Didn’t your TR-116s at least discourage them?
Hell, yeah, even though there was some worry that the goo we were wading through might get past the protective coating on our T-Rexes and foul their firing mechanisms. But they knew right away that we weren’t sending them valentines. We started choppin’ ’em up like confetti the moment we were in position.
The trouble is, Deano doesn’t discourage easily. He kept coming. And coming. And coming. And when they got close enough, those claws would fly at you faster than anything had the right to move. Especially something that spent its life submerged in pressurized jelly.
They fought like demons for every centimeter, and a few of them kept right on gaining ground no matter how many of them we blew to pieces right in front of their eyes. They’d just climb over each other, and all while the corpses and pieces of their dead just seemed to… melt very slowly back into that pile of bread dough they used for a deck. One of them got close enough for me to smell his sweat—if those monsters had sweat glands. But thanks to my helmet, all I could smell was my own reek. To this day, the scent of sweat in a confined space takes me right back to that time and place.…
But you made it through that time and place, and made it back. That says something about you.
Sure. It either says I’m lucky, or that I’ve borrowed every scrap of luck I might have counted on for the rest of this life and the next. Or maybe it says that the universe has a perverse sense of humor. We lost a lot of good marines in that battle. Better men and women than me, and smarter ones, too. People with families at home waiting for them. The major and the sergeant both bought it on that Trike ship, minutes apart. Then O’Neill. Palmieri. Clark.
I’m sorry.
Not your fault. Snavely was the first to go down.
Were you and Snavely close?
No. Corporal Snavely was insufferable. He always seemed to hold it against me that I’d been through Starfleet Academy and had an officer’s commission before deciding to go jarhead. Thought I was a poseur for insisting on entering the MACO as a noncom instead of an officer, which I could have done if I’d put in the paperwork. Snavely and I used to argue constantly. Not about anything important, you understand. Just… philosophical points. Stuff that seems kind of silly now, after the war.
What kind of philosophical points?
War and peace. Are any of the alien races out there really so different from us that we can never find a way to cope with them other than war? I tended to take the more optimistic Starfleet position in that particular recurring fight. Snavely always toed the more conservative line, which was really nothing more than MACO conventional wisdom, at least for the most part. Snavely was just a bit louder and more obnoxious in talking up that philosophy than most of our fellow MACOs tended to be. It’s not that we MACOs don’t like to talk, or even debate—I mean, I’m letting you talk to me, aren’t I?—but most of us would rather spend our time training than thrashing out some cocktail-party controversy. Or better yet, fighting a real, concrete, flesh-and-blood enemy.
But whatever Snavely and I might have thought about each other didn’t matter at the time. He was a brother in arms, and I hadn’t stopped Deano from getting close enough to grab him. None of us had. We weren’t even able to prevent Deano from carrying off his body. Not to mention some of the others they’d torn to pieces during the fight.…
I know that the MACO are committed to the ideal of never leaving a comrade behind. It must have been extremely difficult for you to be put in a position—
Of failure, you mean.
No. Of being forced to withdraw without being able to pick up any of your fallen comrades.
I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.
Your assault on the Undine vessel can hardly be called a failure. The enemy clearly sustained the biggest losses. And you and others made it back alive, and were decorated for conspicuous bravery.
We just did whatever seemed to make the most sense under the circumstances. There were a few of us left after Deano finally saw the better part of valor and scattered. But we’d taken heavy losses—three quarters of us were already either dead or dying—and we were running low on ammo to boot. Then our corpsman’s tricorder registered an onboard energy spike that could only mean that Deano had activated his autodestruct system. Since we were in no position to secure the Trike ship or prevent the explosion we all knew was coming, it wasn’t hard to be persuaded to withdraw to the breach pods, which were about to become escape pods.
Judging from the after-action reports I’ve read, you were the one who had to do most of the persuading.
Even through those e-suit helmets, I could see a lot of blank, exhausted, and frightened faces. We’d just lost both the major and the sergeant, and everybody else at the top of the chain of command. Somebody had to take charge, or else we’d all have been blown to quarks, just like all the Kickstands who’d managed to run from the teeth of our T-Rexes.
So you left in the same pods you’d arrived in.
Less than a minute before Deano’s ship went up in the biggest fireworks display since the Hobus supernova. Thunderchild, or what was left of her, picked us up a few hours later.
Do you suppose any of the Undine managed to escape from their ship before it blew?
I sure as hell hope not. And not because I’ve let my commitment to fighting Deano lead me into becoming unhinged with hatred for an old foe in an old war that ended years ago—even though for some time afterward I still felt committed to ferreting out every last Kickstand and wringing his bony neck with my bare hands.…
I’m not here to judge your motivations, Sergeant. I’m not a Starfleet counselor.
I just don’t want to leave anybody with the impression that we MACOs are nothing but bloodthirsty, chest-thumping killers. We’re warriors. There’s a big difference between those two things. If you don’t already understand the difference, then I suggest you spend some time hanging around with Nausicaans. Assuming you survive that, move on to the Klingons next. There’s no comparison.
