destroy the unshielded bottom of the crater, opening up a passage into the heart of the cube. Throttling back, the two TIEs dove into the entrance to the Borg ship, firing at their unshielded surfaces. The cubes may have had the power to adapt to their laser cannons, but the raw power was too much for the helpless drones inside.
After about seven hundred meters the two TIEs blasted their way into a large opening inside the cube. In the center of this space was a large, hour-glass shaped structure with several openings along its sides. Taar looked at his instruments. "What do you think Ebony 3?"
"Looks like a target to me, sir," ES-13-3 called back to him over the comm.
Taar smiled inside his pressure suit. "Agreed. Fire at will." The two Interceptors continued their approach, their weapons blowing away huge chunks out of the shape. Manueverability was difficult, even at low speeds in this confined area. Finally, their weapons sheared through the construct and Taar watched the huge structure collapse in on itself. Immediately, explosions began occurring throughout the cube. The two TIEs turned to continue their volley, when a nearby explosion knocked Ebony 3 off course and into the wall, exploding on contact. Figuring he'd done enough damage in here, Taar headed for the opening to go back to the surface. The series of explosions were getting worse, and he started pushing the ship faster and faster. This proved to be a near fatal mistake as the passage suddenly narrowed ahead. Quickly he twisted his ship on its side and dove into the opening, his lower port solar panel scraping the edge of the passage. It seems that even during that short battle, the Borg had managed to repair some of their ship. Alarms were sounding and in desperation he pushed the ship to full throttle and hoped like hell he'd get out before the TIE or the cube blew.
Finally he rocketed out of the cube and launched back out into space. Looking back, he saw explosions consuming various parts of the cubes, and TIEs pulling away from its surface. A stardestroyer, the Stalker actually, was finishing it off with a full barrage of turbolaser fire. Moments after he had escaped, the cube exploded. A single piece of debris, just a meter or so long, struck his TIE, completely searing the struts that held it to the starboard solar panels. The ship had been on its last legs before, now it was completely out of control. The Interceptor wouldn't respond to his controls and an energy surge was arcing through some of the panels. Systems were failing, and in an act of desperation he tried to shut down the engines. As he touched the panel, a surge of energy passed through his pressurized suit and into his arm, flooding his body with pain as he seized up. His eyes glazed over, and the universe, dark as it was, became black.
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War has been described as long periods of boredom interrupted by short periods of excitement. At the moment, Picard felt that peace didn't seem that different. After all the time he'd spent waiting for his ship, and then all the time prepping for this meeting, the ambassadors had taken over, and he was left twiddling his thumbs at an Imperial station. It was the dawn of a new age, perhaps the most exciting time for humanity since the discovery that we weren't alone in the universe. At the moment, Picard felt like he was stuck in a hole with his sensors off-line.
Picard had been lamenting the situation with Riker when the door chimed. It was Seven; it seemed to always be Seven. She wasn't a Borg, not really, but nevertheless, he had trouble letting his guard down around her, despite how much advice she'd provided throughout the mission. Maybe I've become set in my ways, he wondered. I can't stand hyperspace, I can't stand my advisor, maybe this new age isn't for old men like me. "Yes?" he asked, trying to sound neutral and failing.
"Admiral Thrawn has asked me to deliver a proposition to you," Seven informed the captain in the matter-of-fact way she had. "He suggests that, to help bridge the gap between our civilizations, we have an exchange of cultural history."
"What exactly does he mean by that?" Riker asked. Riker had been spending the time scanning comm channels, and the longer they were delayed, the more he became suspicious of the Empire. Perhaps he wasn't ready for this new age either, Picard thought.
Seven looked at the PADD. "'Poetry, art, important historical events, literature' were the specific examples he gave."
Picard nodded; this was exactly what he needed. "Extend the admiral our thanks, and begin assembling a historical/cultural database to give to the Imperials."
"Are you sure that's wise, sir?" Riker asked. "We really shouldn't be exchanging any information with them while the negotiations take place."
Picard smiled slightly. "I'm not giving them the access codes for Starfleet Command, Will. An exchange of culture would be a healthy way to start this meeting, not to mention give us a chance to get to know the Empire a little better."
"Honestly, sir, I think I'm getting to know them quite well."
"Will, there's healthy skepticism, and there's paranoia. I'm sure there's nothing to fear in letting Admiral Thrawn examine our works of art."
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On board the Redemption. Mon Mothma stepped up to the central platform. The high-ranking members of the Alliance were present; they knew only that something urgent had come in, and rumors were it wasn't good. From her grave tone, it seemed that would prove to be true. "We've all been wondering what is going on lately, why the Emperor has diverted ships and changed his personal agenda so much over the past two months. We now have an answer." A hologram of a section of the galaxy appeared, focusing in on one particular area until the whole sector was revealed. "Located near the Napuli System is a wormhole to another galaxy. The wormhole was discovered when ships from the other side invaded our galaxy."
A small murmur of discussion began. Mon Mothma had to speak up in order to be heard. "One is an antagonistic race called the Borg, who attacked and destroyed one of the Star Destroyers in that area."
"I take it that's not the good news we'd like to think it is," Lando said.
"No. The data our spies have gathered shows that they will attack anyone without provocation. They're extremely dangerous to everyone, regardless of what side they're on."
"Dangerous enough that we should be worried?" Leia asked. "Is there a chance that they'd destroy the Empire and threaten all of us?"
"It's not likely," Mon Mothma said.
"Will we help the Empire, if the situation comes down to it?" Leia asked.
Mon Mothma hesitated. "Let's hope we won't have to make that choice."
"Well, regardless of whose side they're on, at least it's something to keep the Empire busy," Han pointed out.
"Yes," Mon Mothma replied, "and it's doing just that. The Empire has sent a fleet in to deal with the Borg threat, and greater security has been set up in that area of the galaxy."
"You said 'one,'" Wedge said. "I take it the Borg weren't alone.
"No," Mon Mothma said. "The Empire has had some dealings with another group from the other side of the wormhole. They have already given information and technology to the Empire, and our spies indicate they are planning on opening diplomatic relations with the Empire."
Leia finally spoke up. "What exactly is the position of this group?" she asked. "What do they want in return for their aide?"
"From what our sources have gathered, an alliance," Mon Mothma answered. The members of the Alliance looked at one another. The Empire alone was bad enough. If they had new allies, allies with new technology, then it was grim news for the struggling rebellion. "It seems that we have a new enemy," she said, "and it's called the Federation."
