This is a non-profit work of fan-fiction based upon Gene Roddenberry's Star Trek. Star Trek, and all related characters, places, and events, belongs to Paramount Pictures, and is used without permission. This story, along with the IDIC series, and any original characters, belongs to the author, © 1994, 2004.
IDIC
III: "Intervention"
By Orianna-2000
Star Trek: IDIC is a series of stories chronicling the life of T'Kev, an original character, and her adventures within Starfleet and without. While it overlaps many points of established Star Trek history, much of the series is unique.
This story takes place during Star Trek: The Next Generation's episodes "The Best of Both Worlds - parts I & II"
—
Old Earth Date 2367
Seven point eight light years from sector 001, some forty Federation starships gathered against one Borg cube, with the common knowledge that the enemy must be stopped here. Earth must be protected, no matter the cost.
"Resistance is futile," stated Locutus, the Borg spokesperson. The commanding voice had once belonged to Starfleet's finest captain, but not even he had been able to resist assimilation into the cybernetic hive-mind. His voice overrode all communications signals, broadcasting into every ship within range. "You will disarm your weapons and escort us to sector zero zero one. If you attempt to intervene, we will destroy you."
Captain David Spruce of the USS Melbourne laughed without emotion. The distorted face on the viewscreen almost appeared like that of an old friend, but Jean Luc Picard of Starfleet no longer existed as such, and his Borg persona posed a danger to the very existence of the Federation.
"We'll escort you all right, but it won't be to Earth." Spruce hoped the bridge crew would hear his confidence. Turning away from the screen, he ordered, "Prepare to intervene."
Just ahead, phaser fire and photon torpedoes streaked and exploded brilliantly against the black backdrop of space. The Melbourne dove into the battle front.
"The Kyushu – has just been destroyed," reported a dumbfounded ensign. His face showed his shock.
"Damn," growled Captain Spruce. "Shields to maximum! Keep the modulation frequencies in the high range. Ready a full spread of phasers and torpedoes, but don't fire yet."
From behind the Melbourne, the USS Saratoga swooped in toward the Borg ship, firing repeatedly.
"All right, use them as cover," said the Melbourne's captain. "Attack pattern Delta Nine."
"Aye, sir. Delta Nine," repeated the officer at the helm. His fingers moved deftly over the controls as he piloted the Excelsior class starship closer to the Borg vessel.
Ignoring the attacking Saratoga, the Borg ship suddenly snagged the Melbourne in an unescapable tractor beam. Using the knowledge they had assimilated from Picard, their cutting beam passed straight through the Melbourne's shields and disintegrated the primary hull in an instant. The Melbourne spun away, no longer a threat, and the Borg turned their attention to the pesky Saratoga.
—
Emergency lights flickered dimly, in synch with the nerve grating wail of Red Alert. The bulkheads howled as they fought the tremendous stresses that threatened to tear them apart. Smoke and plasma coolant mingled in the air, forming a deadly combination.
Feeling carefully against the wall, young Lieutenant T'Kev located an emergency medkit and broke it open. The oxygen mask was missing. But there was a tricorder and it worked better than the useless one that dangled from her belt. Keeping her breath shallow, and ignoring the sharp pain in her side that meant several ribs cracked if not broken, she took a moment to scan the area.
She stood just inside what had once been Main Engineering. Unlit except for the pale glow of plasma coolant, the area seemed to be abandoned. She turned to continue on in search of an escape pod, but a slight moan caught her ear over the hiss of leaking coolant. Confirming the life readings, she flipped the tricorder closed and cautiously angled through the wreckage and debris.
"Commander Caine," she called out, seeing the chief engineer pinned beneath a cross section of support shafts. The Bajoran shifted slightly as he reluctantly regained consciousness, and his eyes opened.
"Thank the Prophets," mumbled the engineer, after a moment's orientation. His relief to know that he had not been left for dead was obvious. As the part Vulcan lieutenant began lifting debris off of him, Caine requested the ship's status.
Without emotion, T'Kev reported, "Decks one through eleven have been destroyed. The secondary hull is relatively undamaged, however structural integrity has been compromised. Life support is failing." Straining at the first metal shaft which held the commander down, she added, "According to my scans, the warp core is still intact, but it appears that all four plasma conduits have ruptured."
Trying to make light of a grim situation, Caine snorted. "And what do you know about my engines, girl?"