But I’m wandering off, aren’t I? Retirement must finally be turning me into an old man. Now where was I?
I think you might have been about to drill down into your reasons for hoping that none of the Undine survived your engagement with them during the voyage to Chiron Beta Prime.
Right. The reason I still hope to this day that none of those Trikes got out of that ship alive is that I know all about how Deano pulls off his infiltrations. He can do it, and get away with it, because he has a talent for doing near-perfect impersonations. But he can only do that if he has access to the DNA of the person he’s mimicking.
If Deano managed to sneak off that ship, he could have taken the DNA of a bunch of my dead buddies with him. And if that’s what really happened, then there’s no way to stop him from using that DNA to make doppelgängers—very close copies of human beings that are actually pure, distilled Deano, at least under the skin.
But I thought you said you considered the MACO to be infiltration-proof.
And you said there’s a first time for everything. Well, you’re probably right about that. I mean, just because something hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it can’t happen.
Even now, so long after the end of the war?
When something can give so many people so many nightmares this many years later, you have to ask yourself if the war’s ever going to end—at least while any of us who saw it up close and personal are still on this side of the grass.
Suppose you do bump into one of your MACO buddies who was confirmed to have died in that battle all those years ago. That person would have to be a disguised Undine by definition. Do you think you’re prepared for that?
I don’t know if anybody can ever really be prepared for something like that, Mister Sisko. But if Deano really does try to use DNA from my MACO unit as cover for one of his spies, I’ll rely on my training and do whatever has to be done. That’s what commitment is all about, after all.
&nb
sp; Anyhow, if Deano ever actually sends one of his spies-in-human-clothing my way, I only hope he sends me one that looks just like Snavely.
Still carrying a grudge against your old debating nemesis?
Nah. It’s not that. It’s just that I hate having to admit that the bastard seems to have won that running argument we used to have about war and peace. Sharks one, squids zero. It’s a little disappointing, is all.
Maybe deep down you’re really more squid than shark.
Maybe. But Deano taught me that the big bad ocean we all have to swim in is a lot safer for sharks than for squids. The problem is, some fish are so big and nasty that they can gulp ’em both down, squid or shark, in one shot.
I decide to wrap up the interview quickly after Stiles’s final mention of Snavely’s name. That’s because a wicked-looking knife, apparently concealed in Stiles’s sleeve, appears in the retired sergeant’s hand as though conjured by magic. An almost predatory grin slowly spreads across his face as he speaks of the possibility of encountering an Undine replica of one of his fallen comrades. Needless to say, I feel intensely uncomfortable, though I do my level best not to let Stiles know it. I hope my experience writing fiction has made me a convincing enough actor.
Then Stiles thanks me for allowing him to tell his story, says his farewells, and leaves me standing alone except for a few quietly strolling tourists, listening to the distant keening of Kaferian seabirds. I spend an uncountable interval standing in the warm, faintly saline breeze, silently processing what I’ve seen and heard—until it becomes crystal clear to me just what the Long War has cost Paul Stiles.
This protracted twilight struggle has caused him to jettison the long-cherished belief, inculcated during his time in Starfleet and stomped to an ignominious death by his tenure among the MACO, that peace is an achievable goal.
JAKE SISKO, DATA ROD #H-4
Septimus Settlement Observation Tower,
Heronius IIc
Although none of the constellations that bejewel the black sky look at all familiar to me, I find myself tracing the gaps between the individual stars anyway, my finger brushing the panoramic transparent aluminum window as I connect the distant pinpoints of fire into ad hoc shapes composed of lines and curves. Below the alien starfield, the window reveals a battered, gray moonscape that looks a lot like the vast tracts of still relatively untouched vacuum wilderness that even today encompass most of the surface of Luna back home.
I am thankful for the artificial one-g environment that prevails in this visitors’ center as I cast my eyes upon two other, similarly scarred gray worlds. These bodies are visible as narrow crescents floating just above the horizon, framing the blue-and-garnet planet that has just finished making its ascent above the jagged line of rugged scarps and crater rims in the distance. Heronius II is nearly at full phase, presenting a slightly oblate shape in the brilliance of the twin suns of the Heronius system. Though the planet looks superficially like Earth, its profusion of suns and satellites—not to mention the unfamiliar constellations in its night skies—ensures that there is little chance of confusing this place with the birthplace of humanity.
Despite the alienness of these skies, or perhaps because of it, this system is home to at least a million humans and humanoids. More than a few of Heronius II’s settlers have used this world as a jumping-off point for further explorations of deep space. Exobiologists Magnus and Erin Hansen were two such adventurers, and they number among the few that never made it back to Heronius because of the manifold dangers that dwell in the unexplored reaches that lay beyond these cosmic shores. One of these dangers turned out to be the Borg collective, which forcibly assimilated the Hansens—along with their child, a six-year-old girl named Annika.
