Sonnenburg wrote:Yes, but that's 25 years after Stardate 47988, whereas this is only 8. What the present shows to Picard is the evidence that that future will come into existence.
I see.
The Federation's a really crappy ally then, if they let the Klingons conquer the Romulans.
"I want to mow down a bunch of motherfuckers with absurdly large weapons and relative impunity - preferably in and around a skyscraper. Then I want to fight a grim battle against the unlikely duo of the Terminator and Robocop. The last level should involve (but not be limited to) multiple robo-Hitlers and a gorillasaurus rex."--Uraniun235 on his ideal FPS game
"The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant compared to the power of the Force."--Darth Vader
I used to love The Neverending Story (liked 2 better though). I was thinking he game her the name Martha though.
I really am enjoying this rewrite, I think even more than the 1st one.
Captain Riker paced back and forth slowly, staring at Seven of Nine as she lay on the table in Sickbay. "You're kind of distracting, Will," Dr. Crusher commented.
"It helps me think," he said distantly.
"Yes, but I'm the one trying to think." Then she shrugged. "But I'll admit, nothing's coming to mind."
"I am equally unable to explain it, doctor," Seven said.
"Let's start at the beginning," Riker said. "Are you sure you were successfully injected?"
"That I can tell you for sure," Dr. Crusher said. "There are marks from where her carotid artery was pierced and the tell-tale Borg coagulants used to instantly seal the wound."
"Could it be from her first assimilation?"
"No," Seven said.
"Is it possible that no nanoprobes were introduced into her bloodstream?"
"I can't say for certain," Dr. Crusher said. "My experience with Borg technology is limited."
Riker rubbed his chin a little as he thought. "She's had nanoprobes running dormant through her body for years," he said finally. "Is it possible she's developed some kind of immunity to them?"
"There's no evidence of any kind of antibody tailored against nanotechnology," Dr. Crusher said.
"I felt myself being assimilated," Seven pointed out.
"Are you sure?" Riker asked.
"You think I wouldn't know how it feels?!" Seven snapped. Immediately she looked down, visibly upset with herself.
"Doctor," Riker said, "give us a moment." Dr. Crusher nodded and walked into the next room.
"My apologies, captain," Seven said. "I did not-"
"Seven, you've been through a very traumatic experience," Riker said kindly. "And right now you're letting Dr. Crusher poke and prod you while being constantly reminded of it, reliving it. I appreciate what you're doing; if we can figure out what happened, it could be an incredible asset against the Borg." He patted her on the shoulder. "I won't forget this," he said with a smile.
Seven looked up and nodded uncomfortably. "Thank you, sir."
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While Seven's body was given the once over, Borui was on Voyager in her latest efforts to deal with the mind. "Commander Tuvok?" Borui asked, as she watched the security officer going over the schedule on his PADD.
Tuvok turned and nodded. "May I help you commander?"
"Yes, Mr. Tuvok, I'd like to discuss with you a former member of your crew."
"How can I assist you?" Tuvok asked in his quarters a few minutes later, away from prying ears.
"Commander," Borui wet her lips. "I've been counseling Seven of Nine of late."
"Indeed," was his only reply.
Borui, familiar enough with Vulcans to continue without missing a beat, said, "I understand that you had a mindmeld with her several years ago. I was wondering if you could have any insights on her that might help me help her better?"
Tuvok shook his head. "What I learn in a mindmeld is not to be discussed with a third party, unless it is of the utmost concern."
"This is of great concern," Borui insisted. "When Voyager picked us up, you had to have noticed how she was feeling."
"I was aware of her feelings," Tuvok admitted. "Nevertheless, it is not my place to go discussing her mental state with others."
"Oh, come on," Borui insisted, "You know as well as I do that she's never acted like that! She was terrified out of her mind."
"Seven escaped assimilation through an as yet unknown means; fear is a normal human reaction to such an event."
"Seven's not a normal human!"
"Then it would seem, councilor, that she's had a breakthrough."
"Mr. Tuvok," she replied, "you spent three years on this ship with her. Can you honestly say that this is normal behavior for this woman?"
Tuvok hesitated. "No."
"Then help me help her. Please, anything."
Tuvok thought for a short while. "I will tell you only what might be relevant to her condition."
"Good enough."
"The exact circumstances of our meld is in her Starfleet records, but in short, she was suffering from multiple personalities caused by an alien device. I entered her mind to try and save her."
"And what did you find," Borui asked.
"Multiple personalities," Tuvok said. "Except, except I had this unusual sensation that this was somehow familiar to her."
"What do you mean?"
"It was, as if her mind knew this to be the way to cope with the situation."
"In what way?"
"I can't say. I'm only giving you my impression, I can't give you any conclusions." He was quiet for a moment. "I understand that her involvement at Wolf 359 has been revealed."
"Yes," Borui said.
Tuvok nodded. "I encountered many individuals Seven assimilated at that time in her mind. I could sense a great deal of guilt at assimilation in general, and that event in particular."
Borui nodded. "Because that time, she was a tool against her own people."
"Precisely," Tuvok said. "Seven is ashamed of her life as a Borg. At the same time, it is a central part of who she is."
"A recipe for self-destruction," Borui said with a nod. She thanked him and left, thinking about everything he'd said. She should take the opportunity to observe Seven outside of their sessions, to see how she reacts. It could be the key to deciphering the underlying problem.
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There is the distant echo from the light pattering of rain on the roof. The single window, small and crooked in the stone wall, offers a view of the gloom beyond. Both only further enhance the feeling of claustrophobia the room already has, poorly lit as it is by a small series of smelly candles. The room is packed with tables covered in all variety of unusual objects, except for one, which is covered by a haphazard pile of opened books. A solitary figure was at work at one of the tables as Ambassador Worf entered. "I hope I am not intruding," he said in his normal rumbling tone.
"No ambassador," the huddled shape said, not even looking up from the work that was the sole focus of her attention. "State your business."
Before he could speak his attention was drawn to one of the items on the table. Despite himself he was drawn over to examine it. "A dac'par throwing blade," he said in quiet disbelief. "This was used by the chosen circle of Kahless centuries ago." He stared in disbelief. "Is this blood on the blade?"
"Yes," came the reply as her work continued.
"Incredible," he whispered in fascination. "It is said that there are only eight such blades in existence."
"Were," she said, still not giving him any attention. "Grandfather broke two of them on a hunting trip ten years ago. That's where the blood came from."
Worf nodded in understanding. Were he in the Federation, such an action would be considered a phenomenal waste of items with great cultural and historical value, but he had known that they served but one purpose: to draw blood. Just as a warrior deserves to die fighting, so too should a fine weapon meet its end fulfilling its purpose. Thinking on that subject, he turned to the woman as she continued her task. "My condolences on your loss," he said as well as he could manage.
There was a grunt of acknowledgement, but that was all. "You still have yet to state your business ambassador," she said plainly.
"I need to discuss with you a matter of some seriousness," Worf said, stepping closer to where she continued. He could see now that she was attempting to catalogue a particular item, checking various books on the subject. "Regarding your involvement in the Imperial War."
"I was pardoned," she said flatly. "It is no concern of the Federation now. My connection to Starfleet vanished along with my ship." She tossed down her pen and turned. "And as you can see I'm very busy going over this collection of junk, so please don't take this as being unfriendly, but go away."
Worf wasn't surprised by the response, knowing the circumstances of Victoria Price's removal from Starfleet. It was a very difficult position for them; on the one hand, she'd stolen Federation property and supported an armed conflict against them, and was thus a traitor. On the other hand, she'd been directly responsible for bringing together the core members of the Alliance and in negotiating with the Klingons to side with against the Empire. In the end they had decided to split the difference, honorable discharge for her acts of treason, a pardon for her valiant effort on behalf of the Federation. It was a strange mix to say the least. What had made the decision less than ideal was the simple fact that she was the only captain to be discharged; all of the others who had defected to the side of the Alliance, the enemies of the Federation at the time, had been welcomed back without so much as a formal reprimand. Worf didn't know if she harbored ill feelings because of this, but he could certainly understand them if she did. "My understanding," he said as amicably as his deep voice could manage, "is that you did what you did in the name of peace. If we are to preserve that peace we need your help." There was no response as she continued scanning a page, only to flip further through the book. "Wouldn't it be easier to use a computer?" he finally asked.
