Strange New Worlds X

by Dean Wesley Smith

Willus was slumped forward, forehead resting on the brilliant sheen of the glass table, when Paulus entered the chamber.

  Neither needed to say a thing.

  “They are from Earth. We wouldn’t be violating the Prime Directive if we just take the unaltered groups and relocate them,” Riker said. “None of this makes sense,” Worf said. “The main settlements on this planet are limited to one continent. Cannot other parts of the planet be settled by those who do not wish to be joined to the computer system?”

  Picard leaned back and adjusted his uniform jacket.

  “You’re right, Will. And that’s a very interesting question, Worf,” he said.

  “Sir, if I may?” Data interjected.

  Picard nodded from his position at the head of the table in the briefing room.

  “This culture bears much of the stamp of the Earth they left in the twenty-first century. Politics and power seem to be the overriding concern of the ruling body, as opposed to the prosperity and profligation of their people.”

  “In other words, Data, the powers that be want all these people controlled because it enhances their own power and prosperity in some way,” Picard said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Maybe it’s a lot simpler than we’re trying to make it,” Troi said.

  “How so, Counselor?” Picard asked.

  “Maybe there are just a lot more people than we realize that don’t want to be wired into the system. That would promise change on an almost revolutionary scale for this world. That’s not just about power, it’s about the survival of the people who whole-heartedly embrace the technology and those who lead them.”

  Troi leaned back in her chair, catching a wan smile from Riker as she did.

  “We’re talking about civil unrest, or maybe war,” Geordi La-Forge said.

  Doctor Crusher was nodding. “These people feel like their ancestors, their founding fathers, left Earth because their attempts at integrating these kinds of computer systems into the human body was not widely accepted,” she said. “I’ve read some of the histories.”

  “That is true, Doctor,” Data said. “In fact, there were some accusations that the group was trying to follow Khan Noonien Singh’s path to improved humanity.”

  “Which would explain not only their desire to not have outside contact, but to keep this the closest of close knit worlds,” Picard said. “Counselor Troi, do you think you can convince Dayna to visit us?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  Picard smiled, nodded and rose.

  “Then let’s let the genie out of the bottle.”

  “I just wanted to let you know we have recovered our missing crew members,” Picard said. Paulus was sitting behind a nondescript desk in an equally nondescript room. He appeared to be alone, but Picard knew that was an illusion.

  “Ah, that is good news, Captain,” Paulus said with a satisfied look. “You’ll be taking your leave of ePlanet, then?”

  “I think not.”

  Picard stood, took three strides toward the main view screen, and then reached out with his right hand. His eyes never left Paullus’s image. The leader flushed a deep red when Dayna joined Picard.

  “Well?” Picard said.

  “Well, what, Captain? Consorting with our enemies?”

  Picard pursed his lips and expelled a deep breath.

  “So, you were well aware of who sent the distress call we intercepted. And it was a distress call.” It was not a question.

  “We will deal with this situation ourselves,” Paulus said. His face was so red, it clashed with his bright tunic.

  “You see, I have a problem with that,” Picard said, crossing his arms. “Dayna and her colleagues aren’t just citizens of ePlanet.

  They’re Earth colonists. They’re human. They have rights, including the right to live life as they would, to think as they would, without fear of repression, reprisal or worse. They have the right to not be enhanced with technology. They have the right to be free.

  “Is that not humanity’s constant quest?”

  “You don’t understand,” Paulus said, nostrils flaring. “We live in harmony. They do not. They have destabilized our system, from within and without. What about the dreams of our founders and our people? The freedom we seek is within and with each other.”

  Dayna took a step toward the view screen.

  “Paulus, it’s a big world. Let us go. Let anyone go who doesn’t adhere to your so-called harmony. Let us escape the constant fear which is all I have ever known. Free us. Free yourselves,” she said, smacking her left fist into the palm of her right hand. “Let us all be free.”

  “What choice do we have” Willus asked. “Maybe Picard is right. Maybe we’re all better off apart.”

  Paulus snorted, and continued to pace around the table.

