Of course to nitpick WWE: Shouldn't Thallonian space should be in chaos by then with the collpase of their Empire and probably their planet have exploding in the hatching of the great bird of the galaxy?
Unity II: Shadows of the Night, Redux (Complete)
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Crazedwraith
- Emperor's Hand
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Sonnenburg
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Part V
"Twelve ships approaching, Cube class," the lieutenant informed him.
"Order the Vehement and the Melkin to cover the right flank," said Admiral Thrawn.
"Launch all TIEs," said Col. Delric Taar to his aide.
"Borg at fifty thousand clicks," he was informed.
"Order all squadrons to concentrate on weapons emplacements." Taar left the individual motions in the hands of the squadron commanders for now. The large display showed the locations of the fighters in relation to his the star destroyers and the approaching Cubes. They approached quickly, holding their fire until they had visual confirmation, as they had been told during the many briefings; one didn't take chances with the Borg. As a result, some dozen ships were destroyed before they even reached the targets. But out of thirty squadrons, that still left a great deal to deal with the Borg.
"Fire at will," Taar ordered.
After several seconds he received visual confirmation: thirteen successful hits, five of the targets completely disabled. The ships curved away and prepared for a second assault.
"Energy surge," his lieutenant informed him.
"What ki-" but Taar never finished. To his astonishment, all but two of his TIEs vanished from the screen, the sign of the small explosions from their reactors appearing on the uncaring display with quiet accuracy. "No," he murmured. One of the remaining TIEs, Black 2 from appearance, was blown out of space by a Borg torpedo. Taar, his face a twisted mass of anger, turned and strode out. His subordinates looked at each other with uncertainty, but seeing there was no need to continue, got up and left their stations, passing the technician on the way out. "End simulation," he said simply, and the room vanished.
Having shut down the holodeck the engineer stepped out of the hall towards Col. Taar's office. He was slightly surprised to find the colonel leaning against the corridor wall, fuming at nothing. He stepped up and held out the datapad. "Report sir," he said formally, flinching slightly as the datapad was yanked from his hand with a snap of the colonel's wrist, only to slip it into his uniform pocket. Knowing when to retreat the engineer nodded in acknowledgement and returned to the holodeck for a diagnostic.
After some time Taar finally pulled out the datapad and began examining it. "What happened?" a voice said suddenly, taking Taar slightly by surprise. He drew himself up in the presence of the Admiral. "My apologies sir," he said quickly, "I failed to notice your approach."
Thrawn nodded. "You still have not answered the question."
Taar's insides tightened a little. "The Borg anticipated our approach," he said stiffly. "They used their transporters against us; they beamed all kinds of debris into their flight path and destroyed the ships."
"How many TIEs were destroyed?" Thrawn asked evenly.
Taar sighed. "Fourteen to weapons fire. Over three hundred to the flak. One survivor."
"Unacceptable," Thrawn remarked. "We cannot waste thirty squadrons in such a manner."
"Of course sir," Taar replied wearily. It was an abysmal failure, and the ultimate responsibility fell to him. "The Borg managed to adapt to our jamming techniques and were able to use the transporters. Our tactics were too predictable. I will address these areas with our squadron commanders at the briefing at 1800 hours."
Thrawn nodded. "Do not underestimate the Borg. Our victories are not a sign of our superiority, and we should not become complacent." His red eyes burned into Taar. "I only choose the best and I expect the same. Simulations are simulations, colonel; learn from it. But such a failure must never happen in battle."
Taar came to full attention. "Understood sir." Thrawn nodded and continued down the hall. Taar flared with rage at himself; such a stupid mistake! How could he have failed to anticipate this?! Thrawn was unhappy and Taar couldn't blame him. It really bothered him, especially after Thrawn had shown such confidence in him over the past four years, promoting him twice and taking time to discuss tactics with the former TIE pilot. Taar returned to his office with renewed determination; partly to sooth his damaged ego, but mostly to find new and deadly ways to wreak havoc on the Borg. When they did decide to attack, he would most definitely be ready, and would not fail.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Lando Calrissian is a businessman. Over time he's mastered the fine art of negotiation, the skill of management, the ability to trim waste and increase profit, and to satisfy his customers. He's become respectable. But no matter how fine the clothes or stylish the decor or fancy the women, the root of who he was would always remain. He was a gambler, a sneak, an occasional cheat, and he knew there was a time to talk, a time to walk, and a time to run like hell. A scoundrel who'd hit the big time more than once, and men who did that developed certain instincts. Lando wasn't always proud of his past, but the man he was still lived in the man he is. And that man had just saved his life.
He wasn't sure what exactly he heard, but he suddenly opened his eyes and realized that he wasn't alone. Careful to avoid any movement he noticed the shape, a single shadow in the dark that was wrong. Its creep was so stealthy most would only have dismissed it as a trick of the darkness, but not him. His mind quickly ticked through the events, honed to the point of making the decisions on a sub-conscious level, but this didn't change their accuracy. Someone was in his room, in the dark, deliberately trying to avoid detection, and approaching him. Either they wanted something in his quarters or they wanted him, and Calrissian wasn't going to let them have either.
"Lights," he said as he rolled off the bed, causing the room to come to full illumination and temporarily blinding his opponent. "Lights off," he said almost as quickly, and the room was pitch black, the invader now having completely lost his nightvision. Lando scrambled for a weapon while the figure bumped over a table, muttering a quiet curse, and bolted.
Lando found his blaster and stood up. "Lights," he said suddenly, his barrel pointed straight at where the voice had been, but there was nothing. A quick search revealed that his quarters were empty, but it didn't take him much thought to decide what to do next. Throwing on his robe he stormed out of his room towards the promenade.
"Quark!" he yelled before he'd even reached the entrance to the bar. "You sneaky, double- crossing, two-faced..." he stopped in the middle of his tirade, a look of absolute shock on his face. "What the..." The gambler was speechless.
"There seem to be a problem?" Quark asked. He looked Calrissian up and down. "Nice outfit."
"No," Lando said, Quark completely forgotten. "No, it can't be."
The stranger, who'd been watching Lando since he entered, turned back to Quark. "Now, where were we?"
"You're not..." Lando began and then stopped.
"Perhaps there's been a case of mistaken identity," Quark said, trying to placate matters. "Lando Calrissian, my business partner," the Ferengi said, although it was hard to keep the contempt out of his voice when he said the last part. "This gentleman," he said, indicating the man at the bar, "is Boba Fett."
--------------------------------------------------------------
Luke could sense Leia's tension as he approached her quarters, piercing the swirl of sensations that came from all the individuals on this station. Romulus had a very different feel from Vulcan. On the latter, the contained fury of emotions rumbled deep down under control like the pressure of tectonic activity, whereas the former exploded to the surface in wave after wave of passions. It was an interesting sensation, but one that quickly was ignored as his thoughts dwelled on his sister.
Their reunion was quite joyous and they embraced one another; it had been a long time. Still, even then Luke could sense something beneath the surface. He couldn't ignore it. "What's wrong?"
Leia was quiet, apparently uncertain of whether or not she should trouble him with her feelings. "It's Han," she remarked. "I've just had this awful feeling that something terrible happened."
One of the results of his experience with the Vulcans was an even greater use of his telepathic abilities. He knew immediately what she was referring to. "It's the Borg, isn't it."
Leia looked at him with surprise. "Yes," she said quietly. "I've- I've seen them in my mind. In visions." She shivered. "They're terrifying."
Luke nodded; he understood far too well. "I've felt it too," he replied, putting his arm around her. "But, I think Han and Chewie are alright."
"I wish I could be certain of that," Leia replied with a panged tone.
"I'm sure of it," Luke assured her.
She smiled a little, but the worry was still there. "Have you heard about the Borg? They're expanding?"
"No," Luke replied, "But... but I did know something was going on."
"How?"
He hesitated. "I've been... searching. Searching for him." He didn't have to say who for, they both knew.
"He can be anywhere," Leia pointed out. "The universe is a pretty big place."
"Size matters not," Luke mumbled. "I've felt him," he said, his own voice suddenly filled with emotion. "Briefly, I'll admit. But he's alive." He slumped a little in his chair. "Anyway, that's how I know."
"Know what?"
"About the Borg," he said. "Every time I reach out there they overwhelm my senses. I can hear their single- minded thoughts echoing across the cosmos."
Leia hesitated, but she had to ask. "What are they thinking?"
Luke shook his head. "It's too much too fast, I can't really make it out." He was silent as he thought. "Except, except for one word. One word kept appearing. 'Anansi.' Mean anything to you?"
"No," Leia admitted. Anansi? Maybe it was a planet or a race that was of particular importance to the Borg's plans. In any event, they should probably find out more soon. Given what the Borg had been up to, a war with them was inevitable.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Kira was on her way to her quarters when the shouting drew her attention. Shouting, from Quark's, at 0200. She sighed and tapped her communicator. "Security, send a unit to the promenade please, we may have to deal with a surly individual or two." The comm acknowledged as she crossed towards the bar, half expecting to duck out of the way of flying bits of furniture. She was a bit shocked to find only a single customer, Quark, and Calrissian in his robe. "What's going on?" she asked calmly but forcefully.
Lando turned to her for a moment and then focused all of his attention on Fett. "There was an intruder in my quarters tonight. Maybe an assassin."
Quark laughed. "My aren't we paranoid."
"I don't take midnight invaders as a joke, Quark!" he shouted. "You want to buy out my share of the bar, fine; but you're not scaring me off!"
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Quark said in his sniggering voice.
"And what about him?" Lando demanded, indicating Fett. "Is he here to muscle me out too?"
"Definitely paranoid." Quark put a drink on the counter near Lando. "Care for a nightcap? It'd go perfect with your outfit at least."
"Hold it a second," Kira said, holding up her hand and stepping between Fett and Lando, "Back up. Someone attacked you?"
"Yes. Just a short while ago." Lando glared at Quark. "I wonder who'd want me to get paranoid and leave?"
"Alright," Kira said, a little louder than she'd intended. She turned and glared at Quark, watching the Ferengi squirm uncomfortably under it. "If I find out you had anything to do with this-"
"I'm innocent!" he replied emphatically. "Honestly, you've known me long enough to know I may rob, cheat and steal, but I'd never stoop to hiring an assassin."
"Then what's he here for then?" Lando asked loudly, pointing to Boba Fett. "Rather strange coincidence that he just so happened to show up on our little station on this night of all nights."
"Calrissian," Fett said, his first words since Kira arrived, "if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
"I don't have much tolerance for hired killers on my station," Kira said with iciness in her voice.
"I'm not a hired killer," Fett said plainly, and turned away. Kira grabbed his shoulder and turned him back.
"Listen," she said, her face inches from his mask, "I have no tolerance for law breakers either. You even think about stepping out of line and I'll have you behind a force field faster than you can imagine."
Her eyes remained fixed on that blank, lifeless face, the sound of her heartbeat distant in her ears. "Was there something else?" Fett asked after about ten seconds had passed.
She turned away from him to Lando. "Let's head down to security and take your statement," she said, and the two of them left the bar.
"Who is he?" she asked Lando as they slowly walked through the quiet halls of the station.
"His name, if it really is him, is Boba Fett. One of the best bounty hunters in our galaxy."
"Bounty hunters?" Kira said in surprise. "I'd have thought Quark would stay a mile away from them, considering the last one beat the tar out of him."
"Well, if Quark wanted one, he's gone straight to the top," Lando said. "If it is Fett, he's even tougher than I imagined, and I had already learned a healthy respect for the man." He shook his head. "None of this make sense, Kira. He's not the man I saw. What's more, Fett commands a pretty high fee, and well, we know Quark's tight on funds. Unless he's doing something on the sly I don't know about..."
Kira nodded. "So, as always, there's more going on with our little Ferengi friend than meets the eye."
--------------------------------------------------------------
Han's stomach twisted slightly as the Millennium Falcon was replaced by the transporter room on the Enterprise. He stepped forward to shake hands with Captain Riker himself, whose expression belied his concern. "Good to see you're still in one piece, captain," Riker remarked.
"Wish I could say the same for the rest of Yarval Outpost," Han replied grimly. Riker nodded in agreement.
"We haven't heard too much about the attack. Any idea how bad things were?"
Chewie's mournful growl just about summed it all up for Han. "Planet's lost," Han said. "I'd say we lost twenty ships. Several thousand people."
"Tragic," Riker said, "but given that it was a Borg attack, it could've been a lot worse." Han didn't speak, but all he could think about was the hypermatter reactor research. It was classified, so he'd have to keep it to himself. Riker pointed to the large cargo container on the platform. "What's that?"
Han glanced back at it. "Souvenir. A little something the Borg sent our way. Wanna take a look?" The threesome stepped up onto the platform and Han opened the seal with a slight hiss.
Riker peered at the remains of the drone. "What is it?"
Han shook his head as he looked at it. "I was kinda hoping you could tell me. Nasty sucker." He looked at Riker, trying to emphasize the seriousness of this beast. "This thing managed to get on board. Took three shots from a medium blaster cannon to put it down - enough to take out a shuttlecraft."
"Had it adapted?"
Han shook his head. "I don't think so. It was being hit, but it just kept coming, like it was nothing. Whatever it is, it's pretty dangerous."
Riker turned to two crewmen. "Take it down to sickbay, have Dr. Crusher take a look." He asked Han to fill him in while they carried out the orders. Han knew about the Enterprise and the Borg; any info would probably help.
"Three cubes, five spheres," Han informed him as they proceeded to the turbolift. "Definitely not standard Borg procedure."
"Agreed. The Borg are minimalists by nature. Eight vessels to attack a single world is certainly out of the ordinary."
"The Borg don't strike me as the type who experiment with new tactics," Han remarked as the doors to the lift closed.
"No." Riker was thoughtful. "They adapt, they assimilate. This just doesn't sound right for them." He was lost in thought until the doors opened and the trio walked into sickbay. Dr. Crusher was already examining the corpse.
"Anything you can tell us doctor?" Riker asked as they approached.
Dr. Crusher tapped some information into her PADD. "Cause of death: weapons discharge."
"Nice," Han remarked, always one to appreciate a sardonic remark.
Dr. Crusher continued her examination. "I've never encountered it before; pity the specimen's so badly damaged."
"Yeah, well, we didn't have much choice in the matter." Chewie offered a growl in agreement.
"Can you identify the species?" Riker asked.
"Sorry, not my specialty, but we can have the computer run a search on known species. Of course, it'll take a while."
Riker nodded and tapped his communicator. "Commander of Nine, report to sickbay." While Crusher finished setting up the scanning program Riker looked long and hard at the drone. "Seven has the knowledge of ten thousand sentient species," he said to Han, "hopefully she can help us identify this one."
Moments later she arrived. Han hadn't actually met her in person before, but Luke and Leia had mentioned her a few times, usually that she was very good at what she did. He hoped they weren't overselling her, 'cause if they ever needed someone with smarts, this was the time. "You wished to see me captain?"
"Seven, we've encountered a new Borg drone, we're wondering if you can help us identify the species."
Seven walked up to the cargo container. When she reached it there was an audible gasp that caught everyone's attention. She stepped back to try to keep her balance as she swayed unsteadily on her feet. "No," she muttered under her breath, "it's impossible."
"Commander," Riker said, trying to get her attention. "Commander what's wrong."
Seven looked at him with a mixture of horror and despair. "Captain, things are even worse than we had feared."