"Why didn't I think of that," she mumbled, followed by a sigh. "About 40% of the trinkets were catalogued in the archives, the rest I've got to find the old fashioned way." She leaned back and rubbed her eyes. "And the lighting isn't helping much. But of course, the requests of a half-breed female aren't exactly high priority."
"What do you mean?" Worf asked.
"A power distribution line overloaded a week ago," she said wearily. "They haven't been tripping over themselves trying to fix it."
"I'll have it fixed before the next sunrise," Worf promised.
"If you're trying to impress me," Price said, returning to her work, "it's not working."
"You seem quite dissatisfied with being here," Worf commented.
"Wow, you must be half Betazoid."
"It doesn't take an empath to detect your surly mood," Worf commented.
Price stopped and looked up at him. "Surly? You're quite a diplomat."
"I'm a diplomat in name, but I remain what I am. So tell me, why do you persist in this task you seem to despise on a world you obviously hate equally?"
She looked away, and Worf said nothing. Finally, "Because I owe him. He left me in charge of his treasure trove, and I'm not going to deny him his wish."
"You convinced him," Worf said, her eyes still refusing to look at him. "You were the one who persuaded him to stop the Klingon support for the war."
"The affairs of my family are none of your concern ambassador."
"You and your grandfather risked everything for peace," Worf continued. "I can't believe you'd let it crumble away."
"Look," Price said, starting to get angry, "Just tell me what you want. No beating around the bush, just out with it."
"I want to know what happened when Riklin was released."
That brought the conversation screeching to a halt. Price looked at him warily. "What do you want to know?"
"Your involvement," Worf said. "The High Council is asking questions." He leaned towards her, his tone becoming more excited. "I won't lie to you. Tensions between the Federation and the Klingons have been increasing ever since that event, despite the mutual war against the Empire. We need to establish with absolute certainty that this action was in no way supported by the Federation."
Price stood up, and despite her size still managed to strike an intimidating pose. "Politics," she spat, "left me stripped of my command. I'm not sticking my neck out for its sake."
"Then you may condemn the quadrant to another war," Worf said, matching her mood.
"It's your job to see that doesn't happen," Price said. "Not mine."
"I'll do what I can then, without your cooperation," Worf said, and he turned and walked towards the door. "Even though it is destined to fail."
"And little old me's going to change that," Price sneered. "Thanks but no thanks."
"Very well. I'm sorry you can't see your way to helping save peace."
Price half-snorted in laughter. "If you're so convinced it won't work, why bother?"
Worf leaned over the candle. "Because..." He wet his fingers and touched the wick, extinguishing the flame. "It's better than cursing the darkness." And he turned and walked out.
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Picard embraced Leia as the old friends they were. There was no small irony in the fact that two people who had first met amidst the carnage of the Death Star had spent so much of their time since working together for peace. Their friendship had been strong; Leia hoped she wouldn't be putting too great a strain on that friendship.
"So what did you ask me here for?" Picard asked after a few minutes of polite discussion. "Surely not to gloat over these fine quarters."
Leia offered a polite laugh, but there was no hiding the cloud there. "What I'd like to discuss may be a little unpleasant." His eyebrow perked, but he said nothing. "It's about the Borg."
Picard nodded wearily. "I'm not surprised," he admitted. "The Borg are on everyone's mind these days. I'm sure they're a very strong weight on yours." He leaned back slightly in his chair as he thought. "I remember being in a similar position to your own some years back. Trapped on your side of the wormhole, wondering what was happening and cursing my inability to do anything." He looked straight into her eyes. "Believe me, Leia, I will do anything, anything you need at all, to help."
Leia sensed again, as she always did when the Borg came up, a pain in Jean-Luc that was very difficult to ignore. He hated them, and he hated himself for feeling that way; she knew that if anyone in the Federation could help, he would. She explained some of Barclay's plan; how they could use a modified communications relay to detect the Borg's subspace communications and try to figure out what they're up to.
"Mr. Barclay's an extraordinary engineer," Picard commented when she was finished, "but he doesn't know the Borg. This communication, it's not like a message you can listen in on, it's far too complex to understand."
That's what Luke had said, Leia thought to herself as Picard continued.
"That being said," Picard continued, "I do think we can find a way to put it to some use." He thought for a few seconds and then stood up. "Let me talk to Seven. I think between the two of us we can find a way to make this work."
"So we could listen in?"
"No," Picard said. "I'm hoping to do a lot more than that."
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Nawara Ven jumped despite himself as the ships came out of hyperspace. He had been preparing himself, should the invaders choose to come his way, but he hadn't been expecting this. "Base 181, this is Rogue 6," he said, unable to fathom what was now approaching. "Have spotted six Borg cubes and... some kind of pyramid. I'm transmitting readings now," he said, pushing the button to his right. He twisted his X-Wing "down" and pushed it full throttle, deciding that putting as much distance between himself and these ships was in his best interests.
The Borg had detected the Twi'lek's X-Wing as soon as they had emerged, but it wasn't of any concern, and they continued on their path near the edge of the system and proceeding in their formation towards a single world, the only habitable world here, the only world with a planetary shield around it.
Feeling a bit more at ease now that the ships had past, Ven pulled his fighter a safe distance behind the Borg to observe them. There was nothing he could do to stop them, but maybe he could give some valuable information to the Republic forces. He watched as it pulled to a few hundred thousand kilometers from the planet, uncertain of what they were doing. Assimilation? But that's a bit out of the way for assimilation, and besides, this wasn't even a Republic member world; it didn't make much sense. He slowed his X-Wing to a stop as the cubes withdrew behind the pyramid, wondering what was going on.
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With an air of triumph General Melphin, supreme commander, walked up the steps to Prime Minister Gelnis. Throughout the square below, there was cheering from some, quiet fear from others. This was the moment he'd been waiting for, the one he'd dreamt of his entire life; the last power to fall, the last to accept his total rule. At this moment, the entire world belonged to him. He towered over the primer minister as he reached the man's location. With obvious distaste, Gelnis spoke to the crowd.
"The People of Bendin," he said reluctantly, "have accepted your terms. We acknowledge you as our authority, the one and only leader of our people." He stepped back, allowing Melphin to take the podium.
"Mr. Prime Minister," Melphin said to the crowd. "I doubt your sincerity." He looked with a knowing smile at the crowd. "You're not lying to me are you?"
"No," Gelnis replied flatly. "You are our leader now. The last vestiges of resistance to your authority are gone."
"True, true," Melphin said, but then turned to the ambassador. "Still it would mean a great deal to me if you would show your sincerity." He leaned towards him. "Kneel." Gelnis did so, and Melphin chuckled quietly, leaning down towards the small man. "Fool," he said in a voice only they could hear. "Thinking that you could somehow resist me?"
"We have surrendered," Gelnis said.
"As you should have weeks ago," Melphin said. "But you were so sure you would be delivered, so sure that you wouldn't live under my heel." He laughed; it was low and unpleasant. "So, where's your salvation, prime minister?" He looked about, took the crown, and placed it on his head, chuckling all the while. "Where is your god now?"
And then, Melphin, the square, and the entire planet, exploded.
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The beam from the end of Pyramid 01 terminated as the planet exploded. The cubes remained sheltered behind the giant ship as the planetary debris bounced harmlessly off its shields. The beam has penetrated the planet's shield, proving the weapon had the power necessary to overcome any defense anyone may have. They took no notice as the tiny fighter vanished into hyperspace. The test successful, the Borg fleet returned to hyperspace.
