by David Mack
The industrial architecture and biomechanical trappings of the Borg complex vanished, along with the security trio’s simulated weapons and equipment. It took a moment for Keru’s perception to adjust, because the simulation had fooled his senses into believing he had been pulled to a lower elevation than Sortollo and Dennisar, but now all three of them sat on the deck and massaged their aches and pains.
“Maybe it’s just me, Vig,” Keru said, “but I think you went a little overboard with this program.”
Torvig responded with a bemused tilt of his head. “Odd that you would say so, sir. If the mission reports from Enterprise and Voyager are accurate, then this simulation might not be aggressive enough.”
The other two security officers cast alarmed looks at each other. Sortollo said to Torvig, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“I’m not, Lieutenant,” Torvig said. “Borg drones are now capable of very fast individual action in combat, and there is reason to believe that Borg ships and structures have become active combatants during battles to repel invaders.”
Dennisar looked stricken. “Even the walls are going to attack us? How are we supposed to fight that?”
“That’s what we’re here to figure out,” Keru said, forcing himself to stand. “Torvig’s right. The Borg are getting faster and smarter all the time. If we underestimate them, we won’t have a chance. So we train until we’re ready for anything.” He turned and said to Torvig, “Good work on those new gadgets, by the way. Can you protect us from getting eaten by the walls?”
The young Choblik engineer waggled his bionic fingers. “Avoiding or preventing physical attack may not be possible,” he said. “However, my research indicates that neural-suppressant injections once rendered persons temporarily immune to the psychological effects of assimilation. Implanted neutralizer chips performed a similar function, as did nanites developed by Lieutenant Commander Data and Dr. Kaz. Though all these methods are known individually to the Borg, I have synthesized a hybrid that they will not yet have adapted to. Even if the Borg inject you with nanoprobes, you will not submit to the Collective.”
“Won’t stop them from just killing us,” Keru said, “but I’ll have Dr. Ree inoculate the away team, just in case.”
That seemed to trouble Torvig, who replied, “Sir, a neural suppressant will prevent my body from interacting with my cybernetic implants. I would, in effect, be incapacitated by the injection. If you still wish me to be a part of your away team, I will have to forgo that protective measure.”
Keru frowned. “Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”
“If necessary, yes.”
“In that case,” Keru said, “stay close to me and Dennisar, and load us up with as many of your gadgets as we can carry.”
Torvig’s tail flipped anxiously behind him. “Sir … I should warn you that my devices are made to exploit weaknesses of the Borg that might already be known to the Collective—and which they might already have remedied. There is no guarantee that any of the devices I’ve created for your team will be effective.”
Sortollo muttered to Dennisar, “Now he tells us.”
Ignoring his comrades’ pessimism, Keru said, “Don’t worry about that. Now that you’ve given us some tools for offense, we need to focus on defense. Any ideas on that front?”
“Yes, sir,” Torvig said. “I’ve sent you a new deployment plan for your people here on the ship. It should enable your team to defend the same areas with fewer personnel, freeing up additional strength for such key locations as the bridge, sickbay, and main engineering.”
Keru nodded. “Sounds good. Anything else?”
“Defending Titan from external attack by the Borg will be very difficult,” Torvig said. “The difference in power between a Borg cube and our vessel is too great to overcome. Assuming we evade destruction by overwhelming force, the Borg will likely resort to infiltration and sabotage.” The Choblik shifted his weight from side to side, like an anxious child. “I have a response strategy,” he continued, “but I don’t think Commander Ra-Havreii will like it.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Keru said. “What’s your idea?”
“We need to isolate system functions throughout the ship,” Torvig said. “Not with firewalls, but by shutting down the data network. Each console must be dedicated to one task, so that Borg drones can’t seize low-priority stations and use them to access the ship’s main computer and command systems.”
Imagining the potential consequences of Torvig’s strategy, Keru winced. “That could be a real handicap in combat, Vig. If a dedicated station goes down and we can’t reroute its functions to a working console, we could end up in big trouble.”