"Commander," Riker said firmly, "What is that thing?"
She held the edge of the container in her hand as she stared down at the corpse. "Species 8472." She shook her head. "They've been assimilated."
"Twelve ships approaching, Cube class," the lieutenant informed him.
"Order the Vehement and the Melkin to cover the right flank," said Admiral Thrawn.
"Launch all TIEs," said Col. Delric Taar to his aide.
"Borg at fifty thousand clicks," he was informed.
"Order all squadrons to concentrate on weapons emplacements." Taar left the individual motions in the hands of the squadron commanders for now. The large display showed the locations of the fighters in relation to his the star destroyers and the approaching Cubes. They approached quickly, holding their fire until they had visual confirmation, as they had been told during the many briefings; one didn't take chances with the Borg. As a result, some dozen ships were destroyed before they even reached the targets. But out of thirty squadrons, that still left a great deal to deal with the Borg.
"Fire at will," Taar ordered.
After several seconds he received visual confirmation: thirteen successful hits, five of the targets completely disabled. The ships curved away and prepared for a second assault.
"Energy surge," his lieutenant informed him.
"What ki-" but Taar never finished. To his astonishment, all but two of his TIEs vanished from the screen, the sign of the small explosions from their reactors appearing on the uncaring display with quiet accuracy. "No," he murmured. One of the remaining TIEs, Black 2 from appearance, was blown out of space by a Borg torpedo. Taar, his face a twisted mass of anger, turned and strode out. His subordinates looked at each other with uncertainty, but seeing there was no need to continue, got up and left their stations, passing the technician on the way out. "End simulation," he said simply, and the room vanished.
Having shut down the holodeck the engineer stepped out of the hall towards Col. Taar's office. He was slightly surprised to find the colonel leaning against the corridor wall, fuming at nothing. He stepped up and held out the datapad. "Report sir," he said formally, flinching slightly as the datapad was yanked from his hand with a snap of the colonel's wrist, only to slip it into his uniform pocket. Knowing when to retreat the engineer nodded in acknowledgement and returned to the holodeck for a diagnostic.
After some time Taar finally pulled out the datapad and began examining it. "What happened?" a voice said suddenly, taking Taar slightly by surprise. He drew himself up in the presence of the Admiral. "My apologies sir," he said quickly, "I failed to notice your approach."
Thrawn nodded. "You still have not answered the question."
Taar's insides tightened a little. "The Borg anticipated our approach," he said stiffly. "They used their transporters against us; they beamed all kinds of debris into their flight path and destroyed the ships."
"How many TIEs were destroyed?" Thrawn asked evenly.
Taar sighed. "Fourteen to weapons fire. Over three hundred to the flak. One survivor."
"Unacceptable," Thrawn remarked. "We cannot waste thirty squadrons in such a manner."
"Of course sir," Taar replied wearily. It was an abysmal failure, and the ultimate responsibility fell to him. "The Borg managed to adapt to our jamming techniques and were able to use the transporters. Our tactics were too predictable. I will address these areas with our squadron commanders at the briefing at 1800 hours."
Thrawn nodded. "Do not underestimate the Borg. Our victories are not a sign of our superiority, and we should not become complacent." His red eyes burned into Taar. "I only choose the best and I expect the same. Simulations are simulations, colonel; learn from it. But such a failure must never happen in battle."
Taar came to full attention. "Understood sir." Thrawn nodded and continued down the hall. Taar flared with rage at himself; such a stupid mistake! How could he have failed to anticipate this?! Thrawn was unhappy and Taar couldn't blame him. It really bothered him, especially after Thrawn had shown such confidence in him over the past four years, promoting him twice and taking time to discuss tactics with the former TIE pilot. Taar returned to his office with renewed determination; partly to sooth his damaged ego, but mostly to find new and deadly ways to wreak havoc on the Borg. When they did decide to attack, he would most definitely be ready, and would not fail.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Lando Calrissian is a businessman. Over time he's mastered the fine art of negotiation, the skill of management, the ability to trim waste and increase profit, and to satisfy his customers. He's become respectable. But no matter how fine the clothes or stylish the decor or fancy the women, the root of who he was would always remain. He was a gambler, a sneak, an occasional cheat, and he knew there was a time to talk, a time to walk, and a time to run like hell. A scoundrel who'd hit the big time more than once, and men who did that developed certain instincts. Lando wasn't always proud of his past, but the man he was still lived in the man he is. And that man had just saved his life.
He wasn't sure what exactly he heard, but he suddenly opened his eyes and realized that he wasn't alone. Careful to avoid any movement he noticed the shape, a single shadow in the dark that was wrong. Its creep was so stealthy most would only have dismissed it as a trick of the darkness, but not him. His mind quickly ticked through the events, honed to the point of making the decisions on a sub-conscious level, but this didn't change their accuracy. Someone was in his room, in the dark, deliberately trying to avoid detection, and approaching him. Either they wanted something in his quarters or they wanted him, and Calrissian wasn't going to let them have either.
"Lights," he said as he rolled off the bed, causing the room to come to full illumination and temporarily blinding his opponent. "Lights off," he said almost as quickly, and the room was pitch black, the invader now having completely lost his nightvision. Lando scrambled for a weapon while the figure bumped over a table, muttering a quiet curse, and bolted.
Lando found his blaster and stood up. "Lights," he said suddenly, his barrel pointed straight at where the voice had been, but there was nothing. A quick search revealed that his quarters were empty, but it didn't take him much thought to decide what to do next. Throwing on his robe he stormed out of his room towards the promenade.
"Quark!" he yelled before he'd even reached the entrance to the bar. "You sneaky, double- crossing, two-faced..." he stopped in the middle of his tirade, a look of absolute shock on his face. "What the..." The gambler was speechless.
"There seem to be a problem?" Quark asked. He looked Calrissian up and down. "Nice outfit."
"No," Lando said, Quark completely forgotten. "No, it can't be."
The stranger, who'd been watching Lando since he entered, turned back to Quark. "Now, where were we?"
"You're not..." Lando began and then stopped.
"Perhaps there's been a case of mistaken identity," Quark said, trying to placate matters. "Lando Calrissian, my business partner," the Ferengi said, although it was hard to keep the contempt out of his voice when he said the last part. "This gentleman," he said, indicating the man at the bar, "is Boba Fett."
--------------------------------------------------------------
Luke could sense Leia's tension as he approached her quarters, piercing the swirl of sensations that came from all the individuals on this station. Romulus had a very different feel from Vulcan. On the latter, the contained fury of emotions rumbled deep down under control like the pressure of tectonic activity, whereas the former exploded to the surface in wave after wave of passions. It was an interesting sensation, but one that quickly was ignored as his thoughts dwelled on his sister.
Their reunion was quite joyous and they embraced one another; it had been a long time. Still, even then Luke could sense something beneath the surface. He couldn't ignore it. "What's wrong?"
Leia was quiet, apparently uncertain of whether or not she should trouble him with her feelings. "It's Han," she remarked. "I've just had this awful feeling that something terrible happened."
One of the results of his experience with the Vulcans was an even greater use of his telepathic abilities. He knew immediately what she was referring to. "It's the Borg, isn't it."
Leia looked at him with surprise. "Yes," she said quietly. "I've- I've seen them in my mind. In visions." She shivered. "They're terrifying."
Luke nodded; he understood far too well. "I've felt it too," he replied, putting his arm around her. "But, I think Han and Chewie are alright."
"I wish I could be certain of that," Leia replied with a panged tone.
"I'm sure of it," Luke assured her.
She smiled a little, but the worry was still there. "Have you heard about the Borg? They're expanding?"
"No," Luke replied, "But... but I did know something was going on."
"How?"
He hesitated. "I've been... searching. Searching for him." He didn't have to say who for, they both knew.
"He can be anywhere," Leia pointed out. "The universe is a pretty big place."
"Size matters not," Luke mumbled. "I've felt him," he said, his own voice suddenly filled with emotion. "Briefly, I'll admit. But he's alive." He slumped a little in his chair. "Anyway, that's how I know."
"Know what?"
"About the Borg," he said. "Every time I reach out there they overwhelm my senses. I can hear their single- minded thoughts echoing across the cosmos."
Leia hesitated, but she had to ask. "What are they thinking?"
Luke shook his head. "It's too much too fast, I can't really make it out." He was silent as he thought. "Except, except for one word. One word kept appearing. 'Anansi.' Mean anything to you?"
"No," Leia admitted. Anansi? Maybe it was a planet or a race that was of particular importance to the Borg's plans. In any event, they should probably find out more soon. Given what the Borg had been up to, a war with them was inevitable.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Kira was on her way to her quarters when the shouting drew her attention. Shouting, from Quark's, at 0200. She sighed and tapped her communicator. "Security, send a unit to the promenade please, we may have to deal with a surly individual or two." The comm acknowledged as she crossed towards the bar, half expecting to duck out of the way of flying bits of furniture. She was a bit shocked to find only a single customer, Quark, and Calrissian in his robe. "What's going on?" she asked calmly but forcefully.
Lando turned to her for a moment and then focused all of his attention on Fett. "There was an intruder in my quarters tonight. Maybe an assassin."
Quark laughed. "My aren't we paranoid."
"I don't take midnight invaders as a joke, Quark!" he shouted. "You want to buy out my share of the bar, fine; but you're not scaring me off!"
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Quark said in his sniggering voice.
"And what about him?" Lando demanded, indicating Fett. "Is he here to muscle me out too?"
"Definitely paranoid." Quark put a drink on the counter near Lando. "Care for a nightcap? It'd go perfect with your outfit at least."
"Hold it a second," Kira said, holding up her hand and stepping between Fett and Lando, "Back up. Someone attacked you?"
"Yes. Just a short while ago." Lando glared at Quark. "I wonder who'd want me to get paranoid and leave?"
"Alright," Kira said, a little louder than she'd intended. She turned and glared at Quark, watching the Ferengi squirm uncomfortably under it. "If I find out you had anything to do with this-"
"I'm innocent!" he replied emphatically. "Honestly, you've known me long enough to know I may rob, cheat and steal, but I'd never stoop to hiring an assassin."
"Then what's he here for then?" Lando asked loudly, pointing to Boba Fett. "Rather strange coincidence that he just so happened to show up on our little station on this night of all nights."
"Calrissian," Fett said, his first words since Kira arrived, "if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
"I don't have much tolerance for hired killers on my station," Kira said with iciness in her voice.
"I'm not a hired killer," Fett said plainly, and turned away. Kira grabbed his shoulder and turned him back.
"Listen," she said, her face inches from his mask, "I have no tolerance for law breakers either. You even think about stepping out of line and I'll have you behind a force field faster than you can imagine."
Her eyes remained fixed on that blank, lifeless face, the sound of her heartbeat distant in her ears. "Was there something else?" Fett asked after about ten seconds had passed.
She turned away from him to Lando. "Let's head down to security and take your statement," she said, and the two of them left the bar.
"Who is he?" she asked Lando as they slowly walked through the quiet halls of the station.
"His name, if it really is him, is Boba Fett. One of the best bounty hunters in our galaxy."
"Bounty hunters?" Kira said in surprise. "I'd have thought Quark would stay a mile away from them, considering the last one beat the tar out of him."
"Well, if Quark wanted one, he's gone straight to the top," Lando said. "If it is Fett, he's even tougher than I imagined, and I had already learned a healthy respect for the man." He shook his head. "None of this make sense, Kira. He's not the man I saw. What's more, Fett commands a pretty high fee, and well, we know Quark's tight on funds. Unless he's doing something on the sly I don't know about..."
Kira nodded. "So, as always, there's more going on with our little Ferengi friend than meets the eye."
--------------------------------------------------------------
Han's stomach twisted slightly as the Millennium Falcon was replaced by the transporter room on the Enterprise. He stepped forward to shake hands with Captain Riker himself, whose expression belied his concern. "Good to see you're still in one piece, captain," Riker remarked.
"Wish I could say the same for the rest of Yarval Outpost," Han replied grimly. Riker nodded in agreement.
"We haven't heard too much about the attack. Any idea how bad things were?"
Chewie's mournful growl just about summed it all up for Han. "Planet's lost," Han said. "I'd say we lost twenty ships. Several thousand people."
"Tragic," Riker said, "but given that it was a Borg attack, it could've been a lot worse." Han didn't speak, but all he could think about was the hypermatter reactor research. It was classified, so he'd have to keep it to himself. Riker pointed to the large cargo container on the platform. "What's that?"
Han glanced back at it. "Souvenir. A little something the Borg sent our way. Wanna take a look?" The threesome stepped up onto the platform and Han opened the seal with a slight hiss.
Riker peered at the remains of the drone. "What is it?"
Han shook his head as he looked at it. "I was kinda hoping you could tell me. Nasty sucker." He looked at Riker, trying to emphasize the seriousness of this beast. "This thing managed to get on board. Took three shots from a medium blaster cannon to put it down - enough to take out a shuttlecraft."
"Had it adapted?"
Han shook his head. "I don't think so. It was being hit, but it just kept coming, like it was nothing. Whatever it is, it's pretty dangerous."
Riker turned to two crewmen. "Take it down to sickbay, have Dr. Crusher take a look." He asked Han to fill him in while they carried out the orders. Han knew about the Enterprise and the Borg; any info would probably help.
"Three cubes, five spheres," Han informed him as they proceeded to the turbolift. "Definitely not standard Borg procedure."
"Agreed. The Borg are minimalists by nature. Eight vessels to attack a single world is certainly out of the ordinary."
"The Borg don't strike me as the type who experiment with new tactics," Han remarked as the doors to the lift closed.
"No." Riker was thoughtful. "They adapt, they assimilate. This just doesn't sound right for them." He was lost in thought until the doors opened and the trio walked into sickbay. Dr. Crusher was already examining the corpse.
"Anything you can tell us doctor?" Riker asked as they approached.
Dr. Crusher tapped some information into her PADD. "Cause of death: weapons discharge."
"Nice," Han remarked, always one to appreciate a sardonic remark.
Dr. Crusher continued her examination. "I've never encountered it before; pity the specimen's so badly damaged."
"Yeah, well, we didn't have much choice in the matter." Chewie offered a growl in agreement.
"Can you identify the species?" Riker asked.
"Sorry, not my specialty, but we can have the computer run a search on known species. Of course, it'll take a while."
Riker nodded and tapped his communicator. "Commander of Nine, report to sickbay." While Crusher finished setting up the scanning program Riker looked long and hard at the drone. "Seven has the knowledge of ten thousand sentient species," he said to Han, "hopefully she can help us identify this one."
Moments later she arrived. Han hadn't actually met her in person before, but Luke and Leia had mentioned her a few times, usually that she was very good at what she did. He hoped they weren't overselling her, 'cause if they ever needed someone with smarts, this was the time. "You wished to see me captain?"
"Seven, we've encountered a new Borg drone, we're wondering if you can help us identify the species."
Seven walked up to the cargo container. When she reached it there was an audible gasp that caught everyone's attention. She stepped back to try to keep her balance as she swayed unsteadily on her feet. "No," she muttered under her breath, "it's impossible."
"Commander," Riker said, trying to get her attention. "Commander what's wrong."
Seven looked at him with a mixture of horror and despair. "Captain, things are even worse than we had feared."
"Commander," Riker said firmly, "What is that thing?"
She held the edge of the container in her hand as she stared down at the corpse. "Species 8472." She shook her head. "They've been assimilated."
