Star Trek:
The Borg Chronicles
by
Moshe Ender
NightDark@aol.com
Based on Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry. All rights reserved by Paramount Pictures.
Author's Note:
May I suggest that the reader, should he or she be new to this series, go back and read the prior parts of these chronicles.
As I am not privy to the thoughts of the writers and producers of Paramount's Star Trek, this sequence roughly diverges from the Paramount story at about the beginning of the 1997-98 season. Voyager has passed through Borg space (the "Scorpion" episodes) and the Federation is at war with the Dominion\Cardassian alliance. It is best to expect differences from the official Paramount storyline.
2:
The War and the Rescue
"The only lesson history has taught us is that man has not
yet learned anything from history."
-- Anonymous
popularly attributed to a Vulcan
The Pralor Armada
Nearing First Station
Forth came the Pralor ships from subspace. When their warp faded, only one of them remained cloaked. As the others dropped behind to watch their path, the cloaked ship came forth on impulse. And there before it was First Station.
First Station was not the first station the robots had built. It was called that because it was the most important station, more important than every ship and every base the robots had ever built before. And to that end, it was surrounded by ships, some silver, some gold. And through the fleet the cloaked ship moved, and it came to rest, still cloaked in its twist of spacetime, connected carefully to First Station's docking port.
The Voyager
Conference Room
Stardate 53000
There was an empty chair in the conference room.
Katheryn Janeway tapped her hand against the hard metal table. She had grown to hate the colorful view of nebula outside the window behind her. It was a constant reminder of the empty chair and the missing face on the bridge. Voyager had known only nebula for two days, while Harry Kim had long been introduced to stars.
"B'Elanna ?" asked the captain.
"We'll have the warp drive online in an hour," said Torres. She looked tired, every line of her face showing fatigue's heavy hand. "I can't promise anything above warp 6 until tonight. Other than that, everything else's as good as new."
"Excellent," said Janeway. "Tom ?"
Paris was worse off than Torres. He looked two decades older -- like his father, Janeway thought. "No tachyon radiation to speak of," he said. "There is this low-level subspace trail, but I can't believe the Pralor would leave anything so obvious. It's probably some sort of red herring."
"Keep an eye on it," said Janeway. "It may be all we have to follow up on. Tuvok ?"
The Vulcan's contrast to Torres and Paris was too large to be ignored. Not even a hair was displaced on his brow. Yet Janeway knew he had been up for every second of the last three days. If Vulcans are good at anything, Janeway thought, they are good at illusion.
"We have successfully isolated and destroyed the Pralor computer virus," said Tuvok. "However, we have yet to determine the source of the virus within Voyager's network, or how exactly it managed to override so many command codes."
"Keep working on it," said Janeway. "Dismissed."
The crew limped slowly from the conference room. Torres hung back, waiting until the door slid shut after Chakotay. "Captain ?" she said.
"Yes, B'Elanna ?"
"Something has to happen soon," said B'Elanna. "It's tearing Tom apart. If we don't find Harry soon, I don't what he'll do."
Janeway sat back and sighed. "It's shaken all of us up, B'Elanna. We'll find him soon. We'll find if we have to tear up the quadrant six or seven times over."
"Yes, ma'am," said Torres. She seemed to relax, just a tad. "Thank you, Cap... Kathryn."
The engineer left. Janeway got out of her chair and went towards the door. She looked back for a moment, and just for a second saw the empty chair, with the nebula hanging behind it. The captain shivered, and made her exit with unusual haste.
Intersection
It is hard for one with a human's limited communication to describe what goes on outside of Timespace. It would be even more difficult to describe what was going on at this particular meeting. Only a small idea of the events can be projected, like a shadow onto a wall. The best context for this description is as follows, though it be only cliff notes to the real thing:
"Touchdown, Federation !" blared the TV.
Applause and boos from the group on the couch nearly drowned out the call. "That was hardly fair," said the man relaxing in the brown easy chair.
"Oh, don't be a spoilsport," said the father of the house, carefully balancing his child on his knee. "Remember, we chose the humans for this one."
"And what about the Fourth Fleet ? You call that fair ?" chimed in another spectator. He pointed his 'Homonids #1' glove at Easy Chair, wagging the huge finger up and down.
"That's just good strategy," said Easy Chair.