Even after six days, Picard still couldn't get over the eerie feeling he had whenever he looked out the window of the Enterprise. Instead of the familiar streak of stars, there was an unnatural flow of...something. He didn't know how to describe it; hyperspace is what Seven of Nine called it. Whatever it was, it felt wrong. Still, that was the price that came from crossing the galaxy at such fantastic speeds, and if a journey of decades can be reduced to days, Picard conceded hyperspace could look as ugly as it liked.
Lt. Commander Data's voice brought him back to the present. "We'll be approaching the wormhole in fifteen seconds, captain." Picard acknowledged, and waited, then on Data's order helm shut down the hyperdrive, and hyperspace turned to starlines, then collapsed back into the familiar view of real space, fifty thousand light-years now behind them.... and one very massive object in front of them.
"All stop." Picard ordered. "What is that?"
"It appears to be some kind of space station sir," Data informed him. "Although I am not familiar with any of its design patterns."
Seven of Nine turned to the captain. "It's similar in size and appearance to the Imperial station where Voyager was repaired. It's likely the Empire constructed it to guard the passage to the wormhole from future Borg attacks."
"Captain," Data continued, "I'm also detecting a vessel, 1.6 kilometers in length."
Riker turned to Picard. "Big ship."
"It is an Imperator-class Star Destroyer," Seven of Nine informed him. "We encountered three such ships when we first made contact."
"Star...Destroyer?" Picard asked hoping that wasn't meant to be taken literally.
"Merely its designation captain. Its weapons output is insufficient to destroy a solar body."
Picard acknowledged and turned to Lt. Thomas McClure. "Use the modifications to the deflector you were given. Open a channel." McClure gave Picard a nod. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise. I'm here on behalf of the United Federation of Planets. Is this the Galactic Empire?"
Finally, there was a response. "This is Commander Crovix. State your business Enterprise."
"Not exactly friendly," Riker commented.
"But understandable under the circumstances, Number One," Picard replied. "Open the channel again." McClure did so. "We are here to open negotiations with the Empire. We wish to use the wormhole to travel to meet with your leaders."
"Stand by Enterprise," was their only response.
"Captain," Lt. Travis spoke, "a ship –possibly a shuttle– has left the station and is heading for the wormhole."
"No doubt to check with their superiors on the other side," Picard noted.
Data turned to Picard. "Captain, sensors indicate familiar energy signatures coming from the Star Destroyer. The energy signatures are consistent with those left behind by Borg weaponry."
Picard turned to Seven of Nine. "Could this have been one of the vessels that battled the Borg when Voyager was here?"
"Possibly," Seven admitted. With that, she got up and strode towards the viewer. "Focus on the ship and magnify by a factor of 27," she ordered.
Data looked to Picard, who nodded. A close up view of the plate revealed a very faint pattern on the ships hull.
"This is not the same ship," Seven stated. "The markings on the hull are not the same."
"It seems that the Empire has had more run-ins with the Borg," Picard said. "Data, any similar signs of damage to the station?"
"No, sir. It would seem that this was not a defensive battle."
"Which leads us to only one conclusion," Picard said. "This station isn't the front line of defense, it's their fallback point. They've come to fight the Borg."
"Who seeks out the Borg?" Riker asked. "It's bad enough when they come to you, why go looking for them?"
"That certainly is a good question, Number One. One I hope to find an answer to."
Before the discussion could continue a communication came in from the station. "Permission has been granted to enter the wormhole. Once you pass through, you are to rendezvous with the Star Destroyer Incaciad."
"That is the command vessel of Admiral Thrawn," Seven informed the captain, taking her seat.
"Janeway's savior," Picard said. "Acknowledge the transmission. Set course for the wormhole half impulse. Engage."
And with that, the Enterprise proceeded to the wormhole, and disappeared from the galaxy.
--------------------------------------------------------------
"Attention! Borg ships approaching. Prep all TIEs for immeditate launch."
Delric Taar blocked out the redundant commands echoing throughout the hangar and headed for his ship. The launch crews had been on constant alert, and Taar knew his interceptor would already be set for launch as soon as he reached it. He checked the rest of his squadron before sealing the hatch, then fired the twin ion engines and roared out into space, his squadron close behind. They slipped into formation, Taar taking the point while his wingman slipped into his eight. As they swept around, he counted no less than seven Borg cubes. Numbers were still on the Empire's side, but the Borg had a knack for bringing something new to the party; apparently Piett had decided it was time to do the same.
"Grey leader this is Ebony leader," Taar said. It was time to put theory into practice, and hope they didn't kill themselves during the experiment. "We're going to cross the tee on cube three port."
"Acknowledged," was the response from Lt. Starrunner. As the TIEs approached the cube, their ranks broke, shifting to a four-point diamond pattern. Ebony 1 took the point of the lead formation, leading the way towards the right-hand side of the Cube. At a kilometer out the fomations broke away from one another, looking for targets of opportunity. The ships began taking random dips and slides as they approached, trying to reach that age-old balance of being evasive while staying on target. "Prime target located," Grey 3 said as the coordinates were sent to his targeting computer. The small formation made a slight course change and continued - Ebony 1 still in the lead with Grey 3 at the rear of the formation. It was a risky situation; the Interceptors were only flying at a fraction of their top speed at the moment to allow him to keep in formation. But it was the best plan he had for the moment.
The cube loomed through the transparisteel window at the front of his TIE. This is nuts, he thought to himself. You don't go after blockade runners with Interceptors, nevermind something like this! "I have a visual on the target," Taar said aloud. It seemed to be a weapons array of some kind. They raced towards it, then on cue, the two TIEs on his eight and four moved accelerated forward, guns blazing. Their laser cannons splashed across the surface of the array, but there was little to show for it. The Borg fired back, narrowly missing Ebony 2. It had been random luck that he'd survived, but turning back wasn't an option, so they continued to fire at the array for all the good it seemed to do.
"Break formation!" Taar ordered, and the three ships split off from one another. Grey 3, now with a clear shot at the weakened structure, launched three concussion missiles before pulling away. The missiles slammed into their target, vaporizing it.
"Ebony 2 and 3, form up,” Taar ordered. "Grey 3 strafing run, we'll cover." The others acknowledged as he swung away from the cube for the moment. Beyond it he saw the Avenger and Devastator advancing on the Borg's right flank. Turbolasers and Borg energy beams crisscrossed space, putting their puny fighter attacks to shame. Did I say this was nuts? he thought. I mean this is pointless! It's not like the Empire isn't going to win this fight regardless of the fighters, why did Piett tip their hand?! But it didn't fall to grunts like him to make those calls, so instead he executed a tight spin to join in on this suicide run.