Chuck
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Sonnenburg
- Official Dave Barry Clone
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- Contact:
Oh you know them, they take it all in stride...Crazedwraith wrote:So no chance of Mackenzie Calhoun appearing then?
Of course to nitpick WWE: Shouldn't Thallonian space should be in chaos by then with the collpase of their Empire and probably their planet have exploding in the hatching of the great bird of the galaxy?
Chuck
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ElPintoGrande
- Youngling
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- Joined: 2006-02-21 08:57pm
- Location: Gods Oily Rectum
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Sonnenburg
- Official Dave Barry Clone
- Posts: 2305
- Joined: 2002-11-05 08:35pm
- Location: Gotham City
- Contact:
Part VI
Mon Mothma smiled at Jean-luc Picard across the table. "And now our ambassador from the Federation would like to speak with the members of this committee."
Picard rose and nodded at her with a friendly smile. Mon Mothma was an effective leader, but she'd still managed to remain personable, a hard trick for many. Dealing with her and the other members of the Republic was certainly better than dealing with hostile aliens, as he had for so many years. Strange, he thought, the Federation and the Republic started as bitter enemies and now were the closest of friends. Picard hoped that he wouldn't be putting a strain on that friendship. “I’ve come with what will at first seem an unusual suggestion,” he said to the “committee,” a kind of inner circle of the Republic that would often bring ideas before the Senate. “The Empire approached me, recently. They’re asking for peace.”
“I hope you mean they’re offering to surrender,” Quedlifu commented.
“The Empire is asking that all sides agree to end hostilities.”
"Surely you are joking," said the Bothan known as Fey'lya. "The Empire has resorted to every possible means to stop this government in all its forms from legalized brutality to the destruction of entire worlds. The notion that we can peacefully coexist with them is laughable."
"I understand your skepticism-" Picard began.
"Skepticism?" Quedlifu interrupted with a snort. "That word, ambassador, doesn't even begin to cover my feelings on the subject, which are the same as Senator Fey'lya's and I'm sure that of the rest of my colleagues."
"You do not speak for all of us," Gavrisom replied. "Is not the goal of this government peace? Or are we going to return to the militaristic ways of the Empire?"
"This peace was earned through blood!" Fey'lya replied. "Let us never forget that. We cannot ignore the crimes of the Empire."
"Nor can we ignore the principles of justice," Gavrisom retorted. "The Emperor is dead, the warlords have been crushed, and thanks to help from our allies," he nodded to Picard, "virtually all territory that formed the Old Republic is under the protection of the New Republic. If there is in fact a leader amongst the Imperials who sees the futility of war we should encourage them."
"I cannot believe that you'd even consider this idiocy. The Bothans will never be a part of any government that aligns itself with the Empire!"
"Once again, senator, you cloud the issue with nonsense. We are not discussing an allegiance, we're discussing ending a war."
"You cannot expect peaceful coexistence with a government who's founding principles is the inferiority of non-humans," the Ishori senator Dx'ono said. "Conflict is inevitable."
"Except the Empire is being run by a non-human," Picard interjected. That remark brought the noisy room to silence. "Command of the Empire has now fallen to Grand Admiral Thrawn."
The group, which had just been filled with vocal expressions and passionate emotions, was suddenly engaged in quiet discourse. Thrawn, who had been the first from this galaxy to make contact with the Federation, was of course known, as well as his involvement in the Borg War, but aside of his name he was an unknown to many in the Republic. Apparently his alien heritage had not become common knowledge.
"This may be true," Quedlifu finally said, "but nevertheless we cannot allow the Empire, regardless of leadership, to subjugate the worlds under their control. We cannot turn a blind eye to what they are."
“Respectfully,” Picard said, “they claim to have changed.” No one was more surprised than he was to find himself defending the Empire after all the lies they’d been fed before. He was sorely tempted to just dismiss Thrawn out of hand, but in the end he realized that war was what happened when diplomacy failed. Thrawn had made a gesture of peace, and as a diplomat it was Picard's duty to inspect the matter and see if it was attainable. It was an awesome responsibility, but when you've saved humanity a few dozen times it becomes easier.
"Can you give us some examples?" Mon Mothma asked, speaking for the first time since she'd turned the floor over to Picard.
"Thrawn claims that all worlds under Imperial control are under that control with their consent," Picard answered. "Considering their track record this is a substantial change of attitude."
Fey'lya's fur rippled as he spoke. "And on what do you base this information? Thrawn's word?"
"My recommendation," Picard said as patiently as possible, "is that the matter be more thoroughly investigated. I have made some inquiries, and it seems that Thrawn’s claims are legitimate. If further investigation by the Republic reveals this as well, then this presents us with an opportunity to finally bring a lasting peace to both our galaxies."
"With the expansion of the Borg," Ackbar said, "I consider such a hope premature."
The blood drained slightly from Picard's face. "Yes," he said in a low voice. He was quiet for several heartbeats and suddenly remembered where he was. "But it's all the more reason we should consider Thrawn's offer. A war fought on multiple fronts is a war not easily won, and of the two, I promise you that it won’t be the Borg that comes to negotiate."
"Thank you for your presentation ambassador," Mon Mothma said, indicating the allotted time was up. "We'll take your recommendation under advisement."
Picard walked slowly back to his quarters, his mind dwelling, as it had so often in the past, on the Borg. It was a shocking coincidence that they had begun mobilizing now, with the Cult of the Emperor’s revelation, but there didn’t seem to be any possible way it could be connected. For the first time in a while, he wished he was back in command of a starship. Oh, he knew the Enterprise was in capable hands; the old girl’s reputation was spreading across the galaxy, in fact. But as good as Riker was, he didn’t know the Borg like Picard did; next to Seven, he doubted anyone could.
--------------------------------------------------------------
In orbit around the planet Mars floats Utopia Planetia, the main starship construction facility of the Federation. It has always been a busy place, but when the Empire came it became the center of a flurry of activity unmatched in Federation history. For years the facility ran night and day refitting starships with new Imperial technology. It had indeed been a long and difficult process, but finally Admiral Jellico was able to enjoy the fruits of their labor. The question was, what now?
Jellico scanned the top of the pile. A proposed recalibration of the warp scale. Makes sense; considering that the average speed was something like Warp 9.9999, it'd certainly make it easier on everyone. He put it aside to look at in more detail later. Next, an idea to boost subspace communication. He read a little bit but put it aside; too impractical. Besides, the improvements in the holonet made it obsolete. He shook his head at that fact; galactic communication, and in his lifetime. Like so many events of recent history he had never thought it possible.
The next report he almost skipped: a request for an increase in the Defiant-class line's production. But he saw a single word and his attention was immediately drawn to the PADD. "Borg." He read, his stomach tightening with every word. He remembered the slaughter of Wolf 359; true it paled to the Dominion War, but the infamy of that battle lived on. Historians had, in fact, called it the official end of the Golden Age of the Federation, as it marked Starfleet’s movement towards defensive strength over its tradition of exploration. Well, let them judge; they don’t have to sit up late at night wondering what to do when one ship can annihilate an entire fleet and head right into orbit of Earth itself. It was Jellico’s job as a member of Starfleet, and he’d personally lobbied for the go-ahead on the Defiant starship, the first warship in Federation history. "Desperate times," he had reminded them, "call for the most desperate of measures." And now the Borg were back, and back with an attitude to boot. Outnumbered and outgunned, no fleet that had gone against them in the past month had won a battle. It seemed that once again times were desperate... that another Wolf 359 was waiting for them.
Someone had to do something, and since Jellico wasn’t a historian that could sit on the sideline and pass judgment, he was ready to do it - whatever “it” turned out to be, of course. He stepped up to the glass and leaned with slight weariness against it as he watched the ships growing under production and the repairs of some ships recently returned from the fighting. His eyes drifted to the remains of the USS Swansea, sitting quietly in dock. She'd probably be salvaged for parts, he thought sadly. He hated to do it but the kind of repair needed for it, plus the fact that the design was over a decade old, gave him no choice. A tragedy.
And then he had an idea. To say it was bizarre was an understatement; and were he not the commander of Utopia Planetia it'd never get off the ground, but he could do it. And if it works... if it works, it could mean a chance for hope. Yes, desperate times... desperate times...
--------------------------------------------------------------
Picard had no sooner entered his quarters when the message arrived. He could hardly believe it, but it was a pleasant surprise to say the least, and with the number of unpleasant ones to arrive of late, he was grateful for the change. "Geordi!" he said, shaking the man's hand as he stepped into Picard's home. A few pleasantries were exchanged as the first officer of Picard's former ship filled him in on some of the day-to-day minutia that went on aboard a starship. Finally, Picard had to ask, "Why exactly are you here? Coruscant is hardly a quick stop from the Milky Way."
Geordi's cheerful grin faded into a more serious expression. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a PADD. "I heard about the commencement address," he said. "We've been a little preoccupied lately, but when I heard the details of what had happened I knew we needed to talk."
"I assume you're referring to Elhid Whar," Picard said.
"Is he the man who was shot in the square?" Picard nodded. "He was ranting about the Emperor, wasn't he?”
"Ranting; yes, that would certainly describe it." Picard frowned a little at the thought. It still disappointed him that things had happened the way they had. He wished he could've done something differently; Whar may have been crazy, but that didn’t mean he deserved to die. He looked down as Geordi passed the PADD over. "What's this?" he asked, activating the screen.
"It's a scan of energy readings from the Death Star explosion," Geordi replied.
"So it is." Picard looked up at his friend. "Why are you showing it to me?"
Geordi wet his lips, apparently unsure of how to broach this topic. "The green line there," he finally said. "We have reason to believe it's a hyperspatial transporter."
"Fascinating," Picard replied. "I fail to see the rel-" he stopped short. "Geordi," he said flatly, "you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."
"Given the circumstances," he said, "I thought you should at least know about this."
Picard nodded. "Thank you. I'm afraid, however, this changes nothing. The Emperor is dead and that's the end of it."
"Sir," Geordi replied, "I know it's unbelievable-"
"Of course it's unbelievable. Men who are dead don't walk around and use transporters. Whatever this signal is is something else entirely."
"You're probably right," Geordi conceded. "I just thought you should be aware of the possibility-"
"There is no possibility!" Picard shouted. "The Emperor is dead! I killed him! That is the end of the discussion!"
"Sir," Geordi said with absolute patience, almost as if he were explaining something to a child. "I believe you. But you have to remember..." Picard stood up and started pacing the room, and Geordi raised his voice to keep the other man's attention. "You have to remember that the Emperor had abilities we don't fully understand. You admitted that he was shot multiple times with blasters and was completely unaffected."
"Plastoid armor, if you're not aware commander, is a somewhat effective defense against blaster fire; it hardly gives him magical powers."
"If he was wearing armor why wasn't his clothing damaged?"
"Perhaps it was. We weren't exactly paying attention to details like that, we were trying to destroy the Death Star!"
"Sir," Geordi said, his voice sounding weary. "We know Skywalker, Organa, Vader all have special abilities, and the Emperor was supposed to be the most powerful of them all. Isn't it possible that he was able to survive and escape?"
"Geordi," Picard said, exasperated, "The man was less than a meter away from a thermal detonator! It caused the structural failure of the Death Star itself! No one, regardless of their powers, can possibly survive that." He was shouting now, but he couldn't help himself. "None of you can accept the truth! It's impossible to believe that such evil can be so easily dispensed with, but you forget he's JUST A MAN!!!" He collapsed into his seat, and there was quiet for a time before Geordi finally stood up. "Let me ask you this?" Picard said in his normal tone, although there was a hint of exhaustion. "If the Emperor did survive, which I do not grant, where is he? Do you really think he'd stand by and allow us to tear down his work of a lifetime?"
"I don't know,” Geordi said. “I thought you might be able to find the answers, if there are any." He walked towards the door and then stopped. "I just thought, with the cult causing troubles, it’s something you might want to know about.”
Picard sighed. “I appreciate that,” he said. “And, I’m grateful that you came all this way to tell me. I’m sorry I reacted as I did.”
“It’s all right,” Geordi said. “Even Seven seemed a little put off, and we both know how much she buries her emotions. After what you two went through, I can only imagine that the thought of him still out there would be the stuff of nightmares.”
“Yes,” Picard said. “That’s why I take great comfort in knowing he isn’t.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
"He was here?!" Han said in complete disbelief. Luke thought for a moment that Han was going to burst a blood vessel as the shock continued to grow. Given the situation, Luke couldn't blame him.
"Hey," Lando said, holding his hands up in an attempt to placate his long-time partner, "I'm no happier about it than you are; but there's no need to kill the messenger."
Chewie said nothing as Han made several false starts at a reply. His sensitive Wookiee nose confirmed what Lando had already stated, that Boba Fett had been right here, in their little corner of the galaxy. And that meant serious trouble.
Luke jumped slightly and reached for his lightsaber as a hand appeared out of nowhere. He turned and looked at the scowling face of its owner. "Mr. Calrissian," he grumbled, "wanted to give you some refreshment." His teeth clenched and he forced out the rest of the words. "On the house."
Luke nodded but wasn't really listening, focusing on the bartender. It was unbelievable. Finally, he reached out and touched the man on the shoulder. Quark looked at him strangely. "What's that for?"
"Sorry," Luke replied. "It's just.... well, you don't seem real."
Quark's grim face smiled a little. "You're a telepath, right?" Luke nodded. "Telepaths can't sense a Ferengi. Our minds are impenetrable."
"That's because your brains are too small," a woman remarked, stepping into the bar. "It's like trying to pick out a pebble on a rock pile." Quark snarled a little and returned to the bar. Lando immediately stood as she came up to the table, and the others rose just to avoid feeling foolish. "At ease," she said smiling.
"Gentlemen," Lando said, charm cranked up to full throttle, "This is Col. Kira Nerys, commander of this station. This is Han Solo, Chewbacca, and Luke Skywalker."
"Mr. Skywalker," Kira nodded to him, "Your reputation precedes you."
Everyone at the table knew what she was referring to. While the destruction of the Death Star was definitely a monstrous effort, for some reason credit had been given to Picard, Data, and himself. The three had certainly done their part, but there was Vader, whose change of heart made it possible, and Leia, who’d freed Picard in order to make his fortunate strike. No one mentioned Seven either, although that was by her request; she was uncomfortable with the spotlight, taking quiet promotion over public spectacle. Practical as always. His thoughts still drifted to her at times... He recalled the storm he’d felt underneath that hard Borg exterior, and that look on her face when she’d pulled him away from the Emperor. He’d blacked out almost immediately, but in his memory he could still see her expression. She cared, and on a personal level, that he’d been hurt. That she could feel that way for a person she barely knew touched him deeply, showed him that there definitely was more to her than Borg stereotypes suggested.
"Everyone did their part," Luke replied to Kira, "Mine was no more important."
"Well, let me just say that any enemy of the Empire's is a friend of mine," she said, pulling up a chair. She turned to Lando. "We lost Fett's ship, but it was heading for the delta quadrant. We're not sure if he's going to the wormhole or not, but I've asked for a check to see if he arrives within the next few days." Wormhole Station, formerly an Imperial station, was now in Republic hands, and carefully monitored all traffic both ways.
“We’ll keep our eyes open for him,” Han said.
“You heading for the wormhole?” Lando asked.
“Yarval,” Han said. “Luke wants to check it out.”
