Strange New Worlds VI, page 23
“Really,” Q said. “A nobleman . . .”
“A spoiled child,” said Kirk. “Who bullied humans because he could.”
Q glared at him. “Jimmy,” he said darkly, “let’s take this outside.” And in a flash, they were gone.
* * *
They appeared in the vast emptiness of space.
Kirk was amazed to find himself not floating so much as somehow standing in the void. He wore no spacesuit, yet there was no cold. He had no helmet, and yet there was air. He looked in wonder around him.
Below him hung Voyager, tiny and illuminated against the dark. A mass of Borg appendages had sprouted from her hull, glowing with a green and eerie light. Workbees and suited crewmen glided about the ship, making final adjustments to new instruments, fittings and welds.
Above him at a great distance curved a wall of ships almost too vast to comprehend. One hundred and twenty-two Borg cubes, each the size of a city, hung in a giant sphere a thousand kilometers across, with the tiny, transformed starship at its core.
And beyond them all lay a brilliant smattering of stars, sparkling defiantly against the night. It was one of the most beautiful vistas that he had ever seen.
Kirk took a moment to soak it all in. Finally, he turned to face the waiting Q. Q gazed at him with barely contained fury.
“Q,” Kirk said. “You’re not well.”
“I’m well enough to deal with you,” Q said. His face was pale and drawn, and a sheen of sweat glistened against his brow.
“The cataclysm is draining your strength,” Kirk said. “You’re keeping millions of drones in check, and we’re getting ready to keep two entire universes from tearing each other apart. Let’s not bicker like children.”
“You arrogant, self-righteous little ape. You don’t lecture me. You don’t belong out here,” Q said. “You never have.”
“We are out here,” Kirk said. “It’s our home. And it’s your home too. This thing is devouring both space and time,” he said. “There’s nowhere else for you to go.”
“So we’re stuck with you?” Q said. “Is that it? Don’t flatter yourself. We should wipe you clean from history and give your planets to the Borg.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Don’t tempt me . . .”
“When the calamity struck,” Kirk said slowly, “we sought out all the higher-order races. The Organians. The Thasians. The Metrons. None of them could stop this. Neither can we. Neither can you. But if we do this together, we can save ourselves. We can save each other. Let us help you,” he said.
At last Q’s expression began to soften, and, despite himself, a slow smile began to spread across his face. “Humans . . .” he said.
* * *
The next day saw all hands at their posts, and all eyes on the Voyager’s bridge were locked on her forward screen.
“There it is,” Harry said. “Right on time.”
Before them, space seemed to shiver for a moment, and then a ghostly maw bloomed into being as they watched. “My God,” Chakotay said. A brief shudder rumbled through the ship.
A few moments ticked by as Janeway studied it without a word. Finally, she said softly, “Red alert.” She turned to Q, who was standing behind her at the rail; he nodded and slowly closed his eyes. It was time.
Out in space around them, a vast armada of Borg vessels came to life. Giant tendrils of crackling energy sprang from one cube to another, and then another, and another, lancing out from each cube to its neighbor, until all were linked in a giant, fiery sphere. At its very center lay Voyager, and the rift.
“Field enabled,” Harry said.
“B’Elanna,” Janeway said, “bring the new systems online.”
“Yes ma’am.” All along Voyager’s hull, a strange amalgam of Federation and Borg science glowed to life, drawing power from the immense field around them and channeling it to a purpose never before tried. “All systems online,” B’Elanna said, “and nominal. We’re ready.”
Janeway turned to Tom. “Very well,” she said. She paused a moment. And then: “Engage.”
The contraptions that dotted Voyager’s hull glowed more brightly, surging with power, and then her main deflector fired a beam of blinding light. It struck the anomaly dead center, and the two awesome energies seemed to grapple in the night.
“The breach is isolated,” Harry said, reading from his board, “ . . .and holding. It’s working.”