The diamond formation quickly formed up and raced over the surface of the cube at a mere fifteen meters. The three Interceptors tried providing cover fire for the Grey 3, who was pelting the surface with proton bombs. Half-way across the cube he pushed them to full throttle, leaving the bomber behind but hopefully providing more of a distraction by firing at targets of opportunity. But one problem with the Borg was they just didn't take to distractions, and a green torpedo rose up from the surface and hit the bomber, sending the two pods spiral away and crashing into the surface of the cube. "Pull up!" Taar ordered, but this time an energy beam came up and caught Ebony 2, disintegrating it. Adrenal flooding his veins, Taar put the ship into a Korvel Spiral as he raced away, torpedoes filling the air around him. Finally he pulled clear and formed up with Ebony 3. "Ebony Leader to Grey Leader, we've lost our bomber." The command was acknowledged, but apparently things hadn't been going well for Starrunner's boys. As Taar brought the ship around he saw that the Borg were laying into the Avenger and Devastator, much like they had against the Tyrant. Taar's stomach tightened at the sight. The Borg didn't care how much damage they suffered so long as they continued to wear the Empire down. They could lose ten ships for every one they destroyed, and it wouldn't matter. How do you fight someone like that?
"Grey Leader to Ebony Leader, head to point 03." Taar pulled him and his wingmate around to return to their cube, joining up with another set of TIEs to provide cover for the next bombing run. The new formation –five Interceptors and two bombers– once again skimmed the surface, weapons lashing out at the cube. Again, as if out of no where, weapons fire struck at the tiny ships, vaporizing two TIEs instantly. To avoid being struck by the weapons and debris, Taar pulled a split-S, pulling away from the cube momentarily before his spin brought him back thirty meters behind his bombers, who continued their strafing of the cube despite the attack. Taar planned to increase speed and overshoot the bombers to provide further cover when he passed over one of the craters formed by a proton bomb. Taar frowned at the information his targeting sensors were telling him.
"Ebony 3 do you see what I see?" he called over the comm.
"Yes sir," ES-13-3 replied. "What do you want to do?"
Ebony 1 pulled into a tight loop and began heading for the crater. "Put some plasma up their collective port," he told him as he opened fire on the crater. The weapons' fire managed to destroy the unshielded bottom of the crater, opening up a passage into the heart of the cube. Throttling back, the two TIEs dove into the entrance to the Borg ship, firing at their unshielded surfaces. The cubes may have had the power to adapt to their laser cannons, but the raw power was too much for the helpless drones inside.
After about seven hundred meters the two TIEs blasted their way into a large opening inside the cube. In the center of this space was a large, hour-glass shaped structure with several openings along its sides. Taar looked at his instruments. "What do you think Ebony 3?"
"Looks like a target to me, sir," ES-13-3 called back to him over the comm.
Taar smiled inside his pressure suit. "Agreed. Fire at will." The two Interceptors continued their approach, their weapons blowing away huge chunks out of the shape. Manueverability was difficult, even at low speeds in this confined area. Finally, their weapons sheared through the construct and Taar watched the huge structure collapse in on itself. Immediately, explosions began occurring throughout the cube. The two TIEs turned to continue their volley, when a nearby explosion knocked Ebony 3 off course and into the wall, exploding on contact. Figuring he'd done enough damage in here, Taar headed for the opening to go back to the surface. The series of explosions were getting worse, and he started pushing the ship faster and faster. This proved to be a near fatal mistake as the passage suddenly narrowed ahead. Quickly he twisted his ship on its side and dove into the opening, his lower port solar panel scraping the edge of the passage. It seems that even during that short battle, the Borg had managed to repair some of their ship. Alarms were sounding and in desperation he pushed the ship to full throttle and hoped like hell he'd get out before the TIE or the cube blew.
Finally he rocketed out of the cube and launched back out into space. Looking back, he saw explosions consuming various parts of the cubes, and TIEs pulling away from its surface. A stardestroyer, the Stalker actually, was finishing it off with a full barrage of turbolaser fire. Moments after he had escaped, the cube exploded. A single piece of debris, just a meter or so long, struck his TIE, completely searing the struts that held it to the starboard solar panels. The ship had been on its last legs before, now it was completely out of control. The Interceptor wouldn't respond to his controls and an energy surge was arcing through some of the panels. Systems were failing, and in an act of desperation he tried to shut down the engines. As he touched the panel, a surge of energy passed through his pressurized suit and into his arm, flooding his body with pain as he seized up. His eyes glazed over, and the universe, dark as it was, became black.
--------------------------------------------------------------
War has been described as long periods of boredom interrupted by short periods of excitement. At the moment, Picard felt that peace didn't seem that different. After all the time he'd spent waiting for his ship, and then all the time prepping for this meeting, the ambassadors had taken over, and he was left twiddling his thumbs at an Imperial station. It was the dawn of a new age, perhaps the most exciting time for humanity since the discovery that we weren't alone in the universe. At the moment, Picard felt like he was stuck in a hole with his sensors off-line.
Picard had been lamenting the situation with Riker when the door chimed. It was Seven; it seemed to always be Seven. She wasn't a Borg, not really, but nevertheless, he had trouble letting his guard down around her, despite how much advice she'd provided throughout the mission. Maybe I've become set in my ways, he wondered. I can't stand hyperspace, I can't stand my advisor, maybe this new age isn't for old men like me. "Yes?" he asked, trying to sound neutral and failing.
"Admiral Thrawn has asked me to deliver a proposition to you," Seven informed the captain in the matter-of-fact way she had. "He suggests that, to help bridge the gap between our civilizations, we have an exchange of cultural history."
"What exactly does he mean by that?" Riker asked. Riker had been spending the time scanning comm channels, and the longer they were delayed, the more he became suspicious of the Empire. Perhaps he wasn't ready for this new age either, Picard thought.
Seven looked at the PADD. "'Poetry, art, important historical events, literature' were the specific examples he gave."
Picard nodded; this was exactly what he needed. "Extend the admiral our thanks, and begin assembling a historical/cultural database to give to the Imperials."
"Are you sure that's wise, sir?" Riker asked. "We really shouldn't be exchanging any information with them while the negotiations take place."
Picard smiled slightly. "I'm not giving them the access codes for Starfleet Command, Will. An exchange of culture would be a healthy way to start this meeting, not to mention give us a chance to get to know the Empire a little better."
"Honestly, sir, I think I'm getting to know them quite well."
"Will, there's healthy skepticism, and there's paranoia. I'm sure there's nothing to fear in letting Admiral Thrawn examine our works of art."
