Shadows of the Night, Part XX

Lt. Barclay was waiting for them when they appeared on the transport pads on Deep Space 13. "Commanders," he said shaking Seven and Borui's hands with a nervous smile. "I'm glad you arrived safely."

"Has there been any word on Ambassador Picard?" Seven asked, stepping past him towards the doors. He scratched the back of his head self-consciously.

"Well - no."

Seven turned back towards him and Borui. "Then we have no choice but to proceed."

"Seven," Borui said, her voice betraying a hint of concern, "are you sure you're up to this?"

She turned back to the door. "My feelings are irrelevant. Proceed."

Barclay moved awkwardly to the door. "Um, Doctor Bashir is waiting for us in Sickbay." And with that he began to lead them through the Federation station.

"I've modified the neurolinks to fit your brainwaves," Dr. Bashir announced after their arrival in Sickbay. "This should allow you to integrate with the relay without problems. We'll be monitoring your condition throughout the entire procedure, so don't worry." He did a full medical scan to make sure there was nothing dangerous with her go ahead with the procedure.

"Seven," Borui said putting her hand on her shoulder, "It's not too late to change your mind."

Seven glared at her over her shoulder. "I am Borg."

"Hopefully the last," Bashir remarked as he began fitting the neurolinks to various places on her skull. "Mr. Barclay will use the relay to make contact with the Borg signals. When we have a clear connection I'll be introducing a multiphasic resonance pulse throughout your cerebrum which should allow you to use the signals to access the Borg Collective consciousness."

"Should?" Seven said as he finished putting the last neurolink in place.

Bashir smiled. "I'll admit, I've never done this before."

"Everything should work just fine," Barclay remarked from the display across the room, but there was no hiding his anxiousness.

"How reassuring," Seven remarked, wetting her lips.

"Now," Bashir continued as she hopped onto the medical bed, "the pulse will cut you off temporarily from your sensory input. You'll be totally focused on your activity within the Borg Collective consciousness. When you're there don't waste time, get in, leave the program, and get out; no sightseeing on this trip."

"Understood," Seven remarked as she settled uncomfortably on the bed, listening to the discussions taking place as she waited.

"Activating the array," Barclay said.

Nearly a lightyear away, a satellite opened up, its panels expanding like a flower opening in the morning sun. When they reached their full extension a power surge began, continuing to grow in the center until it burst off the panels and deep into space towards a pulsar.

"We're on-line," Barclay remarked, looking over the data. "Adjust the frequency by twelve megahertz." He ran his fingers over the console, keeping his eyes glued on the screen. "Increase power output by three hundred megawatts."

Seven squirmed a little in nervous anticipation, although she felt a little embarrassed by it. Dr. Bashir was nearby, checking her vital signs, but still took a moment to stop and smile at her. "Everything will be fine," he promised.

"Change the amplitude by two microns," Barclay muttered. The graphic representation on the screen suddenly shifted from yellow to red to green. "Yes," he whispered, "we've made contact."

Dr. Bashir reached out and touched the panel. "Safe journey," he said quietly, and all went dark.

Picard was forced into the chair, his hands still held by the binders. The two stormtroopers stood nearby, ready should he try anything in the presence of the admiral. Apparently even bound they considered him a potential threat, a curious thing if he weren't preoccupied with the situation he now found himself in. Thrawn turned around and walked slowly over, smiling all the while. "Ah, welcome ambassador. I hope your voyage here was as pleasant as could be expected."

"I have nothing to say to you," Picard replied, not even looking at Thrawn.

"Oh come now," Thrawn replied, sitting down across from him in another chair. "You are a civilized man. I am a civilized man. We should be able to discuss this situation in a civil manner."

Picard held up hands to show the binders. "Few civil discussions can be held in chains," he replied.

Thrawn thought for a moment and then nodded. "Point taken." He gestured to one of the troopers, who unquestioningly stepped forward and removed the binders. Picard rubbed his wrists slightly as the stormtrooper stepped back. "Don't expect me to say thank you," he said.

"I imagine not," Thrawn replied, and his smile was gone. "Leave us." The stormtroopers filed out as Thrawn stood up and walked near the door. When it closed he tapped some controls to seal it. He turned back to Picard and the smile returned. "Let us discuss your culture ambassador," he remarked as he walked back towards the chair. "I do find Earth to be a most fascinating place. Your art, your history, your literature are among the best I've ever encountered." He circled behind his chair and put his hands on the back, leaning slightly. "So many stories. Did you know you even have a story about stories?"

"Admiral," Picard replied, "I'm not interested in-"

"It's quite a fascinating tale actually," Thrawn continued, ignoring Picard's remark. "All stories you see originally belonged to the Sky god, but one of the creatures wished to possess them all." He continued talking as he slowly came around the chair. "The Sky god thought it quite humorous, and he told the creature: 'Bring me the wasp, the snake, and the leopard, and you shall have the stories.' The Sky god thought it impossible, but the creature continued anyway, and believe it or not Picard he succeeded in defeating these three through his own cleverness, making up for his lack of strength with his mind."