Kira took her drink. “You’re as brave as they say if you want to go tramping around on freshly-assimilated planets.”
“Something important happened there,” Luke said. “Isn’t it odd that communication went down so that no one could hear their calls for help?”
“Bad luck sometimes happens,” Han said.
“Spoken like an expert,” Lando grinned. “But I’m inclined to agree; if the network had been damaged or destroyed, that’s one thing, but it was just computer failure... that’s not the Borg’s style.”
Luke pushed away his empty glass. “Which is exactly why I think there’s more going on.”
Mon Mothma smiled at Jean-luc Picard across the table. "And now our ambassador from the Federation would like to speak with the members of this committee."
Picard rose and nodded at her with a friendly smile. Mon Mothma was an effective leader, but she'd still managed to remain personable, a hard trick for many. Dealing with her and the other members of the Republic was certainly better than dealing with hostile aliens, as he had for so many years. Strange, he thought, the Federation and the Republic started as bitter enemies and now were the closest of friends. Picard hoped that he wouldn't be putting a strain on that friendship. “I’ve come with what will at first seem an unusual suggestion,” he said to the “committee,” a kind of inner circle of the Republic that would often bring ideas before the Senate. “The Empire approached me, recently. They’re asking for peace.”
“I hope you mean they’re offering to surrender,” Quedlifu commented.
“The Empire is asking that all sides agree to end hostilities.”
"Surely you are joking," said the Bothan known as Fey'lya. "The Empire has resorted to every possible means to stop this government in all its forms from legalized brutality to the destruction of entire worlds. The notion that we can peacefully coexist with them is laughable."
"I understand your skepticism-" Picard began.
"Skepticism?" Quedlifu interrupted with a snort. "That word, ambassador, doesn't even begin to cover my feelings on the subject, which are the same as Senator Fey'lya's and I'm sure that of the rest of my colleagues."
"You do not speak for all of us," Gavrisom replied. "Is not the goal of this government peace? Or are we going to return to the militaristic ways of the Empire?"
"This peace was earned through blood!" Fey'lya replied. "Let us never forget that. We cannot ignore the crimes of the Empire."
"Nor can we ignore the principles of justice," Gavrisom retorted. "The Emperor is dead, the warlords have been crushed, and thanks to help from our allies," he nodded to Picard, "virtually all territory that formed the Old Republic is under the protection of the New Republic. If there is in fact a leader amongst the Imperials who sees the futility of war we should encourage them."
"I cannot believe that you'd even consider this idiocy. The Bothans will never be a part of any government that aligns itself with the Empire!"
"Once again, senator, you cloud the issue with nonsense. We are not discussing an allegiance, we're discussing ending a war."
"You cannot expect peaceful coexistence with a government who's founding principles is the inferiority of non-humans," the Ishori senator Dx'ono said. "Conflict is inevitable."
"Except the Empire is being run by a non-human," Picard interjected. That remark brought the noisy room to silence. "Command of the Empire has now fallen to Grand Admiral Thrawn."
The group, which had just been filled with vocal expressions and passionate emotions, was suddenly engaged in quiet discourse. Thrawn, who had been the first from this galaxy to make contact with the Federation, was of course known, as well as his involvement in the Borg War, but aside of his name he was an unknown to many in the Republic. Apparently his alien heritage had not become common knowledge.
"This may be true," Quedlifu finally said, "but nevertheless we cannot allow the Empire, regardless of leadership, to subjugate the worlds under their control. We cannot turn a blind eye to what they are."
“Respectfully,” Picard said, “they claim to have changed.” No one was more surprised than he was to find himself defending the Empire after all the lies they’d been fed before. He was sorely tempted to just dismiss Thrawn out of hand, but in the end he realized that war was what happened when diplomacy failed. Thrawn had made a gesture of peace, and as a diplomat it was Picard's duty to inspect the matter and see if it was attainable. It was an awesome responsibility, but when you've saved humanity a few dozen times it becomes easier.
"Can you give us some examples?" Mon Mothma asked, speaking for the first time since she'd turned the floor over to Picard.
"Thrawn claims that all worlds under Imperial control are under that control with their consent," Picard answered. "Considering their track record this is a substantial change of attitude."
Fey'lya's fur rippled as he spoke. "And on what do you base this information? Thrawn's word?"
"My recommendation," Picard said as patiently as possible, "is that the matter be more thoroughly investigated. I have made some inquiries, and it seems that Thrawn’s claims are legitimate. If further investigation by the Republic reveals this as well, then this presents us with an opportunity to finally bring a lasting peace to both our galaxies."
"With the expansion of the Borg," Ackbar said, "I consider such a hope premature."
The blood drained slightly from Picard's face. "Yes," he said in a low voice. He was quiet for several heartbeats and suddenly remembered where he was. "But it's all the more reason we should consider Thrawn's offer. A war fought on multiple fronts is a war not easily won, and of the two, I promise you that it won’t be the Borg that comes to negotiate."
"Thank you for your presentation ambassador," Mon Mothma said, indicating the allotted time was up. "We'll take your recommendation under advisement."
Picard walked slowly back to his quarters, his mind dwelling, as it had so often in the past, on the Borg. It was a shocking coincidence that they had begun mobilizing now, with the Cult of the Emperor’s revelation, but there didn’t seem to be any possible way it could be connected. For the first time in a while, he wished he was back in command of a starship. Oh, he knew the Enterprise was in capable hands; the old girl’s reputation was spreading across the galaxy, in fact. But as good as Riker was, he didn’t know the Borg like Picard did; next to Seven, he doubted anyone could.
--------------------------------------------------------------
In orbit around the planet Mars floats Utopia Planetia, the main starship construction facility of the Federation. It has always been a busy place, but when the Empire came it became the center of a flurry of activity unmatched in Federation history. For years the facility ran night and day refitting starships with new Imperial technology. It had indeed been a long and difficult process, but finally Admiral Jellico was able to enjoy the fruits of their labor. The question was, what now?
Jellico scanned the top of the pile. A proposed recalibration of the warp scale. Makes sense; considering that the average speed was something like Warp 9.9999, it'd certainly make it easier on everyone. He put it aside to look at in more detail later. Next, an idea to boost subspace communication. He read a little bit but put it aside; too impractical. Besides, the improvements in the holonet made it obsolete. He shook his head at that fact; galactic communication, and in his lifetime. Like so many events of recent history he had never thought it possible.
The next report he almost skipped: a request for an increase in the Defiant-class line's production. But he saw a single word and his attention was immediately drawn to the PADD. "Borg." He read, his stomach tightening with every word. He remembered the slaughter of Wolf 359; true it paled to the Dominion War, but the infamy of that battle lived on. Historians had, in fact, called it the official end of the Golden Age of the Federation, as it marked Starfleet’s movement towards defensive strength over its tradition of exploration. Well, let them judge; they don’t have to sit up late at night wondering what to do when one ship can annihilate an entire fleet and head right into orbit of Earth itself. It was Jellico’s job as a member of Starfleet, and he’d personally lobbied for the go-ahead on the Defiant starship, the first warship in Federation history. "Desperate times," he had reminded them, "call for the most desperate of measures." And now the Borg were back, and back with an attitude to boot. Outnumbered and outgunned, no fleet that had gone against them in the past month had won a battle. It seemed that once again times were desperate... that another Wolf 359 was waiting for them.
Someone had to do something, and since Jellico wasn’t a historian that could sit on the sideline and pass judgment, he was ready to do it - whatever “it” turned out to be, of course. He stepped up to the glass and leaned with slight weariness against it as he watched the ships growing under production and the repairs of some ships recently returned from the fighting. His eyes drifted to the remains of the USS Swansea, sitting quietly in dock. She'd probably be salvaged for parts, he thought sadly. He hated to do it but the kind of repair needed for it, plus the fact that the design was over a decade old, gave him no choice. A tragedy.
And then he had an idea. To say it was bizarre was an understatement; and were he not the commander of Utopia Planetia it'd never get off the ground, but he could do it. And if it works... if it works, it could mean a chance for hope. Yes, desperate times... desperate times...
--------------------------------------------------------------
Picard had no sooner entered his quarters when the message arrived. He could hardly believe it, but it was a pleasant surprise to say the least, and with the number of unpleasant ones to arrive of late, he was grateful for the change. "Geordi!" he said, shaking the man's hand as he stepped into Picard's home. A few pleasantries were exchanged as the first officer of Picard's former ship filled him in on some of the day-to-day minutia that went on aboard a starship. Finally, Picard had to ask, "Why exactly are you here? Coruscant is hardly a quick stop from the Milky Way."
Geordi's cheerful grin faded into a more serious expression. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a PADD. "I heard about the commencement address," he said. "We've been a little preoccupied lately, but when I heard the details of what had happened I knew we needed to talk."
"I assume you're referring to Elhid Whar," Picard said.
"Is he the man who was shot in the square?" Picard nodded. "He was ranting about the Emperor, wasn't he?”
"Ranting; yes, that would certainly describe it." Picard frowned a little at the thought. It still disappointed him that things had happened the way they had. He wished he could've done something differently; Whar may have been crazy, but that didn’t mean he deserved to die. He looked down as Geordi passed the PADD over. "What's this?" he asked, activating the screen.
"It's a scan of energy readings from the Death Star explosion," Geordi replied.
"So it is." Picard looked up at his friend. "Why are you showing it to me?"
Geordi wet his lips, apparently unsure of how to broach this topic. "The green line there," he finally said. "We have reason to believe it's a hyperspatial transporter."
"Fascinating," Picard replied. "I fail to see the rel-" he stopped short. "Geordi," he said flatly, "you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."
"Given the circumstances," he said, "I thought you should at least know about this."
Picard nodded. "Thank you. I'm afraid, however, this changes nothing. The Emperor is dead and that's the end of it."
"Sir," Geordi replied, "I know it's unbelievable-"
"Of course it's unbelievable. Men who are dead don't walk around and use transporters. Whatever this signal is is something else entirely."
"You're probably right," Geordi conceded. "I just thought you should be aware of the possibility-"
"There is no possibility!" Picard shouted. "The Emperor is dead! I killed him! That is the end of the discussion!"
"Sir," Geordi said with absolute patience, almost as if he were explaining something to a child. "I believe you. But you have to remember..." Picard stood up and started pacing the room, and Geordi raised his voice to keep the other man's attention. "You have to remember that the Emperor had abilities we don't fully understand. You admitted that he was shot multiple times with blasters and was completely unaffected."
"Plastoid armor, if you're not aware commander, is a somewhat effective defense against blaster fire; it hardly gives him magical powers."
"If he was wearing armor why wasn't his clothing damaged?"
"Perhaps it was. We weren't exactly paying attention to details like that, we were trying to destroy the Death Star!"
"Sir," Geordi said, his voice sounding weary. "We know Skywalker, Organa, Vader all have special abilities, and the Emperor was supposed to be the most powerful of them all. Isn't it possible that he was able to survive and escape?"
"Geordi," Picard said, exasperated, "The man was less than a meter away from a thermal detonator! It caused the structural failure of the Death Star itself! No one, regardless of their powers, can possibly survive that." He was shouting now, but he couldn't help himself. "None of you can accept the truth! It's impossible to believe that such evil can be so easily dispensed with, but you forget he's JUST A MAN!!!" He collapsed into his seat, and there was quiet for a time before Geordi finally stood up. "Let me ask you this?" Picard said in his normal tone, although there was a hint of exhaustion. "If the Emperor did survive, which I do not grant, where is he? Do you really think he'd stand by and allow us to tear down his work of a lifetime?"
"I don't know,” Geordi said. “I thought you might be able to find the answers, if there are any." He walked towards the door and then stopped. "I just thought, with the cult causing troubles, it’s something you might want to know about.”
Picard sighed. “I appreciate that,” he said. “And, I’m grateful that you came all this way to tell me. I’m sorry I reacted as I did.”
“It’s all right,” Geordi said. “Even Seven seemed a little put off, and we both know how much she buries her emotions. After what you two went through, I can only imagine that the thought of him still out there would be the stuff of nightmares.”
“Yes,” Picard said. “That’s why I take great comfort in knowing he isn’t.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
"He was here?!" Han said in complete disbelief. Luke thought for a moment that Han was going to burst a blood vessel as the shock continued to grow. Given the situation, Luke couldn't blame him.
"Hey," Lando said, holding his hands up in an attempt to placate his long-time partner, "I'm no happier about it than you are; but there's no need to kill the messenger."
Chewie said nothing as Han made several false starts at a reply. His sensitive Wookiee nose confirmed what Lando had already stated, that Boba Fett had been right here, in their little corner of the galaxy. And that meant serious trouble.
Luke jumped slightly and reached for his lightsaber as a hand appeared out of nowhere. He turned and looked at the scowling face of its owner. "Mr. Calrissian," he grumbled, "wanted to give you some refreshment." His teeth clenched and he forced out the rest of the words. "On the house."
Luke nodded but wasn't really listening, focusing on the bartender. It was unbelievable. Finally, he reached out and touched the man on the shoulder. Quark looked at him strangely. "What's that for?"
"Sorry," Luke replied. "It's just.... well, you don't seem real."
Quark's grim face smiled a little. "You're a telepath, right?" Luke nodded. "Telepaths can't sense a Ferengi. Our minds are impenetrable."
"That's because your brains are too small," a woman remarked, stepping into the bar. "It's like trying to pick out a pebble on a rock pile." Quark snarled a little and returned to the bar. Lando immediately stood as she came up to the table, and the others rose just to avoid feeling foolish. "At ease," she said smiling.
"Gentlemen," Lando said, charm cranked up to full throttle, "This is Col. Kira Nerys, commander of this station. This is Han Solo, Chewbacca, and Luke Skywalker."
"Mr. Skywalker," Kira nodded to him, "Your reputation precedes you."
Everyone at the table knew what she was referring to. While the destruction of the Death Star was definitely a monstrous effort, for some reason credit had been given to Picard, Data, and himself. The three had certainly done their part, but there was Vader, whose change of heart made it possible, and Leia, who’d freed Picard in order to make his fortunate strike. No one mentioned Seven either, although that was by her request; she was uncomfortable with the spotlight, taking quiet promotion over public spectacle. Practical as always. His thoughts still drifted to her at times... He recalled the storm he’d felt underneath that hard Borg exterior, and that look on her face when she’d pulled him away from the Emperor. He’d blacked out almost immediately, but in his memory he could still see her expression. She cared, and on a personal level, that he’d been hurt. That she could feel that way for a person she barely knew touched him deeply, showed him that there definitely was more to her than Borg stereotypes suggested.
"Everyone did their part," Luke replied to Kira, "Mine was no more important."
"Well, let me just say that any enemy of the Empire's is a friend of mine," she said, pulling up a chair. She turned to Lando. "We lost Fett's ship, but it was heading for the delta quadrant. We're not sure if he's going to the wormhole or not, but I've asked for a check to see if he arrives within the next few days." Wormhole Station, formerly an Imperial station, was now in Republic hands, and carefully monitored all traffic both ways.
“We’ll keep our eyes open for him,” Han said.
“You heading for the wormhole?” Lando asked.
“Yarval,” Han said. “Luke wants to check it out.”
Kira took her drink. “You’re as brave as they say if you want to go tramping around on freshly-assimilated planets.”
“Something important happened there,” Luke said. “Isn’t it odd that communication went down so that no one could hear their calls for help?”