A Jedi has the power to submerge his being into the Force; it is known as the Force Meditation. Its purpose was to continue the search for wisdom, for one of the main pursuits of the Jedi was the expansion of knowledge. Given the difficult times that he and his allies faced, Luke found himself once more seeking this wisdom, and hopefully guidance through the difficult struggles that lay ahead.
But there was no way to know what form the visions would take, or how exactly to interpret them. The future, the past, vast distances, his own experiences, they all wrapped together, sometimes leaving him with more questions than he’d started with. "Luke," the towering figure in black called to him. "You do not yet realize your importance." Luke continued his crawl, trying to ignore the words of this man, this monster. It was difficult, with only one hand to brace him as he continued. "With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy."
Luke turned and sneered at the figure of evil. "I'll never join you!"
"You know the power of the Dark side!” Vader said, advancing on him. He swung at Luke, but somehow he managed to catch the limb with his remaining hand, unquivering despite the Dark Lord’s struggles. He pushed back, snapping it like a dry twig, a grunt of pain issuing from Vader. Luke grinned, and Vader was thrown backwards onto the catwalk that had brought them here, the force so great the damage arm ripped from its limb. Luke fastened it to his stump and flexed it. It felt good; the power...
No. This wasn't right. He stepped onto the catwalk and suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, causing him to whirl around in surprise. Captain Riker held a phaser rifle upward in his right hand, several Federation security guards just beyond. "I'm getting a reading in this direction," Riker said. "You sense anything?"
Luke concentrated. "Yes, that way. I'm sure of it." His lightsaber was out and the group charged down the corridor, his senses alert for any Borg who might try to attack them. Not now, he thought, we're too close. We can't give in, the heart of the ship, it's nearer, it's...
He turned the corner and looked up at the figure interwoven into the tubules and wirings of the cube. The cackling voice, the sinister grin, the aura of evil. "No," Luke said in disbelief, "No you died on the Death Star."
The Emperor chuckled. "I command powers far beyond your comprehension, Skywalker!" Immediately an army of drones came, thousands of them... Luke could feel them all advancing, unrelenting, unstoppable...
"Luke!" Seven cried to him over the sound of the advancing footsteps. "Please Luke! It can't end like this!"
Luke cut his way through the floor, a temporary reprieve from the advancing drone army. As he disappeared through the opening he heard the Emperor's cry. "You cannot escape, Skywalker! You will be assimilated! It is your destiny!"
There was darkness as he fell, and a sudden impact, and a single circle of light lit the blackness that surrounded him. He turned and saw Seven, locked in place to the floor. Her legs were stiff metal, and he watched with horror as a transformation crawled up her body, flesh changing as it went. She wasn't alarmed, but he could see her sorrow in her eyes. "You can do it," she said quietly. "I know you can save me."
"What can I do?" he asked quickly, watching the horrible metamorphosis continue up her torso. "Tell me!"
"You’ll know," she said, looking deep into his eyes. "When the time comes, when I need you, you’ll know." He watched impotently as her arms now began the change, and still there was no fear, but a few tears ran down her face. "It's not over," she said to him. "Please, Luke... promise you won't give up on me."
Luke was shaken as his own tears began to emerge. "I won't. I promise."
Seven smiled just a little. "I believe you." He watched as it came up her neck and over the top of her scalp at the same time, leaving only her face. "I'll be waiting for you..." and her ruby lips froze in silver, the last of her to be lost. He held on to the cold shape, his face pressed against what had once been the side of her face, his grief unbearable.
"Luke," Leia's voice called through the darkness. "I need you to return to us."
There were no tears in his real eyes as they opened, a kind of relief at knowing that what he had witnessed wasn't real. Unfortunately, it wasn't a dream, it was a manifestation of something, and it could not be dismissed. Nevertheless, he found great comfort in reality. "Sorry I had to call you back," Leia said as he stood up. "There's something we need to discuss urgently."
"It's - fine," he replied. "What's on your mind?"
"I've got something I need you to do for me," she said as they sat down in his quarters. His time on Vulcan had left an impression, and his quarters were rather stoic, but furniture was a necessity of life. "Jean-luc is working on something for us, and I think he can use your help."
"What exactly is he working on?"
"Let's just say it involves the Borg," Leia replied, leaning back on the couch. "We've got quite a mess with them, and we think we might have a way of getting to the Collective, but no one has been able to learn about them better than you."
"I'd love to help," Luke replied, "But I'm neither a technician nor a commander. I'm sure there are others better qualified than I."
"I don't think so," Leia replied. "You've given us a lot of insight into the Borg of late, and Jean-luc thinks you can be a great asset for us."
"What would I need to do?"
"I can't really discuss it here," Leia replied. "This is very, very secret. You know the Borg; anyone learning of this gets caught and they'll know everything."
"Yes," Luke said quietly as he thought. It would give him something to focus on, a direction at least.
"He wants you to report to the Enterprise within the hour if you're interested," she replied. "They're leaving orbit soon and he can't delay the ship; some counterassault Starfleet's cooked up."
"Okay," Luke said. "I'll do what I can."
"You always do," she replied with a smile.
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Col. Taar was just going over the latest performance reports on the simulation deck when Admiral Thrawn entered. Fortunately today was a day of good news, not that it mattered when dealing with Thrawn; he had the wisdom to know better than to blame the messenger. However, he did have a low tolerance for failure, and even Taar knew better than to push his luck.
"Colonel," the Admiral said evenly as he stepped up to the flat screen display standing vertically in the center of the table. "I wish to discuss your recent reports on TIE activity."
A knot tightening in his throat, Taar nevertheless turned to his subordinates. "Dismissed." After they had left Thrawn stepped around to look at the display, speaking as he moved. "You have, I assume, been analyzing the reports of our recent conflicts with the Borg, and the performance of our fighter support."
"Of course, Admiral," Taar replied, curious. Why would he want to discuss this?
Thrawn bent down to look closely at somthing on the display, and then straightened up, eyes still not leaving the screen. "Tell me, what do you think of their effectiveness?"
"You mean their efficiency?"
"No colonel, I mean how effective are they against the Borg as a whole."
Taar felt the lump again, but he had to be honest. "In my opinion, sir, our fighters have little impact on the battle as a whole. They do reduce damage to the vessels in certain ways, but quite simply the net result is not worth the presence of the ships." He was Thrawn's chosen expert on fighter tactics, especially tactics against the Borg. He was admitting that he wasn't doing his job, but he owed the Empire, and Thrawn, nothing less than the truth.
"Indeed," Thrawn replied. "Why have you not brought this to my attention?"
Taar remained steady; he was still an Imperial officer. "I was attempting to find a solution, sir. A way for the fighters to improve their performance."
"Why?"
"Because in the end, sir," Taar held his head high, "the fighters are my responsibility. If they fail it means I have failed."
Before the discussion could continue a lieutenant entered the room holding a datapad. "Admiral," he said at attention, "The report on the shipyards' progress."
Thrawn plucked the datapad out of his hands and examined it. "The ships are coming along quite nicely," he commented, "But what of the conscription? Ships are useless without a crew to command them?"
The lieutenant faltered for a moment. "Admiral Nemit reports that some of the worlds are unwilling to contribute further forces to the Imperial Navy."
Thrawn's eyes narrowed. "Inform the Admiral to be more... persuasive. It would be a shame if our ships were unable to respond to a Borg attack because we lacked the necessary manpower." The lieutenant scurried off as Thrawn placed the datapad on the table, and whether by chance or design Taar caught a glimpse.
"One hundered Star Destroyers near completion?" he said in disbelief. "Sir, isn't that a little excessive?"
"Not if we plan to take the battle to the Borg," Thrawn replied. "But leave that be for right now. We were discussing the fighters, and how they are unimportant in our war against the Borg."