“As I said, Commander Ra-Havreii will not like it.”
Dennisar grumbled to Sortollo, “He’ll like being killed by the Borg even less.”
“We all will,” Keru said, shooting a silencing glare at the human and the Orion. Turning back to Torvig, he said, “Write up a contingency plan for combat situations. We’ll bring it to the XO and let her decide.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Choblik looked at the deck, then away from Keru, which gave the Trill security chief the impression that there was something else on the engineer’s mind. “What’s wrong, Vig?”
“I am concerned that I might be a liability to the away team,” Torvig said. “While I’m honored to help you and your team prepare, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be inside a Borg facility. My talents are better suited to working in a lab than fighting in a battle.”
Keru patted Torvig’s back. “Relax, Vig. You’ll be fine. Most of my people can only hold two phasers at a time. You can hold three. You’ll be a natural.”
Torvig seemed unconvinced. “I will do my best, sir.” He glanced at the doorway. “With your permission, I will draft my contingency plan for Commander Vale.”
With a nod, Keru said, “Dismissed.”
The young engineer bounded out of the holodeck. Keru looked at Dennisar and Sortollo, who were still sprawled behind him. “Go get some chow, and be back here at 1800,” he said. “We’re running this sim again until we can get past the first level.”
The two security officers pushed themselves to their feet and limped out of the holodeck. Watching them go, Keru had to wonder if maybe Torvig was right. He was starting to feel as if he was asking too much of him. After all, Torvig had been an ensign for less than six months.
Doubts plagued Keru’s thoughts. How can I expect someone so young to face something like this? What if he’s not ready? Do I really want to risk getting him killed just so he won’t think I’ve lost faith in him? He shook off that notion. I haven’t lost faith in him. He can do this, I’m sure of it. He’ll be fine.
Then he imagined his friend falling into the hands of the Borg, just as his beloved Sean had fallen years ago.
No, Keru promised himself. Not this time. Not to Vig. I talked him into joining this mission, and I’m making sure he comes back from it … even if that means I won’t.
He had an hour before Dennisar and Sortollo returned.
“Computer,” he said. “Restart program. From the top.”
* * *
Riker stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge and was met with anxious stares. Vale, who was manning the center seat, rose to surrender the chair to him. He nodded and said, “Report.”
“Warp drive and main power are back online, but long-range communications are down for the count, along with most of the sensor array.” Vale handed him a padd with a summary of the ship’s status. He skimmed it as she continued. “Ra-Havreii networked the subspace transmitters on the shuttles, only to find out that the subspace booster relays we’ve been leaving behind us are all offline.”
He almost had to laugh. “Of course they are.” Settling into his chair, he ruminated aloud, “Whatever we’re moving toward just muzzled us, but it left our tactical systems alone. Why?”
Lieutenant T’Kel looked up from the security console an
d offered, “Perhaps because it doesn’t see us as a threat.”
“Then why did it disable us?” asked Riker.
The Vulcan woman shrugged. “A warning shot?”
From the other side of the bridge, Tuvok added, “It might also have been an accident. An entity with such power could easily have destroyed us while we were incapacitated. The fact that it did not suggests that its intention was not to kill.”
“Or that it thought it had killed us,” Vale offered.
Sariel Rager swiveled her chair away from the operations console and joined the conversation. “Sir, I think it’s worth noting that the pulse that hit us did so only after we’d run some fairly high-energy scans of our own. It’s possible we provoked the target’s curiosity, and it may not have realized we’d be so vulnerable to its sensors.”
“All good points,” Riker said. “Cease active scanning of the target. Passive sensors only from this point forward.”
Rager nodded. “Aye, sir.”
“Ensign Lavena,” Riker said to the Pacifican flight controller, “resume our last course, maximum warp.”
The thrumming of the engines grew louder and pitched quickly upward as the stars on the viewscreen shot past.
“Course laid in and engaged, sir,” replied Lavena, her voice filtered through her aquatic breathing mask. “ETA to target is approximately seven hours, nine minutes.”
