Glass Empires

by Various

  Another row of inert Borg drones stretched ahead of him. The monotony, as well as conspicuous lack of aesthetics, discouraged Picard. From the look of things, the Borg cared only about function, not form. The Collective’s soulless voice echoed in his memory. He gazed into the unseeing eye of the closest Borg; this one looked vaguely Romulan. What if the Borg didn’t want to ally with the Resistance? Why should a bunch of unfeeling machines care about the freedom of the human race?

  Exploring further, he stumbled onto what appeared to be some sort of highly sophisticated operating room. An elevated metal pallet, large enough to accommodate a standard-sized humanoid, occupied the center of the chamber. An array of gleaming steel probes and surgical instruments resided on a tray next to the pallet. A mobile beam projector was mounted above the platform, perhaps to conduct deep-tissue scans or laser surgery? Picard lifted one of the silver instruments from the tray and tried to guess its purpose. It seemed just the right size and shape to, say, scoop out an eyeball.

  He was unpleasantly reminded of Gul Madred’s interrogation room. On closer inspection, the sterile compartment struck him as less like a medical facility and more like a torture chamber. The pallet itself was conspicuously missing any cushions or other measures to ensure a patient’s comfort. And were those restraints built into the sides of the bed? Glancing around, he didn’t see anything that resembled a conventional anesthetic provider. He started to wonder just how voluntary the operations conducted in this chamber were.

  A series of metal drawers had been installed along one wall. Picard noticed that the top drawer was slightly ajar. He guessed that it had been shaken loose during the battle with the Klingon battle cruiser. A strip of crumpled turquoise fabric, dangling over the edge of the drawer, caught his eye and he walked over to investigate.

  The drawer held scraps of clothing, of varying hues and textures. Sorting through the samples, he identified fragments of Klingon, Cardassian, and Romulan military uniforms, as well as various civilian garments. Bemused by the interspecies rag collection, he was starting to slide the drawer shut when his gaze fell on a solitary shred of fabric peeking out from beneath the other remnants. It was a cheap piece of khaki, the kind Vash had been wearing the night she had surprised him aboard his ship.

  He pulled the khaki free from the pile and ran his fingers over it. The texture was just as he remembered it. He raised it to his nostrils. Vash’s unmistakable fragrance still clung to the fabric, so distinctive that it stirred more memories and feelings within Picard than even the most celebrated literary madeleine. She was here, he realized. She might still be alive.

  But where was she now? Ominously, the edges of the sample had been sliced smoothly, as though by surgical scalpel or laser. Peering intently at the fabric, he discerned a single spot of dried human blood….

  Vash!

  Tucking the precious evidence into his pocket, he hurried back to Soong. He found the old man standing transfixed in front of an unconscious drone.

  “Amazing, aren’t they?” Soong declared, before Picard could tell him about the khaki fragment. “There appears to be a degree of specialization differentiating the individual units. No doubt they can also modify themselves as needed.” He stroked his chin. “One wonders why they even bother with their organic components.”

  “I think they’re hideous,” Picard said bluntly.

  Soong sighed. “Your antiquated prejudices blind you, Picard. That’s the problem with you archeologists. You’re so enamored of the past that you can’t see the future even when it’s right in front of you.” He regarded the Borg with outright awe. “You’re looking at the evolution in action: adaptation by cybernetic enhancement. Even beyond their surface implants, I’m detecting sophisticated nanotechnology at a cellular level. They’ve artificially upgraded their own DNA!”

  This dubious accomplishment impressed Soong no end, but left Picard feeling even more apprehensive. His skin crawled as he contemplated the unsettling figure before him. If this is the future, he thought, I’m not sure I want any part of it.

  “I just wish they’d wake up so we can have a decent conversation,” Soong complained. “There’s so much I want to ask them, and I’m not exactly getting any younger.” He stepped forward and prodded the Borg with his finger. “Hello? Can you hear me?” Grabbing the Borg’s arm, he tried to tug the drone from its alcove. “Rise and shine!”

  “Wait!” Picard said, alarmed. Who knew how the Borg would react to this disturbance? He peeled Soong’s fingers away from the Borg’s arm and physically dragged him back from the alcove. “Have you lost your mind?”