Taar nodded. "Yes sir, and I take full responsibility for their performance."
"As well you should," Thrawn replied. "Their performance, despite their drawbacks, has been exemplary. You continue to display a great tactical mind, Delric Taar, I saw it when we first met before the Imperial War. I think the time has come to make better use of your talents."
"What do you mean?"
Thrawn picked up the datapad and slipped it into his pocket. "I want you to consider ground tactics," Thrawn replied. "I want you to focus your thinking on how we can better use our troops to lay siege against ground installations while limiting collateral damage if necessary. In short, I'm giving you an opportunity to rise up the ladders, to be the general in charge of all ground combat on the Vendetta. It's a difficult task, are you up for such a challenge?"
Taar was at attention. "Of course admiral."
"Then appoint your most able-bodied subordinate to take over fighter duties; we'll be phasing them out of Borg activities anyway. I want a demonstration of your tactical skills in six days." He turned and left with nothing more, leaving Taar to wonder at this new opportunity. He was a pilot by training and experience, but he had had many opportunities to develop his talents with battlefield tactics. Perhaps this was a chance to really leave a mark. And being involved in ground invasions... that gave him far more opportunities to get up close and personal with the Borg, a most relishing concept.
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Picard was waiting as the others filed into the Enterprise's conference room. A funny feeling, he thought, although whether it was from being back here or from his new seat he couldn't say. Captain Riker took the head chair of course. Geordi, Seven, and Luke took various seats around the room. Picard waited for Riker to open the meeting.
"Alright," Riker began, "We've got sixteen hours 'til we rendezvous with the fleet. In the meantime, what exactly is going on here Jean-luc?"
"Hopefully a way to deal with the Borg once and for all," Picard replied. "Commander," he said to Geordi, "you remember when the Borg called Hugh was brought on board?"
Laforge's eyes widened and he leaned forward a little. "Yes," he said, a distant sound to his voice. "I remember we found him at the crash site, tried to learn what we could about him."
"And you designed that program to destroy the Borg," Picard finished.
"That's right," Riker said, "But we never used it."
"A futile effort," Seven interjected. "The Borg would have detected the malfunction and cut off the ship from the remains of the Collective."
"Yes," Picard replied. "But we may have a new opportunity, a different one which may work. Mr. Barclay has come up with an idea which may allow us to connect with the Borg's subspace signals."
Luke stirred a little in his seat. "But, the Borg mind is too complex to listen in on or to try to decipher."
Picard smiled at him. "Yes, but it may give us an opportunity to upload a hostile program directly into their systems. It could cause untold damage to the Collective, possibly even destroying the Borg once and for all."
"Interesting idea," Seven remarked. "I'm uncertain as to whether or not we can succeed."
"Nevertheless we've got to try," Riker said. "This could definitely turn this war around, give us the fighting chance we need. Get to work immediately. In the meantime," he said getting up, "I'm afraid I've still got to deal with the Collective the old fashioned way."
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Nawara Ven and Wedge Antilles were standing in dress uniform before the "committee" less than a day after what many were already calling "The Borg Incident." The Twi'lek knew why he was here; as the only witness to the destruction of planet J11-32 they would want to know everything he'd seen. The only problem was, there was precious little to tell.
"You say the ship fired at the planet and destroyed it in less than a second?" Fey'lya said with surprise. "Are you absolutely certain?"
"As certain as one can be given the circumstances," he replied. "I was a fair distance away, but my scanners showed the destruction of the planet was almost instantaneous."
"The readings from the ship show that they used a hypermatter reactor to power this vessel," Wedge commented.
"We should have expected this!" Quedlifu exclaimed. "I said that that evil device should never have been recreated, but no one would listen! Now we may have doomed ourselves!"
"Senator," Mon Mothma admonished, "please control yourself. Let us face the problem rather than assign blame."
"I assign no blame except with ourselves for our hubris!"
"Unfortunately," Fey'lya said, "I'm afraid he has a point. We should never have authorized further research on the reactor."
"Come now, how were we to know it would be stolen by the Borg and used against us?" Dx'ono replied. "It's very easy to see the risks now-"
"We should have seen the risks then," Fey'lya insisted. "How many died to destroy these weapons, and now one is in the hands of what could be our mostly deadly enemy ever."
"There is one thing that puzzles me," Ackbar said, a thoughtful look on the Mon Calamari's face. "Why did they attack J11-32? I fail to see any strategic value in such a move."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Quedlifu demanded.
"Everything," Ackbar replied quietly. "They've forced themselves into our galaxy, overwhelming our Milky Way defenses, and yet they've made no demands, no attempts at conquest or assimilation, nothing except the destruction of this world and the blockading of the wormhole. Why?"
"But they crushed our forces with ease," Ackbar replied. "Every stage of our defense was picked apart and destroyed. And I fear that ignoring this and underestimating the Borg would be a fatal mistake for the Republic."
"Then what do you suggest?" Mon Mothma asked.
Ackbar looked at her with obvious concern. "We must mobilize our defenses. Every ship, every soldier, every station needs to be ready and on alert. We need updates on Borg locations regularly, try to guess their plan before they launch it." He leaned forward. "And we need to return to the Milky Way, see whatever information they have that might help us understand all this."
"What possible reason should we have for taking such a terrible risk?" Fey'lya asked, his fur rippling.
"Because the Borg don't want us going there," Ackbar replied. "That's all the more reason why we should go, need to go."
"How do you propose to do this?" Mon Mothma asked. "As you said, the wormhole is heavily blockaded."
"I think I know what he has in mind, Madame President," Wedge said. "We can't fight our way past, but we can try to outrun them."
"We?" Dx'ono replied.
Wedge looked over at Nawara Ven, who nodded at him. "Rogue Squadron will go in Senator. We've the best chance of getting past the blockade. Our ships are small, quick, shielded, and they've got the best pilots in the galaxy."
"All the more reason for you to remain here," Fey'lya pointed out.
"Sir, one squadron of X-Wings isn't going to make a difference against a Cube, nevermind this... this Borg Star. But if we can get to our allies on the other side, maybe we can make a real difference in this war."
"You are aware of the risk," Ackbar said wearily. It was plain to see that he didn't relish the thought of risking these lives, but knew it was their best option. "Some of your people may be killed or assimilated."
"We're aware of the risks, sir," Wedge replied.
"Then you had better prepare your squadron, Commander Antilles," Mon Mothma replied. "And may the Force be with you."
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The pyramid and its escort continued its journey through this ancient galaxy, uncaring of the concern their presence had generated thus far to the local inhabitants. It was time for the next stage of their plan to develop, to further their spread into this galaxy. They had no interest in conquering it, they merely wished to bring all of its beings and technology into their own selves, to improve the quality of life for this galaxy and move themselves closer to perfection. This time it would be different. Their brute force tactics had failed; it was time to try something more subtle.
Last edited by Sonnenburg on 2006-04-15 07:14am, edited 1 time in total.
I sense a disturbance in the Force, as if a published author's Mary-Sue near self-insertion is about to cry out in sudden pain and be silenced. The well-written side of the EU is gaining strength.
Seriously though, can that be one of the improvements this time around? Can it? Huh huh huh?
consequences wrote:I sense a disturbance in the Force, as if a published author's Mary-Sue near self-insertion is about to cry out in sudden pain and be silenced. The well-written side of the EU is gaining strength.
Seriously though, can that be one of the improvements this time around? Can it? Huh huh huh?
And Kill Janeway Already
Corran Horn does play a bit of a part in AAO, though. However, he can be easily replaced if there's a solid Trek character that could serve in a detective-style fashion that wouldn't currently be serving on a starship (except for Odo).
So, anyone who wants Corran Horn to die, just convince me there's someone that can better play the part and I'll gladly stick a knife in his ribs. But time is running short on this...