To Vale, Riker added, “Get ready for a hostile reception.”
Vale turned to T’Kel. “All security personnel to stations.” Then she pivoted toward Tuvok. “Shields to ready standby, weapons hot.” As the two officers carried out her orders with cool, quiet efficiency, Vale turned back to Riker and lowered her voice. “Without comms, we won’t be able to report our findings to Starfleet. If we get into trouble, we won’t even be able to send a Mayday. We’ll be completely alone out here.”
“We’re already alone out here,” Riker replied in the same hushed tone. “But I’m not breaking off or going back. Whatever’s hiding out there in the dark, it’s got my full attention.”
2168
20
Erika Hernandez awoke struggling and flailing as a gloved hand clamped over her mouth and nose.
A German-accented voice snapped, “Quick, tie her!”
She lashed out and cuffed Private Steinhauer on the ear before someone else snared her wrist and yanked it backward.
Steinhauer and Mazzetti pulled Hernandez from her bunk. The German’s hand slipped from her mouth, and she inhaled, a prelude to a shout—then Mazzetti wedged a rolled-up sock between her teeth, muffling her panicked cry for help.
There were sounds of struggle in the rooms adjoining hers, more sharp-but-hushed orders, heavy thuds of bodies striking the floor, the meaty smack of fists against flesh.
Her attackers flipped her facedown on the floor. One of them, she couldn’t see which, kneeled on her back and held her wrists behind her while the other bound them. The odor of their exertion was heavy in the air. She kept trying to pull free, and they tightened their hold. Beads of sweat rolled from beneath her hair, soaking her forehead and neck.
Mazzetti and Steinhauer each grabbed one of her arms, under the shoulder, and dragged her backward out of her quarters, into one of the corridors of their penthouse suite. At the same time, Commander Fletcher was dragged, bound and gagged, from her room by Sergeant Pembleton and Private Crichlow. Lieutenants Yacavino and Thayer pulled the similarly restrained Lieutenant Valerian into the hallway, while Major Foyle and Lieutenant Graylock towed Dr. Metzger from her chambers.
“Bring them to the main room,” ordered Foyle. The group did as the MACO leader said and pushed, pulled, and prodded their four prisoners into the suite’s sunken living area, near the terrace entrance. Foyle released his hold on Metzger and said, “Seat them back-to-back and tie them together.”
Hernandez eyed Foyle as he stepped away and watched Pembleton and the three privates lash the four Columbia officers together, each of them facing out, like points on a compass.
The major conferred in whispers with his second-in-command for a moment before he acknowledged Captain Hernandez’s baleful glare. “I won’t insult you by apologizing,” he said. “And I can’t say as I mind our conversation being a bit one-sided in my favor, for a change.” He stepped down and kneeled beside her. “You understand why I had to do this, don’t you?”
She wanted to spit at him, but the sock was in the way.
“Yacavino,” said the major. “I’ll brief our guests on what happens next. Deploy the others and wait for my signal.” As the group began to leave, he added, “Pembleton, hang back.”
The MACO sergeant turned and halted while the rest of the mutineers departed. Hernandez caught a backward, regretful glance from Lieutenant Thayer, but only a stern mask of resolve on Graylock. She was profoundly disappointed in both of them, but especially in her chief engineer.
I never should’ve let Tucker transfer back to Enterprise, she jokingly berated herself. It’s so hard to find good help these days.
After the Caeliar elevator pod had departed, carrying the others back to street level, Foyle waved Pembleton over. “Take their communicators,” he said. “And anything else you find.”
Hernandez had suspected that Foyle would remember she had ordered everyone to carry communicators at all times, in case the scattering field ever lifted. All the same, as Pembleton plucked hers from her pocket, she felt a twinge of irritation at the MACOs’ efficiency and thoroughness. The sergeant concluded his pat-down search of the four female officers and held up four communicators. “This is all they had.”