  Soong squirmed in his grasp, but was unable to free himself from the younger man’s grip. “Blast it, Picard!” he protested. “Unhand me!”

  Not on your life, he thought. He eyed the insensate Borg worriedly, half expecting it to lunge from its niche at any moment. The drone remained stationary, however, and Picard decided that that they were still safe enough. No thanks to this crazy old man!

  Then he heard the footsteps.

  “Someone’s coming,” he realized. The steady tread of the approaching steps reverberated down the corridor.

  “About time,” Soong said.

  Picard let go of the scientist and drew his disruptor. I guess this Borg isn’t done hibernating, he thought, but others are coming to investigate. “Looks like you’re getting your way, Soong. You’d better hope that the Borg are just as evolved as you think they are.”

  The clanking footsteps grew louder, along with the whirring of mechanical parts. Picard braced himself for whatever was coming, while Soong quivered in anticipation. “Greetings,” the old man called out. Only Picard’s firm grip kept him from scampering ahead to meet the aliens. “My name is Noonien Soong. I’m eager to learn from you!”

  A trio of monochromatic figures marched into view. Fumes from the ruptured conduit momentarily veiled their appearance, but they quickly emerged from the mist. Picard gasped out loud as he recognized a familiar face behind an array of cybernetic implants.

  “Vash!”

  His lover’s skin was chalky white, and her skull was shaved bare. Fully half her face was covered by wires and circuitry, yet there was no mistaking what remained of her elegant features. A blinking red scanner had replaced her right eye. Gears and servos hummed when she moved. Steel pincers clicked together at the end of a large prosthetic arm.

  “Oh my God,” Picard exclaimed. “What have they done to you?”

  Her single brown eye showed no sign of recognition. Not bothering to reply, she led the other two Borg toward the alcove of the sleeping drone. Her zombie-like gait was nothing like her usual seductive saunter. Thrusting his disruptor into his belt, Picard ran forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Answer me!” he demanded as he stared into her mutilated face, searching desperately for the woman she used to be. “Do you know who I am?”

  She knocked him aside with a sweep of her artificial arm. The inhuman strength of the blow caught him by surprise; his body slammed into a nearby guardrail, bruising his ribs. A pain-filled grunt escaped his lips.

  Vash ignored his distress. Intent on her mission, she inspected the Borg that Soong had accosted moments ago. A probe at the end of her arm fitted into a corresponding slot in the framework of the alcove. Electronic beeps emanated from her headset as she ran some sort of diagnostic on her fellow Borg. The other two drones stood by silently, apparently prepared to render assistance if necessary. Or were they standing guard over the procedure, just in case he or Soong tried to intervene?

  Picard’s throat tightened. “Vash,” he pleaded hoarsely, staggering away from the rail. Had the Borg captured Vash when they’d assimilated the Klingon base, or had she encountered them earlier? “Talk to me, please. Tell me you’re still in there somewhere.”

  “It’s too late, Picard.” Soong laid a restraining hand upon his shoulder. “She’s evolved beyond you.” His raspy voice held a tinge of sympathy. “A pity, really, but progress has its costs. So
mething is always lost with each new breakthrough.” He sounded like a professor lecturing a slow-witted student. “You have to look past your broken heart, keep your eye on the larger picture.”

  “Shut up!” Picard snapped. The old man’s insane ramblings meant nothing to him now. All he cared about was getting through to Vash—if there was still something left of her to save. “Listen to me, Vash. Remember who you are.” He wrenched his shoulder free from Soong’s grasp. “I don’t care what these monsters have done to your body. You’re still the same person you always were. You’re still the woman I love!”

  “Please, Picard,” Soong exhorted him. “You’re embarrassing yourself.” He called out to Vash’s Borg companions. “Hello? May I have your attention? I’m very interested in learning more about your species’ origins.”

  The silent drones ignored him.

  So did Picard.

  The beeping ceased and Vash disengaged her arm from the other Borg’s alcove. She turned stiffly toward the two men. “Prepare to be assimilated,” she announced in a dead voice. “Your biological distinctiveness will be added to our own.”

