Ti’Hat and the Vulcan: Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Tuvok worked steadily on the thruster array, hoping that he could piece a few more working thrusters together out of the ones that were irreparable. He still required some tool that Torres would undoubtably bring back from the city. If she survived the attack, that is. He would have to determine an alternative course of action should she not return. It was the logical thing to do.
The rumble of an engine was heard through the quiet of the jungle, along with a mass of jovial voices. Clearly the raid was a successful one. Perhaps the Lieutenant was not killed after all. The voices finally came close enough for Tuvok to make out some of the conversation.
“Unbelievable! I’ve never seen anyone fight like that!”
“Forty-two! Who ever thought it possible? Howling and snarling all the way!”
“Like an enraged ti’hat!”
“Alu was a fool to challenge her!”
“Yeah Alu, you are lucky she didn’t kill you! I don’t think anyone could have stopped her from killing those Borg.”
“I only thought that-”
“A woman! You thought a woman could not be a warrior!! Perhaps she was right – if you had a woman in your head, you wouldn’t act like such a fool.”
The group continued to rave about Torres’s spectacular show during the raid while it moved into the camp. While the men poured into their tents, readying a celebration, the truck turned towards the shuttle. Torres climbed out of the driver’s seat after it stopped.
She, on the other hand, looked like she had just killed forty-two Borg. Her black and brown uniform jacket was missing completely, and the blue top worn beneath had several holes torn in it. Her clothing was soaked in blood and sweat, and the right side of her face was swollen and bruised. Her hair was pasted flatly to her head by the sweat.
She sat down near Tuvok, leaning on the side of the shuttle. “In the truck are enough spare parts and tools to fix most of the shuttle. With little creativity, that is.”
“I trust you are not too severely injured?” Tuvok inquired, with no sign of concern in his voice.
“Aside from the fact that I hurt all over,” she replied with a groan, “I feel just fine.”
“Perhaps you should rest,” Tuvok suggested, as he began to pull components out of the truck. “Tomorrow, we have a lot to accomplish.”
“Certainly not!” Torres slowly rose to her feet. “There’s still celebrating to do tonight. We killed every Borg soldier on this island that we could find. No one was assimilated, and very few men got killed. Plus, Oro feels it is time to retake Topachan, and wants to make plans for the crossing to the mainland tonight.”
“I must remind you Lieutenant, that I still have very serious objections about helping these people.”
“Tuvok, you are being stubborn,” Torres said. “We have every reason to help them. First, the Borg are attacking these people. The Prime Directive no longer applies to the situation because this civilization is already being interfered with, and by one that is considerably more advanced. Second, they asked for our help. Lastly, we are not giving them any access to our equipment that they could study and use to make advancements on their own technology. Besides, I don’t think any of the rules and regulations that are giving you any doubts about our situation had in mind a shuttlecraft crashed over fifty-five thousand light years from the Federation, on a world being assimilated by the Borg, a race that we, for all intents and purposes, are at war with.”
“You do have a valid point, Lieutenant,” Tuvok concluded. “But do you think that it is wise to help these people?”
“We’ve already had this discussion, Tuvok,” Torres said, drily.
“Indeed we have,” replied Tuvok. “Then, let us go and, ‘celebrate.’”
“That’s the spirit, Tuvok! Who knows, you might even enjoy yourself!”
“That is unlikely.”
—
Total annihilation. That was the only logical answer to Borg could come up with. The Federation was, in all respects, a serious threat to the Borg. How to deal with that threat in an efficient manner was a difficult question.
In the past, the Borg always used the fewest resources possible to accomplish the goals they had set forth. A planet needed assimilating, one cube was sent. But the Federation could handle a cube. They had already proven that.
What about more? If two cubes had been used in the first attack? NCC-1701-D could not have destroyed the second ship. The answer for the Federation could not be efficient. The answer was to overwhelm them. Highest priority must be assigned to their assimilation.
Federation species would be a valued addition to the Collective. They tended to have an ingenuity that could greatly improve the Borg. Problems like the ones that the Borg were facing with the Bint’Ari and the Khamish would be that much easier to solve.
So, four cubes was determined to be the ideal number to use. After the cubes destroyed any ships sent against them, they could go to work processing multiple planets, much faster than one cube alone could. There were over a hundred Federation worlds that would be defenseless in the face of the Borg.
Then, after the Federation was Borg, the Collective would move on. There were many civilizations in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants that would be ripe for the taking. Klingons, Romulans, Cardassians, Breen, Tholians, and many more. With a strong Borg presence in the area, it would only be a matter of time before those civilizations, too, would be Borg. Expansion into the Gamma Quadrant would then be a foregone conclusion, utilizing the wormhole nearby the planet of Species 2984. The assimilation of a shapeshifter would greatly enhance to Collective as well.
First, though, NCC-74656 would have to be dealt with. The Federation must not be allowed to send their ships into assimilated space. The assimilation of the Federation would begin with Voyager.
Five cubes were to be routed to Planet 0495. There they would gather, and begin their hunt for Voyager. The sixth cube, already at Planet 0495, would return to Bint’Ari and finish the assimilation that was going terribly wrong there. Then it would join the group of five, and find Voyager.
Then, it was on to Sector 001. The Federation would finally become Borg.
—
The celebration continued until well after dark. All that time, Tuvok resisted the urge to return to his repairs of the shuttle. It was the most logical course of action to remain, no matter how foolish, to show support of the decision to help the Bint’Ari. It was important that the representatives of the Federation appeared unified, no matter how much he and Torres disagreed. It would also be wise not to appear as if he were sulking. Vulcans did not sulk.
Finally, after most of the people went to sleep in their tents or passed out where they were standing, Oro, Torres, and a few other men Tuvok did not know gathered around the fire. Tuvok moved to join them.
“Tuvok!” called Oro when the Vulcan arrived. “A am pleased to see how much you are enjoying yourself!” Laughter broke out among the small group.
“The source of your jocularity is no doubt the fact that I am not capable of enjoying myself. I am certain then that is quite amusing to those of you who have less control over their emotions.”
The laughter continued. Torres herself was laughing, but at everyone. She knew that was a close that Tuvok would come to insulting someone, and she found that in itself quite funny.
“I assume the purpose of this gathering is to discuss plans for the attack on the capitol,” Tuvok said.
“You assume correctly!” exclaimed Oro with a smile. “My, your a bright fellow. We will begin as soon as Umi; Umi! Where are those maps!”
“I can’t find them!” a young voice called from a distance away.
“Damn kid,” mumbled Oro. “Oh well, I’ll just draw it right here!” Oro picked up a long stick, and began to draw what appeared to be a large continent onto the dirt.
“Anyway,” he began, while still drawing, “first we need to decide who is going to stay. We need a group of about ten or fifteen to watch over the women and the others.” By ‘the others,’ he meant those who had their others assimilated by the Borg. “Also, they would have to comb the city, building by building, room by room, and kill any Borg we might have missed.”
“We could always leave the Ti’hat!” one of the men shouted. “The Borg would kill themselves rather than to have to fight her!” Torres laughed loudly, as did the rest of the group.
“No!” Oro smiled. “We need B’Elanna to kill Borg on the mainland!” Laughter consumed the group for a minute or so. Apparently, any questions about Torres’s worthiness to fight had been settled.