Janeway allowed herself a small sigh of relief and glanced at Chakotay beside her. “All right,” she said, and she breathed in deep. “Time for phase two.” She touched a control on the arm of her chair. “Janeway to Delta Flyer.”
“Flyer here.” The screen blinked to a view inside the shuttle’s cockpit, and to the unusual pilot at her helm.
“Captain Kirk,” Janeway said. “You are cleared for launch. Time to thread the needle.”
“Understood,” he said. “Beginning launch sequence . . .Flyer away.” As the view outside his portals slid from hangar bay to stars, he glanced appreciatively at the old-style levers and dials around him. “By the way,” he said, “tell Mr. Paris—nice touch.”
“You just did,” Janeway said, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Godspeed.”
“To us all,” he said. “Kirk out.” And the screen switched back to an external view, showing the Flyer as it sped into the night.
This was the most crucial part of their mission—and their ace in the hole. As Voyager, the Borg and Q contained the breach and forced it closed, Kirk would enter the rift itself. If all went well and their timing was perfect, he would enter the rift just as it was sealed, and the Guardian, sensing as it always seemed to do that time had been set aright, would draw the traveler home. They hoped that by drawing Kirk back through time at just that instant, they could infuse the timestream with their combined energies, and cement the closure throughout space and time. At least, that was the plan.
Suddenly, there was an alarm on Harry’s board. “Captain!” he said. “The Borg just launched a probe—it’s vectoring to intercept the Flyer.”
Janeway shot him a worried look. “Onscreen.” A Borg sphere was hurtling toward the tiny craft.
“It’ll have the Flyer in weapons range in sixty seconds.”
“Open a channel,” Janeway said. A console beeped. “Borg vessel,” she said, “stand down immediately. I repeat: stand down or I will open fire.” There was no response. “Q,” she said, turning about in her chair. “Can you stop them?” He stood silently, gripping the rail, eyes closed and teeth clenched, his energies directed elsewhere. Janeway doubted he could even hear her. “Damn. Tuvok, put a shot across their bow. Seven, what the hell are they doing?”
She tapped intently at her scanners. “I’m reading high levels of verteron emissions coming from the sphere,” Seven said. “Tetryon radiation is building to critical levels.”
“Why?” Janeway asked again.
“They may be attempting to take control of the matrix and realign it to a unipolar mean. If they enter the rift in their present state, they may be able to tip the balance between realties—”
“—and allow our universe to obliterate fluidic space. Damn.” Janeway and Chakotay shared a tense look, although she already knew what she must do.
“B’Elanna,” she said. “Is the matrix stable?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then shut off the beam and get us in there. Tom, full impulse.”
“Aye aye.”
“Tuvok?”
“Our warning shot had no effect.”
“What about the cubes?”
“They’re holding station. If any of them breaks formation, the subspace field will fail.”
“Well, at least that makes it an even fight,” Janeway said. “Lock phasers—load torpedo bays.”
“We’re in range.”
“Fire.”
The starship’s phasers lanced out and danced along the Borg sphere’s hull. “Torpedoes,” Janeway said. “—fire.” And a trio of explosions rocked the enemy craft. Voyager swooped in between the sphere and its prey, and the two became locked in a manic, deadly dance. “Evasive maneuvers,” Janeway called, as the bridge thundered around her. A console erupted into flame. “Get me the Flyer.”
“Go.”
“Captain,” Janeway said, gripping her chair as the bridge shook beneath her, “we’ve got a situation here. But you must reach the anomaly, no matter what. We’ll cover you, Captain—just keep going.”
There was a moment’s hesitation. “ . . .Understood.”
“Keep firing,” Janeway said to Tom. “Keep us between them and the Flyer.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Another conduit blew. Tom struggled with the helm as the ship bucked and lurched under the Borg assault. The two traded fire furiously, the Borg pressing desperately ahead, and Voyager determined to give no ground. Beyond them, the Flyer sped on.
Consoles exploded about the bridge. “Hull breach on Deck Twelve,” B’Elanna called. “Shields are at thirty-eight percent.”
