Shadows of the Night, Part XVI

Lando watched with some bemusement as the Starfleet officer tried giving orders to the engineering team carrying a group of containers on some repulsorlift device down the hall. His repeated stuttering and occasional missteps into the wall as he walked backwards was certainly not the kind of action that makes Starfleet proud. Even from here Lando could see the look of restrained disbelief at the man from his subordinates. The whole group came to a halt as Col. Kira Nerys stepped up to him to discuss what was going on. Eventually, for some reason Lando's curiosity must have got the better of him, because he found himself walking over to the scene. Kira was mildly reading him the riot act while the officer stumbled. "May I be of some assistance, colonel?" Lando asked smoothly, trying to calm things down a little.

Kira glared at him for a second before returning her attention to the unfortunate officer. "Just having a discussion of protocol with the lieutenant."

The other officer held up his hands and repeatedly opened and closed his eyes. "Look.... major-"

"Colonel!"

"Um, colonel.... we've got to install this equipment as quickly as possible. This is the closest Federation station to .... er, it's... we need to move quickly... We're trying to stop the Borg, colonel."

There was a few seconds of general uncertainty. If this man is the last line of defense against the Borg, Lando thought, then we might as well get fitted for exo-plating right now. Still, an idea suddenly struck. "Colonel," he said, "why don't you contact Starfleet Command to confirm this. I'll entertain the lieutenant in the meantime so we can get this situation worked out."

Kira seemed to think it over, and a minute later Lando was escorting the nervous man into the bar. "Quark," he called to the Ferengi, "Let's get a refreshment for our guest, mister -"

"Oh, ah, Barclay. Reginald Barclay."

Lando sat down at the bar, noting the curious expression on Barclay's face as he looked at his own stool, finally slowly sliding onto it as if it were coated in slime. "Ah, thank you," he stammered as Quark passed him a drink. He held the glass clumsily in his hands as he took a small sip, and then a large gulp. "I'm not really used to being in a... command position."

Lando slapped him on the back a little, unwittingly causing Barclay to begin choking on his drink. "I know what you mean. It takes a little while, but you'll get used to it."

"Yeah," Quark remarked as he cleaned a glass behind the bar, "He's only been here a short while and is constantly bossing me around."

Lando ignored the remark. "So what exactly was in those containers you needed to install so quickly?"

Barclary shook his head with a slight wheezing laugh. "I... I can't say I'm afraid. Very hush hush." He took another long drink, finishing the glass. He snickered a little bit as he swayed slightly. "But let's just say the Borg won't be the same when we're through with them."

Quark's eyes widened a little. "You're not installing some superweapon on the station are you?" He was clearly concerned about the prospect; Lando figured he probably didn't want to see his new bar meet the fate of the old one.

Barclay shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no. But there's more than one way to deal with the Borg, and we've got it." He slipped and fell on the floor, snickering.

Lando glared at Quark. "He's Starfleet," he remarked. "You're supposed to give them synthehol only."

"I did," Quark remarked, looking over the bar at Barclay as he tried to stand up, hitting his head on the barstool and falling back down again.

Lando took the glass and sniffed it, then held it away. "This is alcohol; heavy stuff."

"Impossible," Quark said, taking it and sniffing, then coughing. "Something must have malfunctioned in the replicator."

"Borg, we hardly knew ye," Barclay remarked, and began chuckling to himself as Lando helped him to his feet and to the door. Perfect, Lando thought, Kira's going to love me for this.

Behind him, amidst the crowd of curious onlookers, the Blessed One bore just the slightest hint of a smile before slipping away.

"They won?" Paris asked in disbelief.

Janeway refused to let the remark dampen her mood. "Have a little faith in your fleet Mr. Paris."

Paris shook his head a little with his mouth opened as he considered the event they were all informed of when they sat down at this briefing. "I do, but the way things we're going I didn't think Starfleet had it in them to take out a Cube, not with the way the Collective's changed their tactics."

