by Various
“Soong?”
“I am Locutus of Borg,” the figure corrected him. Like Vash before him, the aged scientist had obviously been assimilated into the Borg Collective. A black ceramic implant, connected by cables to corresponding units on the figure’s torso, covered the left half of Soong’s face. A red laser sensor augmented his human senses. The old man’s wrinkled complexion was as pale and brittle as bleached papyrus. Layers of circuitry and black insulation had replaced his ratty attire. “Locutus” stared blankly ahead, his fixed gaze completely devoid of Noonien Soong’s impishness and intellectual enthusiasm. He spoke in a lifeless monotone. “You are the specimen designated Picard. Prepare to be assimilated.”
Picard felt as though someone had just walked across his grave. “Like hell!” he snarled.
“Your objections are irrelevant,” Locutus declared. “This unit retains the memory of your species’ oppression under the Alliance. Your bondage is now at an end. All assimilated species are equal in the Collective.” Behind the transformed scientist, rows of inert Borg drones seemed to stretch backward into infinity. Many of them appeared to be Klingon or Romulan in origin. “We are the future.”
Is this supposed to tempt me? Picard wondered. One look at the hideous thing that Noonien Soong had become was enough to convince him that the Borg had to be stopped at any cost. Soong might have been a dangerous maniac, but Picard wouldn’t wish his ghastly fate on anyone. Not even the Alliance.
“Sorry,” he replied. “Meet the past.”
Stargazer swung about by one hundred and eighty degrees, turning her stern toward the Borg ship. Picard reversed the tractor beam holding onto the Iconian probe and sent the glowing blue orb spinning toward the enormous steel diamond. Killing the tractor beam, he let momentum carry the probe onward.
Now to see if the Borg took the bait….
Picard leaned forward hopefully as the Borg ship scanned the probe with a shimmering sensor beam. Just as he’d hoped, theBorg had been unable to resist the lure of Iconia’s exotic technology. In theory, the age-old computer virus was infecting the Collective at this very moment.
“Targeted artifact does not correspond with this sector’s current state of technological progress,” Locutus observed. His robotic voice acquired a hint of curiosity. He fixed his unblinking gaze on Picard. “Explain anomaly at once.”
“Figure it out yourself,” the human answered.
Having delivered the virus, there was nothing more for Picard to do here. Time for a strategic withdrawal, he concluded. Reactivating his computer system, he fired up the impulse engines and headed away from the towering Borg vessel, which was altogether too close for comfort. Stargazer had traveled less than a kilometer, however, before a Borg tractor beam grabbed onto the speeding runabout. Picard was thrown forward in his seat as Stargazer’s headlong flight for freedom came to an abrupt halt. A moment later, he felt his ship being dragged backward toward the waiting diamond.
“Escape is impossible,” Locutus informed him. “Assimilation is inevitable.”
We’ll see about that, Picard thought stubbornly. He urgently worked the control panel as he turned both the impulse engines and the solar sails to the vital task of breaking free from the tractor beam’s vigorous grip. Subatomic winds blew against the sails, causing them to billow outward, while the impulse engines hummed loudly in his ears. Picard diverted every kilojoule of available power to his dual propulsion systems, even as he pined for his dearly departed warp drive.
It wasn’t enough. Even at full impulse power, the best he could do was retard Stargazer’s steady, inexorable progress toward the Borg ship. Aft sensors revealed a circular maw opening in one face of the enormous diamond, ready to swallow the runabout whole. Pulled in two directions, delicate solar sails were torn apart, the gossamer wings shredding under the pressure. Filmy gold ribbons fluttered around the runabout’s hull. The mast of the jib sail toppled over, crashing against the roof of the cockpit with a resounding bang. Picard anxiously checked the navigational display. According to the readout, the Borg ship was only seven hundred meters away and closing.
“Lower your shields,” Locutus intoned. “Prepare to be assimilated.”
Never!