"Merely what my tricorder tells me," she answered genially. When the first distorted column shifted enough, she let it drop to one side. Another thick support beam lay across Caine's leg. She could see blood pooling on the ground beneath him, though not enough to indicate serious injury. To distract the engineer from his injuries, she continued talking.
"It is fortunate I was in one of the tertiary science labs on deck sixteen when we first encountered the Borg. I was on my way to sickbay during the main attack, which is why I am here now. The turbolift stopped a deck below here, and it seemed logical to find Main Engineering. I did not realize that evacuation had already taken place."
"Oh," Caine grumbled. "Is that why I was alone here?"
"Apparently. On my way here I encountered no one, although I did not notice any jettisoned escape pods." Speculation on exactly where everyone disappeared to was curtailed by the necessity of removing the final beam from Caine's leg. The final piece of debris weighed more than the others; it would take all of T'Kev's strength to lift it.
As she strained, the ship shuddered violently. The unexpected motion caused T'Kev to lose her firm grip on the heavy beam. She struggled to stop it from dropping and further injuring the man beneath, but her ribs screamed with pain. Out of her control, the metal twisted and slipped. A jagged edge slid against her arm, nearly severing her wrist. Stunned, she pulled her arm away and numbly watched the green blood spill out.
"By all the Prophets, girl! Don't just sit there," Caine shouted with widened eyes, unable to help. "You have medical training. Use it!"
T'Kev blinked several times, assessing the situation. Trying to think logically, she pulled off the headband that held her dark auburn hair in place. Using her uninjured right hand, she wrapped the cloth band tightly around her arm, as a tourniquet. The flow of blood slowed, and she turned her attention back to the chief engineer, blocking the nausea and pain.
"We have to get out of here," he told her, as she knelt beside him. "The plasma coolant isn't being pumped out. The auxiliary ventilators must be offline."
"The ship has essentially been destroyed," she answered. "Everything is offline. You are correct, however. We must go now, or we will soon be incapacitated. Can you move at all?"
Caine grunted affirmatively, pushing on the support beam. "I think you got it loose enough." With a bit of creative wriggling, he managed to free himself enough to stand and hobble across the huge, twisted shaft.
"I don't think my leg's broken," he told T'Kev. "But it hurts like the devil. How's your hand?"
It occurred to T'Kev that she ought to examine the commander's leg to be sure it wasn't bleeding too much, or broken. But somehow she couldn't think clearly enough to do so. Everything in the room seemed to be swaying, and she wondered if the ship had been hit by another barrage of torpedoes.
Caine looked at the younger officer and grimaced. He wasn't sure how light her skin normally looked, but she certainly seemed pale now. He didn't feel very healthy himself. Taking charge, he motioned to the dark gap at one end of the room. "There's an escape pod just down the corridor. Can you make it?"
T'Kev nodded silently, then immediately wished she hadn't. The motion caused her nausea to spike viciously. Quickly, she bent over and lost the tea and yogurt she'd had for breakfast.
"It's the coolant," explained Caine. He reached out to help her back up, but a mechanical whirring sounded just behind them. His head jerked around, and he cursed in terror at what he saw.
At the panicked yell, T'Kev turned. She saw the engineer slump to the ground, then her eyes widened as a Borg drone stood over her with its arm extended. Something cool pricked the side of her neck, and the dim image of a wrecked Main Engineering faded away.
—
Darkness. Echoes. Pain.
T'Kev became aware of an insistent presence within her mind. So many thoughts, so many beings. She could hear all of their thoughts, their voices, in her head. More than a thousand minds merging with her own. None were individual, all were one. They began to absorb her identity into the Collective.
"We are the Borg," they whispered. "Resistance is useless."
"No," T'Kev cried aloud. She pulled away from the siren-like voices and concentrated on the physical world. They'd strapped her to a table surrounded by terrifying mechanical devices. Her arm felt heavy and sore, but her lungs no longer ached with the plasma coolant vapors; her mind seemed clear except for the intruding presence of the Borg. Try as she might, she couldn't move against the bonds which held her.
A tall robotic figure approached and fit a curved metal plate against her head. The coolness of the metal stung for a moment, then the whispers in her mind grew louder. She fought to keep her oneness. Utilizing all the discipline taught her on Vulcan, she set in place mental barriers, which the Collective tore down almost as soon as they were erected.