Finally, Oro finished with his picture of the world. If it was accurate, as Oro was no doubt pretty drunk, the world was quite unique. One large continent almost covered the entire planet, but for the ocean. The ocean itself was small by Earth standards, but it was, by far, the largest body of water on this planet. The ocean stretched across the center of the map, dividing the continent into northern and southern sections. A strip of land prevented the ocean from circling the entire globe, keeping the continent in one piece.
“Here, for the benefit of our alien friends, is Praeter.” Oro drew a large island near the North Shore of the ocean. “Here, is the city of Aoex.” Oro pointed to a dot he had made to the north of the island, on the continent. “It is a small city, but it has a lot of equipment and fliers stationed there that we could use. The Aoex resistance group has been working hard to retake the city, but it seemed to be a real attraction to the Borg. It is said that there were thousands of them there, but the resistance has reduced that number dramatically. Tomorrow, we will fill the three hovercraft we took from the city with people and equipment, and move across the ocean to the mainland. The following dawn, we will join with two other resistance groups and take Aoex.
“After we rest and regroup, we will piece together as many fliers as we can. Then we will move on to Topachan.” Oro drew another dot, a bit farther to the north from Aoex. “There we will be joined by the Topachan, Mali’chor, and Xenin resistance cells. Then, we will retake our capitol. Bint’Ari will be ours once more!”
A murmured cheer went through the crowd as it broke up. Torres and Tuvok walked back to the shuttle.
“What are their chances of successfully retaking the capitol?” Tuvok asked Torres.
“Well, normally I would say none at all,” replied Torres. “They aren’t very well organized, and they are fighting the Borg. But they are having incredible success. They are all strong enough and brave enough to stand up to a drone. And, as long as they aren’t assimilating anyone, they should do well. They are all also very angry. I’d say their chances are very good.”
“Emotion is a very unpredictable variable. Failure may be the result of such anger.”
“No Tuvok,” corrected Torres. “Anger is the thing that is going to give these people back their world.” She turned and walked into the shuttle.
Tuvok soon followed, thinking to himself how ridiculous people are when they allow their emotions become their saviors.”
—
“Come in,” called Janeway, in response to the chime at the ready room door. The doors slid open, revealing Ensign Nikolayevich to the Captain.
“Ah, Natasha, have a seat,” motioning the young Ensign to the nearest chair. Natasha sat down. Janeway put down the report she was going over, and waited for Natasha to begin.
“Well, Captain, first I should tell you that there is no way we could possibly install one of those mono-filament cannons on Voyager. The power sources are totally incompatible, and to install it, even one of the mini-cannons, would require Voyager to put into spacedock and have a complete hull-re-design.”
“That’s a shame,” said Janeway. “But, not entirely unexpected.”
“I did get a lot of data on the weapon, though. Maybe when we get back, Starfleet can develop it. We might just return home with the very answer that Starfleet has been looking for years. The answer to the Borg threat.”
“Excellent, but a fairly distant goal, don’t you think? What about the fleet. Can those mini-cannons duplicate what that moon-based cannon did to that cube?”
“Definitely,” replied Natasha. She rose, and pointed out the window, at the closest of the two mother ships that were already in orbit with Voyager. “See that nose-like part of the ship? They put one of the full-sized cannons in there. If the mini-cannon’s fail, they have a back-up.”
“That’s if the Borg doesn’t destroy all of the mother ships.”
“Its possible, but not likely. Those ships have the shielding capabilities that Starfleet had some fifty years ago. While admittedly, the Borg could blow through those shields in no time, I think they will be too busy with the fighters. It is hard to focus an attack when you have five thousand smaller ships attacking you.”
“Agreed,” replied Janeway. “What about speed? What are those ships capable of?”
“My best guess is Warp four-point-five. They are using similar technology to ours, but their power is weird. They don’t use antimatter reactions as a power source, because they use all the antimatter they produce in their weapons. What they use is a sort of quasi-nuclear source that I can’t tell much about, at least, until I study these readings a bit longer.”
“Excellent Ensign. Tell me, what are the workers like? I am quite curious after talking with the Queen.”
“Night and Day Captain,” replied Nikolayevich with a smile. “Actually, at first, they thought I was a Queen.”
“No! What did you tell them that made them think that?”
“Nothing! Let me tell you, it took a bit of convincing before they weren’t scared of me. You see, they thought that since I was so tall, well, tall compared to them,”
“That you were a Queen,” finished Janeway.
“Exactly. Aside from that, they were more humble than the Queen, and they had a different way of talking. While the Queen thought everything she said was the utmost of importance, the Technician I talked to acted as if nothing she had to say was important at all. It was like she didn’t care.”
“Fascinating,” said Janeway. “It’s a shame we can’t spend more time here. This is truly a unique culture. How long until we can move on, and begin searching for Torres and Tuvok?”
“A day at best,” replied Nikolayevich. “It takes several hours to launch one of those ships, and they like to do them one at a time. Gives the fighters time to load onto the ship that just went into orbit. The Commander of the fleet will contact you when they are all loaded and ready to go.”
“I’ll tell you one thing, Ensign, it does give me a real feeling of power to have this fleet along for the trip. Maybe I should give myself a field promotion to Commodore, make the feeling complete.”
“I don’t think there is anyone that could stop you, Captain,” replied Natasha, with a smile. Janeway just laughed.
Star Trek, Voyager, and related properties are © Paramount Studio, and the author makes no claim towards them.
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March 6, 2008
Ti’Hat and the Vulcan: Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
“There just isn’t a whole lot I can do until we get some materials from the city,” Torres complained. “The shuttle is just too beat up.”
“What have you managed to repair?” Tuvok asked.
“Well, impulse engines are up, as well as one of the phaser emitters. Half of the thruster array is completely destroyed, and I can’t do anything with the nacelles until I get something that I can weld with. The shuttle is too damaged to repair with these primitive tools!”
“That should be sufficient for now,” replied Tuvok. “The Bint’Ari seem to be short on operational fliers, so I have agreed to allow the use of the shuttle for transportation to the mainland.”
Tuvok and Torres continued to work on the shuttle when Oro approached, in a considerable hurry.
“Friends, it is nearly dawn. We are preparing to raid the city for supplies.” He looked at Tuvok. “If you would come with me, I will get you an Aria. When in the city, you can find what you need to repair your shuttle.”
Tuvok shook his head. “I will remain behind and continue effecting repairs on the shuttle. Lt. Torres is more qualified to determine which materials she might require to complete the repairs.”
“She cannot come,” Oro answered.
“Why not?” demanded Torres.
“She is a woman,” replied Oro, as if the answer is obvious.
“Your telling me I can’t go, because I’m a woman?” Torres was fuming. “I’ll rip your scrawny little head off, and then you can tell me I can’t fight!” Tuvok stepped in front of her, heading off her advance on the confused man.
“I am certain you will find that Lieutenant Torres’s combat skills meet with your approval.”
“But,” stammered Oro, who was nervous of Torres’s angry glare. “Alright, but the others won’t like it at all. But, if you die, they can gloat. Come, let us find you a blade.”
