The Farther Shore

by Christie Golden

  • • •

  Data had been here before. Had been the only thing that stood between a driven, ambitious Borg queen out for conquest and an innocent, unaware planet Earth. He had long since turned off his emotion chip and was going on pure android functioning. He was a machine, as the computer with which he was interacting was a machine, and he moved more smoothly in this world than the queen did. He sensed her presence here, clumsy and awkward, with too much attention focused on one place and insufficient attention elsewhere. It was not easy, but he was able to dance with finesse. And the grace of an android among the circuits and wires was the thin thread by which hope hung.

  • • •

  He is knowledgeable and efficient, came Blake’s thoughts. We are unable to completely block him.

  Unacceptable, his queen “replied.” His interference is assisting Montgomery and Janeway. They should all be dead by now and instead they are approaching steadily.

  Blake’s face was blank, his fingers no longer moving like a musician’s over the pads but spread flat as he physically interacted with the console.

  The android has blocked access to many of the security systems, even ones that we had previously controlled.

  This couldn’t be happening. Her enemies were a mere handful of humans, a Vulcan, and an android. She had two hundred drones, all excellent physical specimens, at her command. She had the Starfleet Intelligence systems linked to her brain. And yet Data understood better than she how to work with those systems. He was finding ways and paths she had not noticed, and her foes were marching steadily closer.

  She shifted, more into the world of the flesh, and looked at the EMH. “You and Blake are the last guardians of my safety,” she said, speaking the words with lips and tongue and voice. “I expect you to do everything possible to defend me.”

  Blake, of course, was a drone; he would obey. He had to. But the EMH had a will of its own. She saw it lick its lips in a human expression of distress, and added, “You will be wiped the minute they have extracted all the data they need from you. They will not even let you serve on Lynaris Prime, as they will deem you a traitor. Your life and mine are intertwined.”

  He nodded, not looking at her, and she closed her eyes and sank into the world of the machine, trying once more to outsmart the android.

  • • •

  They made it to the turbolift and slumped against the walls as it lurched into movement.

  “You’re doing wonderfully, Data,” Janeway said.

  “Thank you, Admiral.” Data’s voice issued from her comm badge. “It is not without its challenges.”

  She exchanged wry looks with her crew. They were all sweating and breathing hard, grateful for even a brief break from the close fighting.

  “We’ve been very lucky,” Chakotay said. “I thought we’d all be dead by now.”

  “I share Commander Chakotay’s opinion,” said Seven. “We have been fortunate indeed to—”

  The turbolift shuddered, and went still. Everything went dark.

  There was a moment of silence, then Paris’s voice said in the darkness, “Now see what you’ve done?”

  Janeway sighed. “Activate lights,” she said, grateful that she’d suggested they wear them. “Commander Data, please come in.”

  There was a burst of static, then Data’s voice. “Admiral, I regret to inform you that the queen has taken control of the turbolift.”

  “We’ve figured that one out on our own. What else is going on?” As she spoke, Janeway heard the small, reassuring pings of Seven’s tricorder.

  “You are very close to your destination. You are currently between the fifteenth and sixteenth level. I can give you directions, but I should warn you that you need to move quickly. The Borg are being directed to your present location.”

  Tuvok and Montgomery were already working on loosening the emergency escape panel in the ceiling. Chakotay crouched beside them, phaser at the ready.

  “I have pinpointed our location on the tricorder,” Seven said. “If we emerge on the sixteenth level, there is a catwalk six meters from here that should take us directly to Covington’s office.”

  The panel came loose, clanging. With the instincts of those who had survived many battles, everyone pressed back against the turbolift walls. Phaser fire came through the open space. Chakotay, expecting just such an attack, fired blindly. There was a sudden silence.

  They needed to take advantage of it. “Let’s go, Janeway ordered. Chakotay lifted her in his strong arms and she braced herself on either side of the opening, swinging herself up lightly and getting to her feet. They were indeed between floors and she moved cautiously to the partly open door.

  Chakotay’s blind shooting had done well. Two drones lay, unconscious, on the floor. Janeway peered down the corridor first one way, then the other.

  “All clear,” she called, standing guard while the rest of her team climbed out of the stalled turbolift. Seven was out and assisting Paris when Janeway heard the sound of running feet. She signaled to Seven, who helped Paris out the rest of the way and took up position alongside her former captain.

  Janeway waited, straining to hear, as the footsteps came closer. She nodded to Seven and they moved as one, Janeway firing down the corridor to the left, Seven to the right. By the time they stopped firing, twelve unconscious bodies lay in piles in the corridor.

  Looking at the drones, Paris said, “You should leave some for others to play with, you know.”

  “I’m sure there are plenty more where these came from,” Janeway said.

  “We’re all out,” said Montgomery. “Let’s find that catwalk.”

  They stepped over bodies as they made their way down the corridor. Seven kept her eyes on the tricorder and yet managed to thread her way without stumbling.

  Abruptly, she stopped and looked up at the ceiling. “Here,” she said, pointing. Chakotay, Montgomery, and Tuvok loosened the panel, and soon they were all once again crawling through holes in the ceiling. As the smallest person, Janeway had the least difficulty, but she heard Montgomery and Chakotay muttering about the close quarters as they made their slow way.