The Pyramid exited the realm of hyperspace, now without its Cube escort. They were no longer needed; the weapon had proven successful during the test, now was the time to put it to use. It continued at a leisurely pace through the void of space, the planet growing larger as it approached. It was a disturbing sight, this gentle gait. It moved like the distant clouds of the storm, sliding with an air of inevitability towards its target.
The locals put up a strong defense, fighting with a passion that was notable even to the conquerors of thousands of species. Their ships unleashed their full forces against the tetrahedron, intent on destroying it before it had any chance of harming their world; unfortunately the ship didn't seem to even notice their presence. Finally, at a distance it deemed satisfactory, it stopped, facing the planet. A transmission was broadcast, but not the standard words of the Borg, something different, something suggested by Anansi. Their message made plain, they then finished what they came to do.
A brilliant emerald green beam leaped from each corner of the base of the pyramid, meeting about ten kilometers in front of the tip. After a second or two a fourth beam lanced through the center of them and pierced the planet, ripping through layer after layer of rock, then exploding with such violence that the world burst into a shower of tiny fragments, and with it the hopes of its people. Most of the ships left before the debris hit; some chose to stay and die with their world. The pyramid, its job done, turned and left, returning to hyperspace to wait for the motions to continue, having already left their scar on this portion of space.
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In a completely different galaxy the USS Enterprise, flagship of the Federation and their most experienced ship against the Borg, emerged out of hyperspace. A single Cube roamed this section of space, not dissimilar from the one that nearly conquered the Federation single-handedly, nor the one that had captured and assimilated another Enterprise in their previous battle, right out from under the nose of this crew. The Federation didn't believe in revenge, but there was a certain satisfaction in knowing the Borg would pay for what they'd done.
Behind the Enterprise were the other ships of the fleet, a collection of large Sovereigns and tiny Defiants, the warships of the Federation. Their engines at full, they quickly closed the distance between themselves and the twenty-eight cubic kilometer beast that had changed course to intercept them. Outnumbered twenty to one, and its still coming, Captain Will Riker thought as it continued to grow on the screen. So why am I the one who's nervous?
"Break formation and attack," he ordered the fleet. The ships split off to the left and right while the Enterprise remained on its steady, straight course towards the center of the Cube. The Defiants sped ahead, using their maneuverability to strafe the left and upper sides of the Cube with torpedoes and pulsed-phaser blasts. The phasers failed to penetrate the Borg shields, but where the quantums hit plumes of vaporized material leaped into space with the light green color that seemed to characterize the Borg. A group of Sovereigns turned the full force of their main phaser arrays on the right side, after a few seconds managing to cause a minor amount of surface damage, but unfortunately nothing very substantial. A beam shone from the side of the Cube and connected with one of the Sovereigns, tearing through its saucer section as it tried to maneuver away, finally managing to avoid destruction at the hands of the Borg, although Riker could actually see venting atmosphere from the tear in her hull before the shields finally sealed off the rupture. So far the Federation wasn't making much of a dent in the Cube.
"What's our status?" Riker asked as the Cube completely filled the viewer.
Laforge looked at the displays. "Fully charged. Approaching optimal firing range."
Riker stood up and stepped a little closer towards the viewer, trying his best to project confidence for his crew. "On my mark," he said.
Laforge kept his eyes glued to his display. "Range in three, two, one..."
Riker stood straight, towering in the center of the bridge. Now or never. "Fire," he said, his voice full of purpose.
From underneath the saucer section of the Enterprise a large red beam lanced through space, striking the Borg Cube dead center. The hull of the ship seemed to melt away in a circle as the beam chomped through layer after layer, widening over several seconds, until....
"My God," Laforge said, "Is that the other side of the ship?"
"Yes sir," Lt. Lightner said from tactical. "I'm reading destruction approximately one hundred fifty meters wide clear through the ship."
Riker's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm sure that got their attention. Quantum Torpedoes, full spread. Recharge the main cannon."
The white streaks burst from the torpedo arrays through the ship, crisscrossing through space while the Enterprise pulled up and away from the Cube as it started to get a little too close. The tiny weapons hit, causing more damage along the front portion of the ship. If the Borg were concerned, they certainly didn't allow it to show as its weapons continued to seek out the swirling Federation ships.
"We've lost the Churchill," Borui said as a white flair appeared off to the side as the Enterprise prepared to make an attack run across the Cube. Unfortunately their main cannon took time to recharge since they'd fired it on full power, but it seemed that the Borg had already shown some sign of weakening. Maybe there was hope after all, Riker thought as the Enterprise' phasers and torpedoes pounded the top of the Cube as it swooped in, flanked by a group of Defiants who also took their shots.
"Keep an eye on the status of their shield grid," Laforge ordered. "If we can get some shots through past their shielding we'll have a chance of finishing this."
The Enterprise lurched with a series of explosions as the Borg's torpedoes struck her underside, causing the ship to drift suddenly to starboard, nearly hitting some of the Defiant ships that now scurried out of the way of the lumbering vessel. As the Enterprise continued to lull, a direct hit knocked one of the veering Defiants over on its axis, destabilizing its path and causing it to spin slowly across its path over the Cube. A series of four quick hits knocked the ship around again before finally penetrating its hull and detonating its warp core. The remaining ships broke formation for the moment as they pulled away from the Cube, twisting to avoid any hits by the Borg weapons that reached out to destroy them. The Enterprise now pushed its engines full and raced past the edge of the Cube.
"Take us off fifty kilometers and then bring us about for another attack," Riker ordered, refusing to dust himself off after getting back to his feet.
"We'll have a full charge in thirty seconds," Laforge informed him as the Enterprise raced through space. It pulled a tight loop and was once again streaking towards the Cube, its pitted surface showing that they were indeed making some progress. A quick set of phaser blasts managed to cause some minor damage as they pulled away from the Cube to avoid another blast from their weapons. A nearby Sovereign had no such luck as the blast severed the connection between its drive and its saucer, the two now drifting helplessly through space for a few seconds before both were caught in the grip of a Borg tractor beam, slowly pulled towards the ship to be consumed. "Charge in ten seconds," Geordi said.
"Ten klicks, then take us about," Riker ordered. "Stand by to fire." The Enterprise again bore down on the enemy ship, lining up to try again at ending this battle. Riker's eyes were firmly set on the ship, but he remained focused nonetheless. "Fire!" he ordered, and again the red blast ripped from the Galaxy-class starship and into the Borg Cube.
"They've adapted," Seven remarked as they saw the crater appear on the surface of the Cube. It hadn't been neutralized, but it was far less devastating than the first blast.
"The destruction has spread through a radius of four hundred meters," Lightner reported.
The ship shuddered under a severe blow, blowing out two of the consoles. "Direct hit," Lightner called over the noise, "Deck 20!"
"All weapons!" Riker ordered as he tried to get back to his chair as the ship shuddered a second time. Phasers and torpedoes struck the Cube again and again as the Enterprise pulled away. As they twisted off from the Cube Riker pulled himself into his chair and straightened his uniform front. "All ships, form up," he ordered. Immediately the remaining Defiants and Sovereigns came and surrounded the Enteprise. Only seventeen ships now remained from the original fleet. "Course 121 mark 3" Riker ordered, and the ships came about to once again attack the Cube. The mob of vessels closed the distance quickly, several shuddering under the impact of Borg weapons as they approached. A volley of weapons fire filled the sky, ripping into the now strained shields of the Borg Cube and tearing it apart as they dug deeper and deeper into the superstructure. As the ships pulled away the perfect Cube was now a deformed wreck, but it continued its fight.
"Their shields are failing along this grid," Seven remarked from Science Station 1. "A sustained burst should disable their defenses temporarily."
