The planet Vulcan, the R'sev Mountains, Earth-year 2084 . . .
"Why are we here, Solkar?"
The captain of the Sha'ath blinked before he turned to gaze upon T'Pau. Like she and their other companion Soval, Solkar had been part of the crew of an earlier survey ship that had made first contact with the Terrans in the wake of their successfully testing an indigenous warp drive system twenty-one Earth-years before. "There are very few people who know the truth of those who permanently reside within the Khal, T'Pau," the former captain of the T'Plana-Hath stated as he beckoned them off the tram that had taken the explorers to this remote mountain range a thousand kilometres from ShiKahr overlooking the western edge of the Forge. "Given what we discovered near the tri-star system closest to Sol, they will be able to assist us in better understanding who that person is and how to assist her in restoring herself to proper health."
"How would they be able to understand that . . . person?" Soval asked, unable to hide the hesitation he felt before saying the word "person."
"You will comprehend soon enough, Soval. Come."
With that, they proceeded away from the tram station and into the small village located at the foot of the towering escarpment which held the Khal Fortress at its southern summit. Gazing upon the ancient basalt defensive works of a place which rivalled the Hall of Pelasht near ShiKahr in terms of sheer size, Solkar's companions could not fail but to appreciate the historical significance of this location. The Khal at R'sev was Vulcan's version of the Tigris-Euphrates valley on Earth; it was at this location - at a time when the second planet of 40 Eridani A was far more lush and tropic than it was now a hundred thousand years later - where the ancestors of their race began to evolve into a coherent civilisation with vast improvements in cultural and social structures from the primitive tribes which had once communicated with each other only via telepathy. These days, the Khal Fortress and the ruins of the ancient villages close to the fortress walls were governed as a planetary historical park, visited upon regularly by school-age children in class outings when their teachers felt it was the appropriate time for them to learn of how their species had truly begun to evolve and develop as a civilised race. All three of the crew of the Sha'ath had been on such trips in their youth, though Solkar seemed to not be seized by the urge to recall such journeys that his companions now experienced walking through the village.
That was something Soval was quick to notice. "You have been here several times before in the wake of the mandatory field trip to the Khal in your youth."
"Yes," the captain replied. "My aunt T'Keri resides here now as part of the preservation team. She was forced to relocate here in the wake of her accident at the Science Academy." Both Soval and T'Pau remembered hearing about that incident; Solkar's aunt had nearby been electrocuted to death when an experimental neuron regenerative machine malfunctioned. It had been a most unsatisfactory end to a promising research career. "She is the one who will introduce us to Elder T'Naga, the supervisor of the preservation team here at the Khal," Solkar added.
"Elder T'Naga is still the supervisor here?" T'Pau asked.
"She has been the supervisor here for the past six hundred years, T'Pau."
Silence.
"That is not possible," Soval nearly blurted out; the shock of THAT revelation had almost shattered all the control he possessed over his emotions. "No normal Vulcan can . . . "
"You are correct, Soval," Solkar stated as he gazed on his friend. "But you will soon learn that Elder T'Naga, as well as the others who are permanent residents at the Khal - including my aunt - are not normal Vulcans." As the younger man took a moment to absorb that information, the captain of the Sha'ath seemed to smile. "It will be explained. Come. We must not keep them waiting more than necessary, Soval."
And with that, he proceeded towards the incline elevator that would take them up the side of the escarpment to the gates of the Khal. Soval and T'Pau both watched him go, and then they moved to follow, trying hard to fight down the many questions now racing through their minds as they moved to keep up with their commander's determined strides . . .
"Peace and long life, my aunt."
"Live long and prosper, my nephew. To both of you as well, Master Soval, Lady T'Pau. Come and rest."
Solkar nodded as he moved to take a seat on the long couch that was laid out in the middle of the simple space where T'Keri currently resided. While Soval did the same thing, T'Pau remained standing, gazing in wide-eyed disbelief - even for a Vulcan! - at their host. Dressed in simple robes that fit well for the hot season on this part of their world, T'Keri was an elegantly beautiful woman in the classic mode, with glossy black hair done in a high beehive, deep brown eyes piercing an angular, hawkish-face that - were Vulcans apt to think like their galactic neighbours on Andor and Earth - could easily intimidate a lematya with just a look. In the eyes of Terrans, T'Keri would appear to be a woman in her early twenties; through a Vulcan perspective, she would appear to be a woman who had yet to pass her eightieth season of life. THAT, both Soval and T'Pau knew, was utterly impossible; T'Keri, they both understood, was the OLDER sister of Solkar's own father S'Tor . . . and that fellow was well past his five hundredth season of life!
Before either of them could muster the energy to ask what was happening, T'Keri gazed upon them, one of her elegant eyebrows rising in curiosity. "My nephew informed me in his communiqué of four days past that you located a Terran-form Questor in a drifting cargo vessel near the Terrans' home solar system," she stated.
Both Soval and T'Pau gazed curiously at her. "'Questor,' Lady T'Keri?" the former then asked. "I have never heard of such a race."
