Lilo & Stitch's Star Trek
Chapter 60: The Jaws of Defeat
When he regained conciousness, Jumba's head felt as if it had been hit by a truck.
He groaned, rubbing his temple. If he could choose a time to be awakened, it would definitely not be now.
"Ah, yes. Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Jookiba,"
He opened his eyes to glaring lights and the face of a balding man.
He tried remembering the last few minutes he'd been awake. He'd been running with Pleakley to meet with the drones. And then he was here. There was something missing,
This was a trick. It had to be a trick. They'd removed the last part of his memories, and now what he was seeing was some kind of illusion. Something to lower his guard while the assimilation takes place? Well, he wasn't going to fall for it. If he was going to become a mindless droid, he was going to do so without ignorance.
"You will experience a slight headache as a side effect of the treatment," the man continued. "Don't worry, the effects should subside within the hour."
'Effects' most likely meaning 'everything that made him an individual'.
The lights above him were now beginning to burn into his eyes, so he decided to attempt to sit up. And, to his great surprise, he found he could – complete control of his body was his, and he was completely unrestrained.
And, for the first time, he'd noticed he was in a place that was as un-Borg-like as possible. Sleek, gray walls with gradual bends, black computer screens lining them seamlessly, multicoloured diagrams with words – in English – and no sign of pipes or wires anywhere.
It was a trick. He was being assimilated, and none of this was real.
The man he had seen was now in front of him, looking among several oddly-shaped containers. Jumba noticed he was wearing a similar uniform to the crew of the Serenity, except the top of his was bottle-green. Obviously, the Borg had got the colours wrong when they were reproducing this… this simulation.
At that moment, all the containers began… clinking. For a few seconds they did so, before settling down again. The man shook his head, and then continued browsing.
Odd.
"Although, I must admit I was unsure you'd recover," he continued as he picked one and placed it inside a long, thin instrument. "Your vitals dipped dangerously low at several points – but it seems you've done so nicely."
He walked over to the table next to Jumba's, and proceeded to press the instrument in some fashion against the temple of the patient who lay there. Jumba tried to see who it was, but the body was covered in a sheet, and the man was in the way of the head. Still, it was clear he was doing something, and a soft pssh sound seemed to confirm his musing – perhaps it was some kind of spray?
Yes, some kind of assimilation spray. It had to be the case. He was assimilating some hapless victim, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
"I have to say, though, I was far more worried about your young friend's prognosis here than anyone elses," said the man, gesturing towards the person who lay on the table as he did, "but I'm delighted to say she'll make a full recovery."
Friend? 'She'll'? Does he mean-
As the man drew away, Jumba's saw his suspicion confirmed, and a fresh wave of guilt drew over him – it was Lilo lying in the bed.
"She's lucky she got to me when she did. An hour or more would have greatly decreased her chances of survival – or my ability to repair the damage from her physical injuries."
Jumba stared at the little girl that lay before him, as her mouth sucked in small bursts of air, and then blew them out again, her chest rising and falling in lock-step.
How could he let this happen?
"As her caregiver, there are some things you ought to know," said the man, browsing through the vials once more.
"Er, I'm not-" Jumba began to say, but then remembered that he was talking to an illusion.
Besides, the man was precisely right. He was supposed to have acted as her protector – he was the person of authority on this trip, and she had depended on him to get her home safely. He had completely failed.
A low, muffled rumbling noise drew him from his thoughts, and the vils clinked again. Of course – the cube was obviously being attacked by outside forces.
They probably wouldn't get to them in time. In fact, they'd probably just blow up the cube – if they themselves didn't get destroyed.
"We are unable," the man continued, seemingly oblivious to both Jumba's internal moral dilemma and the goings on of the outside world., "to remove the cortical node and occular implants with our current technology; additionally, the nanoprobes in her bloodstream will remain, albeit inert. These should theoretically pose no impediment to her day-to-day life; however, you should be aware that there have been relativitly rare cases of complications arising, including immunal rejection of implants, and clogging of the arteries from dormant nanoprobes – I'd advise regular checkups with your normal medical officer."