"Lock onto my target," Riker ordered the fleet, and again the vessels pounded on the Cube with phasers and torpedoes, warping and ripping the Cube, then finally pulling away from the ship. Except for one vessel which continued despite Borg fire, closer and closer, until finally another beam leapt from beneath its saucer section and slammed into the Cube, spearing it with its destructive energy. There was a series of arcs as distribution nodes visibly failed, and the Cube came apart, shattering into pieces. A collective cheer went up from the bridge crew of the Enterprise, as most likely was happening on the other ships in the fleet. Their first clear victory during this war, and no one was more pleased than Riker, who nevertheless sat stoically in his captain's chair. "Destroy the remaining active portions of the ship," he ordered when the celebration had died down; he knew that even in this state the Borg could be dangerous and had to be neutralized. "Our status Mr. Lightner?"
Lt. Lightner looked over the instruments. "Sections 13 through 19 on Deck 20 have been damaged sir. Damage Control teams have already responded, but it's going to take a little time."
Riker nodded and faced the viewscreen. "As soon as we finish mopping up we'll rendezvous at Starbase 1179." And minutes later, as soon as the once deadly Cube had been turned to vapor, the remaining ships in the fleet returned to hyperspace, their joy tempered by the losses they had that incurred that day. Little more than half the ships to arrive were leaving; and even this single ray of hope couldn't make them forget that a long road awaited them if they were to win this war.
--------------------------------------------------------------
The heat of battle now finally dissipating, Borui walked through the halls of the Enterprise towards her quarters. The reactions of the crew she felt weren't too surprising: elation from most, sorrow for those who had lost someone during the battle, some feelings of apathy or concern here or there. She paid it little attention; it was just part of the background noise on a starship, the emotions of so many people in one place. But as she walked, one was starting to stand out, and it was becoming more and more distinct as she continued. She tried her best to ignore it, she knew she shouldn't be snooping around in the minds of others, but after a while she felt compelled, if only to satisfy her curiosity. She pushed the chime on the door of the room where the mind was; such a strange sensation she thought, as the mind became aware of her and the door opened. "Mr. Skywalker," she said as Luke stood up off a small mat he had been crouching on. He was anxious, and she could see signs of perspiration; his breathing was slightly labored.
"Commander," he replied, "Can I help you?"
"Sorry for the intrusion," she replied with a measured amount of sweetness and concern. "I'm an empath, and I noticed you seemed a little... strained."
Luke gestured towards a sofa and she sat as he did the same. "I was just looking into the mind of the Borg," he said as he tried to relax, and failed. "I was hoping maybe during the battle, at this proximity, I could get a better glimpse at what's going on in that collective brain of theirs."
"Anything?" she asked as gently as possible. Even if she weren't an empath she could feel his tension.
He shook his head. "There's just too much going on at once, like trying to listen to a million conversations at once, it’s just meaningless."
Borui felt the presence at the door before the chime rang. "Come in Seven," Luke said before the sound had even stopped. Seven stepped into the room, a slow gait as she took in Luke and Borui in the living area of his quarters. "Counselor," she said in acknowledgment to Borui, but she could feel her distrust, even more so than usual. She focused her attention on Luke, remaining standing as she spoke. "Did you learn anything of importance during the battle?" she asked evenly.
Luke sighed a little. "Sorry. There wasn't anything of any use in what I saw."
"I see," Seven replied. “I would like to learn of anything you might encounter; with my prior Borg history, perhaps it could explain recent bizarre behaviors within the Collective.”
“Or other things,” Borui commented. “Like at Wormhole Station, when those two Cubes collided. I don’t think we ever did figure out what caused that.” She had been focusing her attention on Seven, observing how she reacted to the memory of that experience; hoping that in light of the discussion with Tuvok, there would be something noticeable.
But what surprised Borui wasn't Seven's reaction, although she did seem apprehensive about the subject. The surprise was Luke; he began showing overwhelming feelings of self-consciousness and shame. "Something wrong, Mr. Skywalker?" she asked, but he said nothing, just looking away from the two. Borui turned away, but sometimes thoughts are so loud they cannot help but be heard, and this one was so shocking she unintentionally said it aloud. "You were responsible for that?"
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This was not a good day for Seven. Having to come face to face with the Borg again unnerved her, she’d had to endure more of Dr. Crusher’s pointless tests, and she came in here, only to see Luke sitting down and talking with Borui. It was perfectly innocent of course... it had to be perfectly innocent. She felt that paradox of emotion again. She was angry at him for no reason, and she was angry at herself for being angry; all in all, she was just really confused.
And then Borui said those words, and all of that fell aside for the moment. “Explain?” Seven asked Luke. He still didn’t look at them, saying nothing.
“Seven,” Borui said, “we should probably talk to the captain.” Borui tried taking her arm to lead her off, but Seven yanked it away.
“You destroyed the Borg ship?” she asked again.
“I- I don’t want to talk about it,” Luke said finally.
Seven didn’t know what to think. He’d saved her, she knew that much. And yet, he was able to do that... he had more power than the Borg did. It should have been comforting, but all it did was frighten her. “How was that possible?” Seven asked, trying not to let her fear show.
"I was just... just trying to help us escape," he finally stammered.
Seven’s defense mechanisms kicked in. Logic; examine the situation and understand it... perhaps then you can control it. “If you could do that, why didn’t you save the fleet from destruction?”
Luke looked at her for just a moment, and then his gaze fell downward. "Look, it's complicated."
"Small comfort," Seven remarked, and immediately she cursed herself. Her emotions were so conflicted she'd lashed out at him, and he hadn’t done anything except spare her from a fate worse than death. She would have given anything to be able to take the words back, but she couldn’t, and the controlled, gentle man was suddenly on his feet.
"You don't know anything!" he shouted at her. His anger and exasperation burst to the surface as he continued. "You can't understand what it's like. That came at the cost of a piece of my soul!" And then he turned away, clearly embarrassed at his own outburst.
Seven looked at him, and it was so hard not to reach out for him. Well, Seven, she thought, you’ve finally done it. You’ve shoved him away. Congratulations, you’ll never have to worry about getting too close to him again, not after that. “I’m sorry,” she said, and never meant the words more, but she didn’t know what else to say, so she turned and walked out.
“Mind telling me what that was all about?” Borui demanded, catching up with her.
“I mind,” Seven said sharply as she entered the turbolift. “Deck 20.”
"Seven," Borui insisted, "he saved your life, you know that?"
Seven stared straight ahead. "I'm aware of that fact counselor."
"Well you've got a strange way of showing gratitude," Borui remarked. "Couldn't you see he was uncomfortable with the subject?"
"More than likely he's embarrassed for not having done it sooner during the battle and saving the station," Seven replied, resorting to cold Borg logic as a means of momentary escape. The doors opened and Seven moved to exit the turbolift but Borui blocked the path with her arm.
"You know, you don't need to be an empath to try to understand what someone feels," she said.
Seven stared hard at her. Borui was concerned for him; she probably wanted him too. Seven truly despised her. "Is there anything more?” she said with her usual neutral tone. “I have duties." Borui raised her arm and Seven left, throwing herself into her work.
again, very nice..... and once again, I don't really remember alot of this from the first time around. Good job
CERC
Sum Senatus
And thus, the Padawan and the Master are dispatched, and it falls to the champion of the Force, Yoda to save them; whom in his near infinate power, displays little intelligence, by stopping the piller with the force instead of jerking his underlings out of the way so that his fight with Dooku can continue.....
CERC wrote:again, very nice..... and once again, I don't really remember alot of this from the first time around. Good job
CERC
Ghost Rider wrote:I still love the weirdness and complexity of Seven and Luke. Such a weird and wonderful read and ride.
Thanks guys. The main difference this time around is the more thorough examination of that weirdness. After all, Luke's clearly an emotional guy, but he knows that he has to keep his emotions in check, so there's a battle in him. And Seven obviously has that "paradox of emotions" thing she's still trying to work through, that she can be simultaneously feeling things that are in clear opposition. It's a lot of fun to explore, and I think on a subconscious level is what drove me to explore this rather bizarre concept in the first place.