“Computer, initiate self-destruct sequence,” Picard instructed. He had been prepared for this moment ever since he had escaped the Borg’s inhuman clutches the first time. Better instant annihilation than a living death among the Collective. Hang on, Vash. I’ll be with you shortly.
“Self-destruct sequence activated,” Stargazer confirmed. Its computerized voice sounded more human than Locutus. “Fifteen seconds and counting.”
Locutus waited patiently upon the screen. “Pre-prepare for assimassim…”
Wait. What was that? Picard’s ears perked up as he heard Locutus stumble over his words. Could the Iconian virus be taking effect already? If so, Picard realized, it would still be too late for him.
“Nine seconds and counting,” the computer announced. “Eight…”
The Borg ship was only five hundred meters away.
At least I got to see the virus take root, Picard mused. He could die happy, knowing that he had struck his blow against the Borg…and drawn blood. Too bad I won’t be around for the final act.
“Ramming speed!” Kang’s exultant voice erupted from the comm as his damaged bird-of-prey came swooping down between Stargazer and the Borg diamond. Picard realized that the Klingons were buying him time, perhaps not realizing that he had already completed his mission. “For the Empire!”
The winged warship crashed into the source of the Borg’s tractor beam. A blazing fireball consumed the emitter, releasing Stargazer. The runabout surged forward on impulse power as Picard realized, to his amazement, that he owed his life to the courage of a Klingon commander. What universe is this? he thought, dumbfounded by this unexpected turn of events. Surely not the one I know.
“Computer, cancel self-destruct sequence!”
“Affirmative,” Stargazer replied. “Sequence halted at two-point-six-eight seconds.”
Picard wiped the sweat from his brow. That had been a close one.
Pouring on the speed, he flew Stargazer away from the Borg ship as fast as he could manage. He half expected another tractor beam to seize him at any minute, but it appeared that the Collective had bigger fish to fry. On-screen, Locutus looked like he’d seen better days. His right eye twitched erratically. The miniature laser affixed to his temple shorted out. Subtle tremors shook his body. A grimace twisted his features. Greasy black drool spilled down his chin.
“I am Locutus, Locutus, Locutus,” he stammered like a broken holoprogram. Behind him, the other drones staggered from their respective sarcophagi, lurching about in a state of obvious confusion. They collided into each other, their bionic limbs beyond their control. Diagnostic panels exploded above their heads. White-hot sparks spewed onto the catwalk below. The murky corridors filled with thick black smoke. “A-a-alien data rejecting a-assimilation. Systemic p-purge failing…”
For once, the Borg’s collective consciousness seemed to be working against them, as the Iconian virus attacked every drone and system simultaneously. The sickly green glow radiating from within the Borg ship flickered and turned an ugly shade of mauve. Jets of superheated plasma vented from the intricate scaffolding covering the diamond’s exterior. Concealed hatches opened at random. The entire ship began to tumble end over end. Even its astounding regenerative capacity was affected by the virus; shapeless, disorganized metal structures spread across the surface of the diamond like cancer. Borg efficiency, it seemed, was no match for the almost-preternaturally advanced technology of the ancient Iconians. The entire Collective was on the verge of a fatal cybernetic crash.
“Warning, warning!” Locutus blurted. His body jerked as though gripped by an epileptic seizure. Bloodshot eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. Tendrils of white smoke rose from the circuitry embedded in his pasty flesh. His prosthetic arm semaphored at his side, smashing into
nearby equipment racks. Telescoping pincers scraped against the face of the communications console. “Central plexus, plexus…corrupted.” A greenish froth sprayed from his lips. Watery eyes rolled upward until only the whites could be seen. “P-polarizing generators losing field integrity…exponential collapse…Tratranswarp coils…critical malfunction imminent…”
A laser beam lashed out, destroying the probe. Significantly, it took the beam emitter two tries before it hit its target. The glowing azure globe exploded in a starburst of radiating sparks.
But the poison had already been swallowed.
