Hello all,
Thanks again to those who are still reading along. It's been a tiresome week for me.
Again, please do read and review if you are enjoying. It tends to encourage me to write faster oddly enough.
Just a quick fun fact: this story takes place BEFORE Before Dishonor. To be completely honest with you all, I enjoyed that book until they killed off a certain favorite character of mine. So blah!
Enjoy. :D
***
Starfleet Medical : San Francisco : North American Continent
Earth
Jean-Luc Picard felt the sun. It felt warm and comforting against his skin. Like a blanket enveloping him on a cold day. His eyes were closed and he felt himself on the fringe of unconsciousness - like a dream he could wake up from at any moment in time. He wasn't sure he wanted to at first. He felt sore, but he could feel some kind of force at work inside his body that was thinning out the real pain. He opened his eyes.
The room around him was calm and quiet. He recognized it as an intensive care unit. A private room. Sterile, with simple decorations adorning the walls. A holoframe, depicting a field of flowers. An obscure sculpture on top of a cabinet. But still he felt the sun flowing over him from the great window to the right of the bed - an enormous transparent pane of glass overlooking the San Francisco bay. Tiny shuttles flew across the great blue sky like bees flying to their hive.
The calmness broke as the door into the room slid open with Beverly Crusher walking through it. He immediately suppressed a smile, reading her own expression that her presence here meant serious business. She smiled back at him anyway. A smile of relief as she approached the bed. "How are you feeling, Jean-Luc?" He was not sure what to say to her. A loss for words.
"I'm not sure. A little sore. I remember collapsing on the Enterprise. Borg voices."
"Never a good sign," she lifted a tricorder from her medical robe, lifting the small square device towards Picard's body. Her voice was thin. Almost ambivalent.
"I have to speak to Starfleet Command. If I'm hearing Borg, it means they're up to something. You know they are, Beverly," Picard sat up, bracing himself on his elbows, glancing at her quickly. "Where's the Enterprise?"
Beverly glanced over the tricorder readouts, her shoulders heavy with both exhaustion and worry about the circumstances at hand. With only a cup of tea fueling her since receiving Admiral Paris' message the night before, she felt as though she was going to collapse within the hour. "In orbit. Don't worry, Jean-Luc. Admiral Janeway will be on her way as soon as possible. Worf has control of things on the Enterprise, so all you need to do is get some rest until the time comes."
But a sense of urgency had overtaken him, and even Beverly's gentle reassurance could not calm him. He felt himself questioning the moment of tranquility he had been feeling moments before, wondering where that sense of peace had gone. He blamed it as a side-effect of the analgesic that she had no doubt had coursing through his body. He looked back over at her, noticing the fatigue in her posture. Beverly's honey hued brown hair, often long and flowing like liquid silk, was now tangled and out of sorts. Deep creases underlined her eyes. It was only her tired smile that gave him any sense of hope in the matter.
Never good with emotions. Instead, he reached out and placed a hand atop her own. She closed her eyes a moment, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "I am sorry to do this to you, Beverly."
She shook her head and slowly pulled away from his touch. Old feelings bloomed in her heart. Her fondness for him. Her love. Her longing for her Sickbay on the Enterprise. "Get some rest, Jean-Luc," and with that she slowly walked backwards toward the door, vanishing from sight as she stepped through it.
---
Starfleet Academy : San Francisco : North American Continent
Earth
Thumb pressing a miniature remote, Admiral Kathryn Janeway watched with faint amusement as a great three dimensional display cast a sickly green hue across the immense dome-shaped lecture hall. Starfleet cadets from a dozen different years watched in a grim awe as a series of grisly images soared across the display. A Borg drone rotated into view as battle footage of a cube launching a volley of shimmering green torpedoes played. All the while as Janeway paced through the hall.
"Most Borg drones are well equipped to face off against humanoid lifeforms. As I'm sure you're all well aware, any encounter with the Borg should be treated with the utmost caution. Setting your weapons to rotating modulations will only get you so far," she grinned slightly. "Believe me, we tried them all! Any questions?"
Her lecture over, the room returned to the normal luminescence. The Borg imagery fading.
A young cadet raised his hand and Janeway nodded at him. "Excuse me, ma'am, but reports from the USS Enterprise have stated that hand to hand combat has sometimes been effective in battles against the Borg. What's your take on this?"
Janeway returned to the podium, situated in the very center of chamber. She took a sip from a thermos of coffee she had brought along. "In my experience, most drones seem to be augmented with some kind of enhancement that make them deadly in close quarters. Keep in mind though," she said raising a hand, "that most drones aren't too bright when it comes to speed. They hit like sledgehammers, but if you can get around them, anyone can slam a phaser rifle across their head. Just watch your back."