“Bad luck sometimes happens,” Han said.
“Spoken like an expert,” Lando grinned. “But I’m inclined to agree; if the network had been damaged or destroyed, that’s one thing, but it was just computer failure... that’s not the Borg’s style.”
Luke pushed away his empty glass. “Which is exactly why I think there’s more going on.”
Chuck
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Sonnenburg
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Sonnenburg
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- Location: Gotham City
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Part 7
Captain Riker, commander of the Enterprise, one of the Federation's foremost experts on the Borg, sat in his ready room with more questions than answers. With the escalating situation he had now become the Federation's first line of defense in the case of an all-out invasion of the Alpha Quadrant. It was a responsibility he did not take lightly. Captain Riker had a far more laid back approach than many others in Starfleet, but the accomplishments of this crew had shown him that they can be counted on to provide their own initiative and self-control. He gave them his trust, and they refused to disappoint him because of that. It's for this reason that he felt uncomfortable with what he was about to do.
The door chimed and Riker called for her to enter. Perfectly punctual, as usual, was Lt. Comm. Seven of Nine, Chief Science Officer and one of his senior officers. Her demeanor, as always, was calm and straightforward. He hoped she still feel that way by the time she left. "You wished to see me captain," Seven said.
Riker set the PADD down on the desk. "Yes, commander, sit down." Over time he’d made her realize that it wasn’t an offer, it was an order. For a person who wore heels, Seven spent an unnatural amount of time standing rather than sitting. He examined the PADD briefly and then gave her his full attention. "A lot of things are concerning me lately, and they all have one thing in common."
"The Borg," Seven replied.
"You got it," Riker said, leaning back a little in his chair. "First things first. Does the word 'Anansi' mean anything to you?" Seven thought for a moment, but had to admit she didn't. "We ran it through our computers, but the only thing relevant was that it’s the Ashanti word for 'spider'. Does that mean anything to you?"
"No," Seven admitted. "I fail to see what this has to do with the Borg?"
"It's the thing on the Borg's mind lately," Riker said. "At least according to Mr. Skywalker, although I've learned to trust his judgment." Seven's eyes were focused on his desk. "Seven?" he asked, causing her to start slightly. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"No," she replied firmly. “No, captain, it was unrelated.”
“I need your head in the game, Seven,” Riker said firmly.
“My apologies. It was... I had not heard that name in some time... I was briefly drawn to the memories of those eventful days. I will remain focused.”
“Good.” Mentally, Riker cut her some slack. Lord knows being tortured beyond human limits and having to be there when Data died can have an effect even on a Borg, and this experience wasn’t going to be much better. “There's a few things that concern me." He indicated the display on his desk. "I've been going over all the information on the Borg, and a fairly significant portion of it involves you and/or Voyager. I'd appreciate if you could answer some things that are puzzling me."
"I will comply," she replied.
"Good. First things first, let's talk about your nanoprobes."
Seven looked at him curiously. "What about them?"
"Well for one, how come they're still in your body?" Riker asked. "You're not a Borg any more, you're human."
"My nanoprobes are dormant," Seven said.
"Inside you, yes," Riker admitted. "But once they leave you they become active again. Why is that?"
Seven hesitated. "I'm no longer Borg."
"Exactly the point. Your body is swimming with nanoprobes but you're clearly not being assimilated. What's the reason for this?"
Seven squirmed a little, but whether it was the thought of Borg nanoprobes in her bloodstream or the uncertainty of her situation Riker wasn't sure. "My humanity has reasserted itself."
Riker nodded. Apparently she had no more of an answer than he did. “I read the report on the events recounted in the memory engrams from Coruscant. The report said that you used your nanoprobes to create brain alterations so that they would form a small hive mind.”
Now Seven seemed very uncomfortable. “I realize that was wrong,” she said.
Riker shook his head. “I’m not holding you accountable for what you did when you were still a drone. But what I am curious about is how you were able to do that.” Seven seemed confused. “I thought nanoprobes assimilate.”
“Yes,” Seven said. “But they can be programmed to perform other tasks.”
“So you could reprogram your nanoprobes if you wished?”
“No,” Seven said. “Special programs are in place to make nanoprobe modifications, but such changes are not performed on a... conscious, for lack of a better term, level. They are either passed down from the Collective consciousness, or are instigated by emergency protocols.”
“So the nanoprobes were modified to perform this emergency procedure?”
“No, the procedure was not an established Borg protocol,” Seven said.
Riker felt like he was going in circles. “Then how did you do it?”
Seven started to reply but came up short. “I do not know,” she admitted. “Apparently my recollection of those events is incomplete.”
“Could you speculate?”
“I have no idea,” Seven said. “But clearly in my desperation I was able to determine a solution.”
"Alright. I'd like to discuss One with you." Seven looked somewhat panged at the mention. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Seven replied quickly. "What do you wish to know?"
"Well, for starters, would you explain One's origin to me in your own words. You were, after all, involved with him the most."
Seven nodded and thought for a moment. "Voyager was investigating a protonebula when our shuttle was destroyed. When we were transported back our patterns temporarily intermingled and some of my nanoprobes were transferred to the Doctor's mobile emitter. They began assimilating its technology."
Riker nodded. Again, the nanoprobes that assimilate everything in sight, but yet don't assimilate her. That was one thing that had been baffling him for a while, and apparently there wouldn't be any answer soon.
"It took a genetic sampling from a crewman and used it to grow a new Borg, One."
Riker called up a picture on his viewer. "This is One, and this is the crewman?" he asked, pointing to the images. Seven confirmed this. "Doesn't this strike you as being a little odd?"
"Explain," Seven asked curiously.
"Well, if the genetic sample came solely from the crewman, shouldn't he be a clone?"
"He is a Borg," Seven said simply.
"Yes," Riker said, "but he has none of the features of the crewman. Oh there are some similarities, of course, but there are strong genetic differences."
Seven looked a little uncomfortable. "What are you suggesting?"
"Well," Riker said, tapping the panel and causing One's picture to fill the screen, "I'm thinking that the nanoprobes used two genetic samples and crossed them. Would there be any reason for that?"
"Yes," Seven said, but her voice sounded different, as if she didn't want to say what she was saying but couldn't stop it. "Clones have a difficulty in continual reproduction and make a species far too vulnerable to disease and other attacks. That is the reason for sexual reproduction. The Collective resists cloning except in situations where rapid numerical growth proves necessary."
"So," Riker said, looking at the screen thoughtfully, "if there are two genetic patterns, as it seems there are, where'd the other sequence come from?"
Seven spoke with the same tone as before. "Torres, Paris, or myself were all being transported. Any of us could've provided the other sample in the same way the nanoprobes were conveyed."
Riker nodded. "True enough. Tell me, why was One such a unique drone?"
"One was not a drone," Seven said, a trace of emotion in her voice. "He was an individual."
Riker was slightly taken aback. "You're right; my mistake. What made One unique among Borg?"
Seven thought. "He possessed advanced equipment that no Borg possessed. Personal forcefield, internal transporter, and a powerful alloyed armor, among others."
"I see," Riker said. "And how exactly did this happen?"
"It gained the capability because of the Doctor's mobile emitter. It is 29th century technology, and thus One was far more advanced."
"Ah," Riker said in reply. He had read that answer in the file, and had been prepared for it. "Tell me, if I gave this tricorder to a 20th century scientist, would he be able to replicate it?"
"Possibly," Seven said. "If they had an advanced understanding he might be able to accomplish it."
"Would he be capable of inventing a warp drive?"
"No," Seven said, clearly confused by the question. "The technologies are not related."
Riker nodded. "Yes, you're right of course." He paused. "So, why would One have a personal transporter if he assimilated a holo emitter?"
Seven floundered for a second. "A transporter is contemporary technology..."
"Yes it is," Riker replied, "And it has nothing in common with a holo emitter at all. A force field, in a limited sense does, but that's contemporary technology too, isn't it?"
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that your answer doesn't make sense. Aside of the armor, which IS part of the mobile emitter, none of the technology is anything we don't already have. But why would One have it?"
"One was a unique individual," Seven replied. "His origin showed that much."
"Fine," Riker said, turning the screen back.
"I do not understand the nature of these questions," Seven remarked.
Riker adjusted his position in his chair. "The Borg are acting in a way far different then they ever had before. We also have a group of lunatics who happened to possess Borg technology. Essentially, what I’m trying to do is explore every deviation in what we normally know of the Borg to try and figure out what’s going on in the galaxy, before we all wind up in an alcove somewhere."
Seven swallowed. “I assure you, captain, that I find the thought of that fate as equally unpleasant as you do. Unfortunately, I have no answers to either the Borg’s recent behavioral change or these cultists.”
Riker nodded and consulted his PADD, glanced up at Seven, and put it back. "Can I see your right hand please?" Seven placed her hand face down on the desk. "That implant," Riker asked, "how did you get that one?"
Seven hesitated. "It emerged when I began receiving a Borg signal."
"Where did it come from?"
"My nanoprobes generated it, instigated by one of the protocols I referenced earlier. They are programmed to create various implants if a drone has been damaged."
"They just created this device out of nothing?"
"Metallic deposits, energy reserves, and other means are used to construct an implant, depending on its nature and requirements. Sometimes other devices will be cannibalized if the need is great."
"What is the purpose of this implant?" Riker asked.
Seven looked at it and pulled her hand off the table, covering it with her other hand. "It... it is the mounting point for a plasma discharger."
"What's that?"
"A... a weapon. If a drone is separated from the collective it is generated to provide it a means of defense until re-assimilation."
Riker hated doing this. He could tell that this entire discussion was making her very uncomfortable, a surprising fact to say the least. Seven had always been very in control of her emotions, even though she always shared her opinions without consideration of diplomacy. Why all this was causing her to feel uncomfortable was only one more question that he couldn't answer. "Were there any other instances when you created a new implant?"
"No."
"Did you, in fact, create the plasma discharger you described?"
"No."
"Do you know why?"
Seven looked at his face and then glanced away. "Because I could find a Type-III phaser rifle in the equipment locker. Generating the device would be a waste of resources."
"Wait a minute," Riker said, clearly not believing this. "You thought this on a conscious level, and so you didn't develop the device?"
"The protocols respond to the stimuli of my body," Seven said, "It is more than likely that they monitored my vital signs and recognized that a device would be a waste of resources, since I wasn't in danger at the time."
"I see," Riker said. "One last question. How long have the Borg been exploring the galaxy?"
"Approximately fifty thousand years," Seven said.
"And during that time," Riker said, "You've only found 10,000 species?"
"Yes," Seven replied, uncertain of what he was implying.
"The Borg don't seem to expand very rapidly," he said. "Can you explain this?"
"No," Seven had to admit. "I cannot."
"Alright," Riker said, standing up. "I'm sorry if any of this was unpleasant."
Seven's face showed she understood but she said nothing. Still holding her right hand, she stepped out of the Ready Room. Riker came around the desk and noticed something on the floor, and bent down to pick it up. As he was standing up, Borui came in. "How did it go?" she asked as he straightened up.
"No real answers unfortunately," Riker said. "How did she seem?
"Very disturbed," Borui said. "Especially when you were talking about the drones around the campfire." Borui had been monitoring the events from her chair at Riker's request. He didn't like having to spy on one of his most trusted officers, but with so much at stake he couldn't afford to take a single chance, no matter how small.
"Regarding One... was she the 'mother'?" Riker asked.
Borui nodded. "Genetic examination shows it."
"Does she know?"
"I think she's always suspected," Borui said. "But she doesn't want to really know. It's still a very deep wound for her."
"I can imagine," Riker replied, feeling even more like a jerk for having to probe the subject so heavily. "Was everything she said the truth?"
"Yes," Borui said. "Whatever you may call her, Seven's not a liar."
"No, I suppose she's not," Riker said absent-mindedly. "Thank you counselor." He didn't notice her walk out, he just stared at the object he picked up off the floor. He twiddled with it a little as he thought and then placed the small spiked object on his desk. Riker wondered a little if Seven would grow a replacement for the implant that had fallen off her hand.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Seven stood at Science Station 1, but her mind was unable to focus on her work. She looked about the bridge. There was Geordi Laforge, and there was Lt. Travis, both of whom long time officers on the Enterprise. And others, though newer, who had joined the crew and shared in the heritage of this ship. She looked at them all in turn, a kind of grief settling over her. She was a lieutenant commander, a high-ranking officer, one to be looked to as an example. But she wasn't one of them. She turned; the captain's ready room door was two steps away from her post. She stared at it for a while. No good could come from this, but the guilt was threatening to overwhelm her.
"Come," Riker said, and Seven entered. "Something you wish to add?" he asked.
Seven hesitated. "In a matter of speaking. May I sit down?"
Riker raised his eyebrows slightly at her uncharacteristic request. He gestured to a chair and she took it. "Seven, are you all right?"
"I- I am experiencing powerful emotions," Seven explained. "Primarily guilt. You- You said you would not hold me accountable for my actions as a drone."
"That's right," Riker said emphatically. "The Borg did terrible things to people, but the members of the Collective have no control. I certainly won't judge you."
"I-" She was having trouble speaking. "I have held back information from you, captain." She noticed his expression. "Nothing of tactical or strategic benefit," she added. "But in the wake of these new revelations, and with the threat of the Borg again, it is something that has come to haunt me."
Riker looked at her with puzzlement, but he seemed to be trying to be understanding. "What is it?"
--------------------------------------------------------------
Her eyes opened, and she heard the voices. They spoke to her in her head, as they always did. "Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One. You will aid in the assimilation of Species 5618, assimilation chamber four alpha." 7 of 9 stepped out of her alcove and walked the corridors of the Cube without comment, without thought, except those which served the overall purpose of the Collective consciousness. Around her the drones went about their work, either performing maintenance on the vessel, contributing to its regeneration in the wake of the recent damage, or simply devoting their own thoughts to analysis and adaptation.
There were cries and protests as she approached the chamber, but they were irrelevant. They were a feeble attempt to resist assimilation, with no power whatsoever. Of all methods, they were the most futile. She walked up to the restrained subject, and her assimilation tubules were quickly deployed, and the transformation from primitive individual to a part of something far greater and grander began. She observed the assimilation carefully while she spoke, although to say “she” was speaking would be somewhat inaccurate. Her lips moved, but it was not her voice, and they were not her words, any more than these were her actions. She was a tool in service of the greater whole. "Your existence, as it has been, has been terminated. You will carry out our purpose. You will be our voice." She looked into his grimacing face without the slightest hint of pity. "Your designation is Locutus of Borg."
Captain Riker, commander of the Enterprise, one of the Federation's foremost experts on the Borg, sat in his ready room with more questions than answers. With the escalating situation he had now become the Federation's first line of defense in the case of an all-out invasion of the Alpha Quadrant. It was a responsibility he did not take lightly. Captain Riker had a far more laid back approach than many others in Starfleet, but the accomplishments of this crew had shown him that they can be counted on to provide their own initiative and self-control. He gave them his trust, and they refused to disappoint him because of that. It's for this reason that he felt uncomfortable with what he was about to do.
The door chimed and Riker called for her to enter. Perfectly punctual, as usual, was Lt. Comm. Seven of Nine, Chief Science Officer and one of his senior officers. Her demeanor, as always, was calm and straightforward. He hoped she still feel that way by the time she left. "You wished to see me captain," Seven said.
