Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, except for Finnegan, so do not take legal action
against me.
I hope you all enjoy this, and don't worry, I think I can only squeeze like 3or4 more
chapters out of this and I hope to finish by the end of next week. Tell me if you want to
see more of Finnegan and I'll start thinking about new stories.
I really like this one!!
When Finnegan woke up, he found himself standing in a strange room. It was
dimly lit, he could barely make anything out. There were two figures standing in front of
him, so familiar yet he couldn't make them out. His parents, it was his parents. They were
pointing, pointing somewhere to his right. To a door. He hadn't noticed it before, but
there it was. He walked toward it. When he went through it he found himself in a huge
room filled with machines of some kind. It was so cold and strange. It was the inside of a
Borg cube. He heard voices, the Collective. He began to walk for what seemed like
forever. The he saw someone out of the corner of his eye, to his right. He turned to find a
Borg drone standing next to him. It was another familiar figure. The voices began to quiet
and one voice permeated through them all. It was Betsy's voice, the drone was his wife.
She began to speak to him, the voice was hers, but the voice of the collective as well, so
many voices making one.
"Dempsey, come to me, give me your hand, come with me," she said, "You will
always be a part of me, you can't escape me," she said, extending her hand, a hand that
was completely human, in contrast to the rest of her cyborg body.
Heat, he felt heat, he looked away from Betsy to what was directly in front of
him. An explosion, it was cascading toward him like a wave toward the shore, but
something was wrong, it was moving so slowly.
The left, something was moving to the left of him as well, he faced it. It was
Seven, standing in the dress she had worn on their "date". Something was different with
her as well. She was totally human, her Borg implants were gone.
"Come with me if you want to live," she said extending her hand, a human hand
as well, devoid of the normal glove like metal implants, " Give me your hand Dempsey."
Finnegan snickered, "You never call me Dempsey."
The explosion was accelerating toward him, getting closer and closer, faster and
faster. Finnegan had to make a choice, he had to grab a hand, but which one, the decision
was so hard to make, it was hurting his head.
"Dempsey, you must come with, you belong to me," Betsy said, her voice louder
then before, more of the Collective participating.
He looked at Betsy, Betsy the Borg; she was still beautiful. Guilt swept over him,
he made the wrong choice, she was still beautiful even though she was a Borg.
"It can happen again," Seven said. He looked to her; she was beautiful as well.
They both were, but who should he chose.
The explosion was almost upon him. He could feel the heat on his face, the sweat
dripping from his brow. He had to choose. He reached out and grabbed her hand.
His eyes opened and he found himself in another strange place. He was on board a
ship, but it wasn't flying. Where was he? What was he doing her? Wasn't he just
somewhere else? He tried to think of where he just was, but any thought about it was
drowned by the enormous amount of pain that was shooting through his body. Something
was wrong with him. He couldn't think straight. He was hurt. He must locate the source
of his pain. He began to examine his body. His hands probed his head and he felt a large
welt on his head, that explains why he was having trouble thinking, why he was
unconscious. He asleep, he was dreaming, but what about. He stopped thinking about that
again, partially because of the pain, and partially because of concern. Concern about
what? About who? That's it, there were other people on the ship with him, there were
others that were trapped in here, but who? Tuvok, he was here, but for some reason
Finnegan wasn't concerned about him, him and Tom, Tom was also on the ship, but
Finnegan didn't seem to have any fear for them. They were… they were gone. Faint
images of them dematerializing before the crash flooded his memory. If they were gone,
why was he worried? There was someone else. There was Seven. She was here. But he
had just seen her a couple seconds ago. The dream, she was in the dream, she was there
and so was someone else.
Finnegan forced himself to get up; he had to find her. Pain shot through him again
and he fell to the ground. He had forgotten that he was injured, somewhere else besides
his head. He examined his body again. The torso was fine, his arms. He scanned his right
leg with his eyes, everything seemed normal. It was his left leg that caught his attention.
There was something wrong with it. It was supposed to be smooth, but there was a large
piece of metal sticking out of his thigh. He cringed at the sight of it. His instinct told him
to rip it form his body, but his knowledge of medical science told him better, he would
have to leave it in until he injected a glutagen to stop the blood flow, or he would slowly
bleed to death, and he knew that he had to get Seven now, but why? The he realized what
was going on around him. There was fire slowly burning in the front of the cabin. The
heat, he felt the heat on his face, the sweat on his brow, images of his dream flew into his
mind.