  “Do not be snide,” he said. “I know what you think. I know what the Conclave thinks. I know what everyone thinks, of them, of us, of me. I do not care.

  “Do you all hear that? I. Do. Not. Care.”

  He was shouting. Willus was silent, within and without.

  Then he stood.

  “It’s over Paulus, as least as we know it.”

  Paulus whirled. He could no longer read Willus through the Net.

  “What’s going on here? What are you doing?”

  “I think I am leaving,” Willus said, lifting his chin high. “I think I am tired of all of this and would like to try to something new.”

  Paulus snarled and rushed his former assistant, unsheathing a cutting tool from his arm accessory as he raced across the room. Willus never flinched as he was pinned against the wall.

  “You are a traitor,” Paulus spit the words out. “You sicken me.”

  Willus never blinked as he regarded the leader.

  “I am not afraid of you, Paulus,” he finally said. “Either cut open my throat or unhand me. The choice is yours, just as this choice is mine.”

  Paulus closed his one eye and pushed away from Willus. He was sobbing as he collapsed into a chair at the desk. Willus rubbed his throat, staring at his former friend.

  “Oh my. Are you still plugged in at all?”

  “Of course, I am still plugged in,” Willus said, stepping toward the desk. “I simply am limiting access to my thoughts, for now. Where I go from here is anyone’s guess, even mine. Perhaps I will unplug for good. Perhaps I will seek a simpler life within the Net.

  “As we both can tell, though, it will not be the same community that it was when we all awoke this day.”

  “No,” Paulus whispered. “We will be lucky if this city is still standing when everyone is finished choosing.”

  Turmoil rippled through the Net. Confrontations between friends, family and lovers were spreading as the people opened up to the newest day on ePlanet. Paulus could hear it all on the server inside his head.

  “Just remember Paulus, it was you and not I who turned to violence,” Willus said as he neared the door. “Perhaps the unaltered were right to fear for their lives. Perhaps you should blame this on yourself and those most like you.”

  The thunk of the door as it closed behind him was deafening in the ensuing silence. Paulus, head in hands, could only listen as his world unraveled.

  “You wanted to see me, Captain?” Troi said as the doors to Picard’s ready room whooshed closed.

  “You seem troubled by my solution, Deanna.”

  She shook her head. “I am concerned about what we left behind on ePlanet.”

  “Please sit,” Picard said as he lowered himself onto the long, low seat.

  “Given the fact that the new colony has already voted for full offworld contact with us and with the idea of establishing more normal contacts with the sector, including a trading post, I am not worried the original colony will try to overcome their former residents.”

  “Then what?”

  “This has hurt so many, sir. Families have split. Dayna was reunited with her sisters and neither had any interest in becoming unwired. Oth
ers have rejoined, but are struggling because they’re strangers now. Some of the unwired have chosen to rejoin the original colony, now that it’s a choice and not a demand. Some see that as a betrayal.”

  Picard sat forward, elbows on knees, fingers steepled together under his chin.

  “It’ll be a generation, maybe two, before the fallout settles, Counselor.”

  “I know, sir.”

  “You can’t help them all.”

  Troi sighed and nodded.

  “Perhaps for the first time since the founders of this colony left Earth, these people really are free. Free to live as they would and free from fear that their choices will not be their own,” Picard said. “I meant what I said to Paulus. The human condition is never finer than when it’s free.”

  A Dish Served Cold

  Paul C. Tseng

  Paul C. Tseng’s third story for Strange New Worlds scores him a hat trick, or in other dubious circles a “Wardy.” He would like to thank Margaret Clark and Paula Block for all their hard work and support. Most of all, he wishes to thank Dean Wesley Smith for all his encouragement and confidence. If it were not for him, Paul would probably not be a professional writer today. Finally, he would like to thank his beautiful wife and children for their unconditional love and support.

  W E ARE THE BORG. YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR SHIP.

  Every console on the bridge shuddered, as the green tractor beam locked onto the small wedge-shaped ship. Captain Grebnedlog looked curiously at the distinctly simple design of the Borg cube that held his ship in tow.