  Is that what the Borg had done to Vash? “Assimilated” everything that made her unique? Picard felt sick to his stomach. It occurred to him that they might not have encountered her randomly; it was possible that the Collective was deliberately using Vash to communicate with others of her species, to ease their absorption into the hive mind. If her presence is supposed to calm us, he thought bitterly, then the Borg don’t understand us at all.

  Extending her prosthetic arm before her, she approached the men. Her cybernetic companions walked in lockstep behind her. Gleaming probes and pincers spun at the end of the oversized arm. Her leprous complexion looked dry and flaky. An antiseptic odor preceded her, masking her former fragrance. Picard’s heart sank. Vash didn’t even smell like herself anymore.

  “Think, Vash! Remember what’s important to you!” He backed away from Vash and the other two Borg, while racking his brain for some way to reach her. Even if she didn’t respond to him anymore, he knew what mattered to her more than anything else. “Think of the Resistance!”

  “Resistance is futile,” she replied.

  Picard’s last shred of hope evaporated. There’s nothing left, he realized. She’s gone. This creature was not Vash; it was an obscene parody of her, a walking desecration of everything she had ever believed in. His face hardened as he drew his disruptor. I can’t let her live like this.

  He squeezed the trigger, and a beam of red-hot energy struck the female Borg squarely in the chest. Sparks erupted from her wire-encrusted torso as she toppled over onto her back, crashing loudly onto the metal grillework. Her limbs twitched, and the pincers of her prosthetic arm clicked together spasmodically before freezing in place. Mechanical servos stopped whirring. Her blinking red eye went dark.

  Rest in peace, he thought. You deserved so much more than this. So much more than I could ever give you.

  “Good Lord, Picard!” Soong exclaimed. He stared in shock at the smoking body of the dead Borg. “What’s come over you? That was completely unnecessary!”

  Picard shot the scientist a murderous glare. Vash would still be alive if not for Soong’s dangerous obsession with the Borg. He was sorely tempted to leave the old man to the Borg’s tender mercies, but he wasn’t sure he wanted the Borg to assimilate the man’s genius. They were lethal enough as is.

  The Borg are going to have to do without both of us, he vowed. At least if I have anything to say about it.

  Provoked by Picard’s attack on Vash, the other two Borg went into action. One knelt to retrieve vital components from its fallen comrade, while the other advanced on the two men, picking up where Vash had left off.

  “Resistance is futile,” it intoned.

  We’ll see about that, Picard thought. He fired at the Borg, hoping to kill it as easily as he had the Vash-Borg. To his surprise, however, a translucent force shield appeared between the Borg and the beam, blocking the disruptor blast. Picard shifted his aim, but the planar shield moved with him. Try as he might, his beams couldn’t get past the Borg’s defenses.

  “You’re wasting your time, Picard.” Soong clearly regarded the impenetrable shield as yet more proof of the Borg’s manifest superiority. “Don’t you see? They’ve already adapted to your weaponry, just like they did with the Klingons!”

  For once, the crazed scientist had a point. The Borg were obviously quick learners. Switching tactics, Picard fired at the walkway beneath the drone’s feet instead. The catwalk disappeared in a flash of scarlet energy and the Borg plummeted through the gap, landing on the catwalk below. A metallic clang rang out, loud enough to wake the dead.

  More Borg stirred within their alcoves.

  “We have to get out of here,” Picard stated. The third Borg, having finished with its salvage job on Vash’s remains, stomped toward them. A force field bridged the yawning gap in the walkway, and Picard knew better than to try the same trick again. He reached for his communicator badge, to trigger the emergency beam-out, but Soong grabbed onto his arm, yanking it away from his chest. “Let go of me, you lunatic!”

  “No!” the scientist shouted. “Not yet! We can still make contact with them, learn where they came from.” Picard tried to shake off the old man, but Soong clung to him with frantic determination. “We can’t leave yet. I have too many questions!”