  Seven took the lead, stopping now and then to check her tricorder. As much as possible, they proceeded in silence. Janeway didn’t even attempt to contact Data. They would be easy targets if the drones knew where they were.

  Finally, Seven stopped and craned her neck to look at Janeway, who was directly behind her. Seven nodded and pointed downward. Janeway nodded to Montgomery, and the signal was passed down the line. Working as quietly as possible, they opened the panel and then drew back, expecting phaser fire. Nothing happened. Cautiously, Janeway bent to take a look.

  It was all so ordinary. Here was an office that looked like any other: a chair, a desk, data storage units, carpet, padds scattered about, a half-empty coffee mug. She looked up at Seven and mouthed, Is anyone here?

  Seven shook her fair head. Janeway maneuvered herself into position and with Montgomery’s help, dropped down onto the desk to land lightly in a crouching position.

  The office was indeed empty, and yet the skin on Janeway’s neck prickled. Something was not right, but this was where they needed to be. Where was Covington? She helped the others down and they began to take readings, all moving with catlike softness. There appeared to be only one way into the room, an obvious door. Janeway went to the control panel and locked it securely.

  Finally, Tuvok, the last one out, dropped lightly to the desk and moved to replace the panel.

  “So nice of you to drop in,” came a familiar, acerbic voice, and Janeway whirled to see the Doctor leveling a phaser at them.

  Chapter 23

  “DOC?” PARIS SPOKE FIRST. “What are you doing here?”

  “That’s not our Doctor, Tom,” Janeway said calmly.

  “Admiral Janeway is correct. I am Her Majesty’s personal doctor. The Royal Physician, you might say.” The phaser never wavered.

  “Of course,” said Janeway. “She cou
ldn’t become a Borg without surgery, and no human would be twisted enough do it. It would utterly violate the Hippocratic oath and everything a real doctor holds dear.”

  “I’m surprised that the queen would consent to be operated on by such an antiquated version,” said Chakotay. Contempt laced his words. Janeway was perplexed at his attitude, but didn’t bat an eye. He knew what he was doing.

  Just like their own Doctor would, this EMH Mark One bridled at the insult.

  “How rude,” he said, “and how incorrect. I’ve done a magnificent job on her.”

  He didn’t fire. He should have, but he didn’t. Suddenly Janeway understood why—he wanted them to see Covington, to praise his handiwork.

  Now, too, Janeway understood what Chakotay was doing, and played along. “Not as good a job as the current version of the EMH would have done. You’re obsolete. You’re just a computer program that’s run its course. Oh, but silly me…Covington wouldn’t have been able to get an up-to-date EMH to override its ethical subroutine.”

  The hologram turned its full affronted attention to her. “You scoff now, but when you are brought before Her Majesty, then you’ll see. No one could have done a better job than I. There are no scars, all her implants are completely internal, her skin is—”

  Janeway never got to learn what the queen’s skin was. While the EMH’s full attention was focused on Chakotay and Janeway, Paris, Montgomery, Seven, and Tuvok had slowly moved into position. Now, at Seven’s nod, they fired—not at the hologram, but at the rows of holographic emitters that ran along the baseboard near the carpeting. The hologram had enough time to realize what was happening and fix Janeway with a horrified stare before he disappeared.

  “That was disconcerting,” said Paris.

  “I really hate holograms,” said Montgomery.

  “It was brilliant of her,” Seven said. “Only a hologram would be able to perform the surgery with the required skill level and a lack of scruples.”

  “Look at this,” said Montgomery. There was a large door on the south side of the room. It looked heavy, metallic, and very well secured, sharply at odds with the efficient stylishness of the room.

  “That wasn’t here before,” said Chakotay.

  “Correction,” said Tuvok. “It was always here, hidden behind a holographic disguise. When we destroyed the emitters, all the holograms in the room disappeared.”

  Seven’s eyes were on the tricorder. “There’s an extremely intense Borg resonant signature approximately twelve meters straight ahead. And a large power center.” She lifted her gaze and met Janeway’s eyes. “Regeneration chambers. Her laboratory is through here.”

  Janeway touched her comm badge. “Data,” she said, “we’ve made it into her office and we think we’ve located her lab. Can you—”

  She heard the sound of phaser fire on the other side of the door. The Borg had found them again.

  “That door won’t hold for long,” Montgomery said.

  “Data, can you erect a force field by the entrance to Covington’s office?”

  “I will attempt to do so, Captain. I suggest you proceed with both caution and alacrity.”

  “We intend to do so. Phasers aren’t going to get through this door. Is there any way you can unlock it?”

  • • •

  Data was an expert at being able to do several things at once, all flawlessly and efficiently. He was being put to a real test now, however, as he tried to keep up the various force fields he had erected to protect Janeway and her crew, reestablish power, prevent the queen from gaining any more access than she already had, and trying to open the door.

  “There are two life signs behind the door you indicate,” he said. “Both of them are Borg. One of them is the queen.”