  “Uh huh,” Grebnedlog replied, vacuously. “We are Pakleds. Our ship is the Mondor. We look for things. We make things go.”

  Reginod, the Mondor’s engineer, ran from his station to the Grebnedlog’s chair. “We cannot go. They are strong.”

  “They are Borg,” Grebnedlog replied, with a wide grin. “They are stronger than the Federation.” He had heard that the Borg were the most feared enemy of Starfleet. It pleased him to know that the people of Commander William T. Riker, of the Starship Enterprise, were not smart enough to stop the Borg. He drooled at the thought of Borg technology, which made them so formidable an enemy of the Federation. “They can help us pay back Riker and the Enterprise !”

  “WE WILL ADD YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTURE WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.”

  A scanning beam bathed the Mondor in a blinding light that penetrated its hull.

  “SHIP COMPRISED OF ARCHAIC TECHNOLOGY FROM VARIOUS KNOWN SPECIES: HUMAN, ROMULAN, KLINGON, JARADA, FERENGI….”

  Grebnedlog smiled at Reginod. “They like our things….”

  Reginod’s apprehension left his face, upon seeing his captain’s smile. He nodded and laughed. “They are smart, they look for things too!”

  “SHIP’S COMPLEMENT: TWO INDIVIDUAL BIOLOGICAL LIFEFORMS. ASSIGNING SPECIES DESIGNATION—95012—PAKLED. INTELLECTUAL LEVEL, MARGINAL.”

  The Pakled Captain’s smile quickly turned upside down. He glared back at the viewscreen. “We are smart! We make things go!”

  “ASSESSMENT: ASSIMILATION OF SPECIES 95012 WOULD PROVIDE NO BENEFIT TO THE COLLECTIVE AND REQUIRES AN INEFFICIENT APPROPRIATION OF RESOURCES. PAKLED SHIP, YOU WILL NOT BE .”

  Grebnedlog’s mouth gaped open as the Borg ship released the Mondor from its tractor beam. It began to pull away from the Pakled ship at full impulse, before warping out of the sector.

  “They are going,” he said. “We need to go too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they are smart; we want to be smart.”

  Reginod smiled and nodded slowly. “And they are strong; we want to be strong.”

  The Mondor’s recently retrofitted warp drive bucked and roared, then finally kicked in to pursue the massive Borg cube. The jolt threw Grebnedlog and Reginod from their chairs flat onto their rotund rumps. They pointed at each other, snorting and chortling.

  “Ferengi engines, haw-haw,” Reginod chuckled.

  “They are fun!”

  Despite the laughter, Captain Grebnedlog kept focused on his mission. For the past eight years, he had lived with the humiliation of having been tricked by Commander Riker into releasing Geordi LaForge from capture. That failure had caused him to lose stature with the Pakled Intelligence Group; Enterprise had become the Moby Dick to his Captain Ahab. He became so obsessed with revenge that he passed up opportunities to command more contemporary ships, despite the fact that all his crew had left him, except for the ever-loyal Reginod, his chief engineer.

  The Mondor trailed half a light-year behind the Borg Cube, unable to intercept due to the limitations of the Ferengi warp drive not being fully compatible with Pakled technology.

  I am hungry, Grebnedlog thought. I want to eat. “Reginod, we need food.”

  “There is food in the box we stole from the Klingon trading post.”

  Grebnedlog winced. “Klingons are angry. They want to hurt us.”

  The Pakled engineer dragged over a large cargo container and struggled to pry it open. “Uhhhn!” Reginod banged on the lid with his fist but to no avail. Grebnedlog offered his assistance as well, but even with their combined efforts, they were not able to open the box. Little did they know that container was upside down and the unlocked latch was on the bottom.

  Grebnedlog stood up and kicked the container with all his might. “Ow! That hurt! And I am still hungry!” So he took out the phaser he had replicated when he had abducted Geordi La Forge, and pointed it at the box. Reginod scrambled to his feet, just barely escaping the blast of glowing duranium shards flying in all directions. As soon as the smoke cleared the two Pakleds stood over the open container and looked down in disgust.