The cadet smiled, nodded in understanding, and sat down.
Another cadet rose a hand. This one a younger woman. When she stood up, Janeway recognized her as the woman from Starfleet Medical -- Kristine Thorne. She didn't look any better than she had at the hospital. Janeway felt she had somewhat of a grumpy look to her. "I remember you from the other day," she tried to smile, but found it difficult when Thorne returned it with an icy glare.
"Admiral Janeway. Has the Borg Collective ever encountered any Dominion races? Jem'hadar, perhaps? Founders?"
Janeway remembered going over the reports from the Dominion war once Voyager returned from the Delta Quadrant. A few years scarce after the Dominion War. Considering her question, Janeway had no idea, but the images of the reptilian Jem'hadar or shifting Founders as Borg drones sent a curdling sense of worry down her spine. "Not that I'm aware, cadet. Jem'hadar themselves supposedly only live for a few years before dying, don't they?"
Thorne nodded before her glare evolved into a frown. "That sounds typical to me, Admiral. It's not like you would have had any experience with the Dominion anyway."
Janeway's expression shifted. She felt taken aback, but still she held her ground. Voyager had gone through its own share of hells in the Delta Quadrant."I beg your pardon, cadet. Am I missing something?"
"You missed everything, Admiral," Thorne's voice rose. "How convenient it must have been for you and your little ship to get tossed into the Delta Quadrant. You had so many opportunities to return to the Alpha Quadrant, but you put the lives of those pathetic Delta Quadrant races - strangers - about the Federation. You were out there, exploring new worlds in your own sanctuary while the Dominion raped half the quadrant! I'd best a thousand pieces of gold-pressed latinum you knew the Dominion War was going on, but instead you stayed there - in the Delta Quadrant - just so you could protect your sorry ass from fighting!"
Tears were beginning to glisten down Kristine Thorne's face as murmurs of discontent echoed across the lecture hall. Any expression of pity or concern that Janeway had for this woman had abruptly dried out and disappeared, but Thorne didn't phase as Janeway's eyes narrowed on her like a hawk to its prey.
"I don't know what your history is, cadet, or what you went through, but you have no right to question the command decisions I made in the Delta Quadrant. We took our losses just as anyone did, but we were alone out there. You cannot possibly begin to understand that, nor will I even begin to fathom what the rest of the Federation went through during the Dominion War," she lowered her voice to a dangerous tone. "Now, cadet, I believe you have spoken out of line and on the fringe of insubordination."
She took no satisfaction as her words cut into the cadet like a hot blade. Thorne's own expression flinched before she began to shuffle her way through the sea of cadets surrounding her. Once she was gone, Janeway's posture sagged as she gripped the podium tightly. Another headache coming on. "My apologies for that. Are there any other questions?"
Before any of the other cadets could raise their hand, she saw an ensign running to her side from one of the doorways.
"Captain Picard has regained consciousness, and you have an urgent message from a Thomas Paris, who claims to Admiral Paris' son. He says it's a matter of life and death."
And with that, the Admiral's headache got a whole lot worse.
---
Location Unknown
A sharp pain shot through her eyes as B'Elanna opened them. The world around her was muddled like an oiled canvas. Colours bled into one another. Green metals and white lights swirled together, all while being accompanied by a powerful ache in her upper body.
B'Elanna heard shuffling sounds. She tried to sit up, but some form of restraint bound her to the cold metal table.
She frowned and began to struggle. "Help me! Somebody! Miral!?"
But there was no answer until a flickering green holographic image appeared inches above her face. It was the same woman she had seen before. Except this time she no longer wore the Starfleet Uniform. This time, from what B'Elanna could see, she wore a long scarlet dress with a blackened trim. Silver earrings depicting talons rested on her pointed ears. Her charcoal eyes gazed at her with amusement, her carmine lips laced with a mocking venom.
"I see you have awakened, B'Elanna Torres."
"Who the hell are you?" B'Elanna glared. Rage began to boil in her chest.
"I am Commander D'Spal of the Romulan Star Empire. Let me be the first to announce what a pleasure it is to meet one of the Federation's greatest Engineers."
Romulans. She looked like a Romulan. "What have you done with my daughter, you sick freaks?!"