After two decades of enslavement by the Borg collective, during which time she lived under the designation of Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix One, Annika Hansen eventually found her way back—both to her humanity and to the world her parents had embraced a lifetime ago. Other than a certain rigidity in her bearing and the gleaming metal filigree that adorns her left brow, the tall, stern, and apparently middle-aged woman with whom I now share this stunning view of Heronius II displays no trace of her twenty-year cybernetic nightmare. Of course, not all scars are immediately visible on the outside. I haven’t exactly been the president of the Borg collective’s fan club since the Battle of Wolf 359, so I’m thankful for that.
We could have met on the planet itself, but Ms. Hansen asked me to speak with her here instead, where our viewpoint seems decidedly Olympian. Or perhaps “Borgian” would be more accurate. I find myself wondering which of the two adjectives is most applicable as our conversation begins.
Many years ago, you famously predicted a wave of new Borg attacks, even as Starfleet was disbanding its Borg Task Force.
I do not always enjoy being proved right. Particularly where the Borg collective is concerned.
Don’t worry. I wasn’t expecting you to gloat.
Gloating is inefficient, as well as inappropriate. However, I suppose an “I told you so” might have been in order.
You left Starfleet over their assessment of the threat posed by the Borg, didn’t you?
Correct. With Starfleet’s Borg Task Force disbanded, I believed I could accomplish more in terms of maintaining the Federation’s readiness to repel Borg incursions by accepting a position at the Daystrom Institute.
During those years, you said very little to the media, either about the Borg or anything else. Did you continue to offer advice to Starfleet concerning the Borg even after you took the Daystrom job?
I did, though the effort turned out to be wasted.
I see. “Assistance is futile.”
How very droll, Mister Sisko. But you are correct. Clearly, Starfleet Command was uninterested at best—until it was very nearly too late. But I thought you had come to discuss the conflict with Species 8472.
Just setting the stage. After all, we wouldn’t have encountered that species if not for the Borg. Let’s go back to the beginning. You were present when Voyager made first contact with the Undine—
Species 8472.
Other than Admiral Janeway, you’re the only person I’ve interviewed who still refers to them by their Borg designation.
I was Borg for many years. The collective leaves a lasting imprint, even on those who manage to escape it.
The Borg and the Undine were deadly enemies from the time of their first meeting. You were still part of the collective then, weren’t you?
Yes. First contact between the collective and Species 8472 occurred on Stardate 50762. I was still serving as the Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix One at that time.
That must surely give you a unique perspective on the Undine.
I was among the first to witness just how formidable Species 8472 can be against anyone they consider an adversary—even against an enemy as powerful and as determined as the Borg.
Weren’t the Undine the only species ever to successfully resist Borg assimilation?
Species 8472 was the first such species.
You sound as though you expect there to be others.
I would argue that there already is at least one other such species. In my estimation, humanity qualifies as the second. That could change, of course, once the collective returns yet again to renew its efforts to assimilate us. The possibility always exists that they will overwhelm us eventually with sheer numbers, or volume of force.
Well, at least it’s nice to hear that resistance may not be entirely futile.
Only unpreparedness and complacency are futile, Mister Sisko. Any other measure, however difficult, is worth considering when confronted with implacable enemies such as the Borg—or Species 8472.
Humanity’s so-called resistance to Borg assimilation—or even to outright destruction by the collective—was actually the cumulative effect of a whole lot of hard-fought, bloody battles. But the Undine’s resistance was another thing entirely. How were they able to thwar
t Borg assimilation so thoroughly, and so early in their… relationship with the collective?
Species 8472’s natural immune response to Borg nanoprobes is formidable.
“Natural immune response” looks like an understatement to me. The Undine didn’t simply beat the Borg back during that first clash. They wiped out whole fleets of Borg cubes. Millions of drones. Entire Borg planets.
Indeed. Species 8472 handed the collective its first serious defeat in the many millennia of its existence. In fact, they posed a serious existential challenge to the Borg as a race.
That gives us at least a rough idea of how serious the Undine threat was to the Federation. It seems that they posed an even bigger danger to us than the Borg did. Earth escaped Borg assimilation twice, and at a tremendous cost on both occasions. But during the first round of their fight with the Borg, the Undine delivered a near-knockout blow. And yet not even the Undine were able to wipe the Borg out entirely.
Of course not. However, Species 8472 might well have utterly exterminated the collective had the Borg not adopted a technological countermeasure developed aboard Voyager.
You’re referring to Kathryn Janeway’s decision to furnish specially modified nanoprobes to the Borg in exchange for Voyager’s safe passage through their space. Some have called Janeway’s bargain a “deal with the devil” that was ultimately responsible for the Undine deciding to treat us as a Borg ally, and therefore as one of their enemies in our own right. They blame Janeway for the “blowback” that created the deadliest adversary that the Federation has ever faced.
That perspective is both incorrect and foolish. Kathryn Janeway made the best decision possible at the time, given both her responsibility for the safety of her crew and the incomplete nature of the information she possessed. She did not discover until later that the Borg had lied to us about Species 8472 being the instigators of their conflict, when the exact opposite was the truth. The admiral’s critics ought to commend her for being the first human to obtain a truce of any sort with Species 8472. Even if the agreement she struck turned out to be with just a small faction of the 8472 civilization.
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