"Oh, please !" Glove sat back with a growl. "Look, look what they're doing now to the Terrell group. It may be strategy, but they're still playing dirty."
USS Clark Terrell
NCC-9552
Miranda-class Federation starship
Stardate 52995
The Cardassian Border
The console just a few feet away from Ensign Jose Allen exploded. It hit the Ops officer full in the face. Out of the corner of his eye, Allen could see the officer collapse to the floor, a bloody mess.
Through the smoke, the Captain cried, "Return fire on that frigate !" The tactical officer was still alive, for the time being, and responded. Phasers leaped out, and a torpedo jumped from its tube. It all threw itself across a hundred kilometers, and ripped into the Cardassian ship. If its Jem'Hadar friends had seen the volley coming, none intervened, and perhaps could not. The frigate bloomed out with hot-red gas, and in a second was gone.
Not too long later, the Terrell was once again hit. Allen held fast to his console, and aside him the corpse jerked with the deck. The Captain yelled, "Tactical !"
"Phasers down !" came the reply. "Tubes not responding." It was the voice of the first officer. The tactical must be dead. Too bad, thought Allen. She was a nice girl. What was her name again ?
"Helm, right twenty degrees, maximum speed !" commanded the Captain. Allen's hands responded even before he heard the order, or remember he was at the helm. The viewscreen turned slowly. It passed over the battlefield; seven Federation starships, none more than a light cruiser, battling for their lives against Jem'Hadar and Cardassian ships. Strategy had been abandoned minutes ago, the battle lost as soon as it had begun. It was every ship for itself now; fight its way out, and run, and don't look back.
The Captain was silent. It was strange; Allen had always thought of him just as the Captain, nothing more. The Captain had a name. and Allen knew it; but what it was, he couldn't recall.
A Jem'Hadar attack ship circled from behind. Energy poured forth from its hull.
It suddenly came to Allen. The Captain's name, he thought, is the Captain. Why hadn't he thought of it before ?
The beam tore open the bridge, and Allen dove into the stars.
Intersection
"War's a dirty game," said Easy Chair.
"Oh, sure," said Glove, folding his arms. "When you last played, the Sol system was just a good idea. And you tell me war's dirty ?"
"Hate to interrupt," the spectator next to Glove growled, whose temper was much the worst for having a large styrofoam finger poaked in his eye, "but some of us are trying to watch the game here !"
Deep Space Nine
Stardate 52998
The Cardassian Border
"So," I asked calmly, "how did it go ?"
"Fifteen freighters and all escorts destroyed," said the old Klingon seated across from me. There was a certain look on Martok's face; it wasn't gloating, and it was hardly regret. He seemed more satified than anything else, full like a man after a good, long Thanksgiving dinner. "Eight victories for the Rol'kar," he continued, "and five for your own Defiant."
"Really ?" I couldn't help but say, "Commander Dax told me it was six."
Martok shrugged. "I have already marked the Rol'kar's wall."
I couldn't help but smile at that. Klingons always make a scratch on a certain wall on the ship's bridge, like the American navy did during the second World War: one mark on the wall for every kill. But my smile vanishes in a moment -- I had news as well, not all of it good.
"One of the patrol squadrons was ambushed near the border," I said.
"The Fearless group; I heard," Martok said gravely. I can't help but wonder; have the Klingons really directed all their intelligence forces towards the Dominion ? But such thoughts are futile, and not really worth anything. The Klingons can look over our shoulders whenever they care to, as long as they keep fighting on our side.
"Were there any survivors ?" the general continued.
"The Prokofiev and the Cairo got away," I reply. "The Sheridan made it out, but they caught up to her. The Terrell and the Colonel, well..."
"If the Fearless was there, they would have had a chance," said Martok. "You can't have groups of smaller ships waiting around. Too tempting a target."
"Perhaps we could have cloaked ships guarding them ?" I suggested.
It was more a request than a suggestion, and Martok knew it. "I will coordinate with the captains."
"Excellent." Having no further business, he departs. A human might have felt it necessary to spent another few minutes, exchanging social niceties. But not a Klingon. War is food and drink to them, and conversation over a meal is hardly necessary.