"It is what I was forced to become when the incident at the Academy nearly ended my life," T'Keri explained. "What you see now before you is the body I was born in 524 seasons ago, Master Soval. However, while it is now a body that - to the macro-molecular level - is no different than what I possessed before the accident, it is when one scans past the molecular level that matters profoundly differ. For my body currently is not based on DNA constructed of carbon-form proteins . . . but of silicon-form proteins."
Silence.
More silence.
Still more silence.
And then . . .
"How is this possible?" T'Pau asked as she sank into a chair, barely able to hide the tremor in her voice as the implications of what their host had just revealed sank in.
And those implications were potentially REVOLUTIONARY.
"In the end, T'Pau . . . we do not know."
Solkar's co-workers both looked surprised. "Has this ever been researched by the Science Academy?" Soval asked. "How is it possible that carbon atoms can be replaced by silicon atoms in a living being . . . and the person undergoing this process continues to live?"
"That, Master Soval, is a secret that was lost to our earliest predecessors over two hundred thousand seasons ago," T'Keri explained. "That incident is what we address as 'the Silence.' It was during that event that we lost all genetic memory of our origins as an indigenous species, much less lost all understanding - if it was ever there - of the purpose of our being as it is simply not possible for a living being born of a carbon-based form of life to be transformed as I was naturally." She paused before adding, "Fortunately, the Silence did not hamper our abilities to bring new sisters - as we address each other as - into the Fold; that is the term we employ to address our community as a whole. As clearly someone on Earth did for the unfortunate woman you found on that ship." She then gazed on Solkar. "My nephew, what has the High Command learned of the identity of this person?"
"They believe her to be a native of the Terran nation called 'the Dominion of Canada,' my aunt. It is one of the few nations that endured Earth's third planet-wide conflict with as little damage to infrastructure - to say anything of loss of life - as possible," the captain of the Sha'ath explained. "The person in question was a warrior in their ground military forces, an officer that commanded a specialised warfare operations unit known as the 'Canadian Special Operations Regiment.' It was that unit that, five Earth-years ago, effectively destroyed a very entropic organisation calling itself the 'Optimum Movement in the Pursuit of Perfection.' They are the group that are believed to have started the series of events by which the Terrans now address under the uniform title 'the Third World War.'" He paused before adding, "Her name - as we believe her to be - is Glorianna Theresa Jameston. Her friends are known to be allowed to address her by a preferred moniker, 'Roy.'"
"Is she awake?" T'Keri asked.
"She is, but - according to T'Eris, a healer who is aware of the existence of Questors; I requested her assistance as soon as the Sha'ath landed at ShiKahr - all her memories have been deleted from her mind," Solkar explained. "She is not even capable of speech, though Healer T'Eris is moving to teach her our language."
Both Soval and T'Pau were quick to see the look of near-horror that crossed their host's face when she heard her nephew say that. After the older woman then took a moment to compose herself - where her guests all fell respectfully silent to give her the chance to regain a sense of proper decorum - she quietly asked, "Where is the Lady Roy?"
"She is in T'Eris' clinic at the Academy," Solkar stated.
"Have her brought here immediately. Go now."
The younger man bowed his head, and then moved to head out of the room for the nearest communications terminal. "Should we not inform the Terrans of this, my lady?" T'Pau then asked. "If indeed this person is Colonel Jameston - given what she was said to have done on Earth - the Terrans will be profoundly concerned for her welfare."
"But do the governments on Earth know of the existence of the Questors?" T'Keri countered. "We are not totally ignorant of events in that solar system even if we are isolated here at the Khal, Lady T'Pau. We here have been in contact with Questors born of other species that Vulcan has contacted ever since the 'Ahkh and the self-imposed exile of S'task and the Rihannsu from this world at the time of the Reformation." As both Soval and T'Pau gazed wide-eyed at their host, she affirmed with a nod, "Yes, even if members of the High Command find it more convenient to keep relations with Andor closed, we ensure there is at least one open diplomatic link with that world through our sisters there. And we have no need to impose on our sisters on Tellar Prime to maintain such a link." She closed her eyes. "It is . . . most pleasing to me that you have helped us confirm that we have sisters on Earth as well. Though given the appearance of Questors in all species that we have encountered since the 'Ahkh, the probability of Terran-form Questors was extraordinarily high."
"It clearly is most fortunate," Soval stated. While he certainly did not fully understand how these Questors could be of overall benefit to Vulcan as a whole, the fact that those such as their host were allowed to live in peace and in effective secrecy at the Khal spoke profoundly of how those in the High Command must currently regard them. "Would the High Command assist you in ascertaining if there are other Terran-form Questors on Earth at this time, Lady?"
"I believe so. But given the current level of disunity amongst the peoples of that world - though it is quite pleasing to note that Earth's colonies in her own solar system and in the system they designate as Alpha Centauri are now moving to render what aid they can to their mother planet - I believe it will be some time before we could launch such an investigation," T'Keri noted. "Let us wait for the time that the Terrans have moved to forge a true world government before contemplating such an action." She then looked over as Solkar came back into the room. "What news?"