"We are the Borg. You will become one with us," they murmured incessantly in her mind. "Do not resist."
"No," she said fiercely. It was a struggle, but she forced each word out. "I will not join you."
As the minutes passed by, T'Kev felt her innermost shields weakening. A single tear ran down her cheek as she fought against the invasion of her mind.
—
Lieutenant Talen Snow of the USS Constellation glanced up with relief as he stepped off the transporter pad. For a moment within the transporter buffer, he hadn't known if he'd survived the destruction of his ship or not. He addressed the officer who stood before him. "Captain, thank you for the timely rescue. Did Captain Reyns make it off in time?"
Captain Riker nodded. "He's in sickbay, which is where you should be. I can have someone escort you."
Snow lightly touched his forehead, barely glancing at the dark green blood that his fingers came back with. Mentally, he concentrated on slowing the bleeding. It stopped after just a moment, and he shook his head. "I'm fine, Captain. I'd like to report for duty wherever you need me, sir."
At first, Riker wondered about the man's healed injury. He knew that Vulcans had abilities that he could only guess at, but this man didn't quite seem Vulcan. The situation at hand, though, was too dangerous for him to waste time speculating. If the officer said he felt fit for duty, fine. They could use every hand available. So he nodded. "Very well, Lieutenant. Report to the bridge."
"Aye, sir. Thank you, sir." Snow turned and exited the room, presumably headed for the command center of the Enterprise, and Riker turned his attention back to the multiple tasks at hand... primary of which was how to destroy the Borg cube without killing Jean-Luc Picard, the Enterprise's rightful captain.
—
The call of the Borg grew stronger in her head. Their whispers grew more insistent as they attempted to rob her of her identity. "You will be assimilated..."
"No! I am T'Kev," she screamed. All at once she felt her innermost barriers breached. Everything she knew was absorbed into the collective mind of the Borg, filed wherever it might be most useful. Her sense of individualism, and personal identity vanished. She became one with the Borg.
Then, unexpectedly, everything went black.
—
"Captain, it worked! The Borg are now asleep."
"Good." Captain Riker stood. They'd done the impossible and rescued Picard, and then managed to trick the Borg into entering a regeneration cycle. Now all that remained was to destroy the enemy ship. "Prepare torpedoes, fire on my mark."
"Wait!"
Riker turned to see the odd Vulcan they'd rescued from the Constellation rushing toward him. Irritated, he crossed his arms across his chest. "Lieutenant? This had better be important."
"Sir, there is a survivor on the Borg ship." Ignoring the incredulous looks being cast his direction, Snow continued. "If there is even a chance of rescuing one of our own..."
Riker debated internally, weighing the necessity of destroying the ship while it was still inactive, against the possibility of rescuing a Starfleet officer from an unthinkable fate. Finally, he nodded curtly. He tapped his combadge. "Data, how long will the Borg remain asleep?"
"Unknown, sir. Probably a matter of minutes," the android replied from sickbay.
"All right, Lieutenant. I don't know how you know about this survivor, but you have two minutes. After that, we're firing on that ship, regardless of your location. Go," Riker snapped. Then he reopened the channel to sickbay. "Doctor Crusher, report to transporter room three."
—
Green light washed over him, replacing the blue white glow of the transporter. Lt. Snow pulled his phaser, but the Borg were all motionless. "Good," he remarked to himself, and reholstered the weapon.
Although he hadn't been able to explain to Commander Riker, minutes earlier Snow had heard a powerful telepathic cry. A scream of anguish echoed in his mind, then a silence so deep it frightened him. He knew it came from somewhere on the Borg ship, from someone with considerable mental abilities: someone in mortal danger.
Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the mind that had drawn him here. Other than the faintest resonance from the sleeping Borg, he could hear nothing.
"How am I supposed to find you?" he yelled in frustration. He flipped on his wrist light, but the barely illuminated corridor provided no answers.
Sometimes he regretted the gift of telepathy given to him by his Vulcan mother. Few knew it, but he was only half Vulcan. His features seemed stoic enough, but he grew his hair longer than the traditional cut. And his refusal to act with pure, emotionless logic confused many who met him, a fact that privately amused him. His mental abilities, however, were considerably stronger than most full-blooded Vulcans. Normally he kept this fact a secret, but not when lives were at stake.