The sun began to rise as Torres and Oro entered the camp. The other men began to murmur as they approached.
“Where is the Vulcan?” one asked.
“What is she doing here?” asked another.
Oro ignored them, and escorted Torres into the weapons tent. Several different sized blades were scattered along the ground inside.
“Chose the blade that suits you,” instructed Oro, before he left her alone inside.
Outside, he was greeted with the angry stares of several men.
“You let a woman inside of the weapons tent?”
“You dishonor the Aria!”
“Friends! She is willing to fight, while the Vulcan is reluctant. She is not of our world, and we do not yet know what she is capable of. Save your anger for the Borg!” pleaded Oro.
A few of the men turned and quietly left, accepting Oro’s explanation. Most remained, however, and loudly objected. B’Elanna then exited the tent, and stopped in mid-stride in face of the angry group. A young looking Bint’Ari stepped forward.
“I invoke the Arijedo!” he loudly called.
Torres looked confused. Oro immediately stepped forward, and confronted the man.
“Be serious! This is the first time the Aria have been used in hundreds of seasons. You can’t expect that challenge to be honored now!” protested Oro.
“That woman has no right to wield the Aria!” the man yelled back. Many men in the crowd murmured their approval.
“What the hell is he talking about?” Torres asked.
“He has issued a challenge. He questions your right to your blade. It is an ancient custom, but I think we will have to uphold it,” explained Oro, indicating the crowd of men already forming a large circle for the challenge to take place. “You must prove that you are worthy by fighting, and beating him.”
Torres’s lips curled into a half snarl. “Do I have to kill him?”
“That is one way to prove yourself. If you don’t kill him, you must prove that you are the superior fighter. We,” Oro motioned to the crowd, “the observers, are the judges. If you do not kill him, it is we who decides who has won the challenge.”
“Isn’t there any other way to settle this?”
“You can forfeit your blade,” said Oro.
Torres growled. “Bring him on.”
Torres stepped into the circle of people, there her challenger was already waiting for her. She took a couple of swings, to get used to the feel of the strange sword, then turned to face him. The crowd was chanting, eager for the fight to start.
“What is your name?” she challenged.
“I am Alu!” the man angrily called back.
“Who is your wife?” she demanded, noticing he did not have a double name like Jaskin’Oro.
“I am not bound,” replied Alu, a bit confused at the question.
“That’s what I figured,” Torres taunted, as she raised her sword. “What woman would want an ass like you?”
Alu was not entirely certain what an ass was, but he gathered that is was bad. He angrily lifted his sword, and charged Torres.
Torres remained calm. She knew that Alu would react angrily, and even counted on it.
She was worried, however. Though she was confident in her fighting abilities, it was her sword she was concerned about. Alu had used this blade since he was a child. And even though Torres, being part Klingon, had learned to use various weapons since she was a toddler, this one was bizarre. The awkward hilt would take some getting used to, time she did not necessarily have.
Alu rushed forward with his sword over his head. When he reached Torres, he brought it down with tremendous force. Torres twisted around the blow, and brought her forearm down forcefully across his back. Alu flew forward, and landed face-first in the dirt. A few people in the crowd laughed, while he lifted himself back to his feet.
Alu approached Torres more carefully, surprised at her agility during his first strike. Again, he lifted the sword over his head, and brought it forward with a more controlled, balanced slash. Torres met his sword this time with her own, and used her superior height to press Alu backwards into an uncomfortable leaning position. She then thrust her blade to the side, bringing Alu’s sword down and spinning him off-balance. Before Alu could right himself, she lashed out with a vicious backhand across his face. Alu staggered backwards, then weakly thrust forward again. Torres used a disarm technique she had learned using Terran blades, and Alu’s Aria flew out of his hand. A part of the crowd parted, allowing the sword to come to rest on the ground unobstructed. She angrily brought her blade down as if to kill, but stopped her strike a fraction of a centimeter from his face.
“Yield!” she ordered.
“Kill me,” he replied, quietly.
Torres laughed at the pitiful looking man, breathing deeply to control her rage. “Your not worth it,” she replied, lowering her sword. She then turned, and walked away from the circle.
Alu started forward to follow her, but Oro and another man stopped him.
“It is over!” said the second man.
“I will not yield to a woman!” Alu spat.
“Your challenge has been satisfied,” said Oro, forcefully. “She has beaten you. Save your anger for the Borg, and stop acting like an, like an ass.”
Alu grumbled to himself. “B’Elanna!” he called. She turned and faced him. “I yield,” he mumbled before he sulked away from the crowd. A few men, obviously his friends, followed closely after him, as if to console his loss.
“Now that it is settled,” Oro announced, “to the city!”
A cheer erupted throughout the crowd, and the partisans began to filter out of the camp.
“They couldn’t even speak?” Chakotay asked, amazed at Janeway’s story.
“Not a word,” smiled Janeway. She leaned back in her chair, and resisted the temptation to prop her feet on the desk. “The drones were just the beginning. I think we saw six different variations of Khamish down there. Each were almost totally unique from the others. It was incredible.”
“I’ve read about quite a few insectoid races, but I’ve never heard of anything like you are describing,” Chakotay said. “What about that artist you told me about. What kind of environment produced a basic change in the species like that?”
“Incredible, isn’t it?” asked Janeway, leaning forward. “Such a change in limb placement would be like a human having four legs and no arms. And it was all perfectly natural, no one was put off by it in the least. I would wager that a Khamish’s life path it completely determined by your physical characteristics. I suppose at one point in their history they found that four-arms would be useful to an artist. I wonder if that was a natural variation, or if the Khamish induced the change at a genetic level.”
“Either way, it must have happened quite sometime ago, judging by the attitude of the Queen,” replied Chakotay. When he first met Captain Janeway, he wanted nothing to do with her. He would have crashed his small ship into Voyager just as quickly as he did the Kazon ship, if it would have been beneficial. Now, he was glad it wasn’t. He had become very good friends with the Captain, and he found that he could enjoy serving aboard a Starfleet ship. And with most of his Maquis friends back home slaughtered by the Dominion, it was good to know that he would not be so utterly alone when Voyager finally made it back to Federation space, if it ever did.
“I just can’t help wondering if it was right to accept her offer to send a fleet to accompany us. Certainly we could use the help finding Tuvok and B’Elanna, but I’m worried about the Borg. Alone, they would most likely ignore our ship, unless they thought we were a threat. With the Khamish armada along with us, we are most definitely a threat. They won’t hesitate to confront us then.” Janeway rested her head on her palm.
“We might be forced into a confrontation with the Borg, but it also might be in our best interests to confront them,” Chakotay replied.
“How so?”
“Well, if they are able to mount monofilament weapons on some of their fighters, I don’t see how the Borg can stop them. The Borg have shown themselves to be very adaptive, but they do have limits. The Khamish combine too many unique threats for the Borg to be able to adapt to. The antimatter is a serious thing, very simple but very dangerous. There is no way to stop the matter/antimatter reaction from happening once the two make contact. They only way the Borg could avoid such a reaction would to avoid being laced in the first place, and that would be impossible. I don’t see how a cube could outmaneuver a few thousand small fighters that happen to be much faster than it at sub-light speeds. No one is that good a pilot, not even a collective consciousness. Or Tom Paris, for that matter.” Janeway chuckled, wondering if Paris would think he could accomplish such a task. He was a good pilot, and he made certain everyone knew it. But he did tend to think he could do more than he actually could.
