Shadows of the Night, Part XIII

Captain Riker paced back and forth slowly, staring at Seven of Nine as she lay on the table in Sickbay. "You're kind of distracting, Will," Dr. Crusher commented.

"It helps me think," he said distantly.

"Yes, but I'm the one trying to think." Then she shrugged. "But I'll admit, nothing's coming to mind."

"I am equally unable to explain it, doctor," Seven said.

"Let's start at the beginning," Riker said. "Are you sure you were successfully injected?"

"That I can tell you for sure," Dr. Crusher said. "There are marks from where her carotid artery was pierced and the tell-tale Borg coagulants used to instantly seal the wound."

"Could it be from her first assimilation?"

"No," Seven said.

"Is it possible that no nanoprobes were introduced into her bloodstream?"

"I can't say for certain," Dr. Crusher said. "My experience with Borg technology is limited."

Riker rubbed his chin a little as he thought. "She's had nanoprobes running dormant through her body for years," he said finally. "Is it possible she's developed some kind of immunity to them?"

"There's no evidence of any kind of antibody tailored against nanotechnology," Dr. Crusher said.

"I felt myself being assimilated," Seven pointed out.

"Are you sure?" Riker asked.

"You think I wouldn't know how it feels?!" Seven snapped. Immediately she looked down, visibly upset with herself.

"Doctor," Riker said, "give us a moment." Dr. Crusher nodded and walked into the next room.

"My apologies, captain," Seven said. "I did not-"

"Seven, you've been through a very traumatic experience," Riker said kindly. "And right now you're letting Dr. Crusher poke and prod you while being constantly reminded of it, reliving it. I appreciate what you're doing; if we can figure out what happened, it could be an incredible asset against the Borg." He patted her on the shoulder. "I won't forget this," he said with a smile.

Seven looked up and nodded uncomfortably. "Thank you, sir."

While Seven's body was given the once over, Borui was on Voyager in her latest efforts to deal with the mind. "Commander Tuvok?" Borui asked, as she watched the security officer going over the schedule on his PADD.

Tuvok turned and nodded. "May I help you commander?"

"Yes, Mr. Tuvok, I'd like to discuss with you a former member of your crew."

"How can I assist you?" Tuvok asked in his quarters a few minutes later, away from prying ears.

"Commander," Borui wet her lips. "I've been counseling Seven of Nine of late."

"Indeed," was his only reply.

Borui, familiar enough with Vulcans to continue without missing a beat, said, "I understand that you had a mindmeld with her several years ago. I was wondering if you could have any insights on her that might help me help her better?"

Tuvok shook his head. "What I learn in a mindmeld is not to be discussed with a third party, unless it is of the utmost concern."

"This is of great concern," Borui insisted. "When Voyager picked us up, you had to have noticed how she was feeling."

"I was aware of her feelings," Tuvok admitted. "Nevertheless, it is not my place to go discussing her mental state with others."

"Oh, come on," Borui insisted, "You know as well as I do that she's never acted like that! She was terrified out of her mind."

"Seven escaped assimilation through an as yet unknown means; fear is a normal human reaction to such an event."

"Seven's not a normal human!"

"Then it would seem, councilor, that she's had a breakthrough."

"Mr. Tuvok," she replied, "you spent three years on this ship with her. Can you honestly say that this is normal behavior for this woman?"

Tuvok hesitated. "No."

"Then help me help her. Please, anything."

Tuvok thought for a short while. "I will tell you only what might be relevant to her condition."

"Good enough."

"The exact circumstances of our meld is in her Starfleet records, but in short, she was suffering from multiple personalities caused by an alien device. I entered her mind to try and save her."

"And what did you find," Borui asked.

"Multiple personalities," Tuvok said. "Except, except I had this unusual sensation that this was somehow familiar to her."

"What do you mean?"

"It was, as if her mind knew this to be the way to cope with the situation."

"In what way?"

"I can't say. I'm only giving you my impression, I can't give you any conclusions." He was quiet for a moment. "I understand that her involvement at Wolf 359 has been revealed."

"Yes," Borui said.

Tuvok nodded. "I encountered many individuals Seven assimilated at that time in her mind. I could sense a great deal of guilt at assimilation in general, and that event in particular."

Borui nodded. "Because that time, she was a tool against her own people."

"Precisely," Tuvok said. "Seven is ashamed of her life as a Borg. At the same time, it is a central part of who she is."

"A recipe for self-destruction," Borui said with a nod. She thanked him and left, thinking about everything he'd said. She should take the opportunity to observe Seven outside of their sessions, to see how she reacts. It could be the key to deciphering the underlying problem.

There is the distant echo from the light pattering of rain on the roof. The single window, small and crooked in the stone wall, offers a view of the gloom beyond. Both only further enhance the feeling of claustrophobia the room already has, poorly lit as it is by a small series of smelly candles. The room is packed with tables covered in all variety of unusual objects, except for one, which is covered by a haphazard pile of opened books. A solitary figure was at work at one of the tables as Ambassador Worf entered. "I hope I am not intruding," he said in his normal rumbling tone.