With great effort, Snow tried again to locate whoever had drawn him here. He blocked out everything but the memory of the mental signal that he'd received, then let his mind expand, searching for any trace of it. There! Faint, and intermingled with a thousand others, but there, and just barely strong enough for him to discern which direction to go. He took off running.
Two levels up from where he'd beamed in, he found the unconscious girl lying on a complex surgery table. No, he decided, while removing the restraints that held her down. Not a girl, a woman – a Starfleet officer, for he discovered the remains of a blue uniform peeking out from under the ominous Borg attachments.
He hoped she was the only survivor, because there was no time left to search for others.
One minute, fifty seconds after he left, Snow materialized on the Enterprise transporter pad, the young officer in his arms. After Dr. Crusher helped him place the woman on a floating stretcher, he contacted the bridge.
Less than ten seconds later, the Borg cube was nothing more than pulverized bits of metal spinning among the debris of thirty nine Federation starships.
—
Dr. Crusher wiped her hands on a sanitizing towel, then exchanged her soiled smock for a fresh one. She wouldn't have time for a shower, or any rest, until much later. The Borg attack caused so many injuries. The Enterprise had offered medical assistance to some of the less fortunate ships, the result being an overflow of sickbay and a shortage of available hands. They'd stabilized the most critical patients, but many still needed treatment. And there were dozens of friends or family or superior officers waiting for news of people they knew were injured.
In the small waiting room, Lieutenant Snow dozed lightly. He'd waited there after being told by a harried nurse to stay out from underfoot, and finally gave in to exhaustion. Crusher felt a tinge of jealousy at the sight. She didn't know how he knew the young officer, or how he'd been able to locate her on the Borg ship. Both were Vulcan, a known telepathic race, so she assumed it had something to do with that.
When she approached him, Snow tensed and opened his eyes. Dr. Crusher knew the reflex, and remained a few feet away until the man could orient himself. "Lieutenant? You're the one who brought in the young woman, a junior lieutenant?"
"Yes," he replied, and stood. "Did she survive?"
Crusher nodded, keeping her voice low for the sake of the other sleepy officers. "I've removed the implants. They hadn't been attached long enough to cause any trouble."
"When will she revive?" he asked. He glanced across the room and unerringly focused on the correct biobed.
Dr. Crusher followed his gaze. "The physical damage caused by the Borg implants should heal completely within a day or two. Her left hand was severed and fit with a mechanical device, but the amputation looked imprecise enough that I'm pretty sure it occured before the Borg got to her – probably during the attack. I started a cloned replacement, which should be ready in a day or two. With any luck, she'll never know the difference." She sighed, and rubbed at her eyes. "She should wake up any time now, but she'll need plenty of rest to recover. I think we all will."
Almost as if on cue, a scream came from that corner of the room. The doctor hurried over, as did a nearby nurse.
Crusher leaned over the bed and gently gripped T'Kev by the shoulders. "It's all right. You're on the Enterprise. You're safe!"
It quickly became apparent that, though her eyes were open, she didn't see her surroundings. Her screams came from an inner terror, and for now, no amount of consolation would calm her.
"Sedative," ordered Crusher. "Now!"
A nurse pressed a hypospray against the patient's arm. It had little effect.
"Her blood chemistry must be skewed. She's only half-Vulcan. Try–" Before she could think of a suitable tranquilizer, Snow caught her glance questioningly. Crusher nodded with relief.
As soon as the doctor gave permission, Snow stepped forward and moved his hand to the junction of neck and shoulder, instantly rendering the woman unconscious.
"That is a handy trick," Crusher commented. She smoothed her hair back, and shook her head. "If she doesn't improve, we'll have Troi check on her. Maybe the Borg implants caused psychological damage. Jean-Luc didn't show any sign of it, other than normal trauma, but the Vulcan brain structure is laid out a bit differently."
"I didn't realize she was Vulcan," Snow stated quietly, and somewhat remorsefully.
Crusher turned to him with surprise. She had assumed the two knew each other, but was obviously mistaken if Snow didn't even know her species. She wondered why he looked so forlorn at the news. "Do you know something I don't, Lieutenant?"
"If I understand correctly, the Borg absorb their victims into the Collective. They stripped her identity." He glanced at the doctor for confirmation, then continued, "To a Vulcan, dwemish, personal identity, is everything. Even though she's separate now, her mind has been raped. She could go insane unless helped by an Adept."