“As far as the monofilament cannon,” continued Chakotay, ” even if the Borg could adapt their shields to block it, the Khamish seem perfectly willing to crash a few of their fighters into the cube, like they did during the second Borg attack on their world. As long as a few of those pods rupture, a cube wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“And with us along, it would be easier,” Janeway added. “We could use our weapons to burst enough of those pods to do the job, and from a safe distance.”
“Exactly,” Chakotay replied.
“But I still wonder if we should accompany them at all. They don’t need our help to fight them. I would just assume avoid any contact with the Borg, if it can be helped. If they begin to see Voyager as a threat, we can’t be certain that they will ignore us if we happen by a cube in the future.”
“In all likelihood, the Khamish are too strong for the Borg. If the Khamish were, in the near future, to win a decisively one-sided battle in this cluster, the Borg will respond by putting any nearby resources that they can muster into eliminating that threat. In that case, we would have a very good chance of not running into any Borg ships for a thousand light-years. If we accompany that fleet, and are forced to fight the Borg, we may provide the extra bit of force needed to insure that the Borg will be very busy here for years to come.”
“Wouldn’t that be the same as condemning the Khamish to assimilation, and only so that we could have an easier trip home?”
Chakotay sighed. “If we hadn’t followed that cube in the first place, the Khamish would most likely be Borg now. The Khamish realize this, and are doing what they can to make certain that situation never happens again. They are going to force a full scale war with the Borg whether we are there or not. That is the only way that they could survive, being this close to Borg space. So I am suggesting that we take advantage of that fact, accept their offer of aid, find B’Elanna and Tuvok, and get as far away from here as possible.”
“I think I agree with you,” Janeway said. “I refuse to believe that Tuvok and B’Elanna are dead, and I won’t leave them here. I just hope that the Khamish are as strong as we think they are. I don’t want to do anything that would lead to their assimilation.”
“What does Seven have to say about them?” Chakotay asked.
“She told me about the Borg’s first two attempts at assimilating the Khamish, from the Borg perspective of course. It would seem that the Khamish got lucky the second time. The only reason more than one cube wasn’t sent was because of the conflict with Species 8472. They couldn’t spare the ships.”
“They have to spare the ships now, though,” Chakotay replied. “There could very well be a whole fleet of Borg ships in this sector right now, assimilating every system with life in it. The war with Species 8472 was devastating to the Borg. They must be in dire need of resources. B’Elanna and Tuvok could be in a great deal of trouble.”
“The thought occurred to me as well. We may have to fight through the Borg to get to Tuvok and B’Elanna. If that is the case, I will be more than happy to have along the Khamish. I’d like to have a weapon’s system readiness report before we depart, Commander. With B’Elanna gone, I want to be absolutely certain everything is in perfect order.”
“I’ll see to it,” Chakotay replied, rising to his feet. “Who knows, we may find Tuvok and B’Elanna’s shuttle waiting for us at the rendezvous point.”
“I hope your right,” Janeway replied.
“Oh, and by the way,” Chakotay added, before he turned to leave. “It seems we are having a bit of trouble with the Doctor;s program.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Somehow, the attack by the Borg cube damaged his holo-matrix. There are now six of him, each demanding that the others be deleted.”
“When it rains, it pours, eh Chakotay?” Janeway smiled. “I am sure when B’Elanna comes back, she will think of something. Until then, the Doctor, all of them, will have to suffer with each other’s company.”
“Understood,” Chakotay smiled. “None of them are going to like it very much.”
“I suppose not,” Janeway smiled back.
Ensign Nikolayevich followed the long passage that the Nurse directed her down, and emerged into a giant repair bay. Hundreds of ships filled the chamber, each with several workers climbing all over them. She noticed to the side that there was a soldier making angry gestures at a worker, clearly not happy with what that worker was doing to her fighter.
“You must be the Starfleet person.” The voice came from below the Ensign. She looked down, and saw that it was a worker who addressed her. The worker was less than a meter tall, and certainly the least attractive Khamish she had seen yet.
“I am Ensign Nikolayevich,” she replied, with a polite smile.
“That must be your name, because I can’t understand it at all. Just some inaudible grunting sound. I suppose the same is true of my name, though. You may call me Technician, if you can understand that.”
“I can,” said Natasha. “You may call me Ensign then.”
“That was what I was going to call you anyway,” the Technician shrugged. “Come on, I will show you the fighters.”
The fighters were impressive. They were very sleek, almost bullet shaped, and about twice the size of a Federation Runabout. They had simple wings, jutting out of the sided of the fighters at a forward angle. They were not very long, and clearly not designed to keep the craft aloft in an atmosphere if its engines were damaged. Each fighter could carry two hundred antimatter pods, and had three energy weapons mounted on the front.
The re-fitted fighters were identical in shape, but the storage space was used differently. The components of the mini-cannons took up most of the storage space, but each fighter still carried about twenty anti-matter pods. The release system was removed, though, so clearly the pods were only there in case the cannon somehow failed, and the pilot was forced to crash his fighter into a cube.
“Very impressive,” Nikolayevich finally commented. “Your people work very quickly.”
“It is what we do,” replied the Technician. “Now I will show you the hangar.”
The hangar was even more spacious than the repair bay. Four giant mother ships filled the space, each surrounded by an intricate web of pillars and supports, clearly a ground-based launch system. The ships were like large spheres, with two thick nacelles jutting out behind them. All around the ships were hundreds of circular doors. Natasha decided that they must have been fighter-bays. Mounted on the front side of each of the spheres were moon-sized versions of the monofilament cannon. It seemed that the Khamish were not going to take any chances with the new mini-cannons.
As the pair approached the mother ships, Natasha noticed that all of the other workers in the hanger were doing whatever they could to avoid them. One worker actually bumped into her, looked up, and scurried away like a scared child before Natasha could utter a word.
“Why are they all avoiding us?” she finally asked.
The Technician looked at her for a moment as if she were stupid, then replied, “They are afraid of you.”
“Why?”
“Well, they think you are a Queen.”
“A Queen!” Natasha laughed. “That is absurd? Where did they get that idea?”
“Workers never leave the planet. And rarely do we ever get to see any sort of official visitors, unless you work in the palace,” the Technician explained. “Those of us who work in the shipyards have never seen any aliens. And you are extremely tall-”
“Are you saying that you thought I was a Queen too?”
The Technician shrugged. “I knew you weren’t, but I wasn’t expecting someone twice my height. You are rather imposing. Are you certain you aren’t a Queen?”
Natasha didn’t know if she should be offended for being called large, or embarrassed for being mistaken for a Queen. “I am certain,” she explained. “Among my people, there are no Queens. We are all the same.”
“That is no way to keep order,” commented the Technician. By that time, several of the workers had gathered, assured that Ensign Nikolayevich was not some form of royalty.
“Well, it works for us. Even our men are treated as equals, though our men are just as intelligent as we are.”