"No, ambassador," the huddled shape said, not even looking up from the work that was the sole focus of her attention. "State your business."

Before he could speak his attention was drawn to one of the items on the table. Despite himself he was drawn over to examine it. "A dac'par throwing blade," he said in quiet disbelief. "This was used by the chosen circle of Kahless centuries ago." He stared in disbelief. "Is this blood on the blade?"

"Yes," came the reply as her work continued.

"Incredible," he whispered in fascination. "It is said that there are only eight such blades in existence."

"Were," she said, still not giving him any attention. "Grandfather broke two of them on a hunting trip ten years ago. That's where the blood came from."

Worf nodded in understanding. Were he in the Federation, such an action would be considered a phenomenal waste of items with great cultural and historical value, but he had known that they served but one purpose: to draw blood. Just as a warrior deserves to die fighting, so too should a fine weapon meet its end fulfilling its purpose. Thinking on that subject, he turned to the woman as she continued her task. "My condolences on your loss," he said as well as he could manage.

There was a grunt of acknowledgement, but that was all. "You still have yet to state your business ambassador," she said plainly.

"I need to discuss with you a matter of some seriousness," Worf said, stepping closer to where she continued. He could see now that she was attempting to catalogue a particular item, checking various books on the subject. "Regarding your involvement in the Imperial War."

"I was pardoned," she said flatly. "It is no concern of the Federation now. My connection to Starfleet vanished along with my ship." She tossed down her pen and turned. "And as you can see I'm very busy going over this collection of junk, so please don't take this as being unfriendly, but go away."

Worf wasn't surprised by the response, knowing the circumstances of Victoria Price's removal from Starfleet. It was a very difficult position for them; on the one hand, she'd stolen Federation property and supported an armed conflict against them, and was thus a traitor. On the other hand, she'd been directly responsible for bringing together the core members of the Alliance and in negotiating with the Klingons to side with them against the Empire. In the end they had decided to split the difference, honorable discharge for her acts of treason, a pardon for her valiant effort on behalf of the Federation. It was a strange mix to say the least. What had made the decision less than ideal was the simple fact that she was the only captain to be discharged; all of the others who had defected to the side of the Alliance, the enemies of the Federation at the time, had been welcomed back without so much as a formal reprimand. Worf didn't know if she harbored ill feelings because of this, but he could certainly understand them if she did. "My understanding," he said as amicably as his deep voice could manage, "is that you did what you did in the name of peace. If we are to preserve that peace we need your help." There was no response as she continued scanning a page, only to flip further through the book. "Wouldn't it be easier to use a computer?" he finally asked.

"Why didn't I think of that," she mumbled, followed by a sigh. "About 40% of the trinkets were catalogued in the archives, the rest I've got to find the old fashioned way." She leaned back and rubbed her eyes. "And the lighting isn't helping much. But of course, the requests of a half-breed female aren't exactly high priority."

"What do you mean?" Worf asked.

"A power distribution line overloaded a week ago," she said wearily. "They haven't been tripping over themselves trying to fix it."

"I'll have it fixed before the next sunrise," Worf promised.

"If you're trying to impress me," Price said, returning to her work, "it's not working."

"You seem quite dissatisfied with being here," Worf commented.

"Wow, you must be half Betazoid."

"It doesn't take an empath to detect your surly mood," Worf commented.

Price stopped and looked up at him. "Surly? You're quite a diplomat."

"I'm a diplomat in name, but I remain what I am. So tell me, why do you persist in this task you seem to despise on a world you obviously hate equally?"

She looked away, and Worf said nothing. Finally, "Because I owe him. He left me in charge of his treasure trove, and I'm not going to deny him his wish."

"You convinced him," Worf said, her eyes still refusing to look at him. "You were the one who persuaded him to stop the Klingon support for the war."

"The affairs of my family are none of your concern ambassador."

"You and your grandfather risked everything for peace," Worf continued. "I can't believe you'd let it crumble away."

"Look," Price said, starting to get angry, "Just tell me what you want. No beating around the bush, just out with it."

"I want to know what happened when Riklin was released."

That brought the conversation screeching to a halt. Price looked at him warily. "What do you want to know?"

"Your involvement," Worf said. "The High Council is asking questions." He leaned towards her, his tone becoming more excited. "I won't lie to you. Tensions between the Federation and the Klingons have been increasing ever since that event, despite the mutual war against the Empire. We need to establish with absolute certainty that this action was in no way supported by the Federation."

Price stood up, and despite her size still managed to strike an intimidating pose. "Politics," she spat, "left me stripped of my command. I'm not sticking my neck out for its sake."

"Then you may condemn the quadrant to another war," Worf said, matching her mood.

"It's your job to see that doesn't happen," Price said. "Not mine."

"I'll do what I can then, without your cooperation," Worf said, and he turned and walked towards the door. "Even though it is destined to fail."

"And little old me's going to change that," Price sneered. "Thanks but no thanks."

"Very well. I'm sorry you can't see your way to helping save peace."

Price half-snorted in laughter. "If you're so convinced it won't work, why bother?"