7
D eep in the bowels of his mechanical hive, shielded by overlapping layers of multigenerative security grids, the Borg king detected a disturbance spreading through the Collective, interfering with the proper operation of the ship. Ego buffers protected the king from the alien pathogen, which was rapidly overcoming the various measures installed to protect the ship’s systems from contamination. The king noted that the mysterious pathogen had already infected the vinculum linking the vessel’s various drones and unimatrixes. Interesting, he mused.
His cranium and spinal column resided in a dimly lit chamber at the heart of the Borg diamond. Blinking steel vertebrae were plugged directly into the central plexus that connected this solitary vessel with the rest of the Collective throughout the galaxy. The king’s pale flesh glistened damply upon a humanoid visage. Thick black cables flowed from the neural transponders embedded in the back of his head. Holographic screens floated before his shrewd black eyes. The displays charted the progress of the pathogen as it worked its way through drones and apparatus alike. A separate screen preserved the image of the luminous blue orb that had carried the virus.
Where did you come from? the king wondered, more intrigued than alarmed by this unexpected development. The cybernetic language that composed the pathogen did not correspond with the technology of any species that the Borg had yet encountered in their mission to share their perfection with lesser beings. Certainly, it had not originated with the Klingons, the Romulans, the Cardassians, or any of the other primitive life-forms they had assimilated in this region. The very existence of the orb presented a provocative riddle that could not be left unsolved.
But not today. The safety of the larger Collective dictated that the pathogen not be allowed to spread beyond this vessel. The king had already blocked access to the central plexus from all input except his own, but he knew that was only a temporary solution at best; at the rate that the pathogen was propagating itself throughout the ship’s neural networks, he estimated that the plexus would be corrupted in a matter of minutes. The only way to ensure that the virus did not infect the rest of the Collective was to destroy this ship immediately.
That this expedient would result in the termination of his corporeal form was of little consequence. Backup copies of his individual consciousness would be transmitted via a subspace carrier wave back to Unimatrix One up until the last nanosecond before termination. A new physicality awaited him.
Perhaps a female this time.
It was vital that his experiences in this sector be preserved. The loss of a single expeditionary diamond was a small price to pay for the discovery of this wondrous new technology. Assimilating this region, and locating the origin of the pathogen, had just become his top priority.
We will return, he resolved. A holographic display screen flickered momentarily, indicating that the virus was progressing even faster than he had anticipated. He immediately shut down the infected vinculum and willed the ship to commence the self-destruct sequence.
Then he began planning the next invasion….
“Picard? Is that you?”
The quizzical tone caught Picard’s attention. Locutus’s eyes came back into focus and he looked around in confusion. The ashen face displayed genuine distress, and Picard realized that Soong’s original personality had somehow reasserted himself, if only for the moment. The mutilated scientist gazed with bulging eyes at his own rampaging metal arm. Human fingers explored his transformed countenance. Palsied twitches continued to afflict his face and body. “Oh my lord,” he murmured. “What did they do to me?” Guilt filled his voice as he perhaps recalled the atrocities he had overseen as Locutus. “What in heaven’s name have I done…?”
The idea that some trace of Soong had still been present within his transfigured flesh appalled Picard. He doubted that this ill-timed return to individuality constituted any sort of mercy. Soong might have been better off before, when he couldn’t appreciate what he had lost. Thank God I killed Vash when I had the chance!
“Picard?” the old man addressed him plaintively. He slumped against the Borg communications console, trying and failing to control the tremors shaking his mechanized frame. Gripping the prosthetic arm with his free hand, he put all his weight into trying to hold down the bucking artificial limb. A single tear streaked his cheek. His voice was hoarse with emotion. “I was so wrong. Believe me, Picard, I never meant for…”
Before he could complete the sentence, a convulsive shudder passed through his entire body. His posture stiffened, and the light fled from his eyes.