  “Worms!” they cried, staring down into the writhing and very much alive Klingon delicacy, gagh. The odor that wafted from the container was so pungent that Grebnedlog’s eyes began to water. He couldn’t believe that anyone actually ate those smelly, slimy things, alive!

  He put his hands on his formidable belly, rubbing it delicately. “I am not hungry now.”

  Just then, the viewscreen showed a fleet of Federation starships speeding past the Mondor. Grebnedlog got back to his seat and examined his monitor. He turned to Reginod and the corners of his large mouth crept upwards. “Federation ships.”

  “But they are smart,” Reginod answered, anxiety creasing his brow. “And they are strong.”

  “We are smart too!” Grebnedlog replied. “Send a message to them!”

  Reginod opened hailing frequencies and put out their typical distress signal. He looked back to his captain who was rubbing his fleshy hands together and grinning broadly.

  One of the ships slowed and stayed behind. It turned back and matched speeds with the Mondor. The viewscreen then displayed a bearded starfleet captain with a slightly receding hairline.

  “This is Captain Morgan Bateson of the Starship Bozeman. How may we be of assistance?”

  The Mondor’s captain blinked his eyes a few times, to make sure he was seeing correctly. “You are not Riker.”

  “I most certainly am not,” Bateson replied. “Are you in need of assistance?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The bearded captain’s chest rose and fell, letting out an impatient sigh. “Well? What is the matter, then?”

  “We are … far from home.” In his twenty-five years in the P.I.G., Grebnedlog had never failed to use his standard tactic of luring well-intentioned victims into lowering their guard by “playing dumb.”

  But he heard a voice over the com on the Bozeman’s bridge.

  “U.S.S. Bozeman, this is Lieutenant Commander Worf, commanding the Defiant. You have dropped out of formation with the Thunderchild and battle group Psi. What is your status—are you under attack?”

  Bateson sat back down in his chair and hit a button on his arm rest. “This is Captain Bateson. We are answering a distress call, but are having some challenges in communication.”<
br />
  “We are en route and will rendezvous at your coordinates in two minutes. Defiant out.”

  This was quickly becoming more complicated than Grebnedlog would have preferred. But his encounter with the Borg had emboldened him. He had a plan and felt that with another Federation starship on its way, he would be able to try these new tactics he had just developed on both of them. In no time, he would be able to hunt down Riker and the cursed ship that had caused him disgrace and shame for nearly a decade. For now, he resorted to tactic number Two-Five-One: answer all interrogations with “uh-huh,” and stare blankly.

  It surprised him how quickly the second ship, called Defiant, arrived.

  Captain Bateson was now livid with frustration from trying to communicate with Grebnedlog; he was gritting his teeth. “Defiant, I have had no luck establishing communication with the captain of this ship; can you see if you are more successful?”

  “Worf here. We will attempt to ascertain whether this is high enough a priority to delay our arrival with the rest of the fleet.”

  “Be my guest,” Bateson answered, rolling his eyes.

  On the Mondor, when the viewscreen image switched from the bridge of the Bozeman to the Defiant’s, Grebnedlog and Reginod gasped so hard they began to choke on their spit.

  “You!” Worf snarled. “I remember you, Pakleds!”

  Grebnedlog cowered and sputtered. “Uh … uh … We … we will return your worms! We didn’t eat them!” The very thought of the worms caused his stomach to churn. He feared he might be sick all over the bridge.

  Worf’s eyes flashed. “I am not interested in gagh!”

  The pair of fumbling Pakleds let out a simultaneous sigh of relief.

  Worf lowered an intimidating gaze on them. “If you are attempting to steal equipment or abduct Starfleet personnel, you are wasting your time.”

  Time for my plan. The corpulent captain of the Mondor rose from his chair and attempted to stick his chest out as a symbol of boldness, but his imposing stomach detracted from the dramatic effect of it all. Nonetheless he made his best effort to sound menacing.

  “WE ARE ARE … THE BORED. YOU WILL BE ASIMULATED. …”