Riker set the PADD down on the desk. "Yes, commander, sit down." Over time he’d made her realize that it wasn’t an offer, it was an order. For a person who wore heels, Seven spent an unnatural amount of time standing rather than sitting. He examined the PADD briefly and then gave her his full attention. "A lot of things are concerning me lately, and they all have one thing in common."
"The Borg," Seven replied.
"You got it," Riker said, leaning back a little in his chair. "First things first. Does the word 'Anansi' mean anything to you?" Seven thought for a moment, but had to admit she didn't. "We ran it through our computers, but the only thing relevant was that it’s the Ashanti word for 'spider'. Does that mean anything to you?"
"No," Seven admitted. "I fail to see what this has to do with the Borg?"
"It's the thing on the Borg's mind lately," Riker said. "At least according to Mr. Skywalker, although I've learned to trust his judgment." Seven's eyes were focused on his desk. "Seven?" he asked, causing her to start slightly. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"No," she replied firmly. “No, captain, it was unrelated.”
“I need your head in the game, Seven,” Riker said firmly.
“My apologies. It was... I had not heard that name in some time... I was briefly drawn to the memories of those eventful days. I will remain focused.”
“Good.” Mentally, Riker cut her some slack. Lord knows being tortured beyond human limits and having to be there when Data died can have an effect even on a Borg, and this experience wasn’t going to be much better. “There's a few things that concern me." He indicated the display on his desk. "I've been going over all the information on the Borg, and a fairly significant portion of it involves you and/or Voyager. I'd appreciate if you could answer some things that are puzzling me."
"I will comply," she replied.
"Good. First things first, let's talk about your nanoprobes."
Seven looked at him curiously. "What about them?"
"Well for one, how come they're still in your body?" Riker asked. "You're not a Borg any more, you're human."
"My nanoprobes are dormant," Seven said.
"Inside you, yes," Riker admitted. "But once they leave you they become active again. Why is that?"
Seven hesitated. "I'm no longer Borg."
"Exactly the point. Your body is swimming with nanoprobes but you're clearly not being assimilated. What's the reason for this?"
Seven squirmed a little, but whether it was the thought of Borg nanoprobes in her bloodstream or the uncertainty of her situation Riker wasn't sure. "My humanity has reasserted itself."
Riker nodded. Apparently she had no more of an answer than he did. “I read the report on the events recounted in the memory engrams from Coruscant. The report said that you used your nanoprobes to create brain alterations so that they would form a small hive mind.”
Now Seven seemed very uncomfortable. “I realize that was wrong,” she said.
Riker shook his head. “I’m not holding you accountable for what you did when you were still a drone. But what I am curious about is how you were able to do that.” Seven seemed confused. “I thought nanoprobes assimilate.”
“Yes,” Seven said. “But they can be programmed to perform other tasks.”
“So you could reprogram your nanoprobes if you wished?”
“No,” Seven said. “Special programs are in place to make nanoprobe modifications, but such changes are not performed on a... conscious, for lack of a better term, level. They are either passed down from the Collective consciousness, or are instigated by emergency protocols.”
“So the nanoprobes were modified to perform this emergency procedure?”
“No, the procedure was not an established Borg protocol,” Seven said.
Riker felt like he was going in circles. “Then how did you do it?”
Seven started to reply but came up short. “I do not know,” she admitted. “Apparently my recollection of those events is incomplete.”
“Could you speculate?”
“I have no idea,” Seven said. “But clearly in my desperation I was able to determine a solution.”
"Alright. I'd like to discuss One with you." Seven looked somewhat panged at the mention. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Seven replied quickly. "What do you wish to know?"
"Well, for starters, would you explain One's origin to me in your own words. You were, after all, involved with him the most."
Seven nodded and thought for a moment. "Voyager was investigating a protonebula when our shuttle was destroyed. When we were transported back our patterns temporarily intermingled and some of my nanoprobes were transferred to the Doctor's mobile emitter. They began assimilating its technology."
Riker nodded. Again, the nanoprobes that assimilate everything in sight, but yet don't assimilate her. That was one thing that had been baffling him for a while, and apparently there wouldn't be any answer soon.
"It took a genetic sampling from a crewman and used it to grow a new Borg, One."
Riker called up a picture on his viewer. "This is One, and this is the crewman?" he asked, pointing to the images. Seven confirmed this. "Doesn't this strike you as being a little odd?"
"Explain," Seven asked curiously.
"Well, if the genetic sample came solely from the crewman, shouldn't he be a clone?"
"He is a Borg," Seven said simply.
"Yes," Riker said, "but he has none of the features of the crewman. Oh there are some similarities, of course, but there are strong genetic differences."
Seven looked a little uncomfortable. "What are you suggesting?"
"Well," Riker said, tapping the panel and causing One's picture to fill the screen, "I'm thinking that the nanoprobes used two genetic samples and crossed them. Would there be any reason for that?"
"Yes," Seven said, but her voice sounded different, as if she didn't want to say what she was saying but couldn't stop it. "Clones have a difficulty in continual reproduction and make a species far too vulnerable to disease and other attacks. That is the reason for sexual reproduction. The Collective resists cloning except in situations where rapid numerical growth proves necessary."
"So," Riker said, looking at the screen thoughtfully, "if there are two genetic patterns, as it seems there are, where'd the other sequence come from?"
Seven spoke with the same tone as before. "Torres, Paris, or myself were all being transported. Any of us could've provided the other sample in the same way the nanoprobes were conveyed."
Riker nodded. "True enough. Tell me, why was One such a unique drone?"
"One was not a drone," Seven said, a trace of emotion in her voice. "He was an individual."
Riker was slightly taken aback. "You're right; my mistake. What made One unique among Borg?"
Seven thought. "He possessed advanced equipment that no Borg possessed. Personal forcefield, internal transporter, and a powerful alloyed armor, among others."
"I see," Riker said. "And how exactly did this happen?"
"It gained the capability because of the Doctor's mobile emitter. It is 29th century technology, and thus One was far more advanced."
"Ah," Riker said in reply. He had read that answer in the file, and had been prepared for it. "Tell me, if I gave this tricorder to a 20th century scientist, would he be able to replicate it?"
"Possibly," Seven said. "If they had an advanced understanding he might be able to accomplish it."
"Would he be capable of inventing a warp drive?"
"No," Seven said, clearly confused by the question. "The technologies are not related."
Riker nodded. "Yes, you're right of course." He paused. "So, why would One have a personal transporter if he assimilated a holo emitter?"
Seven floundered for a second. "A transporter is contemporary technology..."
"Yes it is," Riker replied, "And it has nothing in common with a holo emitter at all. A force field, in a limited sense does, but that's contemporary technology too, isn't it?"
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that your answer doesn't make sense. Aside of the armor, which IS part of the mobile emitter, none of the technology is anything we don't already have. But why would One have it?"
"One was a unique individual," Seven replied. "His origin showed that much."
"Fine," Riker said, turning the screen back.
"I do not understand the nature of these questions," Seven remarked.
Riker adjusted his position in his chair. "The Borg are acting in a way far different then they ever had before. We also have a group of lunatics who happened to possess Borg technology. Essentially, what I’m trying to do is explore every deviation in what we normally know of the Borg to try and figure out what’s going on in the galaxy, before we all wind up in an alcove somewhere."
Seven swallowed. “I assure you, captain, that I find the thought of that fate as equally unpleasant as you do. Unfortunately, I have no answers to either the Borg’s recent behavioral change or these cultists.”
Riker nodded and consulted his PADD, glanced up at Seven, and put it back. "Can I see your right hand please?" Seven placed her hand face down on the desk. "That implant," Riker asked, "how did you get that one?"
Seven hesitated. "It emerged when I began receiving a Borg signal."
"Where did it come from?"
"My nanoprobes generated it, instigated by one of the protocols I referenced earlier. They are programmed to create various implants if a drone has been damaged."
"They just created this device out of nothing?"
"Metallic deposits, energy reserves, and other means are used to construct an implant, depending on its nature and requirements. Sometimes other devices will be cannibalized if the need is great."
"What is the purpose of this implant?" Riker asked.
Seven looked at it and pulled her hand off the table, covering it with her other hand. "It... it is the mounting point for a plasma discharger."
"What's that?"
"A... a weapon. If a drone is separated from the collective it is generated to provide it a means of defense until re-assimilation."
Riker hated doing this. He could tell that this entire discussion was making her very uncomfortable, a surprising fact to say the least. Seven had always been very in control of her emotions, even though she always shared her opinions without consideration of diplomacy. Why all this was causing her to feel uncomfortable was only one more question that he couldn't answer. "Were there any other instances when you created a new implant?"
"No."
"Did you, in fact, create the plasma discharger you described?"
"No."
"Do you know why?"
Seven looked at his face and then glanced away. "Because I could find a Type-III phaser rifle in the equipment locker. Generating the device would be a waste of resources."
"Wait a minute," Riker said, clearly not believing this. "You thought this on a conscious level, and so you didn't develop the device?"
"The protocols respond to the stimuli of my body," Seven said, "It is more than likely that they monitored my vital signs and recognized that a device would be a waste of resources, since I wasn't in danger at the time."
"I see," Riker said. "One last question. How long have the Borg been exploring the galaxy?"
"Approximately fifty thousand years," Seven said.
"And during that time," Riker said, "You've only found 10,000 species?"
"Yes," Seven replied, uncertain of what he was implying.
"The Borg don't seem to expand very rapidly," he said. "Can you explain this?"
"No," Seven had to admit. "I cannot."
"Alright," Riker said, standing up. "I'm sorry if any of this was unpleasant."
Seven's face showed she understood but she said nothing. Still holding her right hand, she stepped out of the Ready Room. Riker came around the desk and noticed something on the floor, and bent down to pick it up. As he was standing up, Borui came in. "How did it go?" she asked as he straightened up.
"No real answers unfortunately," Riker said. "How did she seem?
"Very disturbed," Borui said. "Especially when you were talking about the drones around the campfire." Borui had been monitoring the events from her chair at Riker's request. He didn't like having to spy on one of his most trusted officers, but with so much at stake he couldn't afford to take a single chance, no matter how small.
"Regarding One... was she the 'mother'?" Riker asked.
Borui nodded. "Genetic examination shows it."
"Does she know?"
"I think she's always suspected," Borui said. "But she doesn't want to really know. It's still a very deep wound for her."
"I can imagine," Riker replied, feeling even more like a jerk for having to probe the subject so heavily. "Was everything she said the truth?"
"Yes," Borui said. "Whatever you may call her, Seven's not a liar."
"No, I suppose she's not," Riker said absent-mindedly. "Thank you counselor." He didn't notice her walk out, he just stared at the object he picked up off the floor. He twiddled with it a little as he thought and then placed the small spiked object on his desk. Riker wondered a little if Seven would grow a replacement for the implant that had fallen off her hand.
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Seven stood at Science Station 1, but her mind was unable to focus on her work. She looked about the bridge. There was Geordi Laforge, and there was Lt. Travis, both of whom long time officers on the Enterprise. And others, though newer, who had joined the crew and shared in the heritage of this ship. She looked at them all in turn, a kind of grief settling over her. She was a lieutenant commander, a high-ranking officer, one to be looked to as an example. But she wasn't one of them. She turned; the captain's ready room door was two steps away from her post. She stared at it for a while. No good could come from this, but the guilt was threatening to overwhelm her.
"Come," Riker said, and Seven entered. "Something you wish to add?" he asked.
Seven hesitated. "In a matter of speaking. May I sit down?"
Riker raised his eyebrows slightly at her uncharacteristic request. He gestured to a chair and she took it. "Seven, are you all right?"
"I- I am experiencing powerful emotions," Seven explained. "Primarily guilt. You- You said you would not hold me accountable for my actions as a drone."
"That's right," Riker said emphatically. "The Borg did terrible things to people, but the members of the Collective have no control. I certainly won't judge you."
"I-" She was having trouble speaking. "I have held back information from you, captain." She noticed his expression. "Nothing of tactical or strategic benefit," she added. "But in the wake of these new revelations, and with the threat of the Borg again, it is something that has come to haunt me."
Riker looked at her with puzzlement, but he seemed to be trying to be understanding. "What is it?"
--------------------------------------------------------------
Her eyes opened, and she heard the voices. They spoke to her in her head, as they always did. "Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One. You will aid in the assimilation of Species 5618, assimilation chamber four alpha." 7 of 9 stepped out of her alcove and walked the corridors of the Cube without comment, without thought, except those which served the overall purpose of the Collective consciousness. Around her the drones went about their work, either performing maintenance on the vessel, contributing to its regeneration in the wake of the recent damage, or simply devoting their own thoughts to analysis and adaptation.
There were cries and protests as she approached the chamber, but they were irrelevant. They were a feeble attempt to resist assimilation, with no power whatsoever. Of all methods, they were the most futile. She walked up to the restrained subject, and her assimilation tubules were quickly deployed, and the transformation from primitive individual to a part of something far greater and grander began. She observed the assimilation carefully while she spoke, although to say “she” was speaking would be somewhat inaccurate. Her lips moved, but it was not her voice, and they were not her words, any more than these were her actions. She was a tool in service of the greater whole. "Your existence, as it has been, has been terminated. You will carry out our purpose. You will be our voice." She looked into his grimacing face without the slightest hint of pity. "Your designation is Locutus of Borg."
Chuck
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There's a good reason for thatCrazedwraith wrote:Whaa! The numerals have changed.
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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The entire chapter is devoted to 7, so I named it after her. I have a soft spot for cybernetically-enhanced women with large breasts.Crazedwraith wrote:Would you care to expand upon that bold yet cryptic statement?Dalton wrote:There's a good reason for thatCrazedwraith wrote:Whaa! The numerals have changed.
Chuck
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Thanks. It's all relevant to the storyline, I assure you. Reconciling Voyager's continuity has led to some... interesting conclusions. The one at the end of the chapter is probably causing some scratching of heads.ElPintoGrande wrote:Hooah! Yet again another great chapter. Nice to see you questioning the writers from Voyager about One. Yes he was pretty badass, but he didn't make sense.
*requisitions more*
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Perfectly good reason as any.Sonnenburg wrote:The entire chapter is devoted to 7, so I named it after her. I have a soft spot for cybernetically-enhanced women with large breasts.Crazedwraith wrote:Would you care to expand upon that bold yet cryptic statement?Dalton wrote: There's a good reason for that
Great chapter...and so interesting re-reading and reading current material.
MM /CF/WG/BOTM/JL/Original Warsie/ACPATHNTDWATGODW FOREVER!!
Sometimes we can choose the path we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all
Saying and doing are chocolate and concrete
Sometimes we can choose the path we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all
Saying and doing are chocolate and concrete
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Part VIII
“Resistance is futile.”
7 of 9 looked up from her position, though it was purely in an auxiliary fashion. She was no longer the sole member of Species 5618 on this vessel, so her personal insights into that species were no longer as essential. Nevertheless, her biological distinctiveness could perhaps recognize information not necessarily gleaned by Locutus. "You will disarm all weapons," he stated, "and escort us to Sector Zero Zero One. If you attempt to intervene, we will destroy you."
The Federation fleet ignored the logic of the situation and tried to resist. They met a swift and brutal end. Their ships were disabled or destroyed, their personnel unable to escape the inevitable. 7 of 9 proceeded to the assimilation chamber. The air was filled with cries and pleas, but they were ignored as the irrelevant data they were. The individuals were still small, still capable of fear; they would soon be raised up into something greater than they could ever imagine. And 7 of 9 ensured that this was done, swiftly, unemotionally, and efficiently. Soon their voices joined in with the others, and the Collective's journey towards perfection progressed.