"Healer T'Eris is bringing the colonel here now, my aunt," the young captain of the Sha'ath stated as he deeply bowed to her.
"Sufficient." The Vulcan-form Questor then considered something before turning to ask, "What type of vessel did you find the Lady Roy in?"
"The Terrans designate it as a DY-400 class ship," Soval stated. "It is a vessel that is equipped with cryogenetic habitation capsules for long term sub-light voyages; it is not warp-equipped. The Terrans address such a vessel as a 'sleeper ship.'"
"Ah," the older woman breathed out, nodding. "Then the colonel's survival - once we help her recover from what has caused such a catastrophic loss of internal data within her mind - can easily be explained when the time finally comes to reveal her existence to those who benefitted the most from her actions on Earth."
"When could such a thing occur?" T'Pau wondered.
T'Keri closed her eyes. "That, Lady T'Pau . . . I cannot and I refuse to speculate on."
The Questor Saga: The Dark Lady and the Black Crow
by Fred Herriot
Based on Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry
This is a sequel to Avalonians and Questors. It also incorporates material from the television series Star Trek - Deep Space Nine, created by Rick Berman and Michael Piller; and the movie Star Trek - First Contact, produced by Rick Berman, based on a story by Rick Berman, Brannon Braga and Ronald D. Moore.
WRITER'S INTRODUCTION: Here's the sequel to Avalonians and Questors concerning the universe of the Federation in the wake of the encounter between U.S.S. Enterprise and H.M.C.S. Haida as depicted in that story. Set around the time of the movie First Contact (save for the teaser), it will - as the previous story did - contain characters stemming from a whole host of sources beyond the television shows and movies. Atop that, there will be brief appearances by the crew of the U.S.S. Haida as they were introduced in one of the epilogues to Avalonians and Questors, not to mention the cast of a very famous Star Trek parody which appeared in Japan in the mid-1980s . . . as well as a ship concept I first came up with in my previous attempts at writing Star Trek fanfic on the Star Trek Creative fan fiction Usenet group which can be accessed through Google Groups these days. Anyhow, as always, sit back and enjoy the story!
Somewhere in space . . .
No! Oh, God, please . . . no . . .!
The heat . . .
The humidity . . .
The lack of control . . .
Not this! God, why must I go through this . . .?
The voices . . .
Millions upon millions of voices . . .
Voices all speaking as one . . .
"I am Locutus . . . of Borg."
NO! I AM JEAN-LUC PICARD!
"Resistance is futile."
NO! DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS!
"Your life . . . as it has been . . . is over."
NO! NO! NO! NO MORE! NO MORE OF THIS! IT WILL STOP!
"From this time forward . . . you will service . . . us."
IT . . . WILL . . . STOP!
"Lower your shields and surrender your ships . . . "
STOP!
"We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own . . . "
STOP! YOU WILL STOP! YOU WILL NOT WIN! YOU WILL NOT WIN!
"Your culture will adapt to service us . . . "
YOU - WILL - NOT - WIN!
"Resistance is futile . . . "
"OH, SHUT UP!"
That made Jean-Luc Picard's eyes fly open as he found himself staring at a scowling woman in a simple nightshirt standing some distance away from the cubicle - the very one where his whole life had been torn apart years before - was located deep within the Borg vessel that had wiped out forty starships at the Battle of Wolf 359. As his mind tried to focus on the young woman - as that part of him which was still fully him and not Locutus realised this was none other than Carol Kirk, the Terran-form Questor daughter of his famous predecessor as commander of the Enterprise - the massive chanting of voices that marked the presence of the Collective fell silent as endless pairs of eyes and optical sensors of all types focused on her. Taking a deep breath, he tried to gasp out the young cadet's name . . .
"You are Carol Miramanee Kirk . . . "
An icy dread flooded Picard's soul on hearing those endless voices speak out as one.
"You are of Race Zero . . . "
That made the captain of the Enterprise blink in confusion.
'Race Zero?' Wait! What did I hear about that . . .?
"You will not be allowed to halt our advance . . . "
Carol, Picard was quick to realise, didn't look either frightened or intimidated by the threatening voices of the Collective now focusing on her.
"Even if your race cannot be assimilated, you will . . . "
"I said . . . SHUT THE HELL UP!"
Silence.
A tired sigh escaped the young cadet as she put her fists to her hips, and then Carol focused on the older man standing some distance away from her before a wry grin crossed her face. "With all due respect, sir . . . if this is your idea of a dream, you really need to arrange an appointment with Counsellor Troi as soon as you can."
Picard blinked, and then he looked down to see that he was now in his normal sleeping clothes, a nightshirt over a pair of exercise pants. Blinking as he started to realise that somehow, his mind had come to touch that of Jim Kirk's daughter, he took a step out of the cubicle. Noting nothing was stopping him, he breathed out before a jolt of pain arced across his right cheek. "No . . .!" he gasped as he felt Borg cybernetics literally start to GROW out from under his skin. "NO . . .!"