Worf leaned over the candle. "Because..." He wet his fingers and touched the wick, extinguishing the flame. "It's better than cursing the darkness." And he turned and walked out.

Picard embraced Leia as the old friends they were. There was no small irony in the fact that two people who had first met amidst the carnage of the Death Star had spent so much of their time since working together for peace. Their friendship had been strong; Leia hoped she wouldn't be putting too great a strain on that friendship.

"So what did you ask me here for?" Picard asked after a few minutes of polite discussion. "Surely not to gloat over these fine quarters."

Leia offered a polite laugh, but there was no hiding the cloud there. "What I'd like to discuss may be a little unpleasant." His eyebrow perked, but he said nothing. "It's about the Borg."

Picard nodded wearily. "I'm not surprised," he admitted. "The Borg are on everyone's mind these days. I'm sure they're a very strong weight on yours." He leaned back slightly in his chair as he thought. "I remember being in a similar position to your own some years back. Trapped on your side of the wormhole, wondering what was happening and cursing my inability to do anything." He looked straight into her eyes. "Believe me, Leia, I will do anything, anything you need at all, to help."

Leia sensed again, as she always did when the Borg came up, a pain in Jean-Luc that was very difficult to ignore. He hated them, and he hated himself for feeling that way; she knew that if anyone in the Federation could help, he would. She explained some of Barclay's plan; how they could use a modified communications relay to detect the Borg's subspace communications and try to figure out what they're up to.

"Mr. Barclay's an extraordinary engineer," Picard commented when she was finished, "but he doesn't know the Borg. This communication, it's not like a message you can listen in on, it's far too complex to understand."

That's what Luke had said, Leia thought to herself as Picard continued.

"That being said," Picard continued, "I do think we can find a way to put it to some use." He thought for a few seconds and then stood up. "Let me talk to Seven. I think between the two of us we can find a way to make this work."

"So we could listen in?"

"No," Picard said. "I'm hoping to do a lot more than that."

Nawara Ven jumped despite himself as the ships came out of hyperspace. He had been preparing himself, should the invaders choose to come his way, but he hadn't been expecting this. "Base 181, this is Rogue 6," he said, unable to fathom what was now approaching. "Have spotted six Borg cubes and... some kind of pyramid. I'm transmitting readings now," he said, pushing the button to his right. He twisted his X-Wing "down" and pushed it full throttle, deciding that putting as much distance between himself and these ships was in his best interests.

The Borg had detected the Twi'lek's X-Wing as soon as they had emerged, but it wasn't of any concern, and they continued on their path near the edge of the system and proceeding in their formation towards a single world, the only habitable world here, the only world with a planetary shield around it.

Feeling a bit more at ease now that the ships had passed, Ven pulled his fighter a safe distance behind the Borg to observe them. There was nothing he could do to stop them, but maybe he could give some valuable information to the Republic forces. He watched as it pulled to a few hundred thousand kilometers from the planet, uncertain of what they were doing. Assimilation? But that's a bit out of the way for assimilation, and besides, this wasn't even a Republic member world; it didn't make much sense. He slowed his X-Wing to a stop as the cubes withdrew behind the pyramid, wondering what was going on.

With an air of triumph General Melphin, supreme commander, walked up the steps to Prime Minister Gelnis. Throughout the square below, there was cheering from some, quiet fear from others. This was the moment he'd been waiting for, the one he'd dreamt of his entire life; the last power to fall, the last to accept his total rule. At this moment, the entire world belonged to him. He towered over the primer minister as he reached the man's location. With obvious distaste, Gelnis spoke to the crowd.

"The People of Bendin," he said reluctantly, "have accepted your terms. We acknowledge you as our authority, the one and only leader of our people." He stepped back, allowing Melphin to take the podium.

"Mr. Prime Minister," Melphin said to the crowd. "I doubt your sincerity." He looked with a knowing smile at the crowd. "You're not lying to me are you?"

"No," Gelnis replied flatly. "You are our leader now. The last vestiges of resistance to your authority are gone."

"True, true," Melphin said, but then turned to the ambassador. "Still it would mean a great deal to me if you would show your sincerity." He leaned towards him. "Kneel." Gelnis did so, and Melphin chuckled quietly, leaning down towards the small man. "Fool," he said in a voice only they could hear. "Thinking that you could somehow resist me?"

"We have surrendered," Gelnis said.

"As you should have weeks ago," Melphin said. "But you were so sure you would be delivered, so sure that you wouldn't live under my heel." He laughed; it was low and unpleasant. "So, where's your salvation, prime minister?" He looked about, took the crown, and placed it on his head, chuckling all the while. "Where is your god now?"

And then, Melphin, the square, and the entire planet, exploded.

The beam from the end of Pyramid 01 terminated as the planet exploded. The cubes remained sheltered behind the giant ship as the planetary debris bounced harmlessly off its shields. The beam has penetrated the planet's shield, proving the weapon had the power necessary to overcome any defense anyone may have. They took no notice as the tiny fighter vanished into hyperspace. The test successful, the Borg fleet returned to hyperspace.

Go To Part XIV
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