February 21, 1954
I have become fascinated by one of Mr. Russell’s characters, a Cardassian named Damar. He has been a running character throughout these tales, but only now, near the end, has he truly grown on me. In earlier stories this Damar was a despicable creature—cruel, alcoholic, vindictive. But as the war with the Dominion has raged across this fictional universe, he has become almost noble. Now as Benny is nearing the end of his stories about DS9, Damar has started a rebellion on the Cardassian homeworld. He is fighting to restore freedom and honor to his people.
It is so strange to me that I find myself relating to this character. He was once so full of evil, and now he has turned that evil around and is trying to make something good out of it. I wonder how much better the world might be if more of us turned out like Damar?
The scene that touched me in particular was this: The war is raging as Damar and his rebels are hiding out in the basement of a house on Cardassia Prime. There is an elderly woman who lives in the house; she is taking care of the rebels. In a moment of maternal instinct, she chides one of the rebels for not eating enough. She says he should eat more, like Damar.
The malnourished rebel in question retorts with a sly remark … he thinks that she is smitten with the rebel leader. Blushing, she says that she is much too old for him.
But Damar, with a charm that I did not know he had, replies: “Nonsense.”
Even in the midst of all that conflict, here is a man that still has enough of his wits about him to make an old woman feel good. That is a real man. I only hope my own son can make it through life and maintain that kind of composure.
March 2, 1954
The story of Deep Space Nine is almost done. I must admit that I am almost sorry to see it go, but it is for the best. As I have read more and more of these stories, I can see how easily someone could become trapped in this fictional universe. It is a place where good is good, and evil is sometimes good too. And it is a place where the heroes win out in the end and mankind has discarded some of his more animalistic tendencies. It is a place where I wish I could live, but it is a place that can never be. Back here on Earth in 1954 we all have to do the best we can, make the most of what we are given, and just try to get by.
Benny is working on the last DS9 story now. I expect to see it in just a few days.
March 9, 1954
I’ve just finished reading What You Leave Behind, the last story Benny Russell will ever write about Deep Space Nine. I have to admit that I held some trepidation about this treatment, but I am pleased. The story ended with the death of Captain Sisko. He fell into the Bajoran Fire Caves, never to be seen again.
And now, as I look at Benny, I see a man who has grown stronger. He cares deeply, and he is wiser for this lesson. I don’t think there will be any more problems with Mr. Russell. Just in case, however, I will be keeping him under observation for another month.
March 11, 1954
Today Benny got a special treat. His girl, Cassie, was allowed to come visit for the first time. Their meeting was heartfelt and warm, and I think that it was just what the doctor ordered. I am sure now that Mr. Russell is on the right track to recovery.
April 2, 1954
I feel vindicated now. Benny Russell was released from the hospital today. His girl was there to pick him up, and she thanked me for bringing her Benny back. Even Benny thanked me. He said that he feels much better now that the world of Deep Space Nine is behind him. And I feel better too.
I can’t imagine how much damage might have been done if those stories had gotten out. I don’t know what kind of future is waiting for us, but I don’t think the world is ready to read about a place where white men and black men sit down at the same table, where they sit together on buses or drink from the same water fountains. No, the time is not yet upon us, but perhaps it is coming. I think Benny is a better man for this experience, and, perhaps, I am as well.
April 4, 1968
I thought that my listing dated April 2, 1954, would be my last on the subject of Benny Russell, but something happened today that struck me, and I hate to say it, like a blast from a Klingon disruptor. Through all these years I have kept the memory of Captain Sisko and Deep Space Nine alive in my thoughts. I don’t know what it was about all those stories … it was something.
As I look back over this journal at the notes I kept on a black science fiction writer almost fifteen years ago, I can’t believe how far I have come, or how far I have left to go.
In the years since I released Mr. Russell from my care, I have thought of him occasionally. I wondered where he was and how he was doing—if he ever relapsed back into his psychosis or if he was really cured.