"A reasonable conclusion, Mr. Paris," Tuvok admitted. "But with the advances Starfleet has made, it seems we can afford some cautious optimism."

"Whoa, don't lose control of yourself there, Tuvok," Harry replied with obvious humor in his voice. "We don't want you getting your hopes up."

"Let's not forget," Chakotay reminded them, "Several ships were destroyed in that battle, and that was just a single Cube. The war is far from over, and we need to take it seriously."

"Agreed," Janeway remarked. "But this is a cause for optimism, even cautious optimism. Starfleet Command believes the Borg will either increase their presence in this area of space, or they may withdraw completely for the time being. Regardless, Voyager is being assigned to the Thirteenth Fleet, a group of over fifty vessels including the new Enterprise. If the Borg return they will probably send more than a single Cube and will no doubt be prepared. We must all be ready to face them, and this time we mustn't fail."

Hadoris is a distant planet in the New Republic, far from the daily worries of those on Coruscant. Oh that's not to say that they weren't aware of what was going on; everyone knew that the Borg was here and there was reason for concern. But what need did they have to worry about this menace here, far from the wormhole, far from where the cybernetic army fought the forces of the Republic. There weren't even any New Republic ships in the area, which mattered little to the citizens of Hadoris; they could take care of themselves.

At least, that was the thought before the ships came. At first they thought it was the Borg, but as the battle continued they realized they'd been mistaken, although it was quite incidental. Their small local fleets were annihilated by the forces that came to bear on them, the tiny triangular fighters making short work of them, their larger ships bombarding the planet. Within hours, Hadoris had been destroyed, its people driven off by this advancing fleet that seemed to be destroying without rhyme or reason. No one knew, no one could understand why they did what they did, but one thing was certain, the Republic faced more than just the Borg; and the question was, could it survive?

Delric Taar didn't miss a step as he approached Grand Admiral Thrawn's office, narrowly avoiding the doors as they slid open on his approach. He was late, and that could be trouble. Fortunately, it seemed that the grand admiral was involved in something, although whether it was a focused concentration or the slow simmer of anger was never known to a subordinate of Thrawn. He quickly stepped forward and apologized for his tardiness. Thrawn didn't so much as move. "Sir?" he asked evenly.

"Quite a remarkable piece, don't you think?" Thrawn asked. "A symbol of Vulcan power. A strong mind and a strong body, that is their beliefs."

"Of course," Taar said automatically. He tried to show an interest in the admiral's study of art, but frankly it just didn't appeal to him. To him, a thing of beauty wasn't something you just let sit around your quarters. A well-maintained ship, that was beauty. A perfectly executed Khorvillian Corkscrew, that was beauty. This, while being something nice to look at for a few seconds, wasn't all that inspiring to him. Not that he was uncultured, he simply found culture a little... dull. Impractical.

"Your performance assessment is cancelled," Thrawn announced suddenly.

Taar was surprised to say the least. What had happened? Had he disappointed the admiral in some way? The thought of screwing up this latest opportunity made his stomach twist into knots. He loved the Empire, lived for the Empire, he damn near died for the Empire more than once. To have this latest opportunity taken was a serious blow, but as a dedicated Imperial officer he refused to let such feelings reflect in his voice or expression. "Why sir?"

Thrawn's eyes flared for a moment and Taar wondered if he had angered his superior. He didn't quite understand him, even after serving under him these past few years. After all he was, in the end, an alien, and it's hard to understand aliens at times. "I have received word that our Cardassian friend is interested in trading information with us about a Federation weapon. I want you to find out personally what he has to sell. If it's worthwhile, make an exchange with him."

Taar masked his confusion. "Of course admiral. But if I may be so blunt, why do you wish to send me?"

Thrawn was quiet for a moment. "I have my reasons, reasons which will be apparent in the near future, provided this works out to my satisfaction." He turned back to the hologram. "Consult with General Igar, he's been handling a great deal of our alpha quadrant intelligence."