“I am Locutus of B-Borg,” he stuttered. Facial tics confirmed that the virus was still rewriting his neural software. Equally stricken drones flailed about in the background. He slurred his words. Static fuzz interfered with the transmission. “Resistance is futile, futile, futile….”
“Vive la Résistance,” Picard replied.
Seconds later, the Borg diamond exploded from within. Picard had no idea how a transwarp engine worked, but powerful forces had obviously been employed. Unleashed by the cascading system failures, the violent energies tore through the cancer-ridden hull of the immense ship. Chunks of distorted mechanical tumors blew apart in all directions. Purple flames erupted from theship’s core. Deprived of its structural integrity, the entire diamond split into billions of smoking fragments. For a second, Picard thought he could see Vash’s face in the glowing debris.
I did it! Picard rejoiced. I destroyed the Borg!
An irresistible shock wave hurled Stargazer away from the wreckage.
Afterward, Picard managed to salvage a workable warp core from one of the many lifeless hulks littering the system. The space around Rura Penthe had become a cosmic junkyard with spare parts free for the taking, as long as one didn’t mind scouring through the gory remains of hundreds of Alliance soldiers. An enterprising Ferengi could do well here, Picard reflected.
For himself, he had bigger ambitions.
A few Klingon ships remained in the vicinity. In appreciation of his key role in the Borg’s defeat, they left him more or less alone. Maybe there was something to this whole Klingon “honor” business after all? Just the same, Picard was glad that the Borg had managed to destroy the probe before their ultimate demise. He wouldn’t want the Iconian’s miraculous technology to fall into the hands of the Alliance.
It took him nearly a solar day to retrofit the warp engine from a trashed Bajoran scout ship into Stargazer, but at last he was able to leave the forlorn battlefield under his own power. Distant constellations stretched like taffy upon the viewscreen as he exited the Kowletz system at warp speed.
Besides a new engine, he had also found a new purpose in life. He had learned enough about the Borg to know that they were not the sort to be turned away by a single defeat. If anything, today’s success could very well increase their curiosity about this corner of the galaxy. They’ll be back, he figured, and that probe trick isn’t likely to work a second time. They’ll adapt and try again.
Picard intended to be ready for them. There was a big universe out there, with over six billion years of sentient history to explore. Who knew what forgotten secrets and weapons a resourceful tomb raider might be able to track down.
Taking care to steer clear of the fleeing Cardassian armada, he set course for Risa. The legendary pleasure planet was now the exclusive playground of the Alliance’s elite, but Picard had a few ideas
about how he might be able to poke around undetected.
Vash had once mentioned something called the Tox Uthat….
Acknowledgments
Age of the Empress
We offer our heartfelt thanks to editor Margaret Clark at Pocket Books for asking us to participate in this project. It was an unexpected invitation and one we were thrilled to receive.
We also wish to thank Mike Sussman, the leader of this little expedition back to the Mirror Universe. Even though Age of the Empress is very much Mike’s story, he welcomed us with open arms and called on us to invest ourselves in the project as though it was our own from the beginning. It was terrific fun from start to finish.
Of course, our acknowledgments are never complete until we thank our wives, Michi and Michelle. As always, their support is unwavering, their tolerance for our antics eternal. Ladies, what we do, we could not do without you.
(Yes, we’ll get the trash out as soon as we’re done here. Promise!)
The Sorrows of Empire
My first and deepest thanks, as ever, belong to my beloved wife, Kara. Her encouragement and support make my labors both bearable and worthwhile.
This book marks my first time working directly with editor Margaret Clark. It was she who called me out of the blue one day and asked if I would write the story of Emperor Spock for her just-approved Mirror Universe project. Knowing a tremendous honor and opportunity when it comes knocking, I said “yes.”
Keith R.A. DeCandido, as always, was a great help during the conceptual stages of this tale, and his devotion to teamwork and collaboration led him to send me pages from his Mirror Universe Voyager book that dovetailed with my own story. For being a good friend and a good creative partner, I tip my hat to you, sir.