--------------------------------------------------------------
On board the Redemption. Mon Mothma stepped up to the central platform. The high-ranking members of the Alliance were present; they knew only that something urgent had come in, and rumors were it wasn't good. From her grave tone, it seemed that would prove to be true. "We've all been wondering what is going on lately, why the Emperor has diverted ships and changed his personal agenda so much over the past two months. We now have an answer." A hologram of a section of the galaxy appeared, focusing in on one particular area until the whole sector was revealed. "Located near the Napuli System is a wormhole to another galaxy. The wormhole was discovered when ships from the other side invaded our galaxy."
A small murmur of discussion began. Mon Mothma had to speak up in order to be heard. "One is an antagonistic race called the Borg, who attacked and destroyed one of the Star Destroyers in that area."
"I take it that's not the good news we'd like to think it is," Lando said.
"No. The data our spies have gathered shows that they will attack anyone without provocation. They're extremely dangerous to everyone, regardless of what side they're on."
"Dangerous enough that we should be worried?" Leia asked. "Is there a chance that they'd destroy the Empire and threaten all of us?"
"It's not likely," Mon Mothma said.
"Will we help the Empire, if the situation comes down to it?" Leia asked.
Mon Mothma hesitated. "Let's hope we won't have to make that choice."
"Well, regardless of whose side they're on, at least it's something to keep the Empire busy," Han pointed out.
"Yes," Mon Mothma replied, "and it's doing just that. The Empire has sent a fleet in to deal with the Borg threat, and greater security has been set up in that area of the galaxy."
"You said 'one,'" Wedge said. "I take it the Borg weren't alone.
"No," Mon Mothma said. "The Empire has had some dealings with another group from the other side of the wormhole. They have already given information and technology to the Empire, and our spies indicate they are planning on opening diplomatic relations with the Empire."
Leia finally spoke up. "What exactly is the position of this group?" she asked. "What do they want in return for their aide?"
"From what our sources have gathered, an alliance," Mon Mothma answered. The members of the Alliance looked at one another. The Empire alone was bad enough. If they had new allies, allies with new technology, then it was grim news for the struggling rebellion. "It seems that we have a new enemy," she said, "and it's called the Federation."
Chuck
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Part VII
Taar opened his eyes slowly. There was a white blur in front of him, slowly solidifying as the seconds ticked by until shapes emerged. Finally, his vision seemed to clear up and he checked at his arm. Yes, it was still there. Good. As advanced as cybernetics was, he'd heard about more than one pilot who just couldn't handle a craft the same again. There's something about the feel of a ship that can't be duplicated by a piece of technology.
Taar gave the room the once over. The medlab didn't look like the one on the Stalker; was he on the Executor? Before he could think more about it the door opened; it was an aide rather than a medical droid. This likely meant things were about to get worse. "Good morning," the aide said as amicably as possible. "Glad to see that you've returned to consciousness; we've got some matters to clear up. It won't take but a moment." He pulled out datapad. "First, your suit was completely overloaded, so we don't even have a name for you."
Taar winced slightly as he started to sit up. "Lt. Delric Taar, ES-13-1 stationed on board the star destroyer Stalker."
The aide nodded slightly, "A squadron commander... good for you."
Whatever, Taar thought. Save your condescension for someone else. "What's the status of Ebony Squadron? How many survivors?"
"I'm asking the questions," the aide said sharply. "You can check their status later, lieutenant." He paused briefly and then continued. "I assume you were forced to abandon your craft?"
"Yes, there was-" Taar paused. So much had happened so fast. "The cube exploded, the debris hit my craft. I was lucky to get out alive."
"Mm," the aid responded with the expected degree of sympathy. "Yes, well, everything seems to be in order," the aide concluded. It was, after all, just a TIE; the Empire lost a few every day. If Taar had lost a shuttle it would have involved an accident investigation, but this drew little more than a glance. "The med-droid says you'll be fit for duty the day after tomorrow. You'll have your orders then." Then he turned and strode out.
With effort, Taar pulled himself up, silently cursing all bureaucrats everywhere. “I’m asking the questions,” he thought, and it comes down to name and why his ship went kabloowie. Tiny men in the grand scheme who push around bits in a datapad; just let me fly my ship and lead my men and I'll do whatever you want. He searched around until he found his code cylinder and plugged into the network. With a slight note of surprise, he saw that he was on Base One, not the Executor. They must have evacuated some of the wounded to save space. He went on to check what information there was about the latest battle with the Borg. It didn't paint a pretty picture. It had been a victory, of course, but they'd lost the Devastator. This was a big setback, even though it wasn't readily apparent. Not only had that left the Imperial forces weaker, it also meant the Borg could win battles due to sheer attrition. The Emperor's plan wasn't working; the Borg weren't backing off, they were testing the Empire's limits. They were planning something... he just hoped the admiral was capable enough to see that and call in some reinforcements.
Taar's stomach tightened into a knot as he looked at the fighter results. Only three of the pilots from Ebony squadron survived, himself included. Starrunner and his boys had been completely wiped out as well. At least they hadn't died for nothing; the stats showed that weapons fire from the cubes Ebony and Grey squadrons had attacked dropped by 38%. It was good from a tactical standpoint, but losing so many of his men made it a bitter pill to swallow.
Taar disconnected from the network and tried to sleep. He was exhausted, but sleep didn't come easy. His mind was filled with images of Borg drones being cut down by his laser cannons and of that cube exploding from the inside out. He wanted to do that again... he wanted to fly in there and blow the living crap out of them, like pouring gasoline down an anthill and lighting a match. He forced himself to put his thoughts aside and rest. Only if he properly recovered would he get the chance to relive that vision.
--------------------------------------------------------------
The Emperor opened his eyes and watched Mara Jade continuing her exercises. At the moment she was trying to move multiple objects with her mind. Her frustration with her failure was obvious. "Good," he said, causing her to jerk slightly at his sudden comment. "Anger is a source of power. Reach in and harness it, feel the hate flowing through you, empowering you!" Mara nodded and went at it again with renewed vigor. Soon objects were swirling around the throne room like a whirlwind. They dropped when the Emperor's haunting chuckle reached her ears. "Good, very good. You're learning well, my young apprentice." He paused as the door opened and Darth Vader appeared. Vader’s walk slowed as he approached the throne, noting Mara's presence. There was an undercurrent of mutual hate. "Leave us," the Emperor told the girl, and she nodded and walked out. Vader stepped before the Emperor and kneeled, rising only when he was told to.