There are a hundred reports on my desk. I do not wish to do any of them. So I ignore them for the moment, swivel around in my chair and face the great window behind me. At the very edge, there is Bajor; the third planet from the sun. War-torn, strategically valuable, scars still left from a long and brutal Cardassian occupation, in more ways than one.
And yet, engagingly beautiful.
I look over left, to the center of the mirror. Estimates of kilometers and trajectories and angle of views, all learned in the Academy days and rusty with the years, fill my head for a moment. Right... about... there. I mark the place with the edge of my thumb. The spot is as dark as the rest of space; on first glance, those who didn't know better would say there was nothing there.
But I know differently. If you piloted a ship to that exact location in space (like I did, all those years before the war with the Dominion, when I was new to DS9), something would happen. The neutrino particle around you would suddenly multiple. Radation levels would increase. Blue energy would open like a flower in front of you.
And there it would be: the Bajoran wormhole. A slip in spacetime covering 70,000 lightyears in a few minutes. A construction maintained by beings so strange and so powerful that for thousands of years the Bajorans have known them as gods. As Prophets.
The beings rarely come into the equation. They let ships pass through, going between the two quarters of the galaxy the Federation calls the Alpha and the Gamma. For years they let Ferengi and Cardassians and Federation starships into the Gamma.
Not too long ago, they let the Dominion fleets through to the Alpha. Free to ally themselves with the failing Cardassian Union, and soon invade the Federation.
Only a few times have the aliens inside the wormhole intervened. They contacted the first man to go through their wormhole, all those years ago. And not too long ago, that same man managed to get them to close their wormhole, in the midst of a long push by the Jem'Hadar, giving the Federation a good, fighting chance to push back.
That man was me. I am Captain Benjamin Sisko. The Bajorans call me the Emissary.
Intersection
"You have to admit," said a dark-haired spectator to Glove, "the Dominion is playing war rather well. The Jem'Hadar know what they're doing. Look at that Tig'vakal."
"Oh sure, Tig'vakal good, I'll admit that." Glove reached for the chips. "But the Federation gots the moral high ground. And they know where to put their best people. Now the Dominion -- they've got good skippers patrolling the backwater."
"Not all of them," said Easy Chair. "Ha'lovkon just delivered his report. He'll see a bit more action now."
Stardate 52994
Report of the Battle: Capture of Romulan cruiser Senateheld.
logged by First Ha'lovkon of fastattack 132-8
The prey was first identified by the 541-3 on stardate 52751, during the joint Romulan-Federation attack on the Lenel system. It was witnessed by assorted ships during various missions on stardates 52832, 52861, and 52911. On stardate 52991, the Senateheld was engaged by subfleet 4D, under the command of First Tig'vakal of the battleattack 85-4. According to Tig'vakal's report, the Senateheld seemed to have ran into the subfleet by complete accident. Immediately after coming out of warp, it turned about and attempted to cloak. All ships within range opened fire; the Senateheld eventually did managed to cloak, retreating at high warp speed. It had taken several hits, and Tig'vakal reported it was venting air from its aft hullplates. Subfleet 4D had other duties, and so four fastattacks, including this ship, were transferred from nearby patrol duties to pursue the prey.
We intercepted the Senateheld in orbit of Irvis VI. Using the ice rings as cover, we were able to enter transporter range before the Senateheld could detect us (strategic credit goes to First D'lartan of the 612-2). The enemy shields were half down, enough for 49 soldiers led by myself to beam into the ship's midsection. We successful took the ship, with 12 causalities.
The Senateheld is a type-8 Romulan light frigate, and is perhaps 30 standard years old. Upon capture, half of its computer systems had failed, and the engineering spaces had been flooded with radiation. Both were caused by battle damage, probably from its encounter with subfleet 4D. This combination left the surviving enemy crew unable to self-destruct their vessel. They were attempting to manually burn out the ship's systems when the boarding party arrived. 23 of the crew were captured or surrendered.
The Senateheld was towed to the Talvarn shipyards for analysis by 132-8. The surviving prisoners were divided among the other ships, and deliver to the Cardassian ship Archon for processing.
Glory to the Founders.
End of report.
Intersection
"Hah !" said Easy Chair, pointing. "That'll cost 'em !"
"Ow," admitted Glove.
"They aren't done for yet," said the father. "The Feds still have time."