He picked another vial from the shelf and swapped the existing container for it in his instrument.
"Additionally, victims of Borg assimilation are known to experience severe psychological effects, including depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress syndrome. If any symptoms exibit themselves, I recommend you consult the ship's counsellor for treatment options."
The way he said it was in a sort of clinical, detatched manner, as if he was discussing the weather over morning tea. Jumba chalked it up to the Borg not understanding emotion enough to properly simulate it – no doctor he'd ever known (for by now it was more than obvious the man was supposed to be a doctor) had ever managed to retain a professional tone as opposed to a sympathetic one when discussing bad news of this scale, even if they had attempted to.
What was the purpose of all this? Did they think that this ruse, elaborate as it was, would make him more accepting of assimulation? Why didn't they just get it over w-
A chime rang through the air. The simulated doctor looked up towards the door.
"Ah, I dare say that'd be your other charges," said the doctor. "Come!"
And before he knew quite what was happening, he found his vision completely obscured by a large yellow head with a single ginormous eye.
"Omigosh omigosh omigosh you're alive! Wealmostthoughtwe'dlostyou, , andwethoughtyoumightbedead – butyou're not deadandthey aren't lowandyou're awake and, well, here you are!"
And he gave Jumba an even bigger hug than he had before.
"Uncle Jumba Jookiba!" came the voice of 419 from the area of his right leg.
Jumba's brain was still struggling to understand precisely what was going on. The few words he managed to splutter out, however, were "this isn't a simulation?"
"Simu- of course not!" said Pleakley. "Don't you remember? The captain of that Earth ship beamed in just in the nick of time and saved us!"
"Would've been there sooner, too," came, from behind Pleakley, the voice of Captain Jameston. "But those scoundrals knocked out some central power couplings after we arrived back. Only took us twenty minutes to repair it, but those were the longest twenty minutes of my life – and I daresay the same for you."
Pleakley lept to the side, stood completely straight, and saluted the woman.
"At ease, agent!" the Captain said, seemingly startled by Pleakley's sudden gesture. "We're all friends here, no need to go all formal on me."
"Sorry, force of habit," Pleakley replied.
Captain Jameston nodded.
"So, about your friend there – Lilo, wasn't it? The good news is that we'll be able to remove most of the armour and implants the Borg, well, implanted in her, Even better, we'll be able to replace the mechanical limbs they gave her with more realistic ones – I daresay you wouldn't want her going back with a pincer for a hand."
Jumba briefly mused that, before all this had happened, she probably would have thought that having a pincer for a hand would be awesome.
But his thoughts was interrupted by the sound of a familiar, if feeble, voice from the other end of the room.
"That's… that's great. She's finally safe."
It took a few seconds for Jumba to realise exactly who was speaking, and then a few seconds more to realise the significance, by which time everyone else had already huddled around the table across the room.
And by the time Jumba had got to his feet and lumbered over to the table, 419 was giving Experiment 426 the biggest hug she could muster.
"-and we were so scared and – promise me you'll never go off on your own like that!"
"But I didn't-
"Promise me!"
426 smiled.
"Alright, sis, I promise."
"Found him while we were escaping from our own set of drones," explained Jameston. "He'd near passed out when we encountered him, but I daresay he'd been looking for you guys."
"Ahem," said the doctor, tapping on Jumba's shoulder. "Excuse me, but it would be better if he is left alone for now. Osteogenic regeneration takes time, even with the stimulator, and while his bones are for the most part repaired, they will remain delicate for some time."
"Oh…sorry," said 419, letting 426 go.
"As for you, Mr. Jookiba, you can go now, but I'd recommend caution while operating equipment," the doctor continued. "Also, for the next few hours avoid changing your lateral position quickly – many people have experienced severe vertigo when doing so, while a significant number have passed out."
Jumba nodded.