Taar nodded and walked towards the door, trying to understand this bizarre move. First he was switched from fighter command, which was of course his specialty, to ground tactics, which he had something of a knack for but no real combat experience. Now he was being sent into the field to contact Imperial spies? This was strange even for Thrawn, but Taar had learned to trust the admiral's instincts.

"Colonel," Thrawn said just as he reached the door, "Be on your guard. Cardassians are notoriously unreliable, and Mr. Garak is not one to take lightly."

Taar nodded and continued on his way, wondering just what he was getting into.

Seven opened the door of the holodeck and was slightly chilled by what she saw: the interior of a Borg ship. She hadn't been on one in years, but the memory of those experiences was fresh in her mind as she passed the entrance and the doors slammed shut, sealing her into the fictional world. There was a careful edge to her walk as she half-crept through the halls and corridors of the ship. Without warning a drone came around the corner and made a grab at her, but she sidestepped him while ducking to avoid his grasp, bringing the heel of her palm up to strike the Borg under the chin, knocking him backwards. Her phaser was out in an instant, and he was vaporized. More alert of potential attacks, she turned the corner and saw Luke.

Seven had seen him fight, most notably the battle on the Death Star where he eliminated a platoon of elite guards single-handedly. Still, this was intimidating. Luke was standing in the center of a group of no less than seven advancing drones, the group working together to overwhelm and assimilate the human. He didn't have a chance. But his blade was out and he made a quick horizontal swipe, cutting the two to his right in half at the waist. Before the swing had even stopped he rolled to his right, kicking at a nearby drone as he was halfway through the roll, only to come out off the roll on his feet. Not even taking time to check his balance his blade speared a Borg and he spun to his right, bringing his blade in another short twist to bisect a drone, then jerking it vertical to kill still another. Two more Borg moved simultaneously, assimilation tubules reaching for his neck, but he sliced the hand off one while ducking the other, then somersaulting backwards to avoid their reach. They advanced together; a fatal mistake as Luke spun clockwise, dropping down as he went and literally cutting them off at the knees. Three quick jobs into the fallen bodies and it was over, the entire event taking less than ten seconds. There was some signs of perspiration, but his breathing was barely quickened by the ordeal. She had to admit, she remained impressed with his skills; he was truly remarkable.

"Can I help you?" Luke asked as he shut down the weapon. Thankfully he didn't seem angry at her presence; she'd been afraid he would be after what had happened.

"Why this particular setting?" Seven asked as she looked about the room. "Does it have a purpose?"

"Bench," Luke said, then sat upon it as it materialized. "It does, but you wouldn't believe me."

Seven stepped around, leaning slightly against a material transfer conduit. "You are now the expert in what I will and won't believe?"

Luke toweled his face off slightly. "Just basing it on our track record so far."

Seven opened her mouth and hesitated a little before speaking. "Try me," she said with a little uncertainty about the words.

Luke dropped the sweaty towel onto the bench and leaned back. "Okay. I saw into the future and I know I'll probably be fighting on a Borg ship, so I thought I'd better practice."

"You saw the future," Seven said, wanting to clarify.

"Well, a possible future," Luke admitted. "But it's better to be prepared for it and not have it come than to ignore it and be caught off guard."

"Logical," Seven remarked.

Luke smirked a little. "Thanks," he said getting up. "Well, if you'll excuse me-"

"Wait," Seven said, putting up a hand to stop him. His momentum caused him to bump his chest into her hand before he stopped. She was uncertain how to react to the unintended touch, so she did her best to ignore it. "I wish-" she floundered. "I wish to apologize again for my remark. My behavior was inexcusable."

Luke's look changed, and Seven felt a little uncomfortable, almost wanting to run away, but she was determined to fix this. She stayed. "It's not your fault, Seven. It's mine. I shouldn't have let myself get worked up, especially about that. You had no way of knowing, no way of understanding the situation. I'm sorry."

He turned to continue his practice, but she couldn't let him. "You think so little of me," she said, looking down, a slight tone of hurt in her voice. He turned back towards her in surprise. "Explain to me so that I will understand."