He forced himself up, screaming in an attempt to release the pain in his leg. He
knew that by leaving the shrapnel in his thigh he was damaging the muscle even more,
but he had to get Seven, if she was still alive to get. He hobbled over toward the helm and
looked over the railing.
She was lying there, out cold, leaning up against that partition between the helm
and the rest of the ship. Finnegan knew that he wouldn't be able to walk all the way up to
the helm, down the three stairs, to her, and then carry her to the rear of the ship so he
slumped down and reached for her over the partition. He wrapped his arm around her
waist and began to hoist her up. His efforts caused blood to squirt from his wound and
pain to shoot up his spine, stabbing at his already injured brain. He felt himself loosing
consciousness again, but he fought it, it couldn't happen, they would both die if he didn't
stay awake. So he pulled her, with all his might. He hoisted he limp body on top of his
own and began to drag Seven and himself to the rear of the cabin on his back. He went
toward the hatch and hit the door release. It simply beeped.
The door was not working. There was no way out. They were going to burn to
death. There was nothing he could do.
But there was something he could do, the fire system. Why hadn't he thought of it
before. All he had to do was manually activate the fire system. He dragged himself to the
closest consol and began to type in commands. Nothing, the consol was damaged; he
would have to go to the other one. He flopped to the ground and began to drag himself
again. He began to breath heavy; the air was becoming unbreathable. He made it to the
consol and typed in the codes. Coolant began to fill the compartment and the fire slowly
went out. He had done it, they were safe for now.
He hobbled over to Seven and checked her pulse, he wasn't even sure she was
alive. He felt it. Tears began to stream from his eyes. He had saved her.
He stood up and tried to carry her to the medical station in the rear of the ship and
placed her on the table. Then he grabbed a hypo-spray and injected it into her neck. Her
eyes fluttered. She looked at him, Finnegan thought he saw a smile.
"Don't worry, your not in heaven, and I'm not an angel," he said, she just raised
an eyebrow, " Well not the kind with a halo anyway, maybe more of the guardian type."
"What happened?" she asked.
"It was my fault," suddenly Finnegan remembered everything that happened, " It
was the X. I didn't realize that it emits a different type of radiation the regular dylythim. I
didn't compensate for it in the sensors and in the shields, it totally distorted are systems.
Asteroids were hitting us and we didn't even realize it until it was to late. It's all my
fault," he said.
"It was not your fault, it was our fault, we were working on this together,
remember," she said. She looked at him with caring eyes, eyes that slowly went from
kind to appalled, " Mr. Finnegan, your leg!" she shouted.
Somehow, Finnegan had totally forgot about his injury. He looked at his leg and
was reminded of its impaled nature.
"Hand me that hypo-spray," he said. Seven grabbed it, amazed at his pain
tolerance. He shot it into his leg and put it down.
"You might want to turn around for this," he said as he gripped the metal shard.
"You will need someone to apply pressure to the wound when the object is
removed, you will probably be in to much pain to do it, so I will," she said, slowly getting
up and grabbing a gauze pad.
"If you insist, I'd appreciate it," he said.
"Is there any anesthetic," she asked, looking at the hypo-sprays.
"Forget it, if we need to get out of her, I'm going to need to be all here, an
anesthetic would just make me a problem," he said, " You ready?"
"Are you?" she asked.
"I hope so," he said. He gritted his teeth together, tightened his grip on the metal,
and yanked it from his leg. This time when he slept, he didn't have a dream.
When Finnegan's eyes opened, he found himself lying on the bed in the medical
alcove of the Delta Flyer. Seven was at the consol nearest to him. When he stirred, she
turned to face him.
"You have been unconscious for 56 minutes, I assume you slept well," she asked
him.
"Very well, thank you," he replied, "what seems to be our situation," he asked,
swinging his legs around to sit on the bed. He noticed that his leg was wrapped carfully
and that the bleeding had stopped. "Oh, by the way, thanks for taking care of my leg," he
said.
"No, thank you for taking care of me, it must have been difficult to carry me from
the helm with you leg in that condition," she looked down to the floor, then looked up at
him, her eyes seemed to be glistening in the dim light of the Delta Flyer.
"I understand how you felt, when you found me in the hallway after the dinner,"
he said to her.