  “Damn your questions!” Picard finally yanked his arm free, but Soong’s delay had cost him precious seconds. The third Borg was almost upon them, less than a meter away. Picard recoiled from the drone’s outstretched pincers. He couldn’t imagine a worse fate than being transformed the way Vash had been. Being tortured to death by Gul Madred sounded like a mercy by comparison. “I won’t become one of these…things!”

  Spotting a plasma conduit on the wall between two alcoves, he blasted it with his phaser. Superheated vapor jetted from the wreckage, momentarily slowing the Borg’s advance. “Time to go,” Picard said. He tapped his combadge. “Emergency Code Waterl—.”

  “Speak for yourself, Picard!” Soong interrupted. The scientist snatched his own combadge from his overcoat and flung it at the floor. It clattered against the walkway before falling through the metal grating. Soong smirked victoriously at Picard. “I’m not going anywhere!”

  You senile maniac! Picard thought angrily. Stargazer’s transporter would not be able to lock onto Soong without the combadge, and there was no time to transmit revised coordinates to the runabout’s computer. Even as he hesitated, Picard saw more Borg emerging from their alcoves all along the corridor. They had him hemmed in in both directions, with nowhere to go except back to his ship. If he stayed any longer, he risked ending up like Vash: a soulless cog in the Borg machine.

  There was no way around it. He had to leave Soong behind.

  “Emergency Code Waterloo.”

  He glared at Soong in disgust as the transporter beam whisked him away.

  6

  B ack aboard Stargazer, Picard did not waste a nanosecond mourning Noonien Soong. The old man had made his choice. Now he would have to live with it, for as long as the Borg permitted him to exist as a separate entity. Chances were, he was already regretting his decision.

  I should have killed him myself, Picard thought.

  He dashed to the cockpit and dropped into the pilot’s seat. Terrified that a Borg tractor beam would latch onto the runabout at any moment, he hurriedly fired up the warp engine. Going to warp inside a solar system was chancy, but, given a choice, he would rather slam into an asteroid at lightspeed than let the Borg get their pincers on him. More than just his life was in jeopardy; his very identity was at stake.

  The warp drive engaged, hurling him out of the Carraya system. Stars streaked by as the sudden acceleration slammed him into the back of his seat, decrepit inertial dampers notwithstanding. Picard poured on the speed, not easing up on the throttle until he was dozens of light-years away from the ill-fated system. Long-range sensors
scanned the empty space behind him. To his relief, the Borg ship was not in pursuit. Apparently, the Borg did not consider him worth chasing.

  He had never been so glad to be insignificant.

  His racing heartbeat gradually slowed down. Adrenaline drained from his bloodstream as he sagged within his seat. “My God,” he murmured as the enormity of the situation sank in.

  Vash was dead, but that was only the beginning. The Borg were coming, threatening the entire Alpha and Beta Quadrants with a nightmare beyond imagining. Picard staggered back into his cabin and poured himself a stiff drink. The cheap rotgut was no Château Picard, but it helped to steady his nerves. He tossed his disruptor onto his cot. He wondered if he would ever be able to fire the weapon again without remembering how he had used it to destroy the unholy abomination that the Borg had made of Vash. Her ghastly visage haunted his memory. A snatch of poetry, from a forgotten Terran wordsmith, flashed through his brain:

  The nightmare Life-in-Death was she,

  Who thicks man’s blood with cold.

  He realized now that the Borg would be a thousand times worse for humanity than the Alliance had ever been. At least under the Klingons and the Cardassians, humans still had their own minds and individuality, not to mention hope of a better future somewhere down the road. The Borg, on the other hand, were the worst of both worlds, combining the ruthless efficiency of machines with the territorial aggressiveness of history’s most predatory empires. Gul Madred was Father Christmas by comparison.

  But what could one powerless human do to halt the invasion? Picard wasn’t sure that the Alliance could stop the Borg’s relentless advance even if they heeded his warnings, which was unlikely. He was just a lowly Terran, after all. Picard doubted that even Gul Madred would take him seriously. The Alliance was too confident of its power. The Borg were going to roll right over them.

  It’s up to me, he thought grimly. If he was smart, he would take off for the Gamma Quadrant and never look back; he might well live out the rest of his life before the Borg caught up with him.