The Borg Queen was present on board the Cube to oversee the assimilation of the Federation. She had been intrigued -to put a human definition on the term- by Species 5618. Though biologically unremarkable, 7 of 9 had proven to have a mind that was quite cohesive with the Borg, a mind similar in some ways to her own species. As her own species had caused a quantum leap in Borg potential, so too perhaps could this one. So the Queen assessed the new information with Locutus, whose personal experience in this quadrant had proven its effectiveness. They learned further details: the fleet here at Wolf 359 was the primary Federation defensive force, but it was by no means the last. There was another coming to engage as well - the Klingons. A warrior race, strong, they were also worthy of assimilation.
The course was clear. While the assimilation of the Federation and Species 5618 was to remain the primary objective, this was to be merely the beginning. Half of those assimilated took their place on board the Cube to fulfill their new roles. The rest would engage the secondary target along with a group of other drones. The Cube opened, and the Sphere emerged. 7 of 9 observed the vanishing Cube, but with the expected detachment. That Locutus better served her function was of no consequence, because to think otherwise would be to think of herself as an individual. There were no feelings, no ambition, merely purpose. And that purpose remained assimilation.
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Captain Riker looked into Seven's face and honestly had no idea what to say. She seemed almost on the verge of tears as she related her story, and despite the horror of the slaughter at Wolf 359, he couldn't bring himself to judge her. Clearly the grief she felt was more punishment than she deserved. "Does Jean-luc know?" he asked finally.
Seven nodded. "He did not recognize me; I am far different in appearance than I was as a drone. But I informed him of my role in his assimilation shortly after I received my commission. He- he said that it would be hypocritical for him to hold me accountable for sins he himself had committed." Her face was downcast. "He is... he is a great man."
Riker sat back in his chair. "Yes he is," he said quietly. "And I'm inclined to agree. I understand your reluctance to share this, given the relationship with the Enterprise. However, I cannot emphasize enough how vital every piece of information on the Borg is to our cause. In this case, we now understand a bit why those assimilated here wound up alive in the delta quadrant."
"Yes," Seven said. "With the destruction of the Cube the primary mission was no longer feasible. We had already eliminated and assimilated one of the Klingon contingents, and it was decided that a return to Borg space was the only logical choice."
Riker looked down at his desk for a while, then back into Seven's face. "Seven, the Collective is a big place. How-"
"How did he and I manage to meet twice?" Seven asked. Riker nodded. "As I said, when the Collective decided to assimilate humanity, I was present, as I was one of the few assimilated humans at the time. When Janeway demanded a representative speak to her, the Collective deemed that I -having already demonstrated on Planet 1865 alpha my rejection of individuality- would be most suitable of my species." She considered. "I realize this may seem a profound coincidence-"
"No," Riker said, "when you put it that way, it does make some sense." He shook his head. "It's just that the galaxy has turned into one big, confusing place."
"Agreed," Seven said with an expression of weariness. "In many ways, I wish I had heeded your advice and avoided the memory engrams."
"Well, what's done is done, commander. I'd like you to continue to speak with Borui."
Seven squirmed. "May I speak freely, sir?" Riker nodded. "I do not feel comfortable around her."
"Why?"
"Because she can sense my thought," Seven said. "I have come to... cherish, the privacy of my own mind."
Riker sighed. "I understand, but we cannot judge Borui for being empathic any more than we can judge you for being a Borg."
"Yes," Seven said, sounding thoughtful. "I realize my presence is no doubt equally discomforting to other members of the crew as we engage the Borg." She considered it. "If it is a distraction, I can assign one of my subordinates to carry out-"
"You are a Starfleet officer, and they will recognize your position as such," Riker said. "I'm just pointing out that this is a two-way street, Seven."
Seven nodded. "I will see the counselor, captain."
"Good. Anything else you should tell me?" Seven shook her head. "Then let's get back to work and make sure we never have another Wolf 359."
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For over five years, the Federation Starship USS Voyager was stranded in the delta quadrant. It's crew did everything in its power to survive the nightmare of their position: alone, with no hope of replenishing supplies, of outside repairs, or of a chance to see their home again. They had done all they could to make it home, and finally they had succeeded. There was something rather ironic in their latest mission returning them to this part of space.
"Our current status report," Chakotay said, handing Captain Janeway the PADD.
She sipped at her mug while she scanned it over. "Everything looks fine," she commented. "How's B'Ellana coming with the shield modifications?"
"She says it'll be difficult but she thinks she can complete it within twelve hours if you want to proceed."
She nodded. "I think we can use every edge against the Borg we can get." She tried to ignore the itch in the back of her brain, but it had been bothering her for some time now. She was missing something, something important... "Have we finished our diagnostics?"
Before Chakotay could answer the door to the ready room opened and the Doctor marched in, seething. He threw a PADD on the desk. "What's the meaning of this?!" he demanded.
"Is there something I can help you with Doctor?" Janeway asked, nonplussed.
"Yes there is," he said forcibly. "You can explain to me how this travesty could have happened!"
Janeway turned to Chakotay. "We'll finish this later," she said evenly. After he'd left her tone became more stern. "You're out of line Doctor."
"No, YOU'RE out of line!" the Doctor shouted. "I never should've agreed in the first place. I knew it was wrong - I KNEW IT, and yet I still allowed you to convince me-"
"What are you ranting about?" Janeway demanded. She picked up the PADD and looked, and after a few moments understood. "Species 8472."
"Yes!" the Doctor replied. "The only known species invulnerable to Borg assimilation techniques. Until Voyager comes along of course."
Janeway read the report, ignoring the Doctor. "Projections indicate they were all assimilated," she said, unable to believe it.
"Yes! And guess how it happened? My modified Borg nanoprobes. Devices known only to this ship have now found their way back into Borg hands. The only question remains: how?" Janeway was still looking at the PADD. He slapped the PADD out of her hands. "HOW?!!!"
"Doctor control yourself."
"Control myself?! I'm a program designed to save life, and I'm directly responsible for genocide!"
"Not genocide, Doctor, assimilation."
"Six of one, half a dozen of another," the Doctor replied, pacing the floor. "You still haven't answered my question. How did they get it?"
"I don't know!"
"Oh come on captain! You must have some idea! You always have an answer, so answer me now!"
"Doctor," Janeway said, rising to her feet. "I've allowed you some latitude but this is a breach in protocol."
"Oh to hell with protocol, to hell with Starfleet, and while we're at it, to hell with you!"
"Janeway to security," she said, tapping her commbadge.
"How did it happen?!" the Doctor demanded. "If I'm to bear responsibility for this at least tell me that much!"
"You're not responsible," she said forcefully. "I'm not responsible." The ready room door opened and Tuvok appeared, a security officer behind him and a phaser in his hand.
"Is this what you've come to captain?" the Doctor hissed. "Using your goons to cover up your crimes?"
"Throw him in the brig," Janeway said.
Tuvok came forward and took hold of the Doctor's arm. "Come with me," he said evenly.
"I thought I knew you," the Doctor said with contempt. "You used to have values. I wonder what happened to make you forget who you are?" Tuvok escorted the Doctor out of the room, but there was no answer to his question, only silence.
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"Ambassador," the young man said, "your transport is here."
Picard nodded and got up from his seat. He'd been waiting here at Wormhole Station for at least twelve hours for the Federation ship to take him to Earth. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that that's what he did now. He was in the waiting business. Waiting for meetings, waiting for transports, waiting for problems, waiting for information. He had dwelt on the subject for some time now; after all, he'd nothing better to do. He quietly followed the aide, an ensign actually, to the shuttle bay. Unlike the Empire, the Republic had no qualms about using a transporter, but nevertheless didn't include it on their ships, having decided that shuttles were less likely to malfunction. Their prerogative, Picard thought.
One thing he could appreciate was the view one got from a shuttle over a transporter. Wormhole Station, in all its twenty-mile splendor, spread out like some kind of metallic sky. Dwarfed by comparison were the hundreds of shuttles, fighters, and even cruisers that milled about in their routine. The station had been built to defend the entrance to their galaxy, and was now a waystation for many travelers going in and out of the wormhole. The fleet had been building up substantially while the situation continued to deteriorate in the delta quadrant.
A few minutes later he was docked in the shuttlebay of the USS Taggert, with Captain Horace and his crew waiting. "Welcome back to the Milky Way, ambassador," Horace said with a grin, shaking Picard's hand as he spoke. The captain filled Picard in on the deteriorating situation with the Borg as they walked to the turbolift. "How far have the attacks spread?" Picard asked as the lift closed.
"We've lost nine planets to the Borg," Horace said. "But we believe that many other worlds are also being attacked. Their tactics seemed to have changed."
"It's a new galaxy," Picard muttered. "And they've adapted to it."
The door opened onto the bridge and Horace stepped out. Picard came out slowly behind. He hadn't been on the bridge of a Federation ship for almost a year, and it was amazing how little it had changed, but nevertheless Picard felt ill at ease. "Set a course for Earth," Horace said, "Warp 13."
Picard looked at him with some surprise. "Warp 13?" he asked.
Horace smiled back at the Captain. "New warp scale."
Picard nodded in acknowledgement. Perhaps things had changed more than he had thought. He retired from the bridge to his quarters for some much needed rest. It'd still take several days to get to Earth, giving Picard plenty of time to write a speech for the Federation Council. It seemed that the Republic was looking into Thrawn's claims; if so, perhaps the Federation would follow suit. Besides, with the threat of the Borg, the Empire was a low-level priority anyway.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Luke's X-Wing eased onto the ground just a few meters away from the crater. Artoo's whistle had a nervous edge to it as Luke popped the hatch and climbed out. As he jumped to the ground he saw the Falcon finish its landing further back from the lip of the crater. He unzipped his flight suit as Han and Chewie came down the hatch, weapon's drawn. "I don't like this," Han remarked.
"No one forced you to come," Luke reminded him, stepping out of the suit.
"Yeah, and I'm supposed to just wait on Romulus while you go into the center of Borg space alone," he grumbled. Luke could tell they were both nervous, and he couldn't really blame them; it must be an eerie feeling to be back here.
Yarval Outpost was dead.
Han checked out the terrain. It was disconcerting; a perfect road leading right up to the edge of this crater and just stopping, as if someone had just scooped it up - which is exactly what had happened. "Yeah, this is where the research base was." He scowled at the hole. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."
Luke sensed that Han was filled with fear and anger over the situation. "It's a tragedy," he said carefully, "but we've got to concern ourselves with the future and not the past."
"That's exactly what concerns me," Han said, kicking a rock into the pit. After several seconds they heard it hit the bottom. "Don't you know what they were researching?" Luke shook his head. "Hypermatter reactors! The thing that puts the 'death' in Death Star! And it's in the hands of the Borg!"
"Anansi," a voice whispered on the wind.
"Luke?" Han said, his anger replaced by concern. "You alright?"
He suppressed a shiver. "I can still feel them," he said. "So cold. It's indescribable; they seem to leave this place so... sterile." He reached out, trying to grasp the elusive mind but it was difficult. He sat down on the ground while Han and Chewie continued to scan the area. Luke was already deep into his meditation when Han came up to him.
"Hey, I don't think this is the time for this, huh?" he said, a slight edge of nervousness in his voice. "C'mon, let's get outta here." But Luke didn't move. Han gave him a little nudge to snap him out of it, and Luke's eyes flashed open. His voice was different, intense.
"We are the Borg. You will disarm your weapons and surrender this world. We will add its biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile."
Han had jumped back at the sound of his voice, his blaster trained on his friend, his hand visibly shaking.
"Resistance encountered. Neutralize opposition. Assimilation of ships irrelevant. Eliminate all hostile ships. Assimilate Yarval Outpost."
"Wait a minute," Han said, looking over at Chewie. "Since when do Borg use names? I thought they always use numerical designations for things." Chewie barked a reply. "Yeah, things definitely have changed," Han admitted.
"Primary target identified," Luke continued. "Planetary grid 108. Assimilate at all costs."
"Is it the research facility?" Han asked Luke. He threw up his arms in frustration as Luke continued.
"Vessel 13192 has been destroyed. Source of damage unknown. Scanning. No vessel detected at point of origin. Adapting subspace sensor. No vessel detected. Weapon identified: Class-19 Theta Torpedo. Modify shield output by 118 gigahertz." Luke's eyes slammed shut. When he opened them again his intense stare was gone.
"Hey, next time warn me when you're going to pull a stunt like that," Han chastised him.
"Sorry," Luke said, getting up. "They came for the research base, I'm sure of it. The rest of the place was secondary."
"How'd they know about it?" Han demanded. "This place wasn't exactly being advertised."
"Maybe they assimilated someone who knew about it," Luke said. "Anyone whose part of the Collective shares their memories with them."
"And inadvertently become a traitor," Han agreed. "What about that thing with the torpedo or something?"
"I'm not sure," Luke admitted. "I've never heard of any such thing. And I don’t sense anything about them being involved in the holonet. Maybe you’re right; maybe it was just bad luck."
"Well if you're done poking around can we get out of here? This place is seriously creeping me out."
Luke thought for a moment but finally agreed. There was nothing more he could accomplish here. But he still had more he could do. "You said the Enterprise was patrolling in this area?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Well," Luke remarked as he started putting on his flight suit again, "If you want to catch a Borg, you've got to think like one."
"Seven?" Han replied. "I don't know Luke. Last time I saw her she wasn't operating on all thrusters."
"All the more reason to check in with her," Luke commented, zipping up the suit. "Can we find their location?"
Chewie growled in reply. "Chewie says the network’s running again. We can contact Deep Space 19, find their vicinity."
"Well let's get moving," Luke said, jumping up and grabbing the edge of the cockpit, then tossing himself into the seat. Most pilots would have to use the ladder, but most pilots weren't Jedi Knights.
"Wait, Luke," Han said before the cockpit closed. "The people who were here?"
Luke shook his head. "You were right... they were assimilated." He felt Han's anger flare again as he hit the button to close the canopy. Han turned and stormed up the ramp, and less than a minute later the ships left the dead planet behind.
“Resistance is futile.”
7 of 9 looked up from her position, though it was purely in an auxiliary fashion. She was no longer the sole member of Species 5618 on this vessel, so her personal insights into that species were no longer as essential. Nevertheless, her biological distinctiveness could perhaps recognize information not necessarily gleaned by Locutus. "You will disarm all weapons," he stated, "and escort us to Sector Zero Zero One. If you attempt to intervene, we will destroy you."
The Federation fleet ignored the logic of the situation and tried to resist. They met a swift and brutal end. Their ships were disabled or destroyed, their personnel unable to escape the inevitable. 7 of 9 proceeded to the assimilation chamber. The air was filled with cries and pleas, but they were ignored as the irrelevant data they were. The individuals were still small, still capable of fear; they would soon be raised up into something greater than they could ever imagine. And 7 of 9 ensured that this was done, swiftly, unemotionally, and efficiently. Soon their voices joined in with the others, and the Collective's journey towards perfection progressed.