The Technician gasped. A loud murmur went through the crowd. Natasha’s translator opted to remain silent, rather than try to sort out the flood of conversation that it was picking up. The Technician placed her hand on the Ensign’s arm, and offered in a comforting voice,
“We are truly sorry for you, my friend, for your hardship. To have thinking, intelligent drones! It must be terrible for you! I would not know what do if I had to deal with my mate as a thinking, intelligent person. The idea is disgusting!”
Natasha thought back to Tom Paris’s endless annoying advances towards her back when she first met him, and was half tempted to agree with the worker. But, she decided that it would be best to support the men of her species, purely in the interests of diplomacy.
“No, really, our men are actually quite pleasant. You can talk and work with them as equals. In can be quite nice to have a mate that you can have a relationship with, other than pure procreation. Our men are more than the mating machines that your drones are.” Barely, she added to herself.
The crowd continued to murmur. The Technician looked up at Natasha and said, “You aliens are completely insane,” and continued on towards the mother ships. Natasha thought that the little worker was not too far from the truth.
Star Trek, Voyager, and related properties are © Paramount Studio, and the author makes no claim towards them.
Post your comments in the Forum!
February 28, 2008
Ti’Hat and the Vulcan: Chapter Six
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.
Paris roamed around sickbay while the Doctor was taking the blood sample from Harry. Tom walked up and looked over the shoulder of the Doctor’s double, who was looking at a readout of the results of a previous test. Tom started poking the hologram with his finger, trying to distract it.
“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.
Ira longed for the days before unification. Then there was a military to fight with! With no enemies, the armies fading into what was today the Guard, more of a police force than a military. What he wouldn’t give to see a Borg flattened by an Ari’taga! But those haven’t been around for at least fifty seasons, except for the ones in museums. It was very doubtful that anyone could get those to work again.
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.
“These,” said the Queen, with a touch of adoration in her voice, “are the drones. “I know they are not much to look at, but they are very dear to us, stupid beasts.”
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.
Post your comments in the Forum!
February 21, 2008
Ti’Hat and the Vulcan: Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Torres awoke to the sun beating down on her, and immediately noticed two things.
First, the shuttle had stopped tossing.
Second, Tuvok was nowhere to be seen.
Torres sat up slowly, trying to ignore the pain that shot through her body. She looked over, and noticed that the shuttle was beached in the calm surf. She also saw a set of footprints in the sand leading away from the shuttle. She assumed they were Tuvok’s, and decided to follow them.
Getting up was harder than she had expected. Her skin severely burned, and her muscles were sore. After several minutes, she managed to pull herself to her feet and stumble after the trail.
As Torres made her way through the thick, jungle-like vegetation that the trail went through, she tripped over what seemed to be a fallen branch. She looked down, horrified to discover that she had tripped over an arm. She took a step back, and looked around. All around were decapitated Borg, strewn across the jungle floor. She tempered the stab of fear she felt, telling herself that if the Borg had not yet come to retrieve their dead, they would not be coming at all.
She whirled around, hearing a rustle of branched behind her. She slowly bent her knees, ready to attack whatever it was that was behind her. Fortunately, she noticed it was Tuvok before she leapt.
“This, this is incredible,” rasped Torres, noticing for the first time it felt as if someone had poured sand down her throat, and that is was difficult to talk.
“Indeed,” replied Tuvok. “It would seem that the Borg are encountering certain ‘difficulties’ in their assimilation of this planet.”
Torres bent over a Borg corpse, to inspect it. “You can say that again. These Bint’Ari, if that is where we are, are quite clever. Using swords as opposed to energy weapons.”
Tuvok nodded in agreement. “Clearly these beings have learned a very effective way of defending themselves.”
Again, Torres heard a rustling in the trees. Before either of the two officers could draw their phasers, a voice was heard.
“Throw down your weapons,” the voice boomed.
Torres and Tuvok complied. After they tossed down their phasers, two people came out of the cover of the vegetation. They were very short, about four and a half feet tall, and covered in long hair. Each held a long, curved blade.
“Identify yourselves,” one of the men demanded.
Tuvok stepped forward. “I am Lt. Commander Tuvok, of the Federation Starship Voyager.”
“The other one?” the man asked, pointing his sword at Torres.
“Lt. B’Elanna Torres,” she rasped.
“More aliens,” the other man moaned. “We should just kill them!”
“What do you want?” The first man asked, ignoring his companion.
“We were attacked by the Borg just above your planet,” explained Tuvok. “Our shuttle crashed in the ocean, and we came ashore here. We are in need of assistance.”
The man lowered his sword. “What do you know of the Borg?”
“Our civilization has encountered the Borg in the past,” Tuvok replied. “They attempted to assimilate us.”
“We are wasting our time, Oro!” The impatient captor whined.
“And you defeated them?” Oro asked, still ignoring the other man.
“We successfully repelled their attack, at great cost,” Tuvok explained. “Since then, we have learned a great deal about the Collective.”
The two men conferred for a moment, then the impatient one angrily turned and stomped away.
“I will take you to our camp,” Oro said. “The woman needs water, badly. We will provide that and any help we can to you.”
Tuvok and Torres both nodded in thanks.
“My name is Jaskin’Oro. I am risking a lot by helping you. My people are not at all trusting of aliens. But, I am hoping that you may be able to tell us something useful about the Borg. You would be dead otherwise.”
Oro turned in the direction of his companion. The two officers picked up their phasers, and followed.
Ensign Nikolayevich waited patiently for the turbolift. When the doors finally opened, she was greeted by perhaps the most pitiful looking face she had ever seen.
“Natasha,” greeted a somber looking Tom Paris, who strainged to force a smile.
“Deck 8,” the ensign ordered, then turning to Paris. “Are you okay, Tom?”
“Splendid!” replied Tom weakly. “I just got off duty, and I’m meeting Harry down at the mess hall. Care to join me?”
“Oh, I don’t think so Tom,” replied Natasha, who lifted her repair kit as an excuse. “I’ve got a lot of work left to do.”
“Shame. Perhaps another time then.” Tom said, forgetting his smile.
“Perhaps,” She replied as the turbolift stopped on Deck 8. Natasha stepped off, bade Tom goodbye, and sighed sadly when the doors closed behind her
It was not much of a secret that not too long ago, Tom and B’Elanna had become very intimate. Ever since then, Tom had become a very different man, almost likeable.
Not that she didn’t like Paris, she even went out with him once, a couple of years ago. But he was too persistent for her. The first words out of his mouth were always some sort of advance. And he wasn’t at all particular, he would flirt with a vast majority of the women on the ship. To her, he seemed to be a walking hormone.
But ever since he and B’Elanna began seeing each other, everything improved. She found that she could have a conversation with him without his eyes evaluating her, or without any sort of questionable remark. It was a pleasant change.
She felt especially bad for him. B’Elanna was nowhere to be found, and now they were a half a day away from the rendez-vous point. If Tuvok and B’Elanna made it there, they may not find the message buoy, and have no idea where Voyager was.
What if they didn’t make it? What if the Borg found them? What if they had mechanical trouble with the shuttle? What if it had crashed on some primitive or lifeless planet out there? Even worse, what if it had crashed into a Borg planet?