"We are the Borg . . . resistance is futile . . . "
"The Borg are a disease . . . "
Picard jolted to a stop before he looked around, his heart leaping into his throat on recognising that voice. "Jennifer . . . "
"Who?" Carol called out.
"The Borg are an abomination against the natural order . . . "
The captain's eyes teared. "Jennifer!" he called out. "Where are you?"
"Look ahead of you, Jean-Luc."
Picard's head snapped over as Carol turned around . . .
. . . as space before the cube literally OPENED UP in a giant tear, allowing a familiar shape to soar out into normal space, heading right for the Borg.
"You are of the Fifth Unimatrix . . . "
"We were saved by them, yes."
"Captain, what the hell type of ship is that?" Carol hissed.
Picard blinked. "Stadacona-class, Miss Kirk . . . "
"You must be re-assimilated into the Collective . . . "
"The Collective will be forever deleted from existence . . . "
"The Cornwallis . . . " Picard said as he gazed upon the upper part of the primary hull of the approaching troop transport, seeing the name of the ship that he had taken his first shakedown cruise on back in 2328, said vessel's registry number NCC-41943 glittering with fresh paint in the reflected light of nearby stars.
"You will not be allowed to halt our advance . . . "
"You've tried it already six years ago . . . and you lost."
As the current captain of the Enterprise and the daughter of a former captain of the Enterprise watched, the large starship with a large, circular primary hull that could swallow the primary hulls of two Galaxy-class ships, bracketed by mirror-shaped upper-and-lower secondary hulls, interconnection dorsal structures forward and a modular engineering hull aft, twin pairs of warp nacelles connected to both secondary hulls and with each other at that location finally came to a stop several kilometres from the cube.
"You will be re-assimilated into the Collective . . . "
"We welcome you to try."
Suddenly, the corona of a MASSIVE energy cannon that had taken the place of the upper secondary hull's navigational deflector dish began to billow, nearly obscuring all of the Cornwallis from the view of anyone standing where Picard and Carol were.
"Resistance is futile."
"You said it yourself."
"JENNIFER, NO . . .!" Picard screamed out.
"Resistance is futile. For YOU."
That corona then exploded, vaporizing all around Picard and Carol . . .
. . . and then they found themselves standing on a starship bridge.
Carol was the first to recognise their surroundings. "The Enterprise-D?"
Picard blinked, and then he shook his head. "No . . . "
As the cadet watched, he walked over to the starboard side of the bridge structure to gaze on the dedication plaque that was posted on the bulkhead which stood beside the doorway leading into a briefing room. Gazing on what was there, he then smiled as his hand reached up to feel the Royal Canadian Navy ship's badge that was etched into the metal above the name of the starship they were now standing on.
U.S.S. CORNWALLIS
Stadacona Class Starship, Starfleet Registry Number NCC-41943
Launched Stardate 23721.4, Port Weller Spacedocks
Saint Catharines, Ontario, Earth, United Federation of Planets
Learn to Serve
A smile crossed his face as he gazed around the bridge. "Hello, old friend . . . "
"So what is this ship?" Carol asked.
Picard chuckled. "The ship I did my first cadet cruise on after graduating from the Academy, Carol," he said. "Stadacona-class heavy troop transport. With one of these ships, you could move an entire Starfleet Marine brigade with all their equipment from planet to planet at Warp 9.95 and do it with comfort." He sighed before taking a look around the empty structure. "While the others of the class were all put into holding reserve at Regula over twenty years ago when relations between ourselves and the Klingons firmed up in the wake of the Battle of Narendra III, Cornwallis was modified to be the test ship for the Galaxy-class explorers. She disappeared seventeen years ago." Walking down towards the trio of central chairs in the middle of the bridge space, the wide arc of the ship's main tactical station behind them, he stopped before the captain's chair, and then moved to sit down in it. "No one knows what happened to her."
"You cannot sit there, Jean-Luc."
Carol spun around as Picard bolted up. "Jennifer!"
Standing now by the doorway to the captain's ready room was a human woman looking to be about in her mid-thirties. Raven-haired and brown-eyed, she was dressed in an older-model red-and-black command department uniform, commander's pips on her right collar. Her hair was long and flowed in a wild halo around her head as she gazed on the captain of the Enterprise with eyes that both seemed all-aware . . . yet also seemed forever devoid of any sign of true life. Noting that, Carol was quick to realise why: Located right at the top of the commander's manubrium - barely noticeable to Picard but sticking out like a sore thumb to the Questor's enhanced eyesight - was a circular badge pushed right into the skin, glowing a bright red. The same type of badge that was on the skin of an ultra-sophisticated probe created by a living machine to examine the "carbon units" then believed to be "infesting" another starship named Enterprise . . .
"Captain! Stay still!" she barked out, shifting over to block his approaching that woman with an outstretched hand. "She's not who you think she is!"
He jolted. "What do you mean?"