"I sense something is troubling you, my friend," the Emperor said.
"Yes, master." Vader paused. "'And there shall forever be no more than two, one the master, and one his student, lest the way of the Sith be lost forever.'" Vader said, quoting the words of Darth Bane that had ensured the survival of the Sith for millennia. "Have we given up on old ways?"
"Yes, we have," the Emperor said matter-of-factly. "No longer do we lurk in the shadows, fearing the Jedi. I felt the disturbance when that little green imp died; and with him dies the ways of the Jedi. We are the only ones now who have the power of the Force, and it is time we used it to the fullest."
"And so you train this one?" Vader asked. "She is nothing more than a convenient spy-"
"I will decide who I will train," the Emperor said sharply. "I train her as I will the young Skywalker. That was, after all, your suggestion, Lord Vader." The Emperor gave a moment to reflect on that fact. "I have foreseen her, Vader, leading our forces against our enemies, with your son at her side."
"So he will join us."
"Oh yes. The details are difficult to see, but he will embrace the power of the dark side."
"Forgive my doubt, my master," Vader said with a nod of respect.
The Emperor nodded in return. "What is the status of the Death Star?"
"It will be finished within the next ninety days, my master."
"I see it's not on schedule."
"No, the men have been suitably disciplined."
The Emperor's throne rotated slightly. "It is of no consequence. It will serve its purpose when needed. I have summoned you for an entirely different reason." Vader waited patiently, his mechanical breathing the only sound filling the chamber. "I have nearly completed negotiations with diplomats from the Federation, a puny civilization in the galaxy beyond the wormhole. You will travel with the diplomatic corps that returns to their homeworld."
"Why should we be concerned with this insignificant group?" Vader asked.
"Because, the Federation is our foothold, Lord Vader. Through them, we will seize control of their entire galaxy."
--------------------------------------------------------------
The Lambda-class shuttle slipped into hyperspace as Lt. Taar moved into the cockpit of the small craft. He was the only passenger on board the tiny shuttle, just him and a hold full of technical equipment sent out to rendezvous with the fleet on the front line. Taar wondered what was happening out there. The last engagement had been the one he'd been in, just under a week ago. The Borg had actually bloodied the Empire's nose that time, it should have only strengthened their resolve... if Borg could have resolve, that is. Instead they'd pulled back, left their worlds undefended. No, they were up to something, and he didn't think he was going to like it when he found it.
"So, why are you being sent off to Borg central?" the pilot asked in an off the cuff way.
Taar looked him over for a moment before replying. "I'm rendezvousing with my star destroyer. I was sent back to Base One to get stitched up after the last engagement."
"Ah, let me guess, TIE pilot, right?"
"That's right," Taar said with disinterest.
The man gave a low whistle. "You know, they got two categories for TIE fighter pilots: rookies, and frozen meat."
"Right," was Taar's only reply as he tried to ignore the pilot. He didn’t seem to take the hint.
"Happiest day of my life was when I was assigned to transports," the pilot said with a grin. "The Imperial meat grinder is not the place for me, no thank you! I'll take a ship with shields and a hyperdrive instead of a speeder with wings!"
"Panels."
"What?" the pilot asked, stopping in mid-gloat.
"They're solar panels, they're not wings," Taar stated, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.
The pilot gave a snort. "Whatever. You ask me, you've got to either be crazy or stupid to fly one of those things."
"Well I don't recall asking," Taar said. "Just shut up and fly."
"Hey, don't tell me..." The words descended into a squeak as Taar grabbed his throat with one hand. Years of fighting a control stick had given him a grip like a Wookiee.
"If you don't watch your tongue," Taar said slowly, "I'll rip it out so you can get a better look." He'd lost too many people, too many friends, in the past week to tolerate this kind of attitude, and the guy had made the mistake of making himself a convenient target. Finally Taar let go, and the pilot sunk back in his chair, panting.
"Sure," he gasped, "no...."
Taar held up a finger, "Not - one - word."
The pilot settled back into his chair as Taar turned to look out at the milky white sky of hyperspace. This was his luck all right, to be stuck on the last shuttle with this idiot. So much transporting was being done that there wasn't enough pilots for full crews - there should be another three officers to run the shuttle. This guy was probably flying solo because the only one who could stand him was himself. But still, maybe the Empire would get lucky and he'd be assimilated. Probably set the Borg back a hundred years.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Delric Taar had been right about Admiral Piett, he had noticed the lack of Borg resistance and thought a great deal about what it meant. At the next engagement, however, when the Borg sent a group of half a dozen cubes against them, he'd felt a bit better. Perhaps it was simply attrition; they'd decimated forces in this part of space, and since the locals hadn't discovered hyperspace, getting enough reinforcements together in time was proving impossible. "Close to point blank range," he ordered. "Let's not give them a chance to gang up this time." The fleet closed in on the Borg. The Borg had adapted long ago, but adaptation had limits, and the bombardments far exceeded them. Within twenty minutes, the last cube had exploded, and this time the Imperial fleet was still intact.
"Inform the fleet to take up position for Base Delta Zero," Piett ordered. The fleet broke up and began moving into orbit of the world. It seemed so silent... no comm chatter, no ships rising or falling, not even a satellite network. All they had to know that the world was inhabited was their sensor readings. Population: 12 billion, all Borg. No one would miss them. "Open fire," Piett ordered. At once each star destroyer repeated the brutal assault, bombarding the planet until the crust was reduced to slag. It was a brutal mission, one the Imperial Navy did not perform very often, but now routine in this new galaxy. From space the planet appeared to be blistering and peeling like an untreated wound, unable to withstand the sheer power being brought to bear.
"Admiral," said the Executor's captain, "come take a look at this."
Admiral Piett turned away from the view of devastation and came over to the comscann station, his captain turning to him as he approached. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure, sir, some strange emissions coming from a nearby nebula."
Piett looked slightly irritated. "Well what is it?"
"We can't scan it sir, it's just..."
"Sir," a lieutenant called from a nearby station, "Borg cubes coming out of warp!"
"What?" Piett looked over with some surprise. How did they avoid their detection systems? "How many?" The lieutenant just stared at his console. "I said how many," Piett demanded.
His lips dry, the lieutenant looked up. "One hundred twelve, sir."
Piett stepped back to the center of the bridge and looked out. The sky was blotted out by the sight of Borg cubes, descending like locusts over a field of grain.
"We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile."
--------------------------------------------------------------
The "tunnel" of hyperspace slowly shifted into starlines and finally turned to the beautiful expanse of real space. The view, however, was hardly what Taar would describe as "beautiful."
