Chapter 39: Controls
At that
moment, the shaking began.
When it
stopped, and everyone had righted themselves, groaning whilst rubbing
their heads, it could be determined that another ship was in close
proximity and had fired on them.
"The
Borg must have found us," muttered Jumba hoarsely as he made for
the exit.
"Hey,"
called 426, "where are you going?"
"Well,
'tis my ship, and I won't let it sink without a fight. Besides,
you know what they say, the captain always goes down with his
vessel."
"I'm
coming with you," said Pleakley, a determined look on his face.
"Okay,
419, you know what you are doing? Good. Either way this goes, we'll
be still watching out for you. Good luck."
Jumba
(sorta) ran out of the room, with Pleakley trailing behind.
"Hey,
419, there's a microphone in here."
"So?"
"We
could do final messages, just in case we don't make it, like on
TV!" exclaimed 426, pointing at said microphone.
"This
isn't fiction, 426."
426 looked
like he wanted to respond, but contented himself with folding his
arms.
"Besides,
why do you want to do final messages? It's so… depressing."
"Er…
no reason."
419 raised
her eyebrow.
"Something
in particular you want to say?"
"Well…
er… um… I mean, no!"
"Whatever."
She walked
up to a panel with lots of lights and buttons at the front of the
small craft.
"You
take that control."
"Which
one?"
"The
propulsion systems and auxiliary aft-and-for photonic…"
Blankness
filled 426's face.
"The
shooty weapony thingy. The engines as well."
"Oh…"
"Now…"
"What
about 626?"
419 looked
back. Stitch had been idly sitting in the back of the craft,
unnoticed by anyone.
"626!
Er… you can take tactical, ops and engineering."
"Ih."
"Now,
I'll seal the airlock, and on my mark, pull forward on the lever
slowly."
419
pressed a button.
A loud
clunking sound signalled the closure of the air-lock, while a
"pshhh-nheeah" sound represented the escape of air as the launch
bay doors opened.
"Okay,
ready?" shouted 419 over the "nheeah" of the opening door.
"Almost
got it…"
"…eeeah-put."
"426,
now!"
426
swallowed hard and pulled down on the lever.
The
shuttle zoomed out of the doors as if they had been merely a rock in a shotput whom's wielder had drawn it as far as it would go, then had let it go and watched as it flew through the air aimlessly.
"Expla
sepa!" yelled 626.
"Chocolate?
At this time?"
"No,
you're going too fast!"
"Oh!"
426 pulled
the lever back up.
They
stopped dead.
"OK, I
think 626 should take over the controls. 419, tactical, ops and…"
"Huh?"
419
sighed.
"The
screen thingy which tells you stuff."
"Oh…"
"Status
report."
The Queen.
Five of Twelve turned to face her.
"The
assimilation process is almost complete. She will be as we are."
"Good."
"Affirmative,"
replied the drone, and resumed its work.
The Queen
strode out of the assimilation chamber, intently gazing forward. As
she went, drones of every description walked past in the opposite
direction, performing various tasks, be it maintenance, configuration
or processing. Alcove upon alcove she saw; some were empty, others
were being repaired, and still others contained other drones,
charging themselves as to be at optimum efficiency when they awaken.
She
stopped, as if temporarily indecisive of which direction to take, but
no matter, for the next moment she was speeding down another
corridor, and then another.
Footsteps.
The being
stayed in the shadows, in case it was the little girls' friends.
He
breathed a sigh of relief when the Queen entered the room.
"They
have arrived," she told him. "You are prepared, correct?"
He nodded.
"Good.
You know what to do."
Leaving
the chamber, the meld of flesh and machine retraced her steps,
determined not to stop for anything.
But then
she paused, as if she had seen something that reminded her of a
distant memory. She walked back slowly, staring at the wall as she
did.
A disused
transportation circuit. Beside it lay a small stuffed penguin.
She picked
it up.
Hmm,
that transporter should be repaired, she thought, continuing on
her way.