"She has a right to be wary, Jean-Luc," the newcomer then said, making the captain turn to gaze at her. "My soul may be that of the woman you knew as Jennifer Carolyn Archer . . . but my body was replaced long ago by the same race that transformed a simple probe from Earth into a living entity that the cadet's father knows of quite well."
Silence.
"V'Ger . . . " he whispered, his eyes widening in horror.
The woman nodded. "We'll be back, Jean-Luc. But you can never be the captain of this ship, not after all the things that have been done to her." A faint smile then crossed her face. "Go now, Jean-Luc. We'll be home very soon . . . "
He blinked as he felt the images around him fade into blackness.
" . . . and you will be forever free of the Collective . . . "
He tried to scream out as a chirping noise echoed in his ears . . .
. . . and then he moaned as he found himself gazing at the deckhead of his own cabin aboard the starship Enterprise, the same chirping noise echoing all around him.
"A dream . . .?" he whispered before sitting up, and then he reached over to the work desk beside his bed to tap the control at the communications console. "Computer, accept incoming secure message and de-code," he ordered, recognising the chirps as the signal that a classified coded message was coming in. "Authorisation Picard-Four-Seven-Alpha-Tango."
The screen flicked on, revealing the image of Vice Admiral Jeremiah Hayes, who was one of the senior operational directors at Starfleet Headquarters back on Earth. "Did I catch you at a bad time, Jean-Luc?" the man with the greying hair asked.
A wry grin crossed the veteran captain's face. "I was asleep," he smoothly lied before taking a deep breath. "So what's wrong?"
"We just received a disturbing message from Deep Space Five," Hayes replied, a grim look crossing his face. "Long-range sensors have just picked up . . . "
Picard tensed, and then he closed his eyes. "The Borg."
Hayes nodded . . .
Meanwhile, below decks . . .
"Ooooooh . . . what a strange dream . . . "
A pair of hazel eyes fluttered open as Carol Kirk found herself gazing at the deckhead of her cabin in the upper primary hull of the ship. As she was still seen as a cadet fourth class - she was nearing the end of her first inter-semester cruise aboard the Enterprise before she would return to San Francisco, pass the pre-year practical examinations for advancement to third class cadet, then proceed into her sophomore year of studies - she was quartered in one of the junior officers' multi-bed rooms on Deck 5. Fortunately for her, she had not been assigned any roommates, which was more than fine for her. While she wouldn't really mind a roommate to have someone to talk to whenever she was off-duty, being the daughter of the most famous starship captain in Federation history - to say ANYTHING of her actually being a Questor, whose existence was still supposed to be kept top secret to the general public, both in Starfleet and beyond - rather limited her choice of potential roommates to a very select few.
"Never did that before," she muttered to herself before swinging her own communications terminal around, tapping a control. "Computer, time."
"Ship's time is 0612 hours."
"Current stardate?"
"Stardate 50893.4."
Hearing that, Carol sighed. "Almost time . . . "
Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 50893.5,
The moment I have privately dreaded for six years has finally come.
The Borg, our most lethal enemy to date, have come once again to invade and assimilate the Federation. This time - thanks to improvements made to the fleet thanks to hard work by many technicians and weapons-smiths - it is believed that we stand a very good chance at forcing them back, a better one than what we possessed at Wolf 359.
But I am personally doubtful that even with all the hard work that's been sunk into improving our defences, the Borg will be easy to deal with.
While the majority of my senior staff disagree with Starfleet's current orders concerning us - to deploy to our side of the Romulan Neutral Zone to ensure the Star Empire will not take advantage of our momentary distraction - they have no choice but to agree with the assessment Admiral Hayes gave towards my possible participation in the upcoming engagement. The memories of my being transformed into Locutus are still as sharp as ever in my mind. Command's unwillingness to allow an "unstable element" into the equations determining what would happen in the upcoming battle in Sector 001 is understandable.
And I . . . am afraid to face them again.
But if such does happen . . . will I face them alone?
The dream I just had about the long-missing starship Cornwallis - and a dear friend who disappeared with her seventeen years ago, Commander Jennifer Archer - echoes loudly in my memories. Also of concern to me is the fact that Cadet Carol Kirk was able to directly interface with that dream. No Questor - not even one born of the known telepathic species such as Vulcans, Betazoids and Phaëtons - have ever shown this sort of capability.
It worries me . . .
U.S.S. Enterprise, near Starbase 718 . . .
"You actually OVERHEARD the captain's dream?"
Carol Kirk nodded. "Yes. And it was really LOUD, too!" she said as she paced around before Jean-Luc Picard's desk in his ready room off to the port side of the main bridge. "I was having quite a nice dream about some girls I ran into out on the beach near the Presidio just before the last semester ended." She shook her head. "And then, all of a sudden, I started hearing this stupid 'We are the Borg; resistance is futile' speech in my mind. Next thing I knew, I'm yelling at them to shut up!"