—
After taking several hours to pursue the topic of Vulcan psychology, Snow entered sickbay. The main area held considerably less people than the night before, since the less injured had been released to make room for the ones who still needed care. He spied the one he'd rescued without difficulty.
T'Kev sat up in bed, her deep green eyes staring into nothing, her hands limp in her lap. Snow pulled a chair up to her bedside and studied her with unmasked curiosity. He wondered if her skin had always been so pale, or if it was a side effect of the Borg implantation techniques. Either way, it created a profound contrast with her dark auburn hair. Although an unusual combination for a Vulcan, it rather reminded him of a sunset in the deep desert: rich colors spilling across the fair sands. He wondered how much of her appearance came from recessive Vulcan genes, or from her human half.
"We are much alike, you and I," he said quietly, thoughtfully. Although he couldn't find much personal detail in her file, he did learn that T'Kev's mother was from Earth. So the young officer knew what it was like to be a half-breed. To be different. Her service record read much as he expected: early entrance into the Academy, exceptional scores, accelerated classes. Obviously her intelligence leaned more toward Vulcan standards than human. Her exceptional service record had no bearing on his thoughts now, though. Rather, he considered the possibility that they might be friends, under different circumstances.
As it was, they would not reach Vulcan in time to save her. The Enterprise had many destinations in the coming weeks, all of which held precedence over a single officer with a damaged psyche. After considering every option, Snow came to one conclusion: he had not risked his life to retrieve this woman from the Borg ship, only to have her live the rest of her days in a catatonic state. He would not let the Borg claim another casualty.
—
In the middle of ship's night, Snow returned to sickbay and cautiously surveyed the area. T'Kev slept in a partioned off area, one of only two patients remaining in sickbay. The lights were dimmed, and he could see no nurses. Doctor Crusher reclined at her desk, her head resting at a precarious angle on her arms, snoring very faintly. With light steps, he passed by her and stood over Lieutenant T'Kev.
After taking a long moment to center his thoughts, Snow reached down and placed his fingertips along her jaw, cheekbone, and temple, initiating a meld. His eyes closed as he ever so gently entered her mind.
What seemed an eternity later, he removed his hand and stood back. With tired, but intent eyes, he studied her face for any signs of trauma, but T'Kev seemed to be sleeping normally now. If he'd succeeded, upon awakening she would have no memory of being abducted and assimilated by the Borg. Nor would she question the absence of her memory between the time the Borg fired on the Melbourne, and her waking up here on the Enterprise.
Exhausted from the tremendous mental feat, Snow stumbled over to the computer access on Crusher's desk. The doctor showed no signs of waking; nonetheless he worked quickly to alter the records. When he finished, the computer held no mention of T'Kev's personal encounter with the Borg.
One final task to complete, and then he could relax and allow his body the rest it desperately needed. With quick fingers, he touched the doctor's temple. As he erased the memory of her removing the Borg implants from T'Kev, he murmured under his breath, "Forget."
—
"Well, good morning." Dr. Crusher smiled cheerfully at her patient.
T'Kev sat up slowly and looked around. She recognized the standard layout of a starship's sickbay, but somehow it looked wrong. "This is not the Melbourne."
"No, indeed. You're on the Enterprise." Crusher pulled a tricorder from her jacket pocket and held the medical scanner near T'Kev's head. "How are you feeling, Lieutenant?"
"My head aches," she answered, touching one temple. "A dull pain, here."
Crusher nodded and tucked the medical device back into her pocket. "You had a marvelous concussion, and were unconscious for a couple of days, but everything looks fine now. Can you tell me what happened?"
T'Kev pondered for a moment, attempting to bring the memories into focus. "I was alone in the science lab, working on a way to alter the ship's shield harmonics," she began slowly. "I sustained injuries during the initial attack and headed for sickbay. But the turbolifts wouldn't work."
At the doctor's encouraging nod, T'Kev continued. "Something happened in Engineering – a coolant leak. Commander Caine was trapped and I couldn't get him out. Everyone else was gone." She shivered suddenly and wrapped her arms around herself.
"And then?" Crusher prodded.
She shook her head slightly. "Then... I was here."
From his discreet observation point at the entrance to sickbay, Snow nodded in satisfaction. Before either woman could notice him, he exited and headed for the transporter room. No one would remember what he'd done, but he felt pleased nonetheless. Someday he and T'Kev would meet again. And perhaps, just perhaps, they would be friends.