"Er, if I might ask you, doctor," said Pleakley, "what's your name, exactly?"
"I don't have a name," the doctor replied.
"You don't? What should we call you, then?"
"You can call me the Emergency Medical Hologram, EMH, or just 'doctor' – any one will do." He sighed. "I might be a skilled physician, but I am intended to be a temporary replacement only. Most likely, I won't be around long enough for you to need to go beyond any of those terms."
"Woah, cool, a hologram!" exclaimed 426.
Jumba had to admit to himself that he was somewhat impressed as well – not at the holographic part (they had been around for decades), but at the complicated AI that apparently made him tick. Even Turian AIs weren't that good.
Although, being a hologram ceratinly explained his apparent lack of sympathy – he wan't programmed with any, most likely because it was beyond what he was designed to do.
The doctor looked somewhat confused at 426's fascination with him. No doubt holograms came as standard on spaceships these days.
Another rumbling noise pulsed through the ship.
"Ah, that reminds me," said Jameston, gesturing for the exit. "Jumba, Pleakley, could you come with me?"
"Er… wait." Jumba turned to the doctor. "Where is 626?"
"Oh, the blue creature? He woke up a while ago. He's sitting over there – he insisted he be somewhere he could see the whole room."
High above their heads, Stitch sat on a metal panel that appeared to have been attached sideways to the wall with some sort of magnet, his face expressionless, glassy eyes fixed on Lilo's bed below.
"He's been like that for a while," said the doctor. "Psychiatry isn't part of my core parameters, but I would suggest he is undergoing some kind of emotional shock."
"Stitch?" asked Pleakley hesitantly.
Stitch glanced at Pleakley, and then returned his gaze to Lilo.
"For now, I would leave him – he needs space to recover," said the doctor. "If he does not improve after the recovery of his friend, I would suggest further oversight from the ship's councillor."
Jumba made to say something, but stopped. He hated to see his experiment like this, but the doctor was right – he needed space.
"We better leave you to your patients, then," said Jameston. "Jumba, Pleakley, with me."
The first time he entered the bridge, Jumba couldn't shake off the feeling of, well, familiarity. Sure, Galactic Federation ships had most of their controls at the front, not the back, and there were more buttons and less touchscreens, but overall the style was very similar.
"Ensign Grey, status report," commanded the Captain.
"Well, sir, it appears the Borg have adapted to our magnetosignal shield – they know where we are," Grey reported, not moving his eyes from the screen ahead. "We've been attempting to give them the runaround – Mips is doing a fantastic job at that, but every now and then they land one on us."
"I agree – great job Malo," said the Captain. "Alright, if my calculations are correct, the charges we set should go off any moment now, so let's hope for some fireworks!"
Charges? As in explosives? On the Borg cube?
But Jumba did not see the need to press for details – he felt what he'd ascertained was accurate enough. And so, for several minutes after this statement, everyone in the bridge sat silent in anticipation of the presumed Earth-shattering kaboom one would expect in such an explosion. (That is, all apart from the Captain, who muttered things like "c'mon" or "any moment now" under her breath every few minutes.)
Jumba wasn't entirely sure of his human expressions of speech, but he felt this situation called for one – something like 'everyone held their breathing' or 'the quiet was so thick you could slice with sharp kitchen impliment'. But after a few more minutes of this, the computer made a two-toned beep, and the Captain sighed.
"Alright, it seems we fumbled," she said, unconsciously glancing towards Bamez.
"Not surprised in the least," replied Ericson quickly. "We did have to rush setting up the remaining charges after those drones showed up.
"True, Ellie. Well then, time for Plan B, I guess. Ming, send the remote signal."
"Aye, captain," replied Ensign Ming, tapping the commands into her console. "Uh - oh crud, they're blocking our frequencies."
"Crumbs!" She scratched her chin. "We'll have to go back and reset the charges manually – there's no other way. Delarkey, is there any way you could get us closer?"