She looked back at him, surprised.
"I felt the same way when I saw you lying over there, it wasn't the best thing that
I've ever seen," he said.
Seven shifted, uncomfortably, " Most of the system are off-line, we will have to
completely realign most of the systems in order to get thrusters back online," she said.
Finnegan nodded, he then realized how cold it was in the shuttle, "Why is it so
cold in here," he asked, rubbing his upper arms to try to generate warmth.
"I shut off environmental controls to preserve energy, the temperature in her is
several degrees warmer then that of the planet," she said, continuing to work on the
consul.
"Ok, well we will need to get them back online, the temperature her can drop to –
10 dagrees celceus on the planet at night, that's pretty damn cold," he said.
"That is impossible, I have already rerouted that system, it is being used to charge
the thrusters," she said, not being bothered by what Finnegan had said at all.
"Well what the hell are we supposed to do in 6 hours when the temperature drops,
is there even any blankets in here. I mean I know you are part Borg, but even you cant
handle that cold with just your… cat-suit… body-thingy," he said.
Seven stared at him coldly, rolling her eyes, " I am aware of that Mr. Finnegan, I
took that all into account before I took the environmental controls off line. There is one
large blanket in the survival kit, and several flares. There is also a thermal pad on the
medical bed," she said, still working at the consul.
"Ok then, I guess you can have the bed, and we'll split the blanket," he said.
"That will be insufficient for our needs," she replied, looking up at him, he
thought he saw some distress in her eyes.
"Well the what the hell are we going to do?" he asked, utterly confused.
"We will need to use each others body heat in order to maintain the proper body
temperature," she said, not looking into his eyes.
Finnegan couldn't stop himself from letting out a laugh. Seven eyed him, eyebrow
raised.
"I'm sorry Seven, but this is probably the most awkward situation I have ever
been in, I just can't help but laugh," he said, composing himself.
"I do not understand while people use humor to cover up their discomfort," she
said shaking her head, and returning to work.
"I'll explain it to you later, I feel like we're going to be down here for a while
anyway," he said, walking up to the consul next to hers, tapping on the screen, and
starting to figure out just exactly how they would get out of the mess they were in.
against me.
I hope you all enjoy this, and don't worry, I think I can only squeeze like 3or4 more
chapters out of this and I hope to finish by the end of next week. Tell me if you want to
see more of Finnegan and I'll start thinking about new stories.
I really like this one!!
When Finnegan woke up, he found himself standing in a strange room. It was
dimly lit, he could barely make anything out. There were two figures standing in front of
him, so familiar yet he couldn't make them out. His parents, it was his parents. They were
pointing, pointing somewhere to his right. To a door. He hadn't noticed it before, but
there it was. He walked toward it. When he went through it he found himself in a huge
room filled with machines of some kind. It was so cold and strange. It was the inside of a
Borg cube. He heard voices, the Collective. He began to walk for what seemed like
forever. The he saw someone out of the corner of his eye, to his right. He turned to find a
Borg drone standing next to him. It was another familiar figure. The voices began to quiet
and one voice permeated through them all. It was Betsy's voice, the drone was his wife.
She began to speak to him, the voice was hers, but the voice of the collective as well, so
many voices making one.
"Dempsey, come to me, give me your hand, come with me," she said, "You will
always be a part of me, you can't escape me," she said, extending her hand, a hand that
was completely human, in contrast to the rest of her cyborg body.
Heat, he felt heat, he looked away from Betsy to what was directly in front of
him. An explosion, it was cascading toward him like a wave toward the shore, but
something was wrong, it was moving so slowly.
The left, something was moving to the left of him as well, he faced it. It was
Seven, standing in the dress she had worn on their "date". Something was different with
her as well. She was totally human, her Borg implants were gone.
"Come with me if you want to live," she said extending her hand, a human hand
as well, devoid of the normal glove like metal implants, " Give me your hand Dempsey."
Finnegan snickered, "You never call me Dempsey."
The explosion was accelerating toward him, getting closer and closer, faster and
faster. Finnegan had to make a choice, he had to grab a hand, but which one, the decision
was so hard to make, it was hurting his head.
"Dempsey, you must come with, you belong to me," Betsy said, her voice louder
then before, more of the Collective participating.