Lando watched with some bemusement as the Starfleet officer tried giving orders to the engineering team carrying a group of containers on some repulsorlift device down the hall. His repeated stuttering and occasional missteps into the wall as he walked backwards was certainly not the kind of action that makes Starfleet proud. Even from here Lando could see the look of restrained disbelief at the man from his subordinates. The whole group came to a halt as Col. Kira Nerys stepped up to him to discuss what was going on. Eventually, for some reason his curiosity must have got the better of him, because he found himself walking over to the scene. Kira was mildly reading him the riot act while the officer stumbled. "May I be of some assistance, colonel?" Lando asked smoothly, trying to calm things down a little.
Kira glared at him for a second before returning her attention to the unfortunate officer. "Just having a discussion of protocol with the lieutenant."
The other officer held up his hands and repeatedly opened and closed his eyes. "Look.... major-"
"Colonel!"
"Um, colonel.... we've got to install this equipment as quickly as possible. This is the closest Federation station to .... er, it's... we need to move quickly... We're trying to stop the Borg, colonel."
There was a few seconds of general uncertainty. If this man is the last line of defense against the Borg, he thought, then we might as well get fitted for exo-plating right now. Still, an idea suddenly struck. "Colonel," he said, "why don't you contact Starfleet Command to confirm this. I'll entertain the lieutenant in the meantime so we can get this situation worked out."
Kira seemed to think it over, and a minute later Lando was escorting the nervous man into the bar. "Quark," he called to the Ferengi, "Let's get a refreshment for our guest, mister -"
"Oh, ah, Barclay. Reginald Barclay."
Lando sat down at the bar, noting the curious expression on Barclay's face as he looked at his own stool, finally slowly sliding onto it as if it were coated in slime. "Ah, thank you," he stammered as Quark passed him a drink. He held the glass clumsily in his hands as he took a small sip, and then a large gulp. "I'm not really used to being in a... command position."
Lando slapped him on the back a little, unwittingly causing Barclay to begin choking on his drink. "I know what you mean. It takes a little while, but you'll get used to it."
"Yeah," Quark remarked as he cleaned a glass behind the bar, "He's only been here a short while and is constantly bossing me around."
Lando ignored the remark. "So what exactly was in those containers you needed to install so quickly?"
Barclary shook his head with a slight wheezing laugh. "I... I can't say I'm afraid. Very hush hush." He took another long drink, finishing the glass. He snickered a little bit as he swayed slightly. "But let's just say the Borg won't be the same when we're through with them."
Quark's eyes widened a little. "You're not installing some superweapon on the station are you?" He was clearly concerned about the prospect; probably didn't want to see his new bar meet the fate of the old one, Lando thought.
Barclay shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no. But there's more than one way to deal with the Borg, and we've got it." He slipped and fell on the floor, snickering.
Lando glared at Quark. "He's Starfleet," he remarked. "You're supposed to give them synthehol only."
"I did," Quark remarked, looking over the bar at Barclay as he tried to stand up, hitting his head on the barstool and falling back down again.
Lando took the glass and sniffed it, then held it away. "This is alcohol; heavy stuff."
"Impossible," Quark said, taking it and sniffing, then coughing. "Something must have malfunctioned in the replicator."
"Borg, we hardly knew ye," Barclay remarked, and began chuckling to himself as Lando helped him to his feet and to the door. Perfect, Lando thought, Kira's going to love me for this.
Behind him, amidst the crowd of curious onlookers, the Blessed One bore just the slightest hint of a smile before slipping away.
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"They won?" Paris asked in disbelief.
Janeway refused to let the remark dampen her mood. "Have a little faith in your fleet Mr. Paris."
Paris shook his head a little with his mouth opened as he considered the event they were all informed of when they sat down at this briefing. "I do, but the way things we're going I didn't think Starfleet had it in them to take out a Cube, not with the way the Collective’s changed their tactics."
"A reasonable conclusion, Mr. Paris," Tuvok admitted. "But with the advances Starfleet has made, it seems we can afford some cautious optimism."
"Whoa, don't lose control of yourself there, Tuvok," Harry replied with obvious humor in his voice. "We don't want you getting your hopes up."
"Let's not forget," Chakotay reminded them, "Several ships were destroyed in that battle, and that was just a single Cube. The war is far from over, and we need to take it seriously."
"Agreed," Janeway remarked. "But this is a cause for optimism, even cautious optimism. Starfleet Command believes the Borg will either increase their presence in this area of space, or they may withdraw completely for the time being. Regardless, Voyager is being assigned to the Thirteenth Fleet, a group of over fifty vessels including the new Enterprise. If the Borg return they will probably send more than a single Cube and will no doubt be prepared. We must all be ready to face them, and this time we mustn't fail."
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Hadoris is a distant planet in the New Republic, far from the daily worries of those on Coruscant. Oh that's not to say that they weren't aware of what was going on; everyone knew that the Borg was here and there was reason for concern. But what need did they have to worry about this menace here, far from the wormhole, far from where the cybernetic army fought the forces of the Republic. There weren't even any New Republic ships in the area, which mattered little to the citizens of Hadoris; they could take care of themselves.
At least, that was the thought before the ships came. At first they thought it was the Borg, but as the battle continued they realized they'd been mistaken, although it was quite incidental. Their small local fleets were annihilated by the forces that came to bear on them, the tiny triangular fighters making short work of them, their larger ships bombarding the planet. Within hours, Hadoris had been destroyed, its people driven off by this advancing fleet that seemed to be destroying without rhyme or reason. No one knew, no one could understand why they did what they did, but one thing was certain, the Republic faced more than just the Borg; and the question was, could it survive?
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Delric Taar didn’t miss a step as he approached Grand Admiral Thrawn’s office, narrowly avoiding the doors as they slid open on his approach. He was late, and that could be trouble. Fortunately, it seemed that the grand admiral was involved in something, although whether it was a focused concentration or the slow simmer of anger was never known to a subordinate of Thrawn. He quickly stepped forward and apologized for his tardiness. Thrawn didn’t so much as move. “Sir?” he asked evenly.
“Quite a remarkable piece, don’t you think?” Thrawn asked. “A symbol of Vulcan power. A strong mind and a strong body, that is their beliefs.”
“Of course,” Taar said automatically. He tried to show an interest in the admiral’s study of art, but frankly it just didn’t appeal to him. To him, a thing of beauty wasn’t something you just let sit around your quarters. A well-maintained ship, that was beauty. A perfectly executed Khorvillian Corkscrew, that was beauty. This, while being something nice to look at for a few seconds, wasn’t all that inspiring to him. Not that he was uncultured, he simply found culture a little... dull. Impractical.
“Your performance assessment is cancelled,” Thrawn announced suddenly.
Taar was surprised to say the least. What had happened? Had he disappointed the admiral in some way? The thought of screwing up this latest opportunity made his stomach twist into knots. He loved the Empire, lived for the Empire, he damn near died for the Empire more than once. To have this latest opportunity taken was a serious blow, but as a dedicated Imperial officer he refused to let such feelings reflect in his voice or expression. “Why sir?”
Thrawn’s eyes flared for a moment and Taar wondered if he had angered his superior. He didn’t quite understand him, even after serving under him these past few years. After all he was, in the end, an alien, and it’s hard to understand aliens at times. “I have received word that our Cardassian friend is interested in trading information with us about a Federation weapon. I want you to find out personally what he has to sell. If it’s worthwhile, make an exchange with him.”
Taar masked his confusion. “Of course admiral. But if I may be so blunt, why do you wish to send me?”
Thrawn was quiet for a moment. "I have my reasons, reasons which will be apparent in the near future, provided this works out to my satisfaction." He turned back to the hologram. "Consult with General Igar, he's been handling a great deal of our alpha quadrant intelligence."