"How wonderful," Picard replied dryly.

"I'm not finished," Thrawn said. "You see the Sky god was most impressed with the creature, finding it quite hard to believe that it had overcome such obstacles, but the Sky god was true to his word." Thrawn sat back down in the chair. "He said, 'You have proven yourself worthy, and so I give to you your prize. All stories are now yours. And from this day onward if anyone tells a tale they must first give credit," and Thrawn smiled, "to Anansi."

Picard, who'd not really been listening, perked up at the word. "What did you say?"

"I think you understood just fine," Thrawn said, his voice taking on an oily quality.

"Anansi," Picard whispered.

"Yes," Thrawn said, continuing to speak. "I want you to understand this situation Picard. I know that in the past the Empire tried to break you and failed, and I do not believe in repeating one's mistakes, so I want you to understand exactly the position you are in."

Picard looked up at him, uncertain of what was going on. "How do you know about Anansi?"

"Oh, I know you know of it Picard," Thrawn replied in an off-the-cuff voice. "You've known for some time now, but failed to understand, so let me point it out for you," and he leaned forward. "I am Anansi."

"What are you talking about?" Picard replied. "You've nothing to do with the Borg."

"Really?" Thrawn said. "Look around you Picard, the evidence is plain to see, if only you'd allow yourself to look." He leaned back in his chair again. "The attack on Yarval happened because I knew of your research base. The overwhelming of Wormhole Base? Impossible, except I know Rebel tactics better than the Rebels do. I've split your forces Picard, divided you into two sides that cannot organize your attacks, a rather unusual move for the Borg, who do not think like a military organization. Did you not consider it when I gave them the nanoprobe technology to assimilate Species 8472? The fact the Borg know of the Ssi-ruuk homeworld, a planet known only to the Emperor and his grand admirals? The unbelievable coincidence of your being in this galaxy during the attack on Wormhole base?"

Picard wasn't sure what to believe. "You're telling me that was deliberate."

Thrawn nodded. "I've left the Rebels trapped with an enemy they don't understand. They're uncertain, unprepared. If you'd been there you could have advised them, but I've made certain that won't be the case."

"How?" Picard asked in disbelief. "How are you doing this?"

Thrawn tapped the side of his head. "I am connected to the Collective," he said. "They allow me free will, I ensure their success. Time and time again we've earned victory, and they have come to accept my authority."

"So you're controlling them?" Picard still couldn't accept this, no matter how much evidence Thrawn presented. But he knew deep down that he didn't want to believe it, to think that the tactical genius of Thrawn was now in the hands of the Federation's worst enemy was, well, unthinkable!

"Control isn't quite the word I'd use," Thrawn replied. "More like a symbiosis."

Picard thought about this for a moment. "Even if I were to believe this, why would you tell me? You don't exactly strike me as the type of person who ties up his enemy and tells him his plans."

"Quite astute," Thrawn replied. "And don't misunderstand, I do fully intend to kill you. What I want you to be aware of is the situation you are in. I, for all intents and purposes, command the Borg, and to incur my wrath is to incur theirs."

"Not very efficient," Picard replied.

"No," Thrawn admitted, "But if the Borg have learned nothing from me, it's that 'inefficiency' can often get results." He tapped on a datapad. "I'm monitoring your bodily systems, Picard," he said evenly, "If you lie I'll know about it."

"Lie about what?"

"About this question," Thrawn replied. "Only one question so it won't be hard to answer. It has come to my attention that the Federation, and you in particular, are working on some large-scale anti-Borg weapon. What exactly is it?"

Picard laughed. "Don't be absurd! If there even was such a project, do you honestly think I'd tell you about it?"

"Oh there is such a project," Thrawn replied. "Your biorhythms show you're lying."

"I will say nothing more."

"Fine," Thrawn replied. "But their fate will be in your hands."

Picard looked warily at Thrawn. "Whose fate?"

"The Federation's of course." Thrawn stood up and began walking about his office. "You see ambassador, I've studied you for some time now. The Cardassians, the Empire, they all thought they could break your will, but they were mistaken. The Cardassians thought your first devotion was to yourself, but they were wrong. Colonel Jarls thought your first duty was to your crew; he too was wrong. But I know your first duty is to the Federation, ambassador. And so I'll make this very clear for you." He turned and faced Picard, his face deathly serious. "You will answer the question or your Federation will be assimilated." He stepped forward and leaned down to Picard, his alien face only inches from his own. "If I send ten thousand Cubes," he said in a quiet voice, "do you think they'd have even a chance of resisting? Your precious Earth will be just one more Borg-filled world, ten thousand years of culture wiped out, your people nothing more than mindless drones in the Collective. You know that that's a fate worse than death. However, if you answer my question, I give you my word that Earth will be spared."

