Chapter Six

It took some time for Torres and Tuvok to be accepted by the band of Bint’Ari partisans. For the most part, the only person who really spoke to them was Jaskin’Oro. He also arranged to have their shuttle brought much closer to the camp, so that the two could repair it without fear of Borg patrols finding them.

“You are on the island of Praetor, in the Irabek Providence,” Oro explained. “Most of the resistance groups have gathered on the islands of Irabek, as Borg activity is less frequent here.”

“What about the mainland?” Tuvok asked.

“It was hit hard in the initial attack,” explained Oro. “Two of the three continental providence are completely overrun, the third close to being totally conquered. We have managed to contact several resistance groups on the mainland. They say that the tide is turning, now that the cube is gone.”

“No more re-enforcements,” concluded Torres, who was mainly focused on the port nacelle of the shuttle.

“Right,” Oro replied. “There is a plan in the works. It seems that the Borg have concentrated their numbers around Topachan, the capitol.”

“That would be logical,” said Tuvok. “The Borg would require an area with a large amount of high-tech equipment available to form a separate, planetary hive.”

“Which would mean,” added Torres, “That the Borg may not need a cube in orbit to finish assimilating the planet.”

Oro looked horrified. “That changes everything!”

“Didn’t you say you were planning to liberate the the capitol?” asked Torres.

“I said that we were preparing for it, but we thought that we had more time!” Oro sighed, and sat down. “You see, when our people are mated, they share a very strong telepathic bond. A person cannot hide anything from their bond-mates, nor can their mate’s thoughts be totally ignored. This has been the way of my people for hundreds of seasons.

“When the Borg came, for the first time in our history, bonding became a problem. When one member of a bonded couple became assimilated, the link did not break. Though technically the assimilated person no longer existed, their thoughts as Borg were still shard with those of their bond-mates.

“The Borg mind is said to be overwhelming. The person who’s mate has been assimilated is often driven mad by the power of the Borg voice in their minds.” Oro looked down. “My own mother was assimilated. My father is now nothing more than a broken shell.”

“Wouldn’t the Borg use people like your father to sabotage your resistance?” Torres asked.

“No one can control the actions of their bond-mate. The link is not strong enough. No matter how strong the Borg mind is, it can’t force people like my father to do anything. They do make use of their knowledge, though. We are careful not to discuss ideas in front of those people. We even blindfold them so they cannot see where we are going.

“But the assimilation had stopped. We assumed it was because the cube had left, and we were winning the war. Now you say that the Borg will soon be able to assimilate people even though the cube isn’t here. This changes everything.” Oro stood up. “For every one Bint’Ari that is assimilated, another is destroyed from the inside. We can’t absorb any more of these losses – the Bog must be stopped before they start assimilating again. Please excuse me,” he said, as he hurried off towards the camp.

Torres waited for Oro to be out of sight, then spoke. “We have to help them, Tuvok.”

“We cannot help them, Lieutenant,” Tuvok replied. “The Prime Directive-”

“To Hell with the Prime Directive!” Torres shouted back. “These people are losing their world, and they are still doing everything they can to help us.” She calmed a bit before she continued. “Besides, we can’t get off this planet without Voyager’s help. The shuttle can’t outrun or outfight those Borg scouts. We can’t send a distress signal, or the Borg will know exactly where we are. And since we are over two days late for our rendez-vous with Voyager, there is a good chance that Bint’Ari is going to be our new home. And given that, I would rather not see it assimilated. I don’t particularly feel like being a Borg drone today.”

“A valid point, Lieutenant, but-”

“But nothing, Tuvok!” Torres roared. “I see no other alternative. Do what you like, but I am going to do whatever I can to help these people.” She walked into the shuttle, ending the dispute.

Illogical, Tuvok thought to himself.

“Please stop that, Mr. Paris,” the Doctor demanded from across sickbay, without even looking up.

Tom smiled, and poked one last time out of spite. His finger never touched anything solid.

Tom looked down. His arm was well inside of the Doctor’s double, who was absentmindedly continuing through the reports.

“Did you do that, Doctor?” Tom cautiously asked.

“Do what?” the Doctor replied, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. He looked up from his tricorder and his jaw dropped.

“Something is wrong,” the Doctor said, as he hurried over to the holographic control console.

The Doctor’s double began to flicker, and Tom instinctively pulled his arm away from the hologram.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked.

“The holographic computer core must have been damaged during the fight with the cube,” the Doctor hurriedly replied. “The diagnostic must have missed it. The doppelganger is losing integrity.”

Harry hopped off the medical table and walked up to the console opposite the Doctor’s, and accessed the Doctor’s program.