A hundred thousand kilometers away was a planet, slowly cooling as the energy dissipated from its fractured surface. But that wasn't what was wrong, that had been expected. No, what was so terrible was the legion of Borg cubes that swarmed around. Between them and the world was the Imperial fleet, trapped. Weapons fire filled space, but it was a hopeless battle. One of the star destroyers was already being carved up by Borg cubes... like ants scissoring apart a leaf and carrying the pieces back home. The ship, the crew... they were going to be assimilated.
Taar flinched slightly at the sight of a massive flare. It was the Executor; the debris took out at least a dozen cubes. Why had it gone up? The Borg were all over it, but it hadn't suffered that much damage. The only explanation was that she'd self-destructed, and Taar couldn't argue with that choice. Better dead than one of those things. "Come on, we've got to go," Taar ordered the pilot. He didn't like running, but at this point no ship short of a Death Star was going to make a difference. He looked over, but the man was staring at the battle, slack jawed. Taar's controls were locked out, so he couldn't pilot it himself. He reached over and grabbed the pilots uniform in one hand and screamed at him. "Get this thing moving now!"
Terrified, the pilot grabbed the controls and started turning the ship. Suddenly a cube loomed in front of the ship. The pilot screamed and started panicking as the cube locked onto the shuttle with a tractor beam. "Idon'twannadie, Idon'twannadie, Idon'twanna..." he whimpered. Taar didn't need this; he reached over, grabbed the pilot by the head and slammed it into the wall. Grateful for the silence, he pushed the limp form out of the chair and checked the instruments. No good, he thought, the beam was too strong for him to take out with these weapons. As the shuttle was drawn closer, Taar started to think desperately. What were his options? Finally, realizing that he had none, he flipped on the navcomputer, hit the controls, and braced himself.
Taar gritted his teeth as he heard the whining of the engines. Tractor beams play havoc with a ship's hyperdrive, but the Borg are different. Maybe he could juice it enough to get them away. He tried diverting power into the engine, he tried shaking things up. No good, the ship just couldn't do it. Finally, desperate as the cube filled the window, he strapped himself in, and flipped a switch.
The ramp to the shuttle began to open, and air burst out into space, along with tons of cargo. The extra force knocked the shuttle around just enough for the tractor beam to loosen its grip, and Taar pulled back on the hyperdrive lever. And suddenly was gone.
Taar felt his chest burning as he hit the controls to close the hatch. The room was almost total vacuum now. He grabbed at the controls, trying to save himself as slowly, agonizingly, blackness overtook him.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Two Borg drones dragged Captain Lennox through the Borg cube, trying to push out the ever-present sound of his men's screams. He was soon deposited on some walkway. He looked up and could see thousands of Borg. They spoke to him with that terrible voice.
"You have the highest position in your primitive hierarchy. You are known to the Empire. You will be our voice to them."
Lennox wet his lips and looked back in defiance. "I will do nothing to assist you while my men are being butchered below decks!"
"They are being equipped to service the Borg," the collective declared, completely devoid of emotion. No anger, no resentment, no justification, no pleasure, just a simple, declarative statement. "You too will service the Borg."
"Let my men go free," he called to them, "and I'll assist you voluntarily."
"Voluntary is irrelevant. You will comply."
"Never!" he snarled. "Release my men, or I will not help you!"
"Your threats are irrelevant. You will serve the Borg."
His voice dropped to a low pitch. "Never!" he almost whispered. Suddenly, he threw his upper body weight into the Borg on his immediate left, then struck out with his leg to kick the one to his right. It was only temporary, a moment that they were off balance. But it was all he needed. He reached out, grabbed the railing, and jumped, swinging his legs over the side, and plummeting. He tried not to scream during his twelve second fall; he needed to do this. He'd read the reports, he knew what they'd do. They would use him to aid in their attempts to conquer the Empire. Death was the only way to stop them. Still, he was only human, and a few screams did leave his mouth as the ragged bottom of the room rushed at him, and his body hit with a sickening thud.
Suddenly his eyes opened. He was on a table, and Borg surrounded him. They had replaced his left arm already with some cybernetic device. He couldn't move, and watched with horror as they continued to alter his body. No, he thought, I couldn't have survived that. I was dead!
Suddenly, a voice chilled him to the bone, that haunting voice, only he wasn't hearing it, it was being sent directly into his head. "Death is irrelevant. Resistance is futile."
Taar opened his eyes slowly. There was a white blur in front of him, slowly solidifying as the seconds ticked by until shapes emerged. Finally, his vision seemed to clear up and he checked at his arm. Yes, it was still there. Good. As advanced as cybernetics was, he'd heard about more than one pilot who just couldn't handle a craft the same again. There's something about the feel of a ship that can't be duplicated by a piece of technology.
Taar gave the room the once over. The medlab didn't look like the one on the Stalker; was he on the Executor? Before he could think more about it the door opened; it was an aide rather than a medical droid. This likely meant things were about to get worse. "Good morning," the aide said as amicably as possible. "Glad to see that you've returned to consciousness; we've got some matters to clear up. It won't take but a moment." He pulled out datapad. "First, your suit was completely overloaded, so we don't even have a name for you."
Taar winced slightly as he started to sit up. "Lt. Delric Taar, ES-13-1 stationed on board the star destroyer Stalker."
The aide nodded slightly, "A squadron commander... good for you."
Whatever, Taar thought. Save your condescension for someone else. "What's the status of Ebony Squadron? How many survivors?"
"I'm asking the questions," the aide said sharply. "You can check their status later, lieutenant." He paused briefly and then continued. "I assume you were forced to abandon your craft?"
"Yes, there was-" Taar paused. So much had happened so fast. "The cube exploded, the debris hit my craft. I was lucky to get out alive."
"Mm," the aid responded with the expected degree of sympathy. "Yes, well, everything seems to be in order," the aide concluded. It was, after all, just a TIE; the Empire lost a few every day. If Taar had lost a shuttle it would have involved an accident investigation, but this drew little more than a glance. "The med-droid says you'll be fit for duty the day after tomorrow. You'll have your orders then." Then he turned and strode out.
