Worlds Without End, Part V

"There is something wrong."

It was the voice you hoped to never hear, especially directed at yourself. It was, on its own intimidating, with its resonant bass overlaid on that haunting rhythm. The mechanical breathing chilled, as if a subtle reminder of universal mortality. Yet even then the voice did nothing to prepare you for the man; two meters of strength embodied in flesh and machinery. An imposing body that was completed by an expressionless mask for a face to leave this man all the more inhuman. Throughout the Empire his reputation was so legendary, so terrifying, he literally needed no introduction.

Commander Pakkib knew that reputation as well, and ever since the Dark Lord of the Sith had arrived on the incomplete Death Star he had felt fear gnawing at his entrails. The personal inspection had gripped the entire station with similar despair, given that Darth Vader's disappointment rarely led to anything but death. At the moment, he sounded too disappointed for Pakkib's liking.

"What's seems to be the problem, my lord," Pakkib managed to ask. While he knew of nothing wrong, it was obvious contradicting Vader could only make things worse.

"A tremor in the Force," Vader declared. No one knew if he was staring at them behind that mask, but no one made any effort to draw attention to themselves. Commander Pakkib tried to ignore the beads of sweat that were forming on his forehead with each inhale and exhale. "I want a complete check of the computer systems," Vader finally said. "And I want it done manually. Every last bit is to be analyzed."

"Understood my Lord," Pakkib replied. He swallowed slightly and continued. "But I must tell you that it will take several technicians to complete this assignment. It may start putting us behind." Better to face Lord Vader's wrath now than live in fear of its approach.

"Perhaps someone else could impel them to remain on schedule."

"No," Pakkib said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I was just keeping your lordship appraised. We will remain on schedule."

"Good," Vader implied, but there was no trace of satisfaction. "I'll expect your report very soon."

The anticipation was now far worse than whatever punishment the dark lord might offer. Pakkib turned to three of his technicians. "You are relieved of your current assignment. Your new task is to carry out Lord Vader's command - any anomalous files are to be analyzed in detail. This is your top priority." He turned to the others present. "The rest of you continue. We will remain on schedule, whatever the cost," he declared.

Several hours later, one of the technicians hailed him on the comm system, his voice betraying obvious surprise and concern. "Sir," he said, "we've found what looks like some kind of droid memory file in the main computer."

"What?" Droid memory files are rarely backed up at all, and definitely wouldn't be stored in an area where it could potentially access vital systems. Having it on the main computer of a Death Star was about as bad as it could possibly get. "Erase the file immediately," he ordered. The technician acknowledged it, but a second later there was the sound of blaster fire and screaming. The autodefenses had killed him and the other two members of his team. Pakkib realized he was wrong; the worst it could possibly be was a hostile droid with control of the station. Chaos descended as Pakkib and his men began trying to isolate the rogue program, but apparently during all this time, the droid mind had been searching for ways to get around them. Every time they tried to throw up a programming wall, the droid found a way to bypass it. Every time they tried to physically remove its connection, they were attacked by the automated defenses. As the droid continued to assert more and more control Pakkib began contemplating the only solution: evacuate the station and overload the reactor. It would be a disaster, but nothing compared to a rogue Death Star.

"What's the situation?" Vader demanded, causing Pakkib to visibly jump. Pakkib quickly filled him in. "The main computer is located in there?" he asked, pointing at the doorway.

Pakkib nodded. "But the defenses have been activated, which means the laser gate's armed and the computer's shielded, so we can't shoot it. We'd have to cut the power at the junction but it's impossible to reach from outside the room.

Vader walked up to the door to examine it. Beyond, he could see the dead bodies of the other technicians. The lasergate was the ultimate deterrent. Anything trying to penetrate would be blasted, and any attempt to destroy the weapons would cause an explosion strong enough to kill any would be invader. A perfect barrier - for anyone who wasn't a master of the dark side. The crew looked on in astonishment as Vader took three steps back, then ran and dove through the opening. The weapons fired, but the Dark Lord twisted his body to avoid most of them. One blast did strike just below his right shoulder, but the beam dissipated with no effect. Vader rolled once across the floor and into a fighting stance, his lightsaber ignited. Automatic security devices began firing, and the blade snapped out and deflected them. One, two, then the third came and he deflected it right into the junction, causing the shield around the main computer to collapse. He sprang, cape billowing behind him, lightsaber continuing to snatch the blaster bolts out of the air until he landed and stabbed straight through the casing. After that, there was silence, save for the sizzling sound of broken electronics.