"Your daughter is in good hands. For now," she grinned darkly as another hologram shifted to life next to her own. "Allow me to introduce you to the Serana," as her words escaped her lips, a diagram of a vessel appeared on the second hologram. She had never seen the design before, but knew for a fact it was Romulan when she saw the Romulan sigil of the warbird wielding Romulus and Remus on the vessel's hull. "Unfortunately, the Serana is a garbage scow, and you, B'Elanna, are its Commander. We have heard a great deal of your exploits on Voyager. The Empire would like to put your abilities to the test."
An image of a flightpath replaced D'Spal's face as the diagram of the vessel zoomed in on the vessel's engines. B'Elanna's eyes widened as she realized that the vessel was on a direct route into the center of a sun.
D'Spal continued. "The Serana, as you can see, is on a nonstop all-exclusive journey into the near-by sun. The Serana's engines have mysteriously been locked on course and helm controls have all but been destroyed. Regrettably, you will also find the comm system unavailable for use. If you have any desire to see your daughter again, you will put your capabilities to the test. Succeed and you will see your daughter once more. That is all."
"Wait, you can't do this to me. How do I know she's even still alive? I'm not even familiar with Romulan ships! How do you expect me to do this?!"
The Romulan woman only smirked. "Do as all Federation engineers do, Lady Torres: make it work. Good day to you." And the channel closed.
The restraints suddenly broke free as B'Elanna felt herself sliding to the floor. Her head still ached with pain, but there were more important things to consider. First things first.
"Computer?"
A dull chime acknowledged her. A small wave of relief hit her.
"Where am I? And how long until we reach the sun?"
"You are on the Romulan vessel Serana - a class D freighter scheduled for decommission . Sensors offline - telemetry data unavailable. Last available scans indicate a collision course with an estimated time of arrival within two hours at one quarter impulse speeds"
She had no idea how long it had been since then and so B'Elanna began to assume the worst.
Before too long, B'Elanna lost track of time. By her best guess, it had been just under an hour since this ridiculous hell of a situation began. She had found her way to the Serana's Engineering bay. The ship itself was a piece of a garbage. Grossly out of date. The ominous Romulan warp care, a great green sphere locked between a charcoal grey pillar, glowed ominously at her from the center of the chamber. She ran for the nearest console and brought the vessel's blueprints back up on screen, but this time they were in Romulan, which of course she couldn't read a word of.
She ripped open a near-by maintenance hatch and climbed in. Before long, her civilian garment - a light and airy summer frock given to her by Harry Kim on her last birthday - was in tatters. She started pulling out power relays at random, questioning the Serana's flat, stoic male computer for answers in a game of a cause and effect. Her hands soon became burnt and bloody as another cascade of sparks blew across her palms, tearing another piece of Romulan garbage out from the ship's power grid.
"Computer... using the internal sensors, what is the current estimated temperature of the ship's external hull?"
"Unable to comply. Internal sensors are offline."
But the ship was getting hotter and the bulkheads slowly beginning to tremble. The sheer heat of the sun was no doubt starting to take its toll on the old Romulan ship. B'Elanna felt a moment's doubt streak across her chest. She was on an unfamiliar ship older than she was. And even if she succeeded, she'd be in the hands of some Romulan bitch who may have killed her daughter already. Klingon resolve aside, she felt like crumpling to the ground beneath a bulkhead to cry.
But she wouldn't let it come to that. Images of Tom and her daughter Miral flashed across her mind. She tried to reassure herself that she had been through worse. With Chakotay and the Marquis. With Captain Janeway in the Delta Quadrant. At least here, in the Alpha Quadrant, she had a chance. The road home was not as long, but no less dangerous.
"Computer, where are the plasma fusion chambers located?"
"Subjunction B, section 2."
She pushed herself out from the hatch and let her eyes run across the diagram of the Serana. She took a gamble, trying to logically decipher the Romulan mumbo jumbo, and set off in a sprint across the Engineering bay. She let her hands brush across each of the hatches until she found the one she was looking for, pulling it off to reveal what she immediately recognized as an ancient plasma infusion core. Devices which could be considered the valves of the heart per se. The instruments which channeled fresh plasma into the core and filtered spent energy outwards. Without them, a ship that relied so heavily on its core would shut down. Before long, the core itself could breach. And if the Serana went down, whatever the Romulans wanted with her would be lost.
She let herself grin through the grim and the congealed blood before wrenching her arms around it. She imagined thrusting her hand into D'Spal's busty bosom and ripping out her heart. And as she did so, the ship shook and the core went dark. The impact of her actions sent B'Elanna off her feet as any form of dampening field went offline - the very force which held the calm in the ship together vanishing. She felt herself swing over a railing, her sweaty hands slipping before slamming on to one of the consoles below. The inky blackness of the Romulan ship seemed to fade to white. Even the awful stench of warp plasma and garbage disappeared. And the last image she saw was of Tom and Miral, smiling at her from their French home.