Janeway turned back to Q, still standing unmoving and nearly catatonic at the rail. He was oblivious to the chaos around him. His eyes stared, unseeing, straight ahead and began to glow with an unearthly inner light.
Explosions continued to rock the bridge, and the air grew thick with smoke. Janeway turned back to the screen just in time to see the Flyer’s aft torpedo tubes flare, as the fleeing craft emptied its entire tiny arsenal at the Borg. “Bless you,” she said.
A massive concussion thundered through the ship. “We just blew out every EPS conduit on Deck Four,” B’Elanna called above the din. “Fire suppression is down; main computer’s offline.”
“Hang in there,” Janeway said. “Keep firing.”
Again she looked to Q. He stood now with his head thrown back and arms spread wide, light pouring from his eyes and mouth and hands. And he was not alone. Around the bridge, visible only from the corner of her eye, stood a host of ghostly Q. Q’s bride, the philosopher Quinn, and a sandy-haired man she’d never seen before stood with dozens more, wraithlike, about the bridge, all in an identical pose and seemingly pouring all that they were into an effort that mortals simply could not comprehend.
Voyager hammered away at her foe, and the sphere continued to slice savagely at the starship’s shields. The bridge was engulfed in smoke, and sparks showered them from above. Suddenly there was the sickening sound of twisting metal. “Captain!” B’Elanna called, her voice shaken at last. “We’ve lost the port nacelle!” On the main screen, their massive engine sheared away and tumbled into space, trailing a stream of plasma and sparks. Another explosion rocked the ship. “Shuttlebay two is gone,” B’Elanna said. “Captain, we’re coming apart—!”
Janeway looked around her once more. Light was now bursting forth from cracks and fissures all along the Q’s silhouettes, until they stood as little more than pillars of incandescent flame.
“Shields are failing—”
“—they’ve locked on to the Flyer—”
“—our weapons are offline—”
“Tom,” she said calmly, “ramming speed.”
* * *
The last thing Kirk saw as the Flyer entered the rift was the flaming starship slicing through the damaged sphere. A fiery gash ripped through the sphere and exploded out the far side, and the Borg vessel erupted into a massive, angry sun. The shockwaves rocked the Flyer as he felt the Guardian take hold—
—and then all was right once more.
* * *
“Sensor calibrations should be completed within the hour,” Spock was saying as he and his captain strode toward the lift on Deck Eight. “Our ETA at Leyton’s World is tomorrow, 1430 hours.”
“Very good,” Kirk said. “W—excuse me, crewman,” he said. Kirk had almost run him down. “I didn’t see you there. Crewman . . .”
“Kew, sir. I just came aboard.”
“Ah. Very good. Well—welcome aboard.”
“Thank you, sir.”
And as the captain and first officer continued on their way, Q looked around him and smiled. “Oh yes,” he said slowly. “I think I’m going to like it here.”
Hidden
Jan Stevens
Alone. In total darkness. No sound. No movement. Only the black and the pounding of her heart. It was so loud, she knew that the thing must hear it as well.
It was near. Her tricorder hadn’t detected it, but she knew she wasn’t alone on this strange ship. She could feel it waiting patiently for her to move, to make a mistake. Trickles of sweat stung her eyes, but she dared not reach up to wipe it away.
There. An almost imperceptible displacement of air passed by her. Then she felt a presence.
It was coming.
Her trembling hand inched toward the phaser at her side. Instead, she accidentally brushed against a panel. In an instant, the chamber flooded with an eerie orange light revealing a gruesome scene.
Bodies. All around her lay dozens of bodies in various states of decay. She recoiled in horror and backed away into the arms of a corpse. It fell against her, its icy, dead fingers wrapping around her neck. Before she could scream, the corpse opened its mouth and spoke.
“It’s too late.”
Captain Kathryn Janeway sat bolt upright, the sound of her own scream echoing in her ears. She sat perfectly still, breathing heavily, then sagged in relief against the cushions on the sofa where she’d fallen asleep and scrubbed her face with her hands.