“Doctor, your entire matrix is destabilizing!”

Before Harry finished the sentence, the Doctor himself began to flash, and both holograms suddenly disappeared. The Doctor’s holo-emitter dropped to the ground.

“What happened?” Tom asked, coming up behind Harry.

“I’m not certain. His program seems okay, but B’Elanna would be able to tell for certain if there was anything wrong,” Harry replied. Seeing the frown on his friend’s face, he quickly added, “I’m sure she’s all right, Tom.”

Tom flashed a quick smile at Harry. “Well, I suppose we should re-activate his program, to make certain he is okay.”

Harry ordered the computer to activate the EMH, and a confused looking Doctor appeared, standing above his fallen holoemitter.

“Please state the nature,” he automatically said. Annoyed, he bent down, picked up the emitter, and inputted the instructions transferring his matrix to the emitter. He then set the emitter on the side of his arm, and there it stuck.

“Please state the nature,” echoed from across sickbay. Harry, Tom, and the Doctor all exchanged shocked looks as another copy of the Doctor walked out of the Doctor’s office.

“Please state the nature.”

“Please state the nature.”

“Please state the nature.”

“Please state the nature.”

Four more holograms bearing a striking resemblance to the Doctor appeared all around sickbay.

“Harry?” Tom asked, his eyes not moving from the Doctors, all looking at the others with an air of hostility.

“I don’t really know, Tom,” Harry replied. “His program, following instructions from his most recent update, copied itself. I managed to isolate the parts of the program that were causing the duplicates and shutting it down.”

“I guess we should delete all of these other Doctor’s,” Tom said. “One is enough!”

“I agree!” Doctor #3 interrupted. “Delete all of these crude copies. I won’t be able to work with all of these distractions.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Doctor #5 replied. “I have no intention of being deleted.”

“Delete yourself, you degenerate imitation,” Doctor #1 added. “And that goes for the rest of you!”

The five copied Doctors continued bickering. The Doctor wearing the holo-emitter simply smiled, watching Harry expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to delete them?” The Doctor asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied.

“What do you mean?” The Doctor asked. “They’ll destroy my sickbay! Delete them, immediately!”

Thus, The Doctor was sucked into the argument. The six Doctors each argued that they were the original, and the others were just simple copies.

“What do we do, Tom?” Harry asked.

“I don’t have a clue,” Tom replied. “Maybe we should ask the Captain.”

Tom and Harry quietly snuck out of sickbay, leaving the Doctors to their dispute.

Yipu was giving another of his status reports, outlining various defense strategies that were being employed and defining the Borg occupied areas. As he looked at the reports and maps, Ira could not help the feeling of helplessness that overwhelmed him. All while Yipu seemed so calm, almost enjoying the conflict.

But that was the kind of person a Guard tended to be. While most people had bond-mates and children to worry about, Guards only lived for their jobs. Long ago, when there was war of Bint’Ari, members of the armed forces were forbidden to be bound. It was a good law, for what soldier could fight effectively with their other constantly cautioning them, complaining, or otherwise distracting them?

In exchange, members of the military were granted citizenship, a privilege reserved previously only to those who were bound. As a result, raphites, or homosexuals, joined the military em-masse in order to gain citizenship. There was no particular hatred for raphites, it was just impossible for someone to be bound to a member of the same sex. The similarities in neural structure almost always caused permanent retardation. And, since one normally must be bound to become a citizen, the military became the only way that raphites could achieve that status.

A few argued against raphites in the military, claiming that they would develop relationships with other members of their companies, and become less effective fighters due to too much concern for their lovers. These few were often laughed off of debate floors. After all, a person would undoubtably fight with more passion if he felt his lover was threatened. And if that same person saw his lover killed? Certainly a rage would result that would not be very beneficial to the enemy. Vengeance is a powerfully motivating emotion.

Even though the military was now nonexistent, the old customs still held true with the Guard. An organization in which the non-bound could become citizens was essential, especially for the raphites. If that were taken away, there was no imagining the unrest it would cause.

Ira envied the Guard, Yipu in particular. Ira lived in mortal terror everyday now. Not only in fear of his own assimilation, but also that of his other. He had seen the madness it caused when an other was assimilated, and certainly did not want for him or his other to experience that first hand. He had seen hundreds of afflicted since the invasion began, and he would almost rather die than to see any more.

“Sir,” Yipu interrupted. “Usum, what do you think?”

“Just fine, Yipu. I have the utmost confidence in you.”