The years have rolled on, of course, and times have changed. The ideas of racial harmony that he put forth in his stories … ideas that seemed so far away back in the fifties … are beginning to be on people’s lips all the time. I don’t think we are ready to see it come to pass—not yet, but soon. Times are changing, and if this country is going to survive, we are going to have to change as well.
I look back on my own words, Negro, colored, and it makes me sick. I can’t believe that I used to view people like Benny Russell as different from me, as somehow inferior. I am disgusted with myself. I am disgusted with all of mankind. It seems like there is no hope. Benny’s world of Deep Space Nine seems farther away than ever.
Dr. Martin Luther King was murdered this morning. He was gunned down in broad daylight. I don’t know what to say … don’t know what I can say. He was a great man. He was a voice of hope and reason in a world gone crazy. And I wonder if there can ever be any hope again, that someone would kill a man such as he. I feel sick.
I was in my home when I heard. My son had just come over to introduce me to his girlfriend, a black girl. He was dressed up like one of those hippie love children and so was she. They looked ridiculous. They were talking and talking, and then I heard the newsbreak come on the television. I got a lump in my throat: I couldn’t talk. We all knew that something terrible had happened.
The news anchor came on and announced that Martin Luther King had been assassinated. My eyes filled up with tears. When I turned and saw my son and his girlfriend, tears flowed freely down their cheeks.
All of a sudden, I felt like I was going to throw up. I rushed to the bathroom, but by the time I got there my stomach had calmed down some. I was still feeling sick, so I splashed some cool water on my face from the sink. When I looked up, when I looked into the mirror, I saw something there, something that scared the hell out of me.
Staring back at me, the face in the mirror was pale gray and reptilian. The bone structure was different … inhuman. It took me a moment, but I was able to put a name to the creature I saw staring back at me. It was a Cardassian.
And then I remembered Damar, and how he was once evil but was able to turn his life around. And I wondered if there might be a little bit of Damar in me. If I told anyone from the hospital about this, they would say that I was going crazy. But somehow, I don’t think that is what it is. In fact, I feel saner now that I have in years. And perhaps that is what I need, in this mad, mad world.
I splashed more water on my face, and when I looked in the mirror again, it was me—I saw myself staring there. But I know what I saw. And I know, somehow, that there has to be something better than this. I think Benny was right, that if we all work at it, if we keep trying, we can make his dream a reality.
And Sisko and Damar and all the others, they are out there if we keep looking for them. I really believe that. They are our future. If we want it hard enough, then they are as real as you or me.
Iridium-7-Tetrahydroxate Crystals Are a Girl’s Best Friend
Bill Stuart
Borg temporal designation 22A-14472-992
Assimilation of species 12199 completed.
Resistance encountered at spatial grid 27.
Three cubes destroyed.
The collective absorbed all of this information as it was
processed. There was no need for status reports as there would be on a Federation ship; each event experienced by a Borg would be experienced by the entire collective.
The collective pondered its next move. Trillions of brains in tandem surveyed star systems and planets, looking for viable targets. Untold numbers of drones assembled new cubes, repaired damaged ones, and assimilated more members as needed.
Warning: Unauthorized chemicals discovered in queen aspect.
Location spatial grid 19. Composition: Lipid/sugar matrix with indole-class alkaloids and varied n-acylethylanes.
Probability of attack: Very low.
The collective focused part of its massive attention onto the queen aspect in grid 19. This cube had recently incorporated and was assimilating a pic-class shuttlecraft. This was a new design the Federation was testing and would add much to the collective.
Perhaps the chemical imbalance in the queen was intended as some sort of attack, launched by the Federation. The two crew members on board the shuttle had no knowledge of any attack. Oddly enough, they knew nothing about the ship functions or capabilities. None of this made any sense.
Warning: Assimilation failure in spatial grid 19.