"She has played her part," a woman's voice said. "Get her out of those rags and make sure she lives, Doctor."
"Of course, Commander. She has suffered some extensive trauma. I expect she will not wake for at least a day or two. But fear not, she is in good hands. And she is part Klingon. It will take more than a bump on the head to take this little one out." The male's voice was dry and raspy.
"Her head is all we care about. Proceed."
"As you wish, Commander."
---
USS Titan : Alpha Quadrant
"We are being hailed, Captain."
Captain Will Riker glanced over at the dark-skinned vulcan Tuvok. "From who?"
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "The cube."
From the depths of space, the USS Titan gently glided through an unusual gravimetric storm. It had battered their shields, but Riker had hoped it would veil Titan from the cube's sensors. His stomach plummeted as he realized he must have been wrong. The cube on screen was immense and ominous, itself hidden in the shroud of a huge green nebula, but even without the aid of sensors it was difficult to miss the enormous symmetrical metal vessel through the mists. "On screen."
His eyes widened at what he saw.
It was her.
Her ashen grayish skin glistened with moisture as her penetrating gaze met with Titan's entire bridge crew. Her presence alone seemed to emanate fear. Metallic tubules ascended from her skull, apexing into a blinking node at the back of her scalp while obsidian black armour protected all but her shoulders and above. She was morbidly beautiful. Queen of the bane that was the Federation's enemy. Bolts of green lightning shot through the Borg alcoves behind her. At least a dozen drones could be seen walking aimlessly across her chamber.
"Captain," her lips curled into a faint smirk. "Congratulations on your promotion."
"I would normally say you are in direct violation of Federation space, but I really don't see the point. What do you want?" Riker's voice was low and dangerous. A glare that would have normally put any green officer into his or her place seemed to have no effect on her. He didn't expect it to. But he felt the fear of every person on his bridge. Even as his Imzadi tried to steel herself, he felt a helpless in protecting her. Even Tuvok seemed to bristle at her presence.
"We have come with an offer. The Collective desires two things. One of which is the technology obtained from Admiral Janeway. Transphasic torpedoes and the impressive armour technology utilized by the USS Voyager prior to their return to the Alpha Quadrant. This data will be prepared and sent to us personally by Captain Picard. These are our terms."
Riker was not familiar with Voyager. He knew Voyager had returned with extensive modifications, including powerful weapons against the Borg, but most of this intelligence was sealed away by Starfleet Intelligence. "Borg aren't exactly none for diplomacy. You don't exactly have a reputation for being the most trustworthy of sorts."
She seemed amused by his words, her smirk broadening. "Take some time to consider our offer, Captain, but know this: the hour of humanity's assimilation has nearly ended. Humanity has proved more resistant than the Collective would care to consider and we are now in the process of considering alternative approaches. Much more aggressive approaches. It would be in the Federation's best interests to comply."
"Thanks, but if you know humans as well as you say you do, you should already know our answer to that."
"As I've said, Captain, take some time to consider. Your vessel is impressive. It would be a shame to lose it so soon after obtaining it."
Her image flickered out, abruptly replaced by the image of the cube within the mists of the green nebula. Just as Riker was going to speak, the cube itself illuminated with a brilliant flash - like a green firecracker exploding. The nebula itself seemed to ripple. "What the hell is going on?!"
Tuvok's announcement was urgent, but calm. "Incoming shockwave. Unknown composition."
Riker's eyes widened. "All hands, brace for impact! All available power to forward shields!"
A green ripple of energy laced its way towards Titan's hull, sending the ship shifting backwards like a powerful gust of wind to a ship in the sea. Titan's cerulean shields glowed and strained. Deanna felt herself grasping hold of her chair as the bridge shook.
And then it stopped.
Riker's XO, the blonde human woman Christina Vale was first to speak. Pushing herself from her seat, she glanced urgently towards Tuvok. "Commander, what the hell just happened?"
Tuvok glanced down at his console. "Reports coming in from all decks. Minor injuries on Decks four, six, and eight. No damage."
Deanna turned her gaze to the console integrated into her chair next to her husband, reading the reports Tuvok was receiving as the data was being transmitted to her. "Was that a warning?"