She turned into a door marked ‘Botanical Sciences.’ One of the stasis chambers was on the fritz, and Natasha was called up to give it a look. This was something she was not happy about. She tended to spend more time outside of engineering than in, and that was not why she joined Starfleet. But then again, being trapped fifty-five thousand light years away from home wasn’t part of the plan either.
She was worried, for both Tom and for herself. She may be bitter at times towards B’Elanna for the irritating assignments she got, but that animosity was no where near strong enough to wish her any ill.
As she began to examine the broken device, she became furious. Twelve chips were blown and a thick black ooze covered the interior of the device. Someone tried to use the incubator for something, she couldn’t tell what, but something it definitely wasn’t designed for. It wasn’t her job to lay blame, though. Just to fix the problem.
Perhaps she needed to relax. Every little detail nowadays was annoying her to no end. A boring routine could do that to a person, she thought. With all the potential danger and excitement the Delta Quadrant held, she found it to be a tragic irony that she had been delegated the position of a repairman. But it was better in the long run, and safer, than any other job. B’Elanna and Tuvok were gone because they were in the thick of excitement. And Tom was crushed because of it.
She knew the Starfleet answer. Don’t get involved, and you won’t get hurt. Good advice.
Unless the chances of you ever getting home were close to naught, and if you ever want to get involved, its now or never.
The thought depressed her. She finished her repairs, and headed back to the turbolift. She uttered a silent prayer for Tuvok and B’Elanna, and went back down to engineering to retrieve her afternoon work schedule.
Janeway again entered sickbay, this time to find Seven of Nine seated at an examination table and one of the Doctors scanning her with a medical tricorder.
“Seven,” she greeted, as she arrived at the examination table.
“Captain,” Seven replied.
“Can you give me some idea what happened out there?” Janeway asked. “Wait; I already know what happened out there. What I want to know is why.”
“The Borg scout was a threat to both the shuttle and this ship. I eliminated it.”
“Captain-”
“That wasn’t my question,” said Janeway, ignoring the Doctor. “Why did you punch Harry? What made you think that an mere shuttle could take on any Borg ship? What if others had been around?”
“I am not certain,” replied Seven, hesitantly. “I am having a hard time remembering exactly what transpired.”
“Captain, if I may,” interrupted the Doctor, again. “Seven has suffered severe mental trauma. Brainwave analysis indicates she has experienced something similar to a violent telepathic encounter. However, her implants allowing any such contact with the Borg have been deactivated. I cannot explain how it happened.”
“The Borg have undoubtably assimilated many telepathic species. Is it possible that they could initiate some kind of contact without using Seven’s implants?”
“No,” Seven replied. “The Borg find telepathy to be an inferior form of communication. It would never be used to communicate with parts of the Collective. They find technology more efficient.”
“In this instance, technology failed to contact you. Wouldn’t they have to resort to an inferior form of communication?” Janeway asked.
“The thought would not have occurred to them,” Seven replied. “Besides, I doubt they were aware of me being a former member of the collective. The scout identified out shuttle as a threat, and attempted to eliminate it.”
“That doesn’t explain your unusual brain activity. If it the Borg, then who contacted you?” Janeway asked.
“I believe Seven is the one who initiated contact,” the Doctor interrupted. “Seven is not a telepath, but all human brains have the potential for telepathic activity. She may have subconsciously been aware of the Borg’s presence, and her mind, out of habit, reached out to the Collective.”
“That might explain why she attacked Ensign Kim,” Janeway said.
“It would,” Seven concluded. After a moment of hesitation, she continued, “I hope that he is uninjured.”
Janeway smiled. “He’s fine. He’ll be relieved to know that you’re back to your ‘human’ self. If you are feeling up to it, Seven, I would like you to accompany me to the surface. I’ll brief you on the way to the transporter room.”
Seven nodded, and the two women strode out the door, leaving the Doctor standing by the medical table, holding his tricorder. He muttered something about inconsiderate and ungrateful humans, and continued his work.
His double walked by, continuing his work on some blood samples the Doctor had taken earlier. Unnoticed by the Doctor, the image of the double sparked and began to fade, but it soon regained its integrity and continued working as if nothing had happened.
“I just can’t believe it,” said Tom Paris, taking a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “An entire race of sentient beings, who’s men are nothing more than sexual pets.”
“I could see you going for that kind of life, Tom,” Harry smiled.
Paris grinned thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I do think I prefer things the way they are. Those beasts probably don’t know what they’ve got.”
“Mr. Paris!” The call came from Neelix, decked out in full chef’s attire, complete with apron and hat. Neelix had come onboard Voyager along with Kes four years ago. He and Seven of Nine were the only two people on the ship that were not heading back to a home of some sort. He was from Talax, a world in the Delta Quadrant, and came onboard Voyager in hopes of an adventure, as well as a way to improve his life. Neelix originally offered his services as a guide, but the Federation ship had long since left any part of space that Neelix was familiar with. Neelix took it upon himself to become useful in other ways, and much to the displeasure of the crew, cooking was one of the facets of life on Voyager that Neelix felt himself indispensable.
“Mr. Paris, how do you like the soup? I had a devil of a time trying to find an acceptable substitute for tomato, but, if I do say so myself, the result was spectacular!” The Talaxian continued, “In fact, I was thinking-”
“It’s just fine, Neelix,” interrupted Paris, who was in no mood to hear about Neelix’s adventures with his dinner.
“I am so glad to hear it!” Neelix exclaimed. “Now, if you-”
“So Neelix,” Harry mercifully interrupted. “What do you think of these Khamish?” Isn’t it odd about their men?”
“Certainly not!” Neelix replied. “In fact, I once spent an entire month on a planet - Oniq I believe it was - anyway, the Oniquians of both sexes were non-sentient!”
“Neelix,” Paris explained. “The same could be said of most every species in the galaxy! Dogs, cats, targ, -”
“Ah,” interrupted Neelix. “But the Oniquians were unique. About a quarter of their species could not breed, as they were neither male nor female. It was that part of the population that was sentient! The sexless ones were so prejudice against ‘breeders,’ as they called them, that it took me the better part of my stay there to agree to trade with me! In fact-”
Neelix went on to explain every detail of his month on Oniq, and how similar a society it was to that on Kham. Tom and Harry helplessly listened, neither one of them could think of a polite way to interrupt him. Mercifully, an excuse presented itself as The Doctor entered the mess hall, and headed straight for their table.
“So the Monarch of Oniq said to me, ‘Neelix, you-’ ”
“Doctor!” cried Paris. “It is so good to see you! What brings a nice hologram like you to this part of the ship?”
The Doctor was a bit confused at Paris’s overly kind greeting, but then he noticed Neelix, mouth open in mid-sentence, and understood immediately.
“Mr. Kim, I was curious as to whether you could come to sickbay. I am conducting some blood plasma experiments and I am in need of a human sample.”
Kim leaped to his feet. “Certainly Doctor! Lead the way!”
Paris quickly gulped down the rest of his soup. “I’ve just finished eating myself. Why don’t I go along?”
“Mr Paris, I -” The Doctor again looked at Neelix, who still had his mouth open, waiting to finish his story. “I think that would be an excellent idea. You are in need of some training in this area. Perhaps you could be of some use. Please come with me.”