Update: Unauthorized chemicals identified as being constituents of a chocolate truffle.
The collective grew concerned. An assimilation failure was an extremely rare event. To encounter a human who was resistant was unheard of. The collective focused more of its attention onto the queen aspect in grid 19.
The assimilation chamber was highly active. One of the Federation crew members had been assimilated without concern. The nanoprobes had infiltrated her easily, and her appendages were now being augmented with Borg technologies. The other was different. He appeared physically no different from any of the other trillions of beings assimilated into the collective.
“Is this going to take much longer?” said the man as the Borg repeatedly injected nanoprobes into his upper arm. He was lying on the assimilation gurney as Borg bioengineering drones looked him over. There was no oddities in his DNA, no antibodies that would halt nanoprobe activities, nothing out of the ordinary.
The door to the assimilation chamber irised open and the Borg queen entered. She was medium height, about five and a half feet. Before assimilation she must have been quite striking. Now she was a hideous monstrosity. Her remaining eye was a sparkling brown color. The other eye socket had an optical reader jutting out of it.
“Resistance is futile,” she said.
“I’m not resisting!”
Warning: Electroweak force anomaly detected in spatial grid 19, localized to area surrounding Borg vessel 98642.
The collective grew very concerned. The electroweak force never varied, except in areas of extreme conditions such as the immediate vicinity of a black hole. No known phenomenon could explain this, except …
Warning: Species 1732 detected in spatial grid 19. Recommend erecting protective subspace barrier around cube.
The collective tried to comply but found it could not.
“Au contraire, mon chère! Everyone’s invited to this party,” said the man in the assimilation chamber. The Borg drones continued futilely injecting him with nanoprobes.
“Q,” said the queen in an unemotional voice.
“In the flesh!” He looked at the bioengineer drone injecting him. “Do you mind, that is getting really annoying,” he said. They backed off and assisted with the female’s assimilation.
“What do you want?”
“Why, you, of course. In all the galaxy I have never met a woman quite like you. The spirit, the drive. I’ve decided to grant you a gift beyond measure … me.”
“Explain.”
“I’ve decided you will be my bride, my second bride actually.” The collective pondered Q’s unusual statement. Borg directive 201 prohibited any contact with the Q. They were to be avoided or ignored at all costs. However, close proximity to a Q for any length of time might provide a resource for future assimilation for that species. It also guaranteed loss of the queen aspect and most likely loss of the cube. The collective wisely decided to decline Q’s courtship.
“Your primitave bonding rituals are irrelevant. We do not wish to participate.”
“But think of the fun!” The queen looked unamused. “Okay, think of the accumulation of knowledge I can provide. We could make quite a team. All I ask for is one little ceremony.”
The queen aspect was suddenly wearing a white wedding gown and standing inside a cathedral, at the far end. Drones dressed as ushers and flower girls stood along the aisle.
The aspect began walking down the aisle toward the altar. A cold murderous look was on her face as she approached Q.
Suddenly a very large human female lunged from her seat and grabbed the queen aspect. She spun the cyborg around.
“Oh, I’m so happy for you!” she shrieked as she hugged the aspect and kissed her on the cheek. The queen disintegrated her with a pale green blast from her arm-loaded phaser.
“Auntie Helen!” shrieked Q. “Disintegrating your in-laws on your special day. How rude! And to think she gave us a shiny new toaster.”
“Auntie Helen and her toaster are irrelevant.”
“It’s natural to have nervous feelings on your wedding day, dear,” said another female, to the aspect’s left. “I’m sure you will make a wonderful wife.” Another voice spoke up from the back of the cathedral; this time it was the mechanized voice of a Borg unit.
“We’re so proud of you, honey!” said Two of Seven, a nondescript service drone. “Although I think you could have done better. I can still set you up with Stan, he’s a medical drone in unimatrix 42 with his own …”
“This will stop immediately!” screamed the entire collective at once. All was silent for a moment. Even the almighty Q paused.