He looked at Betsy, Betsy the Borg; she was still beautiful. Guilt swept over him,
he made the wrong choice, she was still beautiful even though she was a Borg.
"It can happen again," Seven said. He looked to her; she was beautiful as well.
They both were, but who should he chose.
The explosion was almost upon him. He could feel the heat on his face, the sweat
dripping from his brow. He had to choose. He reached out and grabbed her hand.
His eyes opened and he found himself in another strange place. He was on board a
ship, but it wasn't flying. Where was he? What was he doing her? Wasn't he just
somewhere else? He tried to think of where he just was, but any thought about it was
drowned by the enormous amount of pain that was shooting through his body. Something
was wrong with him. He couldn't think straight. He was hurt. He must locate the source
of his pain. He began to examine his body. His hands probed his head and he felt a large
welt on his head, that explains why he was having trouble thinking, why he was
unconscious. He asleep, he was dreaming, but what about. He stopped thinking about that
again, partially because of the pain, and partially because of concern. Concern about
what? About who? That's it, there were other people on the ship with him, there were
others that were trapped in here, but who? Tuvok, he was here, but for some reason
Finnegan wasn't concerned about him, him and Tom, Tom was also on the ship, but
Finnegan didn't seem to have any fear for them. They were… they were gone. Faint
images of them dematerializing before the crash flooded his memory. If they were gone,
why was he worried? There was someone else. There was Seven. She was here. But he
had just seen her a couple seconds ago. The dream, she was in the dream, she was there
and so was someone else.
Finnegan forced himself to get up; he had to find her. Pain shot through him again
and he fell to the ground. He had forgotten that he was injured, somewhere else besides
his head. He examined his body again. The torso was fine, his arms. He scanned his right
leg with his eyes, everything seemed normal. It was his left leg that caught his attention.
There was something wrong with it. It was supposed to be smooth, but there was a large
piece of metal sticking out of his thigh. He cringed at the sight of it. His instinct told him
to rip it form his body, but his knowledge of medical science told him better, he would
have to leave it in until he injected a glutagen to stop the blood flow, or he would slowly
bleed to death, and he knew that he had to get Seven now, but why? The he realized what
was going on around him. There was fire slowly burning in the front of the cabin. The
heat, he felt the heat on his face, the sweat on his brow, images of his dream flew into his
mind.
He forced himself up, screaming in an attempt to release the pain in his leg. He
knew that by leaving the shrapnel in his thigh he was damaging the muscle even more,
but he had to get Seven, if she was still alive to get. He hobbled over toward the helm and
looked over the railing.
She was lying there, out cold, leaning up against that partition between the helm
and the rest of the ship. Finnegan knew that he wouldn't be able to walk all the way up to
the helm, down the three stairs, to her, and then carry her to the rear of the ship so he
slumped down and reached for her over the partition. He wrapped his arm around her
waist and began to hoist her up. His efforts caused blood to squirt from his wound and
pain to shoot up his spine, stabbing at his already injured brain. He felt himself loosing
consciousness again, but he fought it, it couldn't happen, they would both die if he didn't
stay awake. So he pulled her, with all his might. He hoisted he limp body on top of his
own and began to drag Seven and himself to the rear of the cabin on his back. He went
toward the hatch and hit the door release. It simply beeped.
The door was not working. There was no way out. They were going to burn to
death. There was nothing he could do.
But there was something he could do, the fire system. Why hadn't he thought of it
before. All he had to do was manually activate the fire system. He dragged himself to the
closest consol and began to type in commands. Nothing, the consol was damaged; he
would have to go to the other one. He flopped to the ground and began to drag himself
again. He began to breath heavy; the air was becoming unbreathable. He made it to the
consol and typed in the codes. Coolant began to fill the compartment and the fire slowly
went out. He had done it, they were safe for now.
He hobbled over to Seven and checked her pulse, he wasn't even sure she was
alive. He felt it. Tears began to stream from his eyes. He had saved her.
He stood up and tried to carry her to the medical station in the rear of the ship and
placed her on the table. Then he grabbed a hypo-spray and injected it into her neck. Her
eyes fluttered. She looked at him, Finnegan thought he saw a smile.
"Don't worry, your not in heaven, and I'm not an angel," he said, she just raised
an eyebrow, " Well not the kind with a halo anyway, maybe more of the guardian type."
"What happened?" she asked.