Deanna Troi tried not to giggle on hearing that rant from the young cadet, who - if she didn't know better - was your typical Terran woman about to turn twenty and was now undergoing studies to be an officer at Starfleet Academy. Of course, the counsellor was one of a small but growing group who knew the real truth behind Carol Miramanee Kirk, the only daughter of Starfleet's most legendary captain. And even if she did understand that truth, dealing with all the interesting implications - both for Carol and for the older man seated behind his desk nearby - was something the half-Betazoid empath never thought she would EVER encounter after she had graduated years before from counsellor training. "And you were able to converse in this dream? Not just between each other, but with Commander Archer, too?" she asked as she turned to gaze on Picard.
The captain nodded. "Yes. It surprised me that I was able to converse with her. Or - as Miss Kirk believes - a replica of her which could be no different than the so-called 'Ilia probe' that boarded the original Enterprise during the V'Ger incident back in 2273."
"Why do you believe that?" Troi asked.
"Because when Dad and his crew encountered V'Ger, it - as it expressed it through the Ilia-probe - didn't consider 'carbon units' to be intelligent lifeforms," Carol explained. "They were an 'infestation' that was hampering the Enterprise's 'proper development' into a sentient being." She then hummed. "Unless this 'fifth unimatrix' the Collective spoke of - if that is the group that transformed Voyager Six into V'Ger - monitored V'Ger's voyage . . . "
"And then evolved - as V'Ger evolved - when Captain Decker merged with it a hundred years ago to help it leap past linear logic," Picard finished.
Carol nodded. "That's a possibility," she admitted, and then she sighed. "Well, if what the commander promised is going to happen, we'll get our answers one way or another soon enough."
The captain nodded before he sighed. "Still, it's not the best time for a missing starship to come back."
"Would the Cornwallis be of any help in the fight over Earth?" Troi asked.
A shake of the head; both Picard and Carol had explained to the counsellor all the details they could remember about the dream they had just shared. "No. When she was rebuilt to be the test bed for the Galaxy-class ships, Cornwallis was equipped with all the standard offensive and defensive armament that was later fitted on the Enterprise-D, but she never was used in any sort of standard fleet operation. She vanished in the general direction of System J-25 from Earth when she went on her first deep space trials, but . . . " A sigh. "Given what Miss Kirk and I heard Jennifer say to the Collective . . . "
"She may have fallen through the same wormhole that took Voyager Six to the planet Spock later saw in his mind-meld with V'Ger. This 'planet of living machines.'"
Both gazed on Carol. "Ambassador Spock MIND-MELDED with V'Ger?" Picard exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief on hearing this from the young Questor.
A snort. "Oh, yes, Captain!" Carol stated. "V'Ger, the mother Horta on Janus VI, the Guardian of Forever during that one time it went crazy when Dad was teaching at the Academy while he was dating Toni Salvatori . . .!" A sigh. "That one time Spock did that with the Guardian, Dad actually threatened to keel-haul him!"
Troi laughed, although she was quick to catch herself. "Mon Dieu . . .!" Picard breathed out, shaking his head. "The risks they took back then . . . "
"Well, it was either that or V'Ger would have totally removed all the 'carbon-units infesting the Creator's homeworld,'" Carol admitted as she made finger-quotes with her hands. "And if Spock hadn't been able to get the Guardian's secondary systems working right, we never would have gone back in time to Sarpeidon's past to get his son Zar back to our time period to set the Guardian fully straight, then get rid of all of its creators who were using it to come back to our reality. And if Spock hadn't talked to Naraht's mother before he and all his brothers and sisters hatched, the poor lady would've just kept on killing all the miners on Janus VI until they were all gone and her babies were safe."
"Unbelievable," Troi noted.
"So what do you think?" Picard asked.
Carol perked. "About what, sir?"
"What's mounted on the Cornwallis' upper hull?"
The young Questor sighed as she considered that. Thanks to the pressures the heightened expectations many people at the Academy possessed towards her because of who her father was, Carol had actually found her time on the Enterprise to have been quite enjoyable. She was strongly tested by the people here - as the captain was doing right now - but they didn't expect her to do any of the crazy and outlandish things Jim Kirk had done in his wild youth. "Some sort of accelerator cannon, just like they fitted on starships before photon torpedoes became the vogue in the early 2200s," she finally answered. "Or most likely, a type of muon weapon, like the N'shaii once used on their ships; Dad ran into them once. But as to what type of energy source it has, I can't say. Something that could disintegrate a whole Borg cube with one shot . . .?"
He nodded. "Captain, are you convinced that we may run across the Cornwallis soon?" Troi then asked. "Even if what you both experienced was unique . . . "
"I think it was far more than just a dream, Counsellor," the captain cut in. "Why would I dream of Jennifer Archer in the form of an Ilia-type probe? When I last saw her, she was as human as I was. And why would she say that I would soon be free of the Collective? Cornwallis has been missing for seventeen years; if they were totally cut off from all contact with the Federation, how did they learn about my being assimilated and transformed into Locutus?" He sighed. "As we told you, the voice of the Collective mentioned a 'Fifth Unimatrix' that was separated from them. An organisation they clearly wish to have re-assimilated into the Collective. Jennifer confirmed that it was this Fifth Unimatrix that had saved her and the Cornwallis. This 'dream' is far . . . "
A whistle echoed through the room. "Riker to Picard."