Kim and Paris exchanged polite farewells with Neelix, and scurried after The Doctor, who had already left the mess hall.
“Doc, let me tell you,” Paris said, “You certainly have excellent timing.”
“Doctor, you could have just called me over the comm-system.” Kim said. “Why did you walk all the way down to the mess to get me?”
“What good is a holo-emitter, if you always stay in sick-bay? Besides, I decided I needed to take a walk.” The Doctor asked.
The Doctor was clearly not human. He was a complex holographic program, known as the EMH, Emergency Medical Hologram. He was installed aboard Voyager for use in emergencies, when the services of the ships Doctor needed to be supplemented. Unfortunately, Voyager’s Doctor died when the Caretaker pulled Voyager into the Delta Quadrant. Hence, the EMH program was forced to become the ship’s Chief Medical Officer.
The Doctor had adapted well, and in the last four years, had arguably attained sentience. Two years ago, Voyager had encountered a ship from the twenty-ninth century, and Voyager attained a bit of their holographic technology. The holo-emitter allowed The Doctor to leave the areas of the ship that were specially equipped for holographic projection, and allowed him to become a fully functional member of the crew.
Tom and Harry continued their conversation about the non-sentient Khamish men, and decided to include The Doctor.
“Doctor, what have you heard about races where one of the sexes is sentient, and the other is not?” Harry asked.
“I haven’t been programmed with any data on the subject.”
“Doesn’t it bother you, just a little?” Paris asked. “I mean, Your chances of being sentient are solely based on whether or not your born a woman or not! That is simply unbelievable.”
“Perhaps for you,” The Doctor dryly replied. “But my sex serves no reproductive purpose, it is merely a superficial aspect of my program. I could just as easily be a woman.”
“And an attractive woman you would be!” Tom ogled.
“Yes, I can see that you have much in common with the Khamish males,” The Doctor dryly replied.
The Collective was in shock. It had lost contact with the cube sent to assimilate the Khamish. This was the third time they were unsuccessful in assimilating that culture. Also, the Borg sent to assimilate the Bint’Ari were suffering tremendous losses. Sixty percent of the Borg on the planet had been deactivated. That cube could not send any more soldiers down to the surface and still operate efficiently, so it was recalled back to Planet 0495 for replenishment.
The losses were tremendous. Nothing like those during the was with Species 8472, but the situation was almost as critical. The Borg was in need of vital resources that could be found on these worlds, to rebuild itself after that devastating conflict. The assimilation of those worlds was essential.
The Collective began to solve the problem with an evaluation on the recent losses. Drones on the surface of the planet inhabited by Species 965, the Bint’Ari were being decapitated. This was not too unusual, many assimilated societies used bladed weapons, but they never had been this effective in the past.
The cube sent to assimilate Species 969 was destroyed by that species for a third time. Their technology rating was low, but that, for some reason, did not affect their ability to resist the Borg.
The Collective then worked to determine a common variable in each of their defeats. The small, Federation craft was an unusual aspect of the difficulties on Bint’Ari. One small vessel could not possibly possess the capability to travel so far, and cause the deaths of so many Borg soldiers. But a similar vessel destroyed a scout near Planet 0495. Information about that class of vessel indicated that it was not powerful enough to combat any sort of Borg vessel.
The Federation had proven to be an unpredictable and confusing foe. With the sudden appearance of the Federation ship NCC-1701-D over seven thousand light years away from their designated space, and their equally rapid departure, the Collective believed that the Federation had a highly advanced technology. But, when the Borg attempted to assimilate this civilization, the same ship was hopelessly outrun by the invading cube. And the fleet assembled to stop the same cube at Wolf 359 was defeated easily.
Technologically, the Federation was weaker than expected. But then, the assimilated Picard, Locutus, actually broke from the Collective, betrayed them in essence, and helped NCC-1701-D destroy the invading cube! Later, Locutus used his influence to cause a part of the Collective to become defective, self-aware, and rebel. Then, the destruction of the second invading cube, lead by NCC-1701-E, and by Locutus. This time the Borg had a countermeasure, launching a sphere and temporally displacing it, in order to disrupt the history of the planet Earth in order to weaken the Federation in the present. But it failed, due again to Locutus, and Data, who also broke from the Collective much easier than Locutus did.
Now another failed assimilation. Then, the destruction of another cube, by another Federation ship, NCC-74656, the one called Voyager. This ship, and the shuttle, were over fifty-five thousand light years away from their designated space. Again, confusing unpredictability on their part. The situation was entirely unacceptable. What would be next, the sudden appearance of a Federation ship at Planet 01, and its destruction? The threat was too great to be ignored.
How, though? Sending another cube into Federation Space would solve nothing. The solution must be larger. This Federation could no longer be underestimated. One thing was certain for the time being. NCC-74656 must be eliminated.
It took a moment for Janeway to adjust to the humid Khamish air. She looked around to see that both Seven of Nine and Ensign Nikolayevich had arrived safely. She then scanned the landscape where she landed. She was awestruck. The party had landed on a ledge of a rather tall cliff. The surrounding valley was full of rivers and small lakes. There were very few structures, at least very few that were visible. there were several obvious tunnel entrances where beings were streaming in and out of what appeared to be a vast underground network of tunnels.
Janeway had a difficult time choosing the landing party. Because of the attitude of the Khamish towards men, Janeway thought it best to only bring women. She had explained to the Queen that their males were not like the Khamish drones, and were valuable members of the crew. The Queen agreed that they could be, and thought it was wonderful that Janeway allowed her drones to pretend like they were useful.
The Queen did explain a lot about the Khamish drones. According to her, they approximated Terran chimps in intelligence, but they were less energetic. There was a time when the Khamish tried to elevate their drones to a higher level in society, but the result was disastrous. Drones trained to do menial tasks took jobs away from Workers. Workers protested with strikes that caused production to spiral. That affected all of the classes. The effort was given up after everyone accepted that the idea was ludicrous. Drones didn’t care whether they were working, mating, or just standing around. In fact, they were too stupid to know the difference.
It was that anecdote that persuaded Janeway not to bring any men on the mission. Under normal circumstances, this would not be a problem. She and B’Elanna would beam down. But B’Elanna was still no where to be found, and Janeway needed an engineer on this away team, so that the Khamish weapon technology could be looked at for possible adaption to Voyager. Seven would be of some use, but B’Elanna was for more in tune with the various intricacies of Voyager. If there was a weapon that was effective against the Borg, it would be foolish not to try and acquire it. Seven could study the weapon, and determine if it could be upgraded to prove even more effective against a cube.
So, she decided to bring Ensign Nikolayevich. She had noticed that Natasha was growing bored with her normal duty schedule, and thought the away mission would provide a bit of much needed diversity. Apparently she was right. Natasha instantly and excitedly agreed to the trip, and Janeway couldn’t help notice the excitement that still lingered in her eyes.
Janeway looked up and saw the Queen coming forward with two retainers. For the first time, she truly saw the differences in the way members of the different classes looked. By all appearances, the Queen was born to be a queen, just as bees on Earth give special attention to the eggs intended for royalty. All three members of the approaching party were segmented, with two arms and four legs. But only the Queen had wings. And while the retainers had dull, black fur, the Queen had beautifully reflective silver fur. The Queen was much taller than the retainers, reaching well over two meters. Every feature on the Queen was longer, more slender, and much more beautiful.