Truth be told, Ira hadn’t heard a word Yipu had said. It wasn’t like it would have made much of a difference. He was a politician, not a general. Yipu was more capable of leading his people to victory over the Borg than he was. Ira wished for the day that a statue of Yipu would be erected in the Court a Legends. That would be a day of victory over the Borg.

Yipu bowed politely and hurried out of the First Citizen’s office. Ira looked forlornly at the map in front of him. More than three-quarters of the mainland was blue, indicating occupation by the Borg. He was surprised to note that only one of the hundreds of surrounding islands that made up the Irabek Providence were blue, that being the capitol, Mali’chor. Not that the war effort could benefit from a few free islands, but it pleased him that some of his people were still safe, for the time being.

Three days ago, most Bint’Ari felt alone in the universe. There was no definite proof of alien intelligence at all. Now his people were paying dearly for their ignorance.

A rumor was circulating that interested Ira, though. Many people were saying that there were two aliens, not Borg, on Praetor Island, who were helping the local resistance group fight the Borg. It was said that their civilization had defeated the Borg in the past. But they were only two people. How much could they possibly help?

It did provide Ira with some comfort. He would know that there were moral races in the universe, not just ambitious races bent on the total destruction of all other civilizations. It was bad luck that would lead to the end of the Bint’Ari, not a moral fault that they possessed.

Ira stared at the reports in front of him and silently prayed to Air, the Father, that death would not come too soon.

The drones were about half as tall as the Queen, and certainly less spectacular. Matted, brown fur covered their bodies, and their eyes seemed quite dull compared to the amazingly complex eyes of the Queen. Most of the drones were sleeping, but some were awake, and engaged in the sorts of things they must have thought were productive. Some where wresting, while others were throwing anything that they could lift. A few of them approached the visiting group, curious about the alien creatures. One stood right in front of Natasha, who was uncertain whether she should treat it like an animal of like a peer.

“Go ahead!” the Queen pushed. “Pet him! They really are quite lovable.”

Natasha reached out, nervously, and stroked the drone’s furry head. The drone responded by placing his hand on top of hers, then bounding away happily. Natasha chuckled in amazement.

“I find it interesting,” Janeway noted, “that one moment you speak of your drones with contempt, and the next with adoration.”

The Queen made a noise best interpreted as a laugh. “Our people hold the drones in very high regard. Quite frankly, we can’t exist without them. But, we are also realistic. They are, after all, terribly simplistic, stupid creatures. They can only fertilize eggs. We can’t use them in any meaningful work. So we spend a great deal of money caring for nearly useless, but essential creatures. That can be quite aggravating.” She put her hand on the head of a nearby drone, then shooed it away.

“Through that tunnel is the fertilization chamber,” the Queen explained. “No one may go there except for the nurses. We try to keep procreation from being a spectator sport.” The Queen laughed again, and turned towards the exit. “Come now, let us go to the reception hall. All should be in order now.”

Janeway took one last look at the drones, and quite surprisingly thought of Paris. Laughing the thought away, she turned to follow the Queen. She imagined for a moment petting Tuvok or Chakotay that way. Impossible.

Lined up and sown the tunnel-like corridors of the palace were what Janeway guessed to be members of the soldier class. They were easily the tallest Khamish they had seen yet, with the exception of the Queen, with very light grey fur. They also had wings, again, something only seen on the Queen prior to that point.

The group emerged in a spectacular dining hall. It was domed, and lit with a relaxing combination of blues and greens. Beautifully complex sculptures were imbedded into the walls, depicting various battles. One of the sculptures was an obvious representation of a past Borg attack. There was a large cube half eclipsing a moon, with a swarm of small fighters engulfing it.

In the center of the room was a low table, surrounded by even lower stools. Janeway reasoned that a quadrupedal species could not use a chair with a back to it.

“This is the Hall of Victory,” explained the Queen. “Here we sculpt those great victories that have lead to the betterment of out people. For example, this sculpture depicts the War of Queens. It was then that the world was united under one Queen.”

“What happened to the other Queens?” Janeway asked.

“Oh, they were executed and eaten by the victorious queen,” The Queen said, quite matter-of-factly.

“This one, of course, was the first Borg War,” said the Queen, indicating the sculpture that Janeway had noted earlier.

“How many times have the Borg attacked your world?” Natasha asked.

“After this last attack, three. We were going to sculpt the second, but it would have been a terribly boring sculpture,” the Queen explained. “Ah! The meal has arrived. Please! Be seated!”

Janeway turned, and saw yet another variety of Khamish, the shortest yet. These, she assumed, must be the Workers. The only major differences between Workers and drones in appearance was the height, and the fact that the Workers had black fur instead of brown. They were efficient, though. It took the Workers less than a minute to prepare the entire table, table cloth, food, and arranging the stools so that the four could comfortable converse. Janeway was impressed.