He tapped his communicator badge. "Go ahead, Number One."
"Sir, we just got a signal from the Constellation. They're picking up a high concentration of tachytron radiation emitting from the general direction of Epsilon Scorpii," William Riker reported from the main bridge. "Captain Nakajima's moving to investigate it and she's invited us to join in on looking over what's there."
The captain nodded. "A possible interdimensional breach you mean?"
"Yes, sir," the first officer replied. "And save for our Haida, the only known ships that use that type of power source for warp drive . . . "
"Are the ships of the Earth Defence Force in another universe in the early part of the Twenty-first Century. One of which - their own Haida - we encountered two years ago near Amargosa," Picard finished for him, a smile crossing his face. "Alter course for an interception with the Constellation, Number One. Signal Captain Nakajima that we're on our way to meet up with her. Maximum warp."
"Aye, sir!"
"What about what Starfleet ordered you to do?" Carol asked.
Picard gazed on the cadet. "It's close to the Neutral Zone - no more than fifteen light-years from where we are now - so that makes investigating a phenomena like this perfectly acceptable under our current orders, Miss Kirk. Report to your station."
Carol smiled as she bowed to him. "Aye, sir!"
Two light-years away from Epsilon Scorpii, twenty minutes later . . .
"Starship Constellation, this is starship Enterprise. We're approaching you now, bearing 134 mark 22 off the galactic core. Please respond."
The main view screen of the Enterprise flicked over to reveal the bridge of her older sistership; Constellation was the second of the Sovereign-class explorers to have been launched, right after the name-ship of the class had slipped clear of her dry dock at Utopia Planitia over Mars three years ago. "Starship Enterprise, this is starship Constellation, we're receiving you and have you now on short-range scanners," the first officer of the other ship, Commander Homare Nakajima - fraternal twin brother to Constellation's own captain, Aya Nakajima; Picard had always wondered how it was possible for the two of them to serve together on the same ship all these years - called from his position in the first officer's chair. "Welcome to Epsilon Scorpii, Captain Picard. We just got here an hour ago ourselves. We haven't found much, but we have shuttles out sniffing around for the source of whatever is pouring that radiation into space around this sector."
"Homare, where is your sister?" Picard asked, dreading the answer.
"She's on the captain's gig right now doing her own scan."
Silence.
"And you didn't STOP her?" Riker demanded from his own chair.
"Number One!"
He jolted on hearing that snapped statement from his own captain, and then he sighed. "I apologise, sir. But if Captain Nakajima is out there on her own . . . "
"It's alright, Will," Homare assured him. "Counsellor Paek is with her now. And Commander Schwartz here is keeping a close eye on them on his scanners." He indicated Constellation's operations officer, Lieutenant-Commander Henry Schwartz, seated now at the operations station located on the bridge's port forward side.
Picard nodded. "Understood. Picard to Nakajima on Truxtun. Are you there, Aya?"
"I'm here, Jean-Luc," came the reply as the main view screen changed to the rather roomy interior of a captain's gig built as part of a Sovereign-class starship; such was normally carried on the underside of the primary hull nineteen decks right below the bridge. Aya Nakajima was now in the pilot's chair as she played with her controls; beside her was Constellation's ship's counsellor, Lieutenant-Commander Helena Paek, whom Picard remembered was a Phaëton, one of the few Korean-descent natives of that planet whose ancestors had fled Earth at the time of the Post-Atomic Horror. "So far, we can't seem to get a solid lock on whatever's pumping out all that radiation into this sector of space. Maybe you can get out some shuttles and the Cousteau out to help sniff around."
Picard grinned. Despite the VERY unorthodox way she did things and her love of both singing and fighting, Aya Nakajima was seen by many as the "luckiest captain in Starfleet." Having commanded three ships named Constellation since 2360 - when she by six months barely missed beating Jim Kirk's record of ten years' service from the time he graduated from the Academy to the time he was awarded command of the first Enterprise - Aya had earned a reputation for almost reckless risk-taking, a willingness to stand on her own principles even if they flew in the face of long-standing regulations, plus an overwhelming concern for her crew that ensured they ALL survived both the Battle of Wolf 359 (when the Ambassador-class Constellation-D was lost) and a violent gravimetric disturbance near the Badlands just two years ago (which claimed the Nebula-class Constellation-E). The only non-Klingon woman who had ever competed - and WON! - a bat'leth tournament on Forcas III several years before Worf himself gained that prize, Aya was both feared and respected within the halls of power on Qo'noS. Giving her a Sovereign-class ship as the seventh Constellation to serve since Matthew Decker's ill-fated ship - as people in Moroboshi Hiromi's time would say it - was a no-brainer.
"I would've expected you to be heading for Earth right now, Aya," Picard then said.