Taar nodded and walked towards the door, trying to understand this bizarre move. First he was switched from fighter command, which was of course his specialty, to ground tactics, which he had something of a knack for but no real combat experience. Now he was being sent into the field to contact Imperial spies? This was strange even for Thrawn, but Taar had learned to trust the admiral's instincts.
"Colonel," Thrawn said just as he reached the door, "Be on your guard. Cardassians are notoriously unreliable, and Mr. Garak is not one to take lightly."
Taar nodded and continued on his way, wondering just what he was getting into.
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Seven opened the door of the holodeck and was slightly chilled by what she saw: the interior of a Borg ship. She hadn't been on one in years, but the memory of those experiences was fresh in her mind as she passed the entrance and the doors slammed shut, sealing her into the fictional world. There was a careful edge to her walk as she half-crept through the halls and corridors of the ship. Without warning a drone came around the corner and made a grab at her, but she sidestepped him while ducking to avoid his grasp, bringing the heel of her palm up to strike the Borg under the chin, knocking him backwards. Her phaser was out in an instant, and he was vaporized. More alert of potential attacks, she turned the corner and saw Luke.
Seven had seen him fight, most notably the battle on the Death Star where he eliminated a platoon of elite guards single-handedly. Still, this was intimidating. Luke was standing in the center of a group of no less than seven advancing drones, the group working together to overwhelm and assimilate the human. He didn't have a chance. But his blade was out and he made a quick horizontal swipe, cutting the two to his right in half at the waist. Before the swing had even stopped he rolled to his right, kicking at a nearby drone as he was halfway through the roll, only to come out off the roll on his feet. Not even taking time to check his balance his blade speared a Borg and he spun to his right, bringing his blade in another short twist to bisect a drone, then jerking it vertical to kill still another. Two more Borg moved simultaneously, assimilation tubules reaching for his neck, but he sliced the hand off one while ducking the other, then somersaulting backwards to avoid their reach. They advanced together; a fatal mistake as Luke spun clockwise, dropping down as he went and literally cutting them off at the knees. Three quick jobs into the fallen bodies and it was over, the entire event taking less than ten seconds. There was some signs of perspiration, but his breathing was barely quickened by the ordeal. She had to admit, she remained impressed with his skills; he was truly remarkable.
"Can I help you?" Luke asked as he shut down the weapon. Thankfully he didn’t seem angry at her presence; she’d been afraid he would be after what had happened.
"Why this particular setting?" Seven asked as she looked about the room. "Does it have a purpose?"
"Bench," Luke said, then sat upon it as it materialized. "It does, but you wouldn't believe me."
Seven stepped around, leaning slightly against a material transfer conduit. "You are now the expert in what I will and won't believe?"
Luke toweled his face off slightly. "Just basing it on our track record so far."
Seven opened her mouth and hesitated a little before speaking. "Try me," she said with a little uncertainty about the words.
Luke dropped the sweaty towel onto the bench and leaned back. "Okay. I saw into the future and I know I'll probably be fighting on a Borg ship, so I thought I'd better practice."
"You saw the future," Seven said, wanting to clarify.
"Well, a possible future," Luke admitted. "But it's better to be prepared for it and not have it come than to ignore it and be caught off guard."
"Logical," Seven remarked.
Luke smirked a little. "Thanks," he said getting up. "Well, if you'll excuse me-"
"Wait," Seven said, putting up a hand to stop him. His momentum caused him to bump his chest into her hand before he stopped. She was uncertain how to react to the unintended touch, so she did her best to ignore it. "I wish-" she floundered. "I wish to apologize again for my remark. My behavior was inexcusable."
Luke's look changed, and Seven felt a little uncomfortable, almost wanting to run away, but she was determined to fix this. She stayed. "It's not your fault, Seven. It's mine. I shouldn't have let myself get worked up, especially about that. You had no way of knowing, no way of understanding the situation. I'm sorry."
He turned to continue his practice, but she couldn't let him. "You think so little of me," she said, looking down, a slight tone of hurt in her voice. He turned back towards her in surprise. "Explain to me so that I will understand."
Luke seemed to think for a while. "Why?" he finally asked.
Seven hesitated. "You saved me,” she said finally. “From something I fear more than death itself. I am truly grateful. Nevertheless, I can see you have been harmed by that experience. I would like to understand the nature of the sacrifice you’ve made for me.”
Luke paused and then sat back down on his bench. "All right." He leaned forward and his folded hands as he thought for a while. "Do you know what the Force is?"
"A type of energy field that can be manipulated by gifted individuals, such as yourself," Seven said.
"Fair enough," Luke said. "The exact powers of the Force are a mystery. We, that is, the Jedi, have figured out some but it's only the tip of the iceberg. The more you learn it, the more powerful you become with the Force. For example," Luke's towel lifted up off the bench and hovered in space for a few seconds before returning, "That's simple. Other things are more complex, seeing the future, predicting attacks, healing, etc. With practice you get better at it."
"And now you can move starships?" Seven asked.
"No," Luke said, his face becoming slightly downcast. "That is, I could, I mean... Alright, the most important thing about the Force is not what you can do with it but how you use it: good or evil."
"But saving us was a good thing," Seven replied.
"Yes," Luke said, a little off. Clearly he was having trouble expressing himself. "But, how I was feeling wasn't." He paused. "Okay, let's say that I jab you in the back with a painstick for no reason, just to watch you get hurt. I'm doing something with an evil intent. Now let's say that you're injured, your shoulder is dislocated, but I pop it back into place. That also would cause you great pain, but I'm doing it to help you, with a good intent. Even though the effects are the same, they're being done with different thoughts in mind."
Seven nodded slowly. "I think I am beginning to understand. You're saying that, when it comes to the Force, it is the thoughts of the individual and not the actions the person uses that are important?"
"Yes," Luke said, clearly perking up. "Good. Now, when something is done with an evil intent, that's called the Dark side of the Force. It's using anger and hatred as your weapons to achieve things, and even if those things seem good, they're really part of the Dark side."
"And that's bad?" Seven inquired.
"Yes. You see, the more you use the Dark Side, the more you grow to accept its evil. You become consumed by the desire for power and you wind up corrupting yourself. That's the dilemma," he said weakly. "What I did, I did with anger and hate in my heart.” He paused. “You saved my life, Seven, and the thought of you being assimilated by the Borg was- it was too much for me to bear. The Borg wanted to take away someone I consider a friend, and it filled me with such rage...” He shook his head. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Seven, really, but at the same time, that moment was the biggest mistake of my life. I've given in to the Dark side once, and for a long time to come it will be a temptation, attracting me with promises of power, but in the end it will destroy me. I'd be so consumed by it that the person I am would be destroyed, instead a mere servant of evil."
Seven understood. "Like Faust."
Luke looked at her, not understanding. "Who?"
"Faust," Seven said. "An ancient Earth play Captain Picard had recommended to me. Faust was a man who desired great knowledge so he could become powerful, and it was given to him, but it required selling his soul to the devil to achieve it, thus destroying him."
"A fitting description," Luke admitted. "Anyway, power isn't all it's cracked up to be." He rose to his feet with a strange weariness, but Seven thought she understood him a little better, although the man still was something of an enigma. She also was deeply moved by his explanation; it wasn’t just that he cared enough to protect her, he cared enough to injure himself to do it. Truly he was a great man.
"I'll leave you to your practice," Seven remarked, and took a few steps towards the exit before stopping. "Mr. Skywalker," she asked as he picked up his lightsaber. "When you were fighting on the Cube, was I there as well?"
Luke paused. "You might have been," he replied. "It's a bit difficult to see."
Seven nodded and made her way out. She had to admit, she hoped she wouldn’t be; even the simulation had been uncomfortable. She returned to her lab to continue their work. Perhaps if she succeeded with it she'd never have to worry about being on a Borg ship again.
I thought you were cutting Melphin out? Very nice as always.