"Well, last time I had to put you guys in a place we could scan," replied someone through the ship's speakers. (Jumba noticed Pleakley perk slightly, as if he recognised the speaker – no doubt they'd met when Pleakley teleported over.) "You know, so I didn't put you in a wall or something? Well, thanks to your commbadges, I can project where you went from there, so I can put you somewhere nice and close – provided they haven't sweeped the rug out from under us, so to speak."
"Ah, that's just what I wanted to hear," the Captain said. "Alright, time to-"
It was that moment that she was cut off by the ship suddenly lurching, thereby flinging Jumba forward into the back of the captain's chair.
He rubbed his head – captain's chairs were surprisingly well built in the future. He then used the top of the seat to pull himself up; after doing which he surveyed exactly what had happened.
Everyone else appeared to have been flung forward about three feet, and many were doing basically what he'd just done. Jameston had been flung to the floor, and was now pulling herself onto her knees; Grey was already using his knee to support himself while he stood up. Ming and Malo had been thrown across their consoles, and were pushing themselves back to their seats. Behind them, Bamez and Ericson had had better luck – because their consoles were facing away from the main screen, they had fell backwards onto their bottoms, and thus had easily been able to stand themselves back up without much trouble.
Jumba turned back to the screen, which now had plastered across it a thick green beam seemingly eminating from the cube plastered across it,
"They've locked on," Ensign Ming confirmed as soon as she was back in her seat.
"No damage, only mild injuries reported," Barmez chimed in.
The Captain breathed a sigh of relief. "Ming, any chance of phasers?"
"Sorry, captain, they're still out, and we've no luck contacting Engineering down there."
"Alright," the Captain said, "we'll need to act fast then. Bamez, Ericson, go see what's going on with Engineering. Ming, Malo, see me inTransporterBay-"
"Captain!" Ming exclaimed, pointing at the screen.
A white-hot beam of energy had shot out of the cube, aiming for the back of the ship.
Moments later, the lights flickered, several consoles sparked, the screen and all control panel lights flashed off, and the bridge was left in darkness. A few seconds passed before dim red lamps fllickered on, lighting the area with a somewhat eerie glow, and power was restored to consoles and the main screen.
Ming's fingers scampered over the touch panel in front of her.
"From what little I can tell from our remaining sensors, they've cut through our main power couplings – we've only emergency power. Captain, we're dead in space."
Captain Jameston frowned, and rubbed her head.
"Mr. Jookiba, Mr. Pleakley, any ideas?"
"Well," said Pleakley, "if we have nothing to lose, you could rig your your hyperdrive with explosives and set it to detonate near the ship."
"Yes, we saw your handiwork there," repled Ming. "Nice shooting!"
"If it's anything like we saw, they should set off the detonators, no problem!" said Bamez.
"Indeed," agreed Jameston. "And that'll mean the end of the cube."
Jumba frowned.
"Have the Borg had much contact with your technology?"
"I see where you're going," repled Ming. "Unfortunately, yes – they'd probably have their shields configured to shield a reaction from our warp drive."
"The only reason ours was working so well was probably because it was being – how you say – so antiquated by now."
Jumba felt slightly saddened at this idea – he was fairly sure when he'd built the hyperdrive that it had been one of the most advanced of its time – but in the context of this time period it was probably true.
"These Borg haven't encountered it before," he continued, "so – if I am being right – can't have adapted to it. It probably wouldn't be working with another one of ours, let alone yours"
"I think it's still worth a shot," said the Captain, "and it's better than sitting around waiting for them to assimilate us." She paused for a moment. "But in case it doesn't work, tell all hands to prepare for evacuation."
"Captain!" exclaimed Malo, twisting around in her chair. "You can't abandon the Serenity! She needs us!"
"We're completely disabled, and beyond useless tactically," Ming countered.
"And besides," continued Jameston, "we can get another ship. We can't replace you guys."
She turned to face Jumba and Pleakley.
"Anyway, we have a commitment to get these beings home, whatever may come. We at least owe them that."