  “Can you unlock it?” Janeway repeated. Data attempted to do so and was met with a surprisingly forceful resistance. She did not want that door opened, and was concentrating a great deal of her efforts on keeping it locked.

  “You are going to have to use your phasers,” said Data.

  They exchanged glances. The door behind them was much less difficult to break down than the one in front of them, and the drones had a head start and probably more phasers. Data had just signed their death warrant with his words.

  Nothing more was said. These were all Starfleet officers, and good ones. Janeway lifted her phaser and took aim. The rest silently followed suit. They would keep trying until the door behind them was opened, and the drones burst through and killed them.

  The sound of over a dozen phasers operating simultaneously was hard on the ears, but Janeway endured it, knowing that it might well be the last sound she heard. They all concentrated on the same spot, right where the locking mechanism was located. Behind them, the drones continued their onslaught.

  When the room started to fade in her vision, Janeway almost laughed with joy. The clever Data had not alerted them to an alternative lest the queen also know, and was in the process of initiating a site-to-site transport to the other side of the door. She only hoped he had done it swiftly enough so that the queen couldn’t put up a block.

  They materialized inside Covington’s laboratory. There were only two people in the room, as Data had informed them. Sitting rigidly at a console was a young man in civilian clothing. Except he really wasn’t a man anymore, he was, like everyone in the building, Borg. He had linked with the computer and completely disregarded them. For the moment.

  But Janeway barely had time to register his presence. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the terrifying sight of the Borg queen. The EMH had been right. He had done a fine job on this queen. She stood naked in the regeneration chamber, bathed in eerie green lights. Her smooth, gray flesh was unmarred. No harsh implants jutted out from her body or face. The only signs that this was not a normal human were the hue of the skin and the two tubes that ran from the base of her skull into her body. Her eyes were open, but they were presently unseeing, and she was swathed in various cables, looking like a spider in her web.

  Despite the horror of the image in front of her, Janeway felt a renewed surge of hope. A true queen would not need to be so exposed, so physically bound to the machines with which she shared her existence. She would walk freely, connected only by thoughts. Would carry on conversations. Would look at them with mingled contempt and triumph.

  The queen in front of her was more to her liking.

  She heard Montgomery mutter an oath and lift his phaser. “No!” Janeway cried. “We don’t know how she is linked to her collective. Kill her and everyone who’s infected could die!”

  “We don’t kill her and everyone on Earth gets infected,” he replied, but lowered his phaser.

  “It would have been futile regardless,” Seven said, looking at her tricorder. “She has erected a force field between herself, her drone, and us.”

  “Data, well done,” Janeway said. “There’s a force field about two meters in front of me. Can you get it down?”

  “Negative, Admiral,” came Data’s voice. “Seven of Nine will have to proceed with the force field still in place. The queen is concentrating all her efforts on it.”

  “I can attempt…our plan,” said Seven, careful not to reveal anything in words. “It will not be as easy.”

  “Do it,” said Janeway. Seven moved to the same console as the young man. He ignored her until she touched the controls, and then he sprang into action. He whirled on her, and Janeway saw that his assimilation tubes were fully extended. Seven turned to evade him, but the drone was quicker. He seized her and was about to jab his tubes into her throat when Montgomery fired. The young man dropped like a stone. Seven took a step back, settled herself, and then continued to access the computer.

  “Poor Blake,” Montgomery said. “I never should have let her have him.”

  “You knew him, then?” Janeway asked.

  “Yes. He was one of the top Borg specialists in the Federation. No wonder she was able to get as far as she did.”

  • • �
��

  Seven listened to their conversation with half an ear. She was more interested in finding out how this Blake had initially engaged the link. Her long, slim fingers flew over the controls, but at each turn, no matter what she tried, the queen intervened to block her. It was as if they were two consummate professionals engaged in a tennis match, except this was a very deadly game. She tried everything she could think of. Nothing succeeded. The queen was aware, and able to protect herself.

  Seven turned and caught Janeway’s eye. Janeway read her look and, with a pained expression, nodded. Seven swallowed hard. This was the last resort, the one she had hoped she would never need. But if her sacrifice could ensure the safety of the Earth, she was prepared to make it.

  She opened the panel, turned and faced the queen, extended her tubes, and let herself connect.

  It was a sensation that was at once familiar and comforting and alien and terrifying. A part of Seven was appalled at the ease with which she settled into the collective. Suddenly she could hear the minds. They were far fewer than she remembered. Of course. This queen had a small collective, fewer than a hundred, perhaps. The true queen had had billions.

  It would be so easy to take her place, be once again only a part of a whole. Being an individual was so much more difficult…

  • • •

  “What’s she doing?” Montgomery demanded.

  “She’s linking with the collective,” Janeway answered.

  “What?”

  “Infiltration from the inside,” Janeway said.

  “Do you really think she can do it? Disconnect the queen and not lose herself?”

  “It’s our only hope.”

  * * *

  You are attempting to disconnect me, Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One.

  There could be no lies, no deception, in this most intimate of sharing. All of Seven’s memories and thoughts were laid bare before the queen.