“Your Majesty,” Janeway greeted, politely bowing her head. “This is Ensign Nikolayevich, and Seven of Nine.”
The Queen studied the three women, then motioned towards her retainers. “These are nurses. They do not have names. They exist only to serve me.” The Queen turned towards the nurses, and fluttered her wings. The two retainers took the silent cue, and scurried down the passageway whence they came.
“Seven of Nine,” the Queen repeated. “an interesting ‘designation.’ An artificial hand, an ocular implant, are you certain that your companion is not a Borg Captain?”
“She was a Borg, Your Majesty,” Janeway replied. “But she is a human, like myself and Ensign Nikolayevich. We liberated her from the Collective. Some of her implants were essential for her continued survival, so they were left in. I assure you that she is not a threat.
The Queen buzzed to herself, apparently satisfied with that answer. “I shall never get over how ugly you talking mammals are,” she commented without giving Seven a second thought.
Natasha’s mouth dropped open. Seven’s face remained unreadable. Janeway smiled. She knew from her short conversation with the monarch that she was very arrogant, and used every opportunity to assert her own superiority over everyone else. Janeway thought that her behavior was very predictable, from someone who was bred to be the absolute pinnacle of superiority on her world.
“We could not possibly compare to you in beauty, Your Majesty,” Janeway responded, almost sarcastically.
The Queen moved closer to Janeway, and bent her knees, until she was eye-level with the Captain. “I like you,” she decided. “Most species let their men run everything, and will not visit because they cannot bring them along. The rest will try and start war over the slightest insult. You,” The Queen rose to her full height with a flutter of her wings, “I can respect you. Let us move on.” The Queen turned and moved towards the passage that her nurses had just exited through a moment ago. Janeway and Natasha exchanged curious looks as they moved forward to follow the Queen.
Star Trek, Voyager, and related properties are © Paramount Studio, and the author makes no claim towards them.
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February 14, 2008
Ti’Hat and the Vulcan: Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Repairs to the impulse engines were tougher than expected. But, after four hours, Torres and Tuvok had finally got most of the major systems up an running. That st ill left the problem of the warp nacelles, but the two had confidence that they could now make it to the planet in order to repair them, even if the Burg Scout was still just outside the nebula.
“That’s it,” Torres announced. “I can’t boost the sensors anymore. The only way we are going to find out if they are still out there is to go and see.”
“I concur,” replied Tuvok. “Moving towards the edge of the nebula.”
“Tuvok, maybe we should just make a break for it. We can’t outrun a scout in our condition. And just peaking our noses out, we are announcing our presence. If we just dart out towards the planet, we will have surprise working for us.”
Tuvok considered the suggestion. “A risky proposition, but I see the wisdom in it. Very well.” Tuvok adjusted his heading. “Setting course for the planet, full impulse.”
“Let’s go,” Torres added quietly.
Moments later, the shuttle shot out of the cloud like a bullet out of a gun, streaking towards the planet. Luckily, there were no Borg ships waiting for them outside. Torres breathed a sigh of relief, and Tuvok seemed as unmoved as ever.
Unfortunately, their luck changed abruptly. In orbit around the planet were three Borg Scouts.
“Tuvok!” Torres excitedly called.
“I see them Lieutenant,” Tuvok calmly replied, maintaining his course.
“We need to go back to the nebula, Tuvok,” she said, becoming annoyed.
“In our present condition, a Borg Scout could easily overtake us before we reached the nebula. The only logical course of action at this point is to attempt to get by the orbiting cubes, and land on the surface.”
“What about the surface, Tuvok?” She angrily shot back. “That planet is bound to be crawling with Borg, and I don’t think they will take to kindly to us being there.”
“We shall have to endeavor to avoid them,” he replied.
Torres shook her head in amazement, and with great resignation turned back towards her console.
“Two Scouts approaching on an intercept course. Thirty second until they reach us. I’m readying phasers,” she reported.
The whole exchange took almost no time. One of the cubes approached from an orbit around the southern hemisphere of the planet, and the other was orbiting just north of the planet’s equator. The northern ship arrived first, and Torres fired, disabling it. Tuvok used the damaged ship as a screen, and took the shuttle into a tight turn above it. The second cube arrived a second later, but was blocked by its damaged companion. Tuvok turned the shuttle straight towards the planet, coming in dangerously close to an angle which would have bounced the shuttle right off the edge of the atmosphere. The shuttle reached the outer atmosphere a second too late, as the damaged cube managed to get one shot off before the shuttle made it safely in. The Sappho took a hard shot to the rear, and spun down towards the planet’s surface.
“I’ve lost all propulsion!” Torres yelled.
Tuvok didn’t reply. None was necessary. Both hurried to gain control of some system, any system, that would slow their descent.
“We’re heading straight towards that landmass,” Torres reported. “If we don’t do something, we are going to crash.”
“I believe crashing is inevitable, Lieutenant. I have restored partial power to thrusters. Attempting to slow our descent.”
The thrusters were almost useless. They did nothing to slow the shuttle, but they did manage to turn the Sappho away from the mainland, and the shuttle splashed down deep into the only ocean the planet had. It took several minutes, but the shuttle finally floated back up to the surface.
The shuttle remained deathly silent, with the exception of the occasional creak, as the two crewmembers recovered from the blow of the crash. Tuvok gasped for air as he helped an unconscious Torres to the floor.
Torres finally sat up, bewildered. “Tuvok?” she asked, groggily.
“I am all right, Lieutenant,” Tuvok replied. Torres was surprised to note the strain in his voice.
“We need to find a way to get out of the shuttle without flooding it. We may need to use it as a raft. There is no way of knowing how far from shore we are,” explained Torres.
Tuvok agreed, and the two set to work. It took some time to restore enough power to get the doors open, and to turn off the artificial gravity. Torres found that the Plowright Collectors could be reconfigured to expunge any water that the shuttle took in while the doors were open, and finished the conversion quickly. Within an hour, the two were on top of the shuttle, in the open sea.
Outside, they were greeted with a dark sky full of unfamiliar stars. It was a moonless night, and the two officers could see no sign of land anywhere on the horizon. The shuttle rocked gentlty on the calm water, and they were thankful that the weather was not worse than it was. Resigned to their fates, they stretched out on top of the shuttle and tried to get some rest.
“What the hell happened out there?” Janeway demanded before the sickbay doors had a chance to close behind her. She scanned the room and saw the Doctor working at a console at the far end of the room. Seven of Nine was sedated and resting on one of the medical tables, with Harry and the Doctor standing next to her. the Doctor was-
Janeway did a double take. After rubbing her eyes, and looking again, she demanded, gesturing to the other Doctor,
“Doctor, what is this?”
The Doctor standing next to Seven smiled, and walked towards Janeway.
“Ever since Kes’s ‘departure,’ I have been without the services of a good nurse. Mr. Paris isn’t the ideal assistant, and his other duties don’t allow him to be as available as I would like. So I decided to alter my program, to allow me to perform two tasks at the same time.”
“So now we are forced to suffer with two