With effort, Taar pulled himself up, silently cursing all bureaucrats everywhere. “I’m asking the questions,” he thought, and it comes down to name and why his ship went kabloowie. Tiny men in the grand scheme who push around bits in a datapad; just let me fly my ship and lead my men and I'll do whatever you want. He searched around until he found his code cylinder and plugged into the network. With a slight note of surprise, he saw that he was on Base One, not the Executor. They must have evacuated some of the wounded to save space. He went on to check what information there was about the latest battle with the Borg. It didn't paint a pretty picture. It had been a victory, of course, but they'd lost the Devastator. This was a big setback, even though it wasn't readily apparent. Not only had that left the Imperial forces weaker, it also meant the Borg could win battles due to sheer attrition. The Emperor's plan wasn't working; the Borg weren't backing off, they were testing the Empire's limits. They were planning something... he just hoped the admiral was capable enough to see that and call in some reinforcements.
Taar's stomach tightened into a knot as he looked at the fighter results. Only three of the pilots from Ebony squadron survived, himself included. Starrunner and his boys had been completely wiped out as well. At least they hadn't died for nothing; the stats showed that weapons fire from the cubes Ebony and Grey squadrons had attacked dropped by 38%. It was good from a tactical standpoint, but losing so many of his men made it a bitter pill to swallow.
Taar disconnected from the network and tried to sleep. He was exhausted, but sleep didn't come easy. His mind was filled with images of Borg drones being cut down by his laser cannons and of that cube exploding from the inside out. He wanted to do that again... he wanted to fly in there and blow the living crap out of them, like pouring gasoline down an anthill and lighting a match. He forced himself to put his thoughts aside and rest. Only if he properly recovered would he get the chance to relive that vision.
--------------------------------------------------------------
The Emperor opened his eyes and watched Mara Jade continuing her exercises. At the moment she was trying to move multiple objects with her mind. Her frustration with her failure was obvious. "Good," he said, causing her to jerk slightly at his sudden comment. "Anger is a source of power. Reach in and harness it, feel the hate flowing through you, empowering you!" Mara nodded and went at it again with renewed vigor. Soon objects were swirling around the throne room like a whirlwind. They dropped when the Emperor's haunting chuckle reached her ears. "Good, very good. You're learning well, my young apprentice." He paused as the door opened and Darth Vader appeared. Vader’s walk slowed as he approached the throne, noting Mara's presence. There was an undercurrent of mutual hate. "Leave us," the Emperor told the girl, and she nodded and walked out. Vader stepped before the Emperor and kneeled, rising only when he was told to.
"I sense something is troubling you, my friend," the Emperor said.
"Yes, master." Vader paused. "'And there shall forever be no more than two, one the master, and one his student, lest the way of the Sith be lost forever.'" Vader said, quoting the words of Darth Bane that had ensured the survival of the Sith for millennia. "Have we given up on old ways?"
"Yes, we have," the Emperor said matter-of-factly. "No longer do we lurk in the shadows, fearing the Jedi. I felt the disturbance when that little green imp died; and with him dies the ways of the Jedi. We are the only ones now who have the power of the Force, and it is time we used it to the fullest."
"And so you train this one?" Vader asked. "She is nothing more than a convenient spy-"
"I will decide who I will train," the Emperor said sharply. "I train her as I will the young Skywalker. That was, after all, your suggestion, Lord Vader." The Emperor gave a moment to reflect on that fact. "I have foreseen her, Vader, leading our forces against our enemies, with your son at her side."
"So he will join us."
"Oh yes. The details are difficult to see, but he will embrace the power of the dark side."
"Forgive my doubt, my master," Vader said with a nod of respect.
The Emperor nodded in return. "What is the status of the Death Star?"
"It will be finished within the next ninety days, my master."
"I see it's not on schedule."
"No, the men have been suitably disciplined."
The Emperor's throne rotated slightly. "It is of no consequence. It will serve its purpose when needed. I have summoned you for an entirely different reason." Vader waited patiently, his mechanical breathing the only sound filling the chamber. "I have nearly completed negotiations with diplomats from the Federation, a puny civilization in the galaxy beyond the wormhole. You will travel with the diplomatic corps that returns to their homeworld."
"Why should we be concerned with this insignificant group?" Vader asked.
"Because, the Federation is our foothold, Lord Vader. Through them, we will seize control of their entire galaxy."
--------------------------------------------------------------
The Lambda-class shuttle slipped into hyperspace as Lt. Taar moved into the cockpit of the small craft. He was the only passenger on board the tiny shuttle, just him and a hold full of technical equipment sent out to rendezvous with the fleet on the front line. Taar wondered what was happening out there. The last engagement had been the one he'd been in, just under a week ago. The Borg had actually bloodied the Empire's nose that time, it should have only strengthened their resolve... if Borg could have resolve, that is. Instead they'd pulled back, left their worlds undefended. No, they were up to something, and he didn't think he was going to like it when he found it.
"So, why are you being sent off to Borg central?" the pilot asked in an off the cuff way.
Taar looked him over for a moment before replying. "I'm rendezvousing with my star destroyer. I was sent back to Base One to get stitched up after the last engagement."
"Ah, let me guess, TIE pilot, right?"
"That's right," Taar said with disinterest.
The man gave a low whistle. "You know, they got two categories for TIE fighter pilots: rookies, and frozen meat."
"Right," was Taar's only reply as he tried to ignore the pilot. He didn’t seem to take the hint.
"Happiest day of my life was when I was assigned to transports," the pilot said with a grin. "The Imperial meat grinder is not the place for me, no thank you! I'll take a ship with shields and a hyperdrive instead of a speeder with wings!"
"Panels."
"What?" the pilot asked, stopping in mid-gloat.
"They're solar panels, they're not wings," Taar stated, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.
The pilot gave a snort. "Whatever. You ask me, you've got to either be crazy or stupid to fly one of those things."
"Well I don't recall asking," Taar said. "Just shut up and fly."
"Hey, don't tell me..." The words descended into a squeak as Taar grabbed his throat with one hand. Years of fighting a control stick had given him a grip like a Wookiee.
"If you don't watch your tongue," Taar said slowly, "I'll rip it out so you can get a better look." He'd lost too many people, too many friends, in the past week to tolerate this kind of attitude, and the guy had made the mistake of making himself a convenient target. Finally Taar let go, and the pilot sunk back in his chair, panting.
"Sure," he gasped, "no...."
Taar held up a finger, "Not - one - word."