Pakkib was so shocked at what had just happened that it didn't really register until the dark lord was standing right in front of him. His awe gave way slowly to fear; he noticed several technicians jump when the lightsaber was turned off. "Who was responsible for checking the programming of that computer?" he demanded.

Pakkib hesitated for a moment, while the various parts of his brain tried to shake themselves loose to dig through the metaphorical files. "Lt. Teklif, my lord."

Vader turned and looked over the assembled group; they shrank back as the blank mask passed over them. "You are aware that this incident will put us even farther behind schedule?" Vader asked.

Pakkib nodded. "Yes," was all he could say.

Immediately, one of the technician's eyes grew wide and he began grasping at his throat. Those who were nearby began moving away slowly as his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell to the floor. Vader turned back to Pakkib, who closed his eyes. At least it would be relatively quick, if not particularly pleasant. But instead of the grip on his throat, Vader began to walk away. "Inform your superior that you will need a new computer." He paused, then turned back. "And a new technician."

"Admiral," the captain said, and Piett walked over to the comm station. There were still a few patrols that hadn't reported in yet; perhaps this was the lead they'd been looking for. Combing through this galaxy was almost as bad as some areas of the Outer Rim; finding the worlds of these Borg that had bloodied Thrawn's nose was proving difficult.

The communications officer spoke up. "Sir, Scoutships are reporting in from Sector 17. They've found a planet, technology seems similar to the one our sensors detected."

"More than likely it's our Borg boogeymen," the captain said.

Piett nodded. "And if not, they could probably point us in the right direction. Alert all commands, converge on those coordinates." And with that order, the fleet of star destroyers slipped into hyperspace.

Picard had been waiting in his ready room when she arrived. He'd been looking over the mission details, and he had to admit that he was practically as giddy as a fresh graduate taking his first assignment. The idea of opening diplomatic relations with a civilization as vast, ancient, and advanced as the Galactic Empire went beyond even the pipedreams of young cadets. Sure, he wasn't going to be actually engaged in negotiations -the delegates on board would handle that- but he'd be the one to get the foot in the door. When the door chimed he gave his standard "Come!" without even pausing in thought. But the sight of her was like dropping several tons of lumber on his mental railroad tracks.

She was dressed in a blue full body suit rather than a uniform, along with a pair of high-heeled boots. The fact that it emphasized her highly-attractive figure, however, didn't really matter. For Picard, it was her face, her hand, the tell-tale signs of the one and only civilization that used that particular type of technology. She is, or was, Borg. "Annika Hansen?" he asked in a voice that said he couldn't imagine the answer to that question being "Yes."

The woman had been examining the room, more like analyzing given the way her eyes seemed to dwell on things. "I suppose that was the name you were provided," she said. "As you are the commanding officer of this vessel, you may choose to address me by that designation, though I should warn you that simply using it will not make me become that person."

Picard was now kicking himself for spending too much time looking over the mission details and not taking the time to check the new crewman's file beyond her name... and it seemed that even that data had been flawed. "What would you prefer?"

"I am Seven of Nine Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One. But you may call me Seven of Nine."

Picard nodded to himself. The commander of this mission is the only Starfleet officer to escape assimilation, and he's going to meet with the Empire immediately after the Borg destroyed one of their ships, so naturally Janeway would choose to send a Borg as his advisor. No wonder they didn't want Voyager handling the diplomacy. "You are a Borg, yes?" he asked, just to be certain.

"I am no longer a member of the collective, I am an individual," Seven informed him.

"Yes, I can see that," Picard said in a neutral tone. "Then you must know about me."

"Our thoughts were one for a time, Captain Picard," Seven said. "But the irrelevant details of your life are not known to me. Am I too assume that this won't be a hindrance to my assignment?"

"I would never allow my personal feelings to interfere in my duty." Picard stopped. Why did he say that? That implied there were some personal feelings involved! "You are familiar with the Empire?"

"Yes, captain," Seven said. "I was involved in most of our direct meetings and have first-hand experience with their technology. I have also been briefed on the experiences of others."