Picard was scared, he had to admit, but he couldn't let Thrawn know it. "Why should I believe you?"

"Oh you have no reason to, Picard," Thrawn replied. "Except for the fact that you know I never bluff."

"If we really do have this anti-Borg weapon, maybe I should just rely on it."

"That's a possibility," Thrawn admitted. "Do you feel like taking that chance? One weapon against the entire Collective? Would you stop us in time? Decide Picard, but do it quickly." He paused. "I want to know about the weapon," he stated, without a sign of compassion. And Picard looked into his eyes, and he knew, he knew Thrawn was telling the truth. He would assimilate Earth and the entire Federation just to prove a point, just to make Picard pay for his decision. Damn him, he thought, and damn me. And to his shame, he gave Thrawn what he wanted.

Seven felt the familiar sensation of being part of the mind of the Collective, and it was hard not to panic. Still, she was here to liberate, to save countless trillions of lives from their danger forever, so she focused and pushed onward. She searched through the Borg subcommands, looking for the place to upload the file that would be the beginning of the end of the Collective. It seemed slow but she knew that mere seconds were ticking by. Finally she saw the subcommand heading, and moved to enter the file-

It was as if her mind was gripped in a tight fist and she couldn't get away. She tried to withdraw from the link but it was no good, she was trapped here, uncertain, unprepared for this eventuality. She started to panic, flailing about in the grip of the Borg as it tried to absorb her into the group mind, to drown her individuality into the minds of so many others, to make her feel insignificant, to make her give in and die.

"Neurocortacol!" Dr. Bashir demanded as alarms started sounding and Seven began convulsing on the bed. He placed the hypo to the base of her skull with a familiar discharge, but there was little change.

Seven's heart rate, her breathing, her brain activity had all gone mad, and Borui could sense her despair. "Shut it down!" she shouted.

"I can't!" Barclay replied. "It's too dangerous. The shock could kill her. We've got to let her come out of it herself."

"Stand by with cortical stimulators," Dr. Bashir ordered his nurse. He ran his medical tricorder over her to double-check the readings, his face a mask of concern. "I've not lost a patient to the Borg yet and I don't intend to start now."

Seven battled on, refusing to give up her hard-fought individuality to the ones who'd snatched it from her so many years earlier. She struggled furiously, not giving up, refusing to surrender. I am unique, she insisted. I am one.

And suddenly there were no others, and she was immersed in darkness. She stopped her struggles, wondering what had happened. You are one, the voice whispered. One. Alone.

Then the darkness was pierced by red beams from countless Borg drones on every side. And in the center stood a seven-year old girl, face to face with the entire Borg Collective. She looked around, terror saturating her body. "Annika, run!" came the cry. "Run! Hide!!!" They closed in, and she screamed.

Doctor Bashir tried to perform another injection, but her flailing about was proving difficult. "I told you to sedate her!" he shouted at his nurse.

"I did," she insisted.

"She must have found a way to resist it," Bashir remarked, pressing hard on her shoulder to try and hold her steady to give another injection.

"Barclay!" Borui shouted. "Shut that damn probe off now!" She could feel Seven screaming inside and outside her body, and she didn't like it.

"I already told you-"

"Do it!"

Barclay looked over to Dr. Bashir. "Doctor?"

Bashir sniffed heavily as he looked at her vitals and thought quickly. "Turn it off," he said with a low voice as he continued.

"GO AWAY!" Seven screamed like a person tortured beyond all limits. Her mind started to feel more distant.

"Brain waves are deteriorating doctor," the nurse remarked.

"Ready cortical stimulators," Bashir ordered. Two small devices were placed on her twisting head.

"Stay away from me," Seven said just above a whisper, crying all the while.

"You're losing her," Borui insisted. "Use the stimulators."

"Her heart rate is diminishing too rapidly," he said, "We can't chance it, we could kill her."

"She's approaching brain death!" Borui insisted. "You've got little to lose!!!" The sensations were unbelievable, like Seven's mind was collapsing. She fought to keep her own emotions under control but found it impossible.

"Control yourself or get the hell out," Bashir replied, fighting desperately to stabilize her.

"Papa," Seven whispered, "will it hurt to be a drone?"

"Brain waves continuing to deteriorate," the nurse replied. They watched Seven's shivers finally stop, the room suddenly very quiet, save for the sound of the instruments, signaling the collapsing brainpaths in her skull.

"Doctor," Borui insisted.

"It's not your decision to make," Bashir replied.

And there was suddenly a very soft sound. It was quite sweet, as if there were a tiny fairy hiding in the room. Seven sang softly.

"His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane.
Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave
So, Puff that mighty dragon sad-ly slipped ... in....to ..... his ............... cave........."

And all was quiet, save for the small buzz from the instruments announcing that all neural activity was gone.

Go To Part XXI
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