“Oh, silly me. You’re Jewish, aren’t you?” In a flash, the cathedral was replaced with a synagogue. An elderly rabbi stood before the crowd. The queen looked unimpressed.
“Religion is irrelevant.”
“Humanist it is!” The room shimmered and melted. The aspect was now in a captain’s ready room. It took a second for her to identify the ship as the U.S.S. Enterprise, under control of Jean-Luc Picard, a former drone. The captain was sitting in his chair reading a report.
“Jean-Luc!” said Q as he moved forward to embrace Picard. Picard sighed and put down his report.
“I’ve no time for your …” He broke off as he noticed the aspect in a wedding dress. “What the hell is going on here …”
“Jean-Luc, how rude! Captain, may I present primary adjutant for unimatrix 4. I call her Unikins,” said Q as he kissed her on the cheek. The aspect glared at him with her silent, rage-filled eyes. Then he dip-kissed her. Picard tapped his chest.
“Security! Erect a level-ten forcefield around the captain’s chamber.” He turned back to Q. “I don’t know what kind of games you are playing, Q, but I want no part of it.” Q continued dipkissing the uncompliant queen.
“Q, is this really necessary?” Q stopped kissing the aspect and turned toward the captain.
“What’s the matter, Jean-Luc? Jealous?”
“Hardly. I’m not sure which of you to feel more sorry for.”
“I am here in a completely professional capacity, Captain! I have need of your services. Uni-poo and I wish to be wed. Under Federation law, you can perform the ceremony.”
“We will not comply,” said the collective through the aspect. “Return us to our cube immediately.”
“Resistance is futile,” said Q. “Besides, you look good in that dress.” As soon as Q finished saying that, the dress dissolved away into a nanotechnological goo.
“You’re right. Black is more your color.” Instantly the aspect was in a long black wedding gown. This too deteriorated into nanotechnological goo.
“Q! Stop this at once. I have no idea why you would want to marry the Borg but I will have no part of the ceremony. Get off my ship.”
“And to think we were going to name our first child after you. Jean-Luc PicQ.”
“We will no longer tolerate this. Return us to our cube,” said the aspect with her typical superior aspect.
“Fine. The cube it is.” Suddenly Picard and the ready room vanished, replaced by the bleakness of the aspect’s chamber.
“Perhaps I am going about this in the wrong way.” Q suddenly took on the form of a drone. “When the light hits your eyes just right, they sparkle like the outer layer of the Oort cloud, a region of dense cometoid debris that periodically bombards the inner Sol system.” He kissed the queen’s hand. “A minute without you is like sixty standardized seconds.”
“Your attempt to remove this aspect from the collective has failed. All further attempts to remove this aspect will fail as well,” droned the collective.
“I have no intention of removing her. I think I’m going to like it here, Uni-poo! But we need to make some changes.” Q waved his hand and the chamber became a Latin villa. The drones began playing rumba songs. Q was no longer a drone, but a Spanish matador.
“We are not impressed,” said the aspect, spitting out a rose Q had placed between her teeth. Immediately, the room began to resume its prior shape as the nanoprobes reinfested the material and converted it back to Borg structural units. The drones began assimilating their Spanish garb.
“You are a woman of taste and refinement, mon chère,” said Q. He had changed into a beret-wearing Frenchman, holding a basket of bread and a bottle of champagne. The queen shot the bottle out of Q’s hand.
“Ah, you do not like zee white wine. You prefer red, zee color … of passion!” Q tore open his shirt and advanced on the queen, throwing the bread to one side. The queen sighed and tried to ignore him as Q kissed the nape of her neck.
“Your matrimonial assault is due to fail.”
Q smirked as every drone, not just on this cube, but in every corner of the universe, became a Spanish trumpet player. The collective strained to regain control of itself and return to normal functioning.
Strange New Worlds IV Page 20