There was no solid food on the table, but in front of each of the four was a roundish glass container with a long neck. In each was a thick, pink liquid. Seven opened her tricorder, and scanned the fluid.

“It’s perfectly safe for humanoids, Captain,” Seven reported. “It contains high levels of amino acids and varying levels of most essential nutrients,” she added.

The Queen had already began to drink. She used her tongue like a straw, probing it through the container’s long neck into the nectar. Janeway lifted hers, and took a cautious sip. She was surprised at the taste. It was mildly sweet, with a strong citrus flavor. She wondered if Neelix could learn to make this.

“What it that?’ asked the Queen, pointing to Seven’s tricorder.

“It’s a tricorder,” explained Seven, who had just finished putting it away. “a scanning device. I was inspecting the fluid, to ascertain whether or not it is safe for our consumption-”

“How dare you!” exploded the Queen, who leapt to her feet. “How dare you imply that I would have you poisoned, especially in the Hall of Victory!”

Janeway tensed. Perhaps they should have explained about the tricorder before using it. “You misunderstand, your Highness,” she explained. “Clearly we are very different species. Something entirely healthy to you may be extremely harmful to us. We were just being cautious.”

The Queen seemed to relax, and lowered back onto her stool. “And that little thing told you all that?”

Seven nodded. “The fluid provides many basic nutrients. I can’t think of a humanoid species this would be harmful to.”

“Amazing technology,” commented the Queen. She seemed lost in wonder for a moment, but passed. An instant later, she was her usual, flamboyant self.

“Oh! I was telling you about the sculptures. Where was I?” she drooped her antennae in thought.

“The second Borg attack?” volunteered Natasha.

“Yes! Very good of you to remind me,” the Queen replied. “Oh, yes-”

The Queen made a loud humming sound, something akin to an order of some kind. She then turned her attention back towards the table.

“The Second Borg War!” The Queen began again. “That would have been a terrible sculpture. During the first war, we destroyed their silly looking ship less than an hour after they made their terribly amusing ‘Resistance is futile!’ speech. The Borg turned out to be surprisingly clever things. Our monofilament cannon was on the Blue Moon during the first two wars. During their second attack, they wouldn’t go anywhere near the Blue Moon, no matter how much prodding we gave them. We had their ship properly laced and everything, and they held out for a day without going anywhere remotely close to it. Finally, some of the soldiers just got impatient. Several hundred of them crashed their ships into the cube, rupturing the antimatter pods, and destroying the cube. A terrible waste of soldiers, and a terrible subject for a sculpture. Don’t you think?”

Janeway nodded in agreement. She wondered about putting the Queen and Neelix into a room together, and seeing as they had the same flare for long-winded, highly commentary stories.

“Anyway,”the Queen continued, with a flamboyant gesture using both her arms and wings, “this time we put a cannon on the Grey Moon! Only the Borg noticed it right as we were firing, and tried to move out of the way. Then you, and your magnificent ship, destroyed the piece that our cannon missed! Certainly it was small, but if they avoided both moons, we were not ready with anything else that could stop it. We would have been invaded.” The Queen slammed her fist onto the table. “Now that! That is a victory worthy of a sculpture!” Just then, a curious looking Khamish walked in.

The odd thing about this Khamish was that she only had two legs, and four arms. She was slightly taller than a soldier, and much the same color. But she didn’t have any wings.

“Ah! You have impeccable timing!” the Queen commented. “My friends, this is ____.” Again, the computer was unable to translate a name. “She has been chosen to sculpt the victory of the Third Borg War!” The Artist bowed struggling to hold the several scrolls that she had at the same time.

“It is an honor,” she said, “to meet such valiant soldiers.”

“Show them!” the Queen demanded impatiently. “Show them your sketches!”

The Artist nervously unrolled several of her scrolls over the large empty space on the table.

“These are ideas for the sculpture,” the Artist stammered. “You are to select the one that I shall sculpt into that wall.” She pointed to a large open area, next to the sculpture of the First Borg War.

“Really,” Janeway protested, “we can’t-”

“You must!” the Queen interrupted. “The heroes of a victory select the sculptor and must approve the sketches. I took the liberty of selecting the sculptor for you since you are off-worlders, and would have no way of knowing who to choose.” The Queen took another sip of nectar. “The people are very excited. Never before has an alien been given this honor. You must choose!”

“Well, if you put it that way,” Janeway smiled. Natasha and the Captain rose to look over the sketches, and thought they were all spectacular. Janeway was amazed how quickly the Artist produced so many sketches so quickly after the battle.