Stardate 52996
Subject: RE: Request for Project Lead Wall
To: Commander Elizabeth Shelby
From: Command of Interior Defense (COMDEFINT)
CC: Captain Jean-Luc Picard, NCC-1701-E
We are sad to report to you that your request on the subject of Project Lead Wall has been denied. As a result of the present war with the Dominion, there are no resources available to continue Borg research. While we do understand that the Borg are still very much a threat, there are more close to home matters that demand our attention. We will continue analysis of the Borg technology in our hands, but we are afraid that is all we can promise. Again, our apologies.
Rear Admiral Sakolna
COMDEFINT
Intersection
"Honey !" shouted the wife from the kitchen. "Don't forget you have to check on the project !"
"I know !" called back the husband. "I leave in a minute."
"You don't have all eternity you know ! It's going to be online in only a week or so !"
"All right, all right, I'm going !" The husband carefully set down the child and got up from his chair with an annoyed huff. "Sorry. Be right back, and don't you dare steal my chair !"
He left. Glove jumped into the chair a millisecond later and got comfortable.
Veridian III
"And how has your end been doing ?" asked the father.
"The Dominion and the Federation are still at it," said the air.
"I know. Why haven't you stopped it ?"
"I don't think I can without being noticed. But I think we can use it to our advantage. Give the kid a workout before the coming."
"Not a bad thought. Still... these wars are always the same, even if they are mildly entertaining. I don't know what mortals see in it; it's such a waste of time and energy."
The air shrugged. "It's something to do on Friday nights, I suppose. How are things going with the Trinidas ?"
"Exactly as planned, provided dear Kathy doesn't wimp out on us."
USS Voyager
Stardate 53001
Approaching First Station
Captain's Log, Stardate 53001.2. For lack of any other lead, we are following a subspace trail first detected by Mr. Paris a day ago. It is possible that it leads us into a trap, but I doubt it. If the Pralor had wanted to destroy us, they would have done so in the first place.
The Bridge
"I am detecting the end of the subspace trail," said Tuvok.
"Take us out of warp," said Janeway.
Around Voyager, the stars turned from streaks of light to their dotted selves. And on the viewscreen, a shape came into focus.
It was a space station, perhaps two kilometers in length and one in height. It was shaped as a flat triangle, and covered with silver and gold. Somewhere in the middle, a bright blue light shined into the dark through a clear piece of metal.
And all around the station, there was nothing. Not a ship nor weapon in sight.
"Tuvok," said Janeway.
"Scanning the station now," said the Vulcan. "There is a spherical tachyon field, emanating from the center of the station. It is powered by a large antimatter reactor... impressive power readings..." He looked up. "Captain, I have detected Mr. Kim's comm badge. It is broadcasting medical telemetry."
In front of Janeway, Tom's eyes lit up.
"What is Mr. Kim's condition ?" she asked.
"Unconscious," said Tuvok, "but uninjured."
"Can we beam him out of there ?"
The Vulcan studied his console for a moment, then shook his head. "I do not believe so. The tachyon field is too dense in his area. However, we may be able to beam onto the station, at the very edge of the field..."
Janeway did not even have to agree. "Chakotay, Tuvok."
Her gaze lingered on Paris, who turned around in his seat. "Captain," he said, and there was pain in his eyes, "please."
Janeway considered for a moment, then nodded once.
A swish of the turbolift, and they were gone.
First Station
The phaser rifle was heavy in Tom's hands, and he couldn't fully open his eyes. Only stubbornness kept him moving, with assistance from three nights full of sleepless angst and twelve and a half cups of strong Talaxian coffee.
The away team moved through the Pralor station's corridors. The halls were large, three meters tall and wide enough to accommodate a shuttlecraft. They were coated with a strange material, a blue plastic that slightly gave way when Tom stepped on it.
The lighting needed work. To be more specific, it needed to be installed. There was no illumination in the station's hallways, save the flashlights the away team wore on their arms. The night around him sent a small chill down Tom's back. No one really liked the dark, he thought. Apparently the Pralor were the exception.
They continued down the hall, Tuvok in the lead, holding a tricorder in front of him. It chattered quietly in the dark, plotting a course through the labyrinth of corridors. So many twists and turns, but this was the most direct route, or so said the little computer. It was as if this place had been specifically designed to get tourists lost. Knowing the Pralor, that was probably what they had intended.