"It sure as hell felt like more than that to me," Riker took position next to his first officer and adjusted the creases in his uniform. "Commander Tuvok, I want a shipwide diagnostic. Scan every inch of her for anomalies. Christina, open a subspace channel to Starfleet command and have it ready in my office," he looked at everyone else, letting his eyes rest on Deanna a moment before nodding. "You have your orders!" He walked solemnly into his ready room, adjacent to the bridge itself.
---
Starfleet Command : San Francisco : North American Continent
Earth
"Computer, one cup of Earl Gray Tea. Hot. And an even larger cup of coffee. Black."
Admiral Janeway gracefully slid the cup of tea across her desk before Captain Picard. She was accompanied by Dr. Beverly Crusher and Seven of Nine, neither which desired any beverages. "Well, let's hear it."
Picard slid the tea aside and placed both hands on the Admiral's desk. "Admiral, these signs. The voices I hear. They can only mean something is going to happen. The Borg are somewhere in the Alpha Quadrant. I can hear them."
Beverly interjected, cupping her hands together across her lap. "From a medical standpoint, what Captain Picard is stating is impossible, but we cannot ignore it either. Every molecule of Borg technology in Jean-Luc's body has been purged, but these... voices... have foretold Borg presences before. We shouldn't be any less cautious this time."
Janeway recollected similar encounters back on Voyager. Ominous messages sent from the Collective through Seven of Nine. It seemed reasonable with Seven, as she still had Borg technology embedded in her body. With a clean bill of health, she was more skeptical with Picard. "What do you think, Seven?"
Raising a brow and casting a skeptic glance at Beverly and Picard, Seven took an abrupt position at the view screen built into office wall. She tapped a series of quick, precise commands across the screen with a fingertip covered in a web of metal - one of few visible Borg implants she had left. "I accessed the Federation's sensor net across the Alpha Quadrant and detected no Borg vessels, however if the Federation's experience with the Borg has taught them anything, it is better to be 'safe than sorry'."
Beverly rested a hand on the side of her face, tapping at her cheek with a finger. "Where do we even start? If the Borg are somehow eluding our sensors, we have no real way to detect them. The Federation is short of vessels as is. We can't exactly scour the entire quadrant."
"Me. I can find them. I can hear them." Picard narrowed his eyes at Janeway, who returned the look with a glare as severe as his own.
A gentle chime interrupted them. Janeway looked down at the console on her desk. "Excuse me a moment," she glanced back up at the party before her a moment before turning her eyes to the transparent sheet of glass that slowly ascended from a crevice in her desk, quickly revealing the face of William Riker.
Picard wanted to exclaim, "Number One!" But he held his tongue.
"Admiral Janeway, this is Captain William Riker of the USS Titan. I'm afraid I have some grave news."
"I seem to be receiving a lot of that today, Captain. Report."
Every pair of eyes save those on Seven of Nine seemed to widen at the grisly news Riker seemed to share. The Borg Queen. The cube. The green nebula.
Janeway transfered the image to the wall console as Picard finally contributed his voice to the conversation. "She can't be trusted."
Seven of Nine's voice was icy. "Do not allow the Queen's human qualities to deceive you. Her objective is and always will be the pursuit of perfection for the Collective. Whatever promise of sanctuary she may offer to the Federation will be revoked as soon as she has what she wants."
Janeway nodded. "Agreed. Jean-Luc, I want you to return to the Enterprise. Rendezvous with Titan. Feel out the situation. In the meantime, I will contact Starfleet Intelligence and inform our allies to remain alert for any Borg incursions. I want to be kept up to date on this situation and will expect reports from both of you."
"Understood, Admiral." Both Riker and Picard nodded.
"Seven. Doctor Crusher. Report to the Enterprise. You are both familiar with Borg threats."
Seven gave Janeway a curt nod while Beverly felt slightly queasy. On one hand she felt delight to return to the Enterprise again, but the burden of another conflict with the Borg made her feel sick to her stomach. She had lost too many crew to the Borg. She didn't want to see another clammy-grey skinned corpse laid out across the bulkheads of the Enterprise. "All right. We've come a long way in fighting the Borg from a medical standpoint. Will, I'm going to send you some medical data. Tell your Chief Medical Officer to prepare the equipment."
And with that, Janeway was left alone in her office as the three went about their business. Worst yet, her coffee had gone cold. To some degree, she felt wrong in that she was not going with them.
Another chime echoed from her console and the face of an Ensign in the communication department appeared. "I am sorry to disturb you, Admiral, but I have Tom Paris on the line again. He says it's urgent."
She braced herself for more bad news...