The two had no trouble selecting their favorite, though. It showed the Borg cube to the lower left, and the Grey moon just below it to the right. The cube was surrounded by several small Khamish fighters. Above the cube, to the right, was a stuningly accurate representation of Voyager, firing a phaser with a spread of torpedoes in front of it. Janeway thought they must have some kind of recording devices onboard their fighters to get such detail.

The Artist beamed at their selection. “That, too, was my favorite. Again, you honor me.” She gathered up her sketches, and with a nod from the Queen, scurried out of the room.

“Your Highness,” began Janeway. “The Borg are a very persistent and adaptive race. how are you going to repel their next attack? Certainly the Borg have learned that when attacking this world, stay away from the moons. Your strategy will not work the next time they come.”

“I concur,” added Seven. “The Borg will adapt their sensors to locate any such weapon. In a future assimilation attempt, it will be targeted before it could ever be used.

The Queen extended her wings. “There will not be another attack, Captain. we are going after them!”

“How so?”

“Ever since the second invasion, the scientists have been working on a smaller version of the monofilament cannon, one we could install on a fighter. Last week, testing on the prototype was completed, and they began production on the weapon. As we speak, one thousand fighters are being equipped with the mini-cannon. We are going to use them to hunt down and destroy the Borg, before they can attack us again.”

Janeway was shocked at the boldness of the idea. She could not decide if it was brave or utterly foolish.

“You mean that those little fighters are capable of faster-than-light travel?” Natasha asked.

“No, no, silly,” replied the Queen. “They are entirely too small for that. But the motherships are. We will have five such ships ready tomorrow, when the installation of the mini-cannons is scheduled for completion. Each mothership will carry five thousand fighters. After tomorrow, We will start the Fourth Borg War!”

“Your Majesty,” Janeway began, uncertain of how to express that the Queen was nuts. “The Collective is enormously powerful, and they must control a vast area of space. Our people have encountered them all the way across the galaxy. Forgive my bluntness, but how can you, with but the resources of a single world, accomplish such a goal?”

“I can understand your skepticism,” the Queen said. “I know that I will not see the culmination of this objective while I still live, but someone must set out to do it. Why not me? How many times will our world survive the Borg attacks if we do nothing? They will learn how to defeat us, you yourself agree to that. We must do something now. We will expand, and colonize new worlds. We will mine dead asteroids and moons for the materials we need. We will ally ourselves with threatened races and protect those who are too young to protect themselves. The Borg must be stopped, Captain, and I, for one, see no reason to wait for someone else to do so.”

“A worthy goal,” Janeway agreed.

“A futile goal,” Seven corrected. “By expanding, you will draw more attention to your civilization. The Borg will place your assimilation at a higher priority. You will be attacked that much sooner.”

“Ah,” the Queen replied. “If we do nothing, we get assimilated. We can’t develop new weapons fast enough to defeat the Borg every time they attack. If we expand, and seek them out, we will get assimilated. The way I see it, we don’t have much of a choice. Either way, we get assimilated.”

“A valid observation,” Seven replied.

“But first, we are prepared to repay you for your heroics against the Borg!” continued the Queen. “We have detailed charts of this cluster. We know that it is not entirely safe for your ship to travel alone, because the Borg presence is tremendous. I will send the fleet with you, to help you find your missing people. Then they will escort you out of this star cluster, so that you can continue your trip home. I am sorry we cannot do more for you, but as you know, we are at war.”

“We do appreciate any help you can offer,” Janeway replied, as she rose to her feet. “I must return to my ship now, but I would like to leave Ensign Nikolayevich to coordinate with whoever is in charge of your fleet.”

“Certainly!” the Queen said, as she herself rose. “Then it is settled.” She paused. “Um, are you going to disappear right here like you came, or do I need to take you outside to do that?”

Janeway chuckled. “We could transport from here -”

“Yes, yes!” the Queen interrupted. “You must do it now. It is absolutely fascinating the way you can just pop in and out like that.”

Janeway tried hard to control her laughter as the activated her comm-badge. “Janeway to Voyager, two to beam up.”

The Queen watched amazed as Seven and the Captain vanished into thin air. She turned to Natasha.

“You know, Ensign, that is absolutely amazing! I have got to try that, if your Captain will allow it.”

Natasha smiled. “I am certain I can arrange it.”

“Good, good!” the Queen exclaimed, as she ushered the young woman out of the Hall of Victory.

Star Trek, Voyager, and related properties are © Paramount Studio, and the author makes no claim towards them.

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