The pilot settled back into his chair as Taar turned to look out at the milky white sky of hyperspace. This was his luck all right, to be stuck on the last shuttle with this idiot. So much transporting was being done that there wasn't enough pilots for full crews - there should be another three officers to run the shuttle. This guy was probably flying solo because the only one who could stand him was himself. But still, maybe the Empire would get lucky and he'd be assimilated. Probably set the Borg back a hundred years.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Delric Taar had been right about Admiral Piett, he had noticed the lack of Borg resistance and thought a great deal about what it meant. At the next engagement, however, when the Borg sent a group of half a dozen cubes against them, he'd felt a bit better. Perhaps it was simply attrition; they'd decimated forces in this part of space, and since the locals hadn't discovered hyperspace, getting enough reinforcements together in time was proving impossible. "Close to point blank range," he ordered. "Let's not give them a chance to gang up this time." The fleet closed in on the Borg. The Borg had adapted long ago, but adaptation had limits, and the bombardments far exceeded them. Within twenty minutes, the last cube had exploded, and this time the Imperial fleet was still intact.
"Inform the fleet to take up position for Base Delta Zero," Piett ordered. The fleet broke up and began moving into orbit of the world. It seemed so silent... no comm chatter, no ships rising or falling, not even a satellite network. All they had to know that the world was inhabited was their sensor readings. Population: 12 billion, all Borg. No one would miss them. "Open fire," Piett ordered. At once each star destroyer repeated the brutal assault, bombarding the planet until the crust was reduced to slag. It was a brutal mission, one the Imperial Navy did not perform very often, but now routine in this new galaxy. From space the planet appeared to be blistering and peeling like an untreated wound, unable to withstand the sheer power being brought to bear.
"Admiral," said the Executor's captain, "come take a look at this."
Admiral Piett turned away from the view of devastation and came over to the comscann station, his captain turning to him as he approached. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure, sir, some strange emissions coming from a nearby nebula."
Piett looked slightly irritated. "Well what is it?"
"We can't scan it sir, it's just..."
"Sir," a lieutenant called from a nearby station, "Borg cubes coming out of warp!"
"What?" Piett looked over with some surprise. How did they avoid their detection systems? "How many?" The lieutenant just stared at his console. "I said how many," Piett demanded.
His lips dry, the lieutenant looked up. "One hundred twelve, sir."
Piett stepped back to the center of the bridge and looked out. The sky was blotted out by the sight of Borg cubes, descending like locusts over a field of grain.
"We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile."
--------------------------------------------------------------
The "tunnel" of hyperspace slowly shifted into starlines and finally turned to the beautiful expanse of real space. The view, however, was hardly what Taar would describe as "beautiful."
A hundred thousand kilometers away was a planet, slowly cooling as the energy dissipated from its fractured surface. But that wasn't what was wrong, that had been expected. No, what was so terrible was the legion of Borg cubes that swarmed around. Between them and the world was the Imperial fleet, trapped. Weapons fire filled space, but it was a hopeless battle. One of the star destroyers was already being carved up by Borg cubes... like ants scissoring apart a leaf and carrying the pieces back home. The ship, the crew... they were going to be assimilated.
Taar flinched slightly at the sight of a massive flare. It was the Executor; the debris took out at least a dozen cubes. Why had it gone up? The Borg were all over it, but it hadn't suffered that much damage. The only explanation was that she'd self-destructed, and Taar couldn't argue with that choice. Better dead than one of those things. "Come on, we've got to go," Taar ordered the pilot. He didn't like running, but at this point no ship short of a Death Star was going to make a difference. He looked over, but the man was staring at the battle, slack jawed. Taar's controls were locked out, so he couldn't pilot it himself. He reached over and grabbed the pilots uniform in one hand and screamed at him. "Get this thing moving now!"
Terrified, the pilot grabbed the controls and started turning the ship. Suddenly a cube loomed in front of the ship. The pilot screamed and started panicking as the cube locked onto the shuttle with a tractor beam. "Idon'twannadie, Idon'twannadie, Idon'twanna..." he whimpered. Taar didn't need this; he reached over, grabbed the pilot by the head and slammed it into the wall. Grateful for the silence, he pushed the limp form out of the chair and checked the instruments. No good, he thought, the beam was too strong for him to take out with these weapons. As the shuttle was drawn closer, Taar started to think desperately. What were his options? Finally, realizing that he had none, he flipped on the navcomputer, hit the controls, and braced himself.
Taar gritted his teeth as he heard the whining of the engines. Tractor beams play havoc with a ship's hyperdrive, but the Borg are different. Maybe he could juice it enough to get them away. He tried diverting power into the engine, he tried shaking things up. No good, the ship just couldn't do it. Finally, desperate as the cube filled the window, he strapped himself in, and flipped a switch.
The ramp to the shuttle began to open, and air burst out into space, along with tons of cargo. The extra force knocked the shuttle around just enough for the tractor beam to loosen its grip, and Taar pulled back on the hyperdrive lever. And suddenly was gone.
Taar felt his chest burning as he hit the controls to close the hatch. The room was almost total vacuum now. He grabbed at the controls, trying to save himself as slowly, agonizingly, blackness overtook him.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Two Borg drones dragged Captain Lennox through the Borg cube, trying to push out the ever-present sound of his men's screams. He was soon deposited on some walkway. He looked up and could see thousands of Borg. They spoke to him with that terrible voice.
"You have the highest position in your primitive hierarchy. You are known to the Empire. You will be our voice to them."
Lennox wet his lips and looked back in defiance. "I will do nothing to assist you while my men are being butchered below decks!"
"They are being equipped to service the Borg," the collective declared, completely devoid of emotion. No anger, no resentment, no justification, no pleasure, just a simple, declarative statement. "You too will service the Borg."
"Let my men go free," he called to them, "and I'll assist you voluntarily."
"Voluntary is irrelevant. You will comply."
"Never!" he snarled. "Release my men, or I will not help you!"
"Your threats are irrelevant. You will serve the Borg."
His voice dropped to a low pitch. "Never!" he almost whispered. Suddenly, he threw his upper body weight into the Borg on his immediate left, then struck out with his leg to kick the one to his right. It was only temporary, a moment that they were off balance. But it was all he needed. He reached out, grabbed the railing, and jumped, swinging his legs over the side, and plummeting. He tried not to scream during his twelve second fall; he needed to do this. He'd read the reports, he knew what they'd do. They would use him to aid in their attempts to conquer the Empire. Death was the only way to stop them. Still, he was only human, and a few screams did leave his mouth as the ragged bottom of the room rushed at him, and his body hit with a sickening thud.
Suddenly his eyes opened. He was on a table, and Borg surrounded him. They had replaced his left arm already with some cybernetic device. He couldn't move, and watched with horror as they continued to alter his body. No, he thought, I couldn't have survived that. I was dead!
Suddenly, a voice chilled him to the bone, that haunting voice, only he wasn't hearing it, it was being sent directly into his head. "Death is irrelevant. Resistance is futile."
Chuck
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