“Stack them over there, against the wall.” Pembleton did as Foyle instructed. Then the major added, “Frag them.”
Pembleton tugged the strap of his phase rifle and swung it off his back and into his hands. He squeezed off a burst of charged plasma and reduced the four communicators to smoking, sparking sludge.
Then he aimed his rifle at Hernandez.
“Give the order, sir,” said Pembleton, his index finger poised over the trigger, steady and certain.
Foyle absorbed Hernandez’s murderous, defiant stare. His face was an icy cipher. After several seconds, he said to Pembleton, “Lower your weapon.” He strode toward the elevator pod. “We’ll leave them here.”
Pembleton let his weapon’s muzzle dip toward the floor as he watched Foyle walk away. “Sir, that wasn’t the plan.”
The major stopped, turned, and snapped, “I know that, Sergeant. Sling your rifle and get in the lift.” He watched Pembleton engage the safety on his weapon and quick-step toward the returned elevator pod. Then he looked at Hernandez. “I’ve chosen not to kill you, Captain,” he said. “Please don’t make me regret my decision.”
He followed Pembleton to the pod and stepped inside. Its transparent shell sealed itself around them, and then it vanished through the floor on its way to the plaza below.
Hernandez assessed her situation with dour cynicism. I’m bound hand and foot, unarmed, with no communicator. And I’ve got a sock in my mouth. She felt her nostrils flare as she sighed through her nose. I wish he had shot me.
* * *
Time was dragging for Kiona Thayer even as the wind whipped her long, dark hair above her head like Medusa’s serpents.
She still had a sick feeling in her gut from helping Major Foyle and his men assault and restrain her four fellow officers. Everything had unfolded so quickly once the MACOs had set themselves in motion. Within minutes she and Graylock had been roused and pressed into service to restrain the captain and the others.
In the hour that had elapsed since they’d left the penthouse and persuaded the Caeliar to provide them with an automated transportation disk to the nearby city of Mantilis for “cultural research,” Thayer had felt her pulse throbbing in her temples. At any moment her four betrayed shipmates would be discovered trussed like animals in the penthouse, she was certain of it. And then all of this would be for nothing.
Towers an
d spires blurred past in the darkness. Then the lines of the metropolis sharpened as the disk settled to a soft landing in the midst of a great plaza across from the opaque dome that shielded this city’s majestic Caeliar apparatus.
The disk melted into the marbled stone of the plaza, and the eight-person team moved quickly toward the dome. A violet radiance shot up from the top of the dome and soared skyward.
“Nice thing about a species that never sleeps,” Crichlow said softly. “They don’t ask why you’d want to take a trip in the middle of the night.”
Pembleton smacked the back of Crichlow’s crew-cut head, and said in a whisper laced with menace, “Shut up.”
At the base of the dark hemisphere that loomed large before them, the group halted. The MACOs unzipped side pouches on one another’s packs and removed rolls of wide medical tape from their first-aid kits. They worked strips of tape between their fingers and wrapped a few loops, adhesive side out, around their palms and the toes of their boots.
Pembleton handed a roll of tape to Thayer. “Just enough to give yourself some traction,” he whispered. “Once we’re past the first half, we should be okay without it.”
Thayer tried to wrap her hands and boots with the tape; it was clumsy work, holding one end in place while manipulating the rest of the roll. After it slipped from her grasp for the third time, Pembleton and Steinhauer did the work for her. When they finished, Pembleton asked her, “Ready?” She nodded. “All right,” he said. “Let’s climb.”
The sergeant and Major Foyle led the way, scrambling and fighting for purchase on the smooth surface. The rest of the group hurried behind them. In moments they were scratching and kicking their way up the dome like drunken bugs. Just as Pembleton had predicted, after they reached the halfway point they were able to move more quickly, jogging in a knuckle-dragging slouch, occasionally padding their palms against the dome for traction or balance. Recalling that the domes appeared transparent from inside, Thayer hoped that none of the Caeliar working on Mantilis’s apparatus were looking up at that moment.