"I believe we are getting close to Mr. Kim," said Tuvok. "Down this hall."
Home stretch, thought Tom. Hold on, Harry.
Was that a light near the end of the hall ?
The station shook violently.
Oh, great. Now what ?
The Bridge
Janeway jumped out of her chair. "What was that ?" she demanded.
"Explosion on the far side of the station," said Ensign Chell at Ops. "Warp signature with exterior explosion -- some sort of long-range antimatter torpedo."
"Ship detected," said the lieutenant at Tactical. "Incoming at warp 9.4. ETA in nine minutes, twenty-five seconds."
"Anything else you can tell me ?" asked the captain.
"Not until it gets closer, ma'am," said Tactical.
"Bring weapons online," said Janeway.
"Shields ?"
"Not yet." She sat back down. "Voyager to Away Team," she snapped to the air. "We have company on the way !"
First Station
"Understood, Captain," said Chakotay. "We're almost there."
The light was closer, and it was there. A few more yards and one more corner to round.
They were at a fast jog now. Formation had fallen apart now, and Tom sprinted ahead. Hold on, Harry, he thought. We're coming, we're coming...
Paris turned the corner and jumped back into the wall behind him.
This was partially because another long-range torpedo hit, jostling the floor again.
It was also because of the Pralor robot who stood motionless in front of him.
The Bridge
"Contacts !" said Ops. "Five more torpedoes on the way. ETA to station twenty seconds !"
"Lock phasers," said Janeway. "Helm, up the z two kilometers. Get us a clear shot."
The viewscreen changed as Voyager rose above the station. In the distance, farther than light could reach, the torpedoes came forth, at a speed only subspace radar could care to detect.
"Computer has acquired foremost torpedo," said Tactical. "Firing in three, two, one..."
Voyager fired five times. Two torpedoes ripped apart, their small antimatter explosion spread out by warp acceleration. Another rammed into the station's guts, lighting the dark with hades' flame.
The other two torpedoes dropped out of warp, missing their intended phaser beams by ten kilometers. They veered away from the station; it wasn't there target.
"Two torpedoes out of warp !" called Tactical. "They're scanning !"
Five hundred curses, collected through a long life of traveling, filled Janeway's mind. "Helm, down the z !" she yelled. "SHIELDS !"
Voyager dove down underneath the station. The torpedoes had long since acquired the only ship in the area. Their engines came back on, and with inhuman accuracy the torpedoes threw themselves towards their target.
First Station
Tom's phaser came up, and pointed right at the robot's chest. It took all the training he had ever had to keep from firing.
The Pralor looked him up and down. Other than that, it remained unresponsive, which was a curious reaction to having death literally poking him in the stomach.
Chakotay and Tuvok came around the bend, phasers raised. Again, the robot refused to respond.
Things remained like this for a moment or so, long enough for two more vibrations, one more distant than the other, to run through the station.
Tuvok was the first to move. "Where is Ensign Kim ?" he asked, presenting an exterior just as calm as the robot's.
Without a word, the robot stepped out of the way.
Harry Kim lay unconscious on a floating platform. He was inside a small alcove, right behind the robot and to the left wall of the corridor.
He was also laying unconscious in the alcove across the hall. And in the alcove next to it. And inside all the other alcoves, which stretched on down the hall.
The Voyager
"Damage report !" said Janeway, coughing on the smoke.
Tactical had been knocked off his feet. Ops was still up, and rerouted the needed displays to his half-functional console.
"Direct hit to the starboard bow," said Ops. "Shields are down in that area. Hull breach on deck 4, auxiliary force fields in place."
Janeway wiped her jaw with her sleeve. "Pack a punch, don't these things," she said. "All right. Helm, keep us under the station. Ops, we're not going to have time for the team to get out of that tachyon field. Get me some options here."
"Yes, Captain."
Transporter Room 2
"Bridge to Transporter Room 2," said Janeway through the comm system.
"Torres here," said B'Elanna.
"We're going to fire an antitachyon pulse to disrupt the station's field," said Janeway. "It's going to leave a lot of subspace distortions, so put as much power into the transporter beams as you can."
"Understood, Captain."
First Station
"All right, let's sort through this," said Chakotay. He touched his comm badge. "Chakotay to Ensign Kim."