"It was my fault," suddenly Finnegan remembered everything that happened, " It
was the X. I didn't realize that it emits a different type of radiation the regular dylythim. I
didn't compensate for it in the sensors and in the shields, it totally distorted are systems.
Asteroids were hitting us and we didn't even realize it until it was to late. It's all my
fault," he said.
"It was not your fault, it was our fault, we were working on this together,
remember," she said. She looked at him with caring eyes, eyes that slowly went from
kind to appalled, " Mr. Finnegan, your leg!" she shouted.
Somehow, Finnegan had totally forgot about his injury. He looked at his leg and
was reminded of its impaled nature.
"Hand me that hypo-spray," he said. Seven grabbed it, amazed at his pain
tolerance. He shot it into his leg and put it down.
"You might want to turn around for this," he said as he gripped the metal shard.
"You will need someone to apply pressure to the wound when the object is
removed, you will probably be in to much pain to do it, so I will," she said, slowly getting
up and grabbing a gauze pad.
"If you insist, I'd appreciate it," he said.
"Is there any anesthetic," she asked, looking at the hypo-sprays.
"Forget it, if we need to get out of her, I'm going to need to be all here, an
anesthetic would just make me a problem," he said, " You ready?"
"Are you?" she asked.
"I hope so," he said. He gritted his teeth together, tightened his grip on the metal,
and yanked it from his leg. This time when he slept, he didn't have a dream.
When Finnegan's eyes opened, he found himself lying on the bed in the medical
alcove of the Delta Flyer. Seven was at the consol nearest to him. When he stirred, she
turned to face him.
"You have been unconscious for 56 minutes, I assume you slept well," she asked
him.
"Very well, thank you," he replied, "what seems to be our situation," he asked,
swinging his legs around to sit on the bed. He noticed that his leg was wrapped carfully
and that the bleeding had stopped. "Oh, by the way, thanks for taking care of my leg," he
said.
"No, thank you for taking care of me, it must have been difficult to carry me from
the helm with you leg in that condition," she looked down to the floor, then looked up at
him, her eyes seemed to be glistening in the dim light of the Delta Flyer.
"I understand how you felt, when you found me in the hallway after the dinner,"
he said to her.
She looked back at him, surprised.
"I felt the same way when I saw you lying over there, it wasn't the best thing that
I've ever seen," he said.
Seven shifted, uncomfortably, " Most of the system are off-line, we will have to
completely realign most of the systems in order to get thrusters back online," she said.
Finnegan nodded, he then realized how cold it was in the shuttle, "Why is it so
cold in here," he asked, rubbing his upper arms to try to generate warmth.
"I shut off environmental controls to preserve energy, the temperature in her is
several degrees warmer then that of the planet," she said, continuing to work on the
consul.
"Ok, well we will need to get them back online, the temperature her can drop to –
10 dagrees celceus on the planet at night, that's pretty damn cold," he said.
"That is impossible, I have already rerouted that system, it is being used to charge
the thrusters," she said, not being bothered by what Finnegan had said at all.
"Well what the hell are we supposed to do in 6 hours when the temperature drops,
is there even any blankets in here. I mean I know you are part Borg, but even you cant
handle that cold with just your… cat-suit… body-thingy," he said.
Seven stared at him coldly, rolling her eyes, " I am aware of that Mr. Finnegan, I
took that all into account before I took the environmental controls off line. There is one
large blanket in the survival kit, and several flares. There is also a thermal pad on the
medical bed," she said, still working at the consul.
"Ok then, I guess you can have the bed, and we'll split the blanket," he said.
"That will be insufficient for our needs," she replied, looking up at him, he
thought he saw some distress in her eyes.
"Well the what the hell are we going to do?" he asked, utterly confused.
"We will need to use each others body heat in order to maintain the proper body
temperature," she said, not looking into his eyes.
Finnegan couldn't stop himself from letting out a laugh. Seven eyed him, eyebrow
raised.
"I'm sorry Seven, but this is probably the most awkward situation I have ever
been in, I just can't help but laugh," he said, composing himself.
"I do not understand while people use humor to cover up their discomfort," she
said shaking her head, and returning to work.
"I'll explain it to you later, I feel like we're going to be down here for a while
anyway," he said, walking up to the consul next to hers, tapping on the screen, and
starting to figure out just exactly how they would get out of the mess they were in.