What a terrible nightmare. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a dream this disturbing. Most of the adventures she and the Voyager crew had experienced after being stranded in the Delta Quadrant were frightening enough to give them all nightmares for years to come. God knows, she’d had her share. But somehow this seemed different.
A strange chirping noise from across the room made her start again. The door chime. Janeway chided herself for being so jumpy and glanced at the chrono. 2350. Whoever was calling certainly was burning the midnight oil.
She stood and ran her fingers through her short auburn hair. “Come.”
The door opened to reveal her first officer holding a stack of padds. Chakotay’s expression became apologetic when he saw her mussed hair and rumpled uniform.
“Captain, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” He took a step backward. “Perhaps this should wait until tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Janeway said, motioning him inside. “You know that I’m a night owl. Besides, I’m really glad to see you.”
“Well, after putting up with crew evaluations all day, you’ll be the first person,” he said with a sigh. “At least the day’s almost over.”
Janeway walked toward the replicator. “Rough one, huh? How about some coffee?”
Chakotay suppressed a yawn. “No, thanks. I don’t plan on staying awake much longer. But some herbal tea would be nice.”
“Herbal tea it is.” Janeway gave the computer the order while Chakotay placed his stack of padds on her desk.
“Kathryn, are you all right?” he asked, sounding concerned.
Janeway turned to face him. “Of course. Why?”
Chakotay shrugged. “I don’t know. You looked a bit unsettled when you answered the door.”
Janeway handed him the tea and smiled. Sometimes it was uncanny the way he could read her moods.
“Actually, my nap wasn’t as restful as I’d hoped,” she told him, sitting on the sofa.
“Nightmare?” he asked, settling beside her.
She nodded. “One of the worst I’ve ever had.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Janeway remained silent for a moment, trying to decide what to tell him. Chakotay seemed embarrassed and looked down at his hands.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Oh, you’re not prying,” Janeway said. “I didn’t answer right away because . . .well, I don’t know where to begin. It was like something out of one of those old twentieth-century horror films that Tom Paris likes so much.”
“That bad?”
“Bad as in horrible, not as in poor taste.”
Chakotay laughed. “Then it couldn’t have been like one of Tom’s films.”
Janeway didn’t respond to his witty remark. She stared at the cream swirling in her tea, disturbed that it was the same color of orange as the light in her dream. She gasped when she felt a hand on her arm and looked up into Chakotay’s dark eyes.
“Hey, you really did have a bad one, didn’t you,” he said softly.
“I’m all right,” Janeway said. “I’m just unsettled because the dream seemed so real, almost like a premonition.”
Chakotay looked concerned and set his tea on the table. “It’s so strange you said that. Last night, I had a disturbing vision quest. It, too, felt like a premonition.”
Janeway sat up straighter, a feeling of foreboding coming over her. “Do you think we’re just on the same wavelength, or is something else going on here?”
“I don’t know, but . . .”
The shrill sound of a communicator signal made them both jump.
“Bridge to Janeway.” Harry Kim’s voice sounded eager.
Janeway sighed in relief and answered the hail. “Go ahead, Ensign.”
“Sorry to disturb you this late, Captain, but I thought you’d want to know we’re receiving a distress signal . . .from a Federation vessel.”
Janeway and Chakotay exchanged a startled glance and rose from the sofa in unison.
“On my way, Mr. Kim,” she said, heading for the door. She looked over her shoulder at Chakotay. “Maybe we should have had that coffee after all. This may be a long night.”
When Janeway stepped onto the bridge, she was not surprised to find Commander Tuvok, Voyager’s security officer, already at his post. She nodded to the Vulcan and continued down the steps behind Chakotay to the lower deck of the bridge.
“Report.”
Harry Kim sprang from the captain’s chair. “Captain, we picked up the distress call when we entered this sector. It’s a very faint automated signal, but it bears a definite Starfleet signature.”