Exactly twenty-five comm badges chorused in unison.
"Great," said Paris. "What'd they do, clone him ?"
"They are most likely holograms," said Tuvok. "Placed to slow Mr. Kim's recovery."
Chakotay nodded. He turned back to the robot, to whom all three phasers were still pointed. "Which one is the real Ensign Kim ?"
Behind the robot, a complex keypad materialized on the wall. The robot turned around, and with motions faster than the human eye could comprehend, began to type.
Twenty-five Kims disappeared into holographic oblivion.
And at the end of the hall, the wall that Paris had jumped into caved in. The plastic curled back into another alcove, and there was Harry Kim, asleep on a floating pad.
The Bridge
"Contact !" said Tactical. "Eight, no, ten torpedoes incoming !"
"Helm, prepare evasive maneuvers. Ready phasers." Janeway sat back in the chair, getting a better grip on the armrests.
"Away team to Voyager," said Chakotay's voice. "We found Harry."
Despite all that was going on, something in Janeway relaxed, just a little.
"Not a moment too soon, Chakotay !" said the captain. "Stay right where you are. Bridge to Transporter Room 3, prepare to energize. Tactical, lower shields. Ops, is the pulse ready ?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Fire."
First Station
Paris pushed the floating table. It moved, and held Harry steady on it.
"Get ready," said Chakotay, as Paris pushed Kim out of the alcove. "This may be rough."
Tom looked his friend over. He was a bit pale, but didn't look any the worst for wear. "What I'd tell you, Harry," said Tom softly. "Don't worry, next time I'll get captured, and you can come after me for a change."
Kim's eyes opened, just a little.
"There, what'd I tell you. Just hold on a sec, we'll have you in Sickbay in a flash."
Behind Paris, where Harry was looking, the robot moved.
Tom turned around long enough to see the robot fold its left arm across its chest, so its palm was on the right shoulder. The hand made a fist.
"We will be with you," said the robot.
"What ?" said Tom, not a little abashed.
The transporter beams swirled, and they were gone.
Transporter Room 3
Slowly B'Elanna dragged them in. Okay, keep your patterns up, she thought. Transfer them like so, and...
The away team appeared, plus a newly acquired member on a floating platform.
"Torres to Bridge," said B'Elanna. "Got them !"
The Bridge
"Excellent," said Janeway. "Helm, get us out of here, warp five."
"Captain !" said Tactical. "The ship ! ETA three seconds !"
"Correct that," said Janeway. "Helm, warp nine. Aft shields to full."
First Station
Voyager streaked away, just as ten long-range torpedoes dropped out of warp and began searching for target.
Two seconds later, another ship came out of warp. The torpedoes, of course, ignored the ship that had launched it. The newcomer considered the battered station below it, then turned to pursue the Federation starship that had just left.
It would have began the hunt immediately, had not flame spread from the station and had overtaken it.
The Bridge
"Captain !" said Ops. "The station !"
"On screen," said Janeway.
Then she was looking down Voyager's backbone, to what they had left behind. A nova had erupted, spreading its fiery breath cross space.
"The station's antimatter core," said Ops. "All that antimatter... they must have self-destructed, Captain."
"Captain," said Tactical, "the ship launching those torpedoes came out of warp right after we left. It must have been caught in the shockwave."
Janeway nodded thoughtfully. "Ops, did the sensors get anything on the ship ?"
"Reviewing data, ma'am." Ops said. A moment later, his head came up, shock evident in his eyes. "Captain, according to the computer, that was a Viidian ship !"
"Viidian ?" said Janeway. "We left their space years ago !"
Just like we left the Pralor, she thought. Out of sight, out of mind. Another mystery.
Veridian III
"Ha !" said the father. "I knew we could count on them !"
"That places everything on schedule," said the air. "All right, get a message to the watchers. Everything's set for the agreed date."
"Are you sure the kid's ready ?"
"Positive. All we need is the Emissary's signature."
"Perfect. Next week it is. Now, if you'd excuse me, I want to enjoy the game while it lasts." With that the father disappeared.
The air nodded thoughtfully. It put out a transparent appendage and leaned up against the metal wall that it was next to. "You hear that, kid ?" it said to the sleeping god. "The present game is over with. You're going straight to the championship."
And the champion slept…