"Good, we'll need you to avoid any missteps. I don't think I have to tell you how important this meeting will be for us. The Empire could be a powerful friend, or a lethal enemy."

"Agreed," Seven said. "I will ensure that you are adequately advised in all circumstances."

Picard nodded slowly. "Your quarters have already been assigned. Do you have any special needs we should be aware of?"

"Yes," Seven said. "I assume I will be provided standard quarters. The bed can be removed; I do not require sleep. I will, however, require a power conduit be adapted to interface with my systems."

"You need an alcove, is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, captain." She noticed the tone in his voice. "Is that a problem captain?"

"So long as you don't go assimilating our ship, no," he said, then mentally kicked himself for the remark. That's twice she's gotten under your skin, Jean-luc, he thought. And it's not her doing it, it's you! "Inform Commander Riker, he'll make the arrangements. If there's nothing else..."

"No, sir."

"Dismissed." Seven nodded and left. Picard dropped the PADD on the desk. How was he going to open diplomatic relations with another galaxy if he couldn't get along with his own crewmen?

The Executor and the rest of its fleet exited hyperspace; five Borg cubes waited for them. They weren't the first they'd encountered, but it was the first time that the Borg would be on the receiving end, and the first time Piett had a speech of his own. "Transmission coming in, sir," the communication officer said. Piett nodded and it came over the speaker, thousands speaking a single chant.

"We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add your..."

"That's enough," Piett said, and the transmission was cut off. "Ready our reply." He waited until the officer nodded. "This is Admiral Piett of the Galactic Empire. You have violated our space and repeatedly attacked our ships without provocation. This will not be tolerated." He turned to the captain. "Alert all commands, engage and destroy."

As the fleet closed in on the Borg world, the cubes rushed to engage them. As before, despite their adaptations, the turbolaser blasts tore massive holes in their ships. Still, the Collective seemed to press on despite the obvious damage, like an animal that had become so rabid it wouldn't stop attacking even if it was being killed by the defender. However, the Borg weren't animals, they were logical and unemotional, so they ignored the damage and instead concentrated their attacks on a single star destroyer. Despite the heavy damage they managed to batter the ship's shields down. They bombarded the ship with bluish-green bombs, which seemed to act as a kind of ion blast. The star destroyer's weapons were becoming less and less effective as the seconds passed.

But outnumbered and outgunned, the cubes couldn't stand up to the rest of the fleet. The last of the cubes was reduced to fragments. "Report," Piett ordered.

"All ships are reporting no damage, sir," the captain said. "Except the Tyrant. Captain Lennox reports that the damage to many of their systems is serious; they'll need to return to the station to make repairs."

Piett nodded. "Send them to Base One. Once the ship's functional, I want it back here with the fleet." The captain nodded and passed the message along. As the Tyrant limped off, the rest of the fleet closed in on the planet. "We'll show these Borg whose resistance is futile." The Imperial fleet bombarded the planet; the Borg offered no resistance. Within minutes every square meter of the crust had been reduced to smoking craters.

Picard exited his ready room. "I assume we're ready, Number One?" he asked.

"Ready as we'll ever be, sir," Riker said. "Mr. LaForge says all systems are go."

"Helm, take us out of Spacedock; let's see what this engine can do." He took his seat; Riker was on his right as usual, while Seven had been provided the one normally allotted to Counselor Troi for the purpose of the mission. He watched as the doorway opened to allow the massive Sovereign-class ship to exit. "The anticipation is unnerving," he confessed to Riker.

"I feel a bit like Zephram Cochrane," Riker admitted. "Brand new propulsion system, first contact."

"Except we're not first, Will," Picard reminded him. "We're just making this trip. Everyone knows Armstrong and Aldrin were first, who remembers the second?"

"Peter Conrad and Alan Bean, sir," Data said.

Picard turned to him. "Thank you, Mr. Data," he said.

Data nodded. "In ten seconds we will be far enough outside the Earth's gravity well to engage the hyperdrive, captain."

"And we'll see if it's everything we've been told it'd be."

"The technology is effective," Seven informed him.

"I'm sure it is," Picard replied. "On my mark, helm... engage." And with that the stars began to lengthen and twist into starlines, and suddenly, they were gone.

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