The Borg Queen was present on board the Cube to oversee the assimilation of the Federation. She had been intrigued -to put a human definition on the term- by Species 5618. Though biologically unremarkable, 7 of 9 had proven to have a mind that was quite cohesive with the Borg, a mind similar in some ways to her own species. As her own species had caused a quantum leap in Borg potential, so too perhaps could this one. So the Queen assessed the new information with Locutus, whose personal experience in this quadrant had proven its effectiveness. They learned further details: the fleet here at Wolf 359 was the primary Federation defensive force, but it was by no means the last. There was another coming to engage as well - the Klingons. A warrior race, strong, they were also worthy of assimilation.
The course was clear. While the assimilation of the Federation and Species 5618 was to remain the primary objective, this was to be merely the beginning. Half of those assimilated took their place on board the Cube to fulfill their new roles. The rest would engage the secondary target along with a group of other drones. The Cube opened, and the Sphere emerged. 7 of 9 observed the vanishing Cube, but with the expected detachment. That Locutus better served her function was of no consequence, because to think otherwise would be to think of herself as an individual. There were no feelings, no ambition, merely purpose. And that purpose remained assimilation.
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Captain Riker looked into Seven's face and honestly had no idea what to say. She seemed almost on the verge of tears as she related her story, and despite the horror of the slaughter at Wolf 359, he couldn't bring himself to judge her. Clearly the grief she felt was more punishment than she deserved. "Does Jean-luc know?" he asked finally.
Seven nodded. "He did not recognize me; I am far different in appearance than I was as a drone. But I informed him of my role in his assimilation shortly after I received my commission. He- he said that it would be hypocritical for him to hold me accountable for sins he himself had committed." Her face was downcast. "He is... he is a great man."
Riker sat back in his chair. "Yes he is," he said quietly. "And I'm inclined to agree. I understand your reluctance to share this, given the relationship with the Enterprise. However, I cannot emphasize enough how vital every piece of information on the Borg is to our cause. In this case, we now understand a bit why those assimilated here wound up alive in the delta quadrant."
"Yes," Seven said. "With the destruction of the Cube the primary mission was no longer feasible. We had already eliminated and assimilated one of the Klingon contingents, and it was decided that a return to Borg space was the only logical choice."
Riker looked down at his desk for a while, then back into Seven's face. "Seven, the Collective is a big place. How-"
"How did he and I manage to meet twice?" Seven asked. Riker nodded. "As I said, when the Collective decided to assimilate humanity, I was present, as I was one of the few assimilated humans at the time. When Janeway demanded a representative speak to her, the Collective deemed that I -having already demonstrated on Planet 1865 alpha my rejection of individuality- would be most suitable of my species." She considered. "I realize this may seem a profound coincidence-"
"No," Riker said, "when you put it that way, it does make some sense." He shook his head. "It's just that the galaxy has turned into one big, confusing place."
"Agreed," Seven said with an expression of weariness. "In many ways, I wish I had heeded your advice and avoided the memory engrams."
"Well, what's done is done, commander. I'd like you to continue to speak with Borui."
Seven squirmed. "May I speak freely, sir?" Riker nodded. "I do not feel comfortable around her."
"Why?"
"Because she can sense my thought," Seven said. "I have come to... cherish, the privacy of my own mind."
Riker sighed. "I understand, but we cannot judge Borui for being empathic any more than we can judge you for being a Borg."
"Yes," Seven said, sounding thoughtful. "I realize my presence is no doubt equally discomforting to other members of the crew as we engage the Borg." She considered it. "If it is a distraction, I can assign one of my subordinates to carry out-"
"You are a Starfleet officer, and they will recognize your position as such," Riker said. "I'm just pointing out that this is a two-way street, Seven."
Seven nodded. "I will see the counselor, captain."
"Good. Anything else you should tell me?" Seven shook her head. "Then let's get back to work and make sure we never have another Wolf 359."
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For over five years, the Federation Starship USS Voyager was stranded in the delta quadrant. It's crew did everything in its power to survive the nightmare of their position: alone, with no hope of replenishing supplies, of outside repairs, or of a chance to see their home again. They had done all they could to make it home, and finally they had succeeded. There was something rather ironic in their latest mission returning them to this part of space.
"Our current status report," Chakotay said, handing Captain Janeway the PADD.
She sipped at her mug while she scanned it over. "Everything looks fine," she commented. "How's B'Ellana coming with the shield modifications?"
"She says it'll be difficult but she thinks she can complete it within twelve hours if you want to proceed."
She nodded. "I think we can use every edge against the Borg we can get." She tried to ignore the itch in the back of her brain, but it had been bothering her for some time now. She was missing something, something important... "Have we finished our diagnostics?"
Before Chakotay could answer the door to the ready room opened and the Doctor marched in, seething. He threw a PADD on the desk. "What's the meaning of this?!" he demanded.
"Is there something I can help you with Doctor?" Janeway asked, nonplussed.
"Yes there is," he said forcibly. "You can explain to me how this travesty could have happened!"
Janeway turned to Chakotay. "We'll finish this later," she said evenly. After he'd left her tone became more stern. "You're out of line Doctor."
"No, YOU'RE out of line!" the Doctor shouted. "I never should've agreed in the first place. I knew it was wrong - I KNEW IT, and yet I still allowed you to convince me-"
"What are you ranting about?" Janeway demanded. She picked up the PADD and looked, and after a few moments understood. "Species 8472."
"Yes!" the Doctor replied. "The only known species invulnerable to Borg assimilation techniques. Until Voyager comes along of course."
Janeway read the report, ignoring the Doctor. "Projections indicate they were all assimilated," she said, unable to believe it.
"Yes! And guess how it happened? My modified Borg nanoprobes. Devices known only to this ship have now found their way back into Borg hands. The only question remains: how?" Janeway was still looking at the PADD. He slapped the PADD out of her hands. "HOW?!!!"
"Doctor control yourself."
"Control myself?! I'm a program designed to save life, and I'm directly responsible for genocide!"
"Not genocide, Doctor, assimilation."
"Six of one, half a dozen of another," the Doctor replied, pacing the floor. "You still haven't answered my question. How did they get it?"
"I don't know!"
"Oh come on captain! You must have some idea! You always have an answer, so answer me now!"
"Doctor," Janeway said, rising to her feet. "I've allowed you some latitude but this is a breach in protocol."
"Oh to hell with protocol, to hell with Starfleet, and while we're at it, to hell with you!"
"Janeway to security," she said, tapping her commbadge.
"How did it happen?!" the Doctor demanded. "If I'm to bear responsibility for this at least tell me that much!"
"You're not responsible," she said forcefully. "I'm not responsible." The ready room door opened and Tuvok appeared, a security officer behind him and a phaser in his hand.
"Is this what you've come to captain?" the Doctor hissed. "Using your goons to cover up your crimes?"
"Throw him in the brig," Janeway said.
Tuvok came forward and took hold of the Doctor's arm. "Come with me," he said evenly.
"I thought I knew you," the Doctor said with contempt. "You used to have values. I wonder what happened to make you forget who you are?" Tuvok escorted the Doctor out of the room, but there was no answer to his question, only silence.
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"Ambassador," the young man said, "your transport is here."
Picard nodded and got up from his seat. He'd been waiting here at Wormhole Station for at least twelve hours for the Federation ship to take him to Earth. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that that's what he did now. He was in the waiting business. Waiting for meetings, waiting for transports, waiting for problems, waiting for information. He had dwelt on the subject for some time now; after all, he'd nothing better to do. He quietly followed the aide, an ensign actually, to the shuttle bay. Unlike the Empire, the Republic had no qualms about using a transporter, but nevertheless didn't include it on their ships, having decided that shuttles were less likely to malfunction. Their prerogative, Picard thought.
One thing he could appreciate was the view one got from a shuttle over a transporter. Wormhole Station, in all its twenty-mile splendor, spread out like some kind of metallic sky. Dwarfed by comparison were the hundreds of shuttles, fighters, and even cruisers that milled about in their routine. The station had been built to defend the entrance to their galaxy, and was now a waystation for many travelers going in and out of the wormhole. The fleet had been building up substantially while the situation continued to deteriorate in the delta quadrant.
A few minutes later he was docked in the shuttlebay of the USS Taggert, with Captain Horace and his crew waiting. "Welcome back to the Milky Way, ambassador," Horace said with a grin, shaking Picard's hand as he spoke. The captain filled Picard in on the deteriorating situation with the Borg as they walked to the turbolift. "How far have the attacks spread?" Picard asked as the lift closed.
"We've lost nine planets to the Borg," Horace said. "But we believe that many other worlds are also being attacked. Their tactics seemed to have changed."
"It's a new galaxy," Picard muttered. "And they've adapted to it."
The door opened onto the bridge and Horace stepped out. Picard came out slowly behind. He hadn't been on the bridge of a Federation ship for almost a year, and it was amazing how little it had changed, but nevertheless Picard felt ill at ease. "Set a course for Earth," Horace said, "Warp 13."
Picard looked at him with some surprise. "Warp 13?" he asked.
Horace smiled back at the Captain. "New warp scale."
Picard nodded in acknowledgement. Perhaps things had changed more than he had thought. He retired from the bridge to his quarters for some much needed rest. It'd still take several days to get to Earth, giving Picard plenty of time to write a speech for the Federation Council. It seemed that the Republic was looking into Thrawn's claims; if so, perhaps the Federation would follow suit. Besides, with the threat of the Borg, the Empire was a low-level priority anyway.
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Luke's X-Wing eased onto the ground just a few meters away from the crater. Artoo's whistle had a nervous edge to it as Luke popped the hatch and climbed out. As he jumped to the ground he saw the Falcon finish its landing further back from the lip of the crater. He unzipped his flight suit as Han and Chewie came down the hatch, weapon's drawn. "I don't like this," Han remarked.
"No one forced you to come," Luke reminded him, stepping out of the suit.
"Yeah, and I'm supposed to just wait on Romulus while you go into the center of Borg space alone," he grumbled. Luke could tell they were both nervous, and he couldn't really blame them; it must be an eerie feeling to be back here.
Yarval Outpost was dead.
Han checked out the terrain. It was disconcerting; a perfect road leading right up to the edge of this crater and just stopping, as if someone had just scooped it up - which is exactly what had happened. "Yeah, this is where the research base was." He scowled at the hole. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."
Luke sensed that Han was filled with fear and anger over the situation. "It's a tragedy," he said carefully, "but we've got to concern ourselves with the future and not the past."
"That's exactly what concerns me," Han said, kicking a rock into the pit. After several seconds they heard it hit the bottom. "Don't you know what they were researching?" Luke shook his head. "Hypermatter reactors! The thing that puts the 'death' in Death Star! And it's in the hands of the Borg!"
"Anansi," a voice whispered on the wind.
"Luke?" Han said, his anger replaced by concern. "You alright?"
He suppressed a shiver. "I can still feel them," he said. "So cold. It's indescribable; they seem to leave this place so... sterile." He reached out, trying to grasp the elusive mind but it was difficult. He sat down on the ground while Han and Chewie continued to scan the area. Luke was already deep into his meditation when Han came up to him.
"Hey, I don't think this is the time for this, huh?" he said, a slight edge of nervousness in his voice. "C'mon, let's get outta here." But Luke didn't move. Han gave him a little nudge to snap him out of it, and Luke's eyes flashed open. His voice was different, intense.
"We are the Borg. You will disarm your weapons and surrender this world. We will add its biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile."
Han had jumped back at the sound of his voice, his blaster trained on his friend, his hand visibly shaking.
"Resistance encountered. Neutralize opposition. Assimilation of ships irrelevant. Eliminate all hostile ships. Assimilate Yarval Outpost."
"Wait a minute," Han said, looking over at Chewie. "Since when do Borg use names? I thought they always use numerical designations for things." Chewie barked a reply. "Yeah, things definitely have changed," Han admitted.
"Primary target identified," Luke continued. "Planetary grid 108. Assimilate at all costs."
"Is it the research facility?" Han asked Luke. He threw up his arms in frustration as Luke continued.
"Vessel 13192 has been destroyed. Source of damage unknown. Scanning. No vessel detected at point of origin. Adapting subspace sensor. No vessel detected. Weapon identified: Class-19 Theta Torpedo. Modify shield output by 118 gigahertz." Luke's eyes slammed shut. When he opened them again his intense stare was gone.
"Hey, next time warn me when you're going to pull a stunt like that," Han chastised him.
"Sorry," Luke said, getting up. "They came for the research base, I'm sure of it. The rest of the place was secondary."
"How'd they know about it?" Han demanded. "This place wasn't exactly being advertised."
"Maybe they assimilated someone who knew about it," Luke said. "Anyone whose part of the Collective shares their memories with them."
"And inadvertently become a traitor," Han agreed. "What about that thing with the torpedo or something?"
"I'm not sure," Luke admitted. "I've never heard of any such thing. And I don’t sense anything about them being involved in the holonet. Maybe you’re right; maybe it was just bad luck."
"Well if you're done poking around can we get out of here? This place is seriously creeping me out."
Luke thought for a moment but finally agreed. There was nothing more he could accomplish here. But he still had more he could do. "You said the Enterprise was patrolling in this area?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Well," Luke remarked as he started putting on his flight suit again, "If you want to catch a Borg, you've got to think like one."
"Seven?" Han replied. "I don't know Luke. Last time I saw her she wasn't operating on all thrusters."
"All the more reason to check in with her," Luke commented, zipping up the suit. "Can we find their location?"
Chewie growled in reply. "Chewie says the network’s running again. We can contact Deep Space 19, find their vicinity."
"Well let's get moving," Luke said, jumping up and grabbing the edge of the cockpit, then tossing himself into the seat. Most pilots would have to use the ladder, but most pilots weren't Jedi Knights.
"Wait, Luke," Han said before the cockpit closed. "The people who were here?"
Luke shook his head. "You were right... they were assimilated." He felt Han's anger flare again as he hit the button to close the canopy. Han turned and stormed up the ramp, and less than a minute later the ships left the dead planet behind.
Last edited by Sonnenburg on 2006-04-08 03:14pm, edited 1 time in total.
Chuck
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He's a very odd character to write; his character on the show is very overwritten, but because Picardo was so good it worked. Trying to walk that fine line without tipping into farce is very hard, so I'm glad this worked.Ghost Rider wrote:And thus another loveable Janeway moment. I still love the Doctor.
Chuck
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I have to agree on this. They basically made his lines into this bizarre over the top that if Picardo didn't actually say them, it would sound worse then McCoy on a drunken rage.Sonnenburg wrote:He's a very odd character to write; his character on the show is very overwritten, but because Picardo was so good it worked. Trying to walk that fine line without tipping into farce is very hard, so I'm glad this worked.Ghost Rider wrote:And thus another loveable Janeway moment. I still love the Doctor.
Out of all of Voyager I have to grant that he was the best thing to come out of it. The other was jumpsuited 7 of 9.
MM /CF/WG/BOTM/JL/Original Warsie/ACPATHNTDWATGODW FOREVER!!
Sometimes we can choose the path we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all
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Sometimes we can choose the path we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all
Saying and doing are chocolate and concrete
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Probably wouldn't be much point since they could just carry his emmiter to the brig. Or just turn him off for that matter.Crazedwraith wrote:Very nice.
Although the image of the Doctor being dragged off is quite potent, shouldn't he be able to make himself intangible?
Hi! I'm Prozac the Robert!
EBC: "We can categorically state that we will be releasing giant man-eating badgers into the area."
EBC: "We can categorically state that we will be releasing giant man-eating badgers into the area."