Aya gave him an annoyed look, her dark brown eyes flashing with anger. She had her raven hair styled in a bob-cut, a hair band keeping most of it from spilling over her forehead. Still seemingly quite young thanks to a personal self-fitness regimen that even the Starfleet Marines would find quite excessive, she oozed a sense of dynamic youthfulness from every cell of her body. "So would I have expected you to be doing, Jean-Luc," she softly scolded. "Admiral Hayes told me about that wonderful decision they made in the Land of Oz concerning NOT asking the one true expert on the Borg to come lead the fight against them." As people on the Enterprise's bridge smirked at Aya's disdainful reference to Starfleet Command with that classic movie reference, she then smiled before checking a scanner screen. "Well, it's to be expected . . . WAIT!"
"I see it, Captain!" Helena called out; she had been monitoring things on her own scanner while her captain had been conversing with Picard. "Truxtun to Constellation. We're picking up a massive tachytron energy wave coming out of what looks like a tear in the space-time fabric. Bearing 274 mark 63, range 7,700 kilometres!"
"Confirmed," Schwartz called out from Constellation as Data moved to make his own scans. "I'm picking up a solid object inside the tear, Captain. It appears to be attempting to enter normal space."
"Data?" Picard urged.
"Confirmed, Captain. Single object, most likely a ship," the android stated as he tapped controls on his screen. "Configuration appears . . . Federation."
The captain blinked. "On screen!"
"Aye, sir."
The image of the interior of Constellation's captain's gig vanished, revealling a field of stars . . . and a noticeable rip in the very vacuum that seemed to pulsate like a living thing, energy spilling out of it like a solar flare billowing from the surface of a sun. A second later, the unmistakable circular shape of the primary hull of a Federation starship emerged from the tear. As people were quick to notice how BIG that particular piece of starfaring architecture was, they then noted that it was attached to twin secondary hulls - one inverted over the primary hull, the other underneath - similar to what was once fitted on the Excelsior-class explorers. And attached to that were two sets of warp drives in modules similar to what a Galaxy-class ship had, they all interconnected with each other and both secondary hulls. At the aft end of the secondary hulls, a vertical pylon connected their fantails, that bulging out at the level of the primary hull far forward to allow a large impulse drive system to be fitted there for auxiliary power. And the whole ship - as people on the bridges of both Sovereign-class explorers began to recognise what she was - was over eight hundred metres long.
"Mon Dieu . . .!" Picard breathed out.
"Sacred Buddha . . .!" Aya nearly croaked.
The bridge crews of both starships were stunned silent, many in the duty stations on the sides and the back of those structures standing up to get a better view, as they took a moment to watch the massive newcomer drift to a halt, now roughly ten thousand kilometres off Constellation's starboard quarter and Enterprise's port side. After a moment, Picard found his voice. "Lieutenant Moonstar?"
Alyssa Greene's best friend Charlene Moonstar, whose ancestors among the Oglala Lakota had migrated to Phaëton at the time of the Post-Atomic Horror, blinked before she straightened herself and then moved to do a scan from her tactical station. "The new vessel appears, for the most part, to be a Stadacona-class ship, Captain. I am detecting rather large structural modifications on her, mostly in the upper secondary hull forward and the primary hull as well," the tactical systems lieutenant stated as she tried not to shiver too much at the thought of what had just sailed into their sector of space. "Picking up ship's identification beacon at this time . . . " She then paused as her eyes read over the name before breathing out. "Sir, it's . . . "
"The Cornwallis," Picard finished for the grey-eyed, raven-haired woman.
She looked up at him, and then nodded. "Yes, sir. Shall I hail them?"
"I do not believe we can assume that the persons currently aboard the Cornwallis may be the same members of the ship's company that vanished seventeen years ago."
Eyes locked on Data. "What do you mean?" Riker demanded.
The android turned to gaze on him. "I am detecting sixty-two lifeforms aboard the Cornwallis at this time, Commander," Data calmly stated. "All of them are similar in physical and molecular structure to what was referred to as the 'Ilia-probe' that was sent aboard the original Enterprise during the V'Ger incident in 2273. The ship's sensors have not detected any organic life forms aboard the vessel at this time."
Silence.
More silence.
Still more silence.
And then . . .
"Captain?"
Picard looked back. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Cornwallis is hailing us, sir," Charlene stated.
"On screen."
The image on the main view screen changed to reveal a wide and open bridge, so similar to what most of the crew now aboard Enterprise had worked in no more than two years before that it made many of them shudder as the surreal nature of the moment overcame them. Seated in the three chairs before the tactical station were three women, all of whom were wearing the old-style jumpsuit-like uniforms that had been Starfleet standard at the time. In the first officer's chair was a Vulcan woman in operations gold, lieutenant-commander's pips on her collar, with glossy red hair done in a high beehive and deep brown eyes. In the counsellor's chair was a Terran woman in science blue, lieutenant's pips on the collars, with dirty blonde hair styled off the collar and dark blue eyes on her face. And in the middle of the two . . .
"Hello, Jennifer," Picard said to Jennifer Archer. "Welcome home."
"We're glad to be home, Jean-Luc," the first officer - and obviously acting commanding officer - of the starship Cornwallis replied . . .
To be continued . . .