Luke seemed to think for a while. "Why?" he finally asked.

Seven hesitated. "You saved me," she said finally. "From something I fear more than death itself. I am truly grateful. Nevertheless, I can see you have been harmed by that experience. I would like to understand the nature of the sacrifice you've made for me."

Luke paused and then sat back down on his bench. "All right." He leaned forward and his folded hands as he thought for a while. "Do you know what the Force is?"

"A type of energy field that can be manipulated by gifted individuals, such as yourself," Seven said.

"Fair enough," Luke said. "The exact powers of the Force are a mystery. We, that is, the Jedi, have figured out some but it's only the tip of the iceberg. The more you learn it, the more powerful you become with the Force. For example," Luke's towel lifted up off the bench and hovered in space for a few seconds before returning, "That's simple. Other things are more complex, seeing the future, predicting attacks, healing, etc. With practice you get better at it."

"And now you can move starships?" Seven asked.

"No," Luke said, his face becoming slightly downcast. "That is, I could, I mean... Alright, the most important thing about the Force is not what you can do with it but how you use it: good or evil."

"But saving us was a good thing," Seven replied.

"Yes," Luke said, a little off. Clearly he was having trouble expressing himself. "But, how I was feeling wasn't." He paused. "Okay, let's say that I jab you in the back with a painstick for no reason, just to watch you get hurt. I'm doing something with an evil intent. Now let's say that you're injured, your shoulder is dislocated, but I pop it back into place. That also would cause you great pain, but I'm doing it to help you, with a good intent. Even though the effects are the same, they're being done with different thoughts in mind."

Seven nodded slowly. "I think I am beginning to understand. You're saying that, when it comes to the Force, it is the thoughts of the individual and not the actions the person uses that are important?"

"Yes," Luke said, clearly perking up. "Good. Now, when something is done with an evil intent, that's called the Dark side of the Force. It's using anger and hatred as your weapons to achieve things, and even if those things seem good, they're really part of the Dark side."

"And that's bad?" Seven inquired.

"Yes. You see, the more you use the Dark Side, the more you grow to accept its evil. You become consumed by the desire for power and you wind up corrupting yourself. That's the dilemma," he said weakly. "What I did, I did with anger and hate in my heart." He paused. "You saved my life, Seven, and the thought of you being assimilated by the Borg was- it was too much for me to bear. The Borg wanted to take away someone I consider a friend, and it filled me with such rage..." He shook his head. "I'm so glad you're okay, Seven, really, but at the same time, that moment was the biggest mistake of my life. I've given in to the Dark side once, and for a long time to come it will be a temptation, attracting me with promises of power, but in the end it will destroy me. I'd be so consumed by it that the person I am would be destroyed, instead a mere servant of evil."

Seven understood. "Like Faust."

Luke looked at her, not understanding. "Who?"

"Faust," Seven said. "An Earth play Captain Picard had recommended to me. Faust was a man who desired great knowledge so he could become powerful, and it was given to him, but it required selling his soul to the devil to achieve it, thus destroying him."

"A fitting description," Luke admitted. "Anyway, power isn't all it's cracked up to be." He rose to his feet with a strange weariness, but Seven thought she understood him a little better, although the man still was something of an enigma. She also was deeply moved by his explanation; it wasn't just that he cared enough to protect her, he cared enough to injure himself to do it. Truly he was a great man.

"I'll leave you to your practice," Seven remarked, and took a few steps towards the exit before stopping. "Mr. Skywalker," she asked as he picked up his lightsaber. "When you were fighting on the Cube, was I there as well?"

Luke paused. "You might have been," he replied. "It's a bit difficult to see."

Seven nodded and made her way out. She had to admit, she hoped she wouldn't be; even the simulation had been uncomfortable. She returned to her lab to continue their work. Perhaps if she succeeded with it she'd never have to worry about being on a Borg ship again.

Go To Part XVII
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