Star Trek (6 page)

Bart was startled. “Me? Oh, no.”

“Yes, you. I've an ear for languages myself, so I pay attention to developments in the field. And I've heard your name come up more than a few times. There's nothing that says you can't go through the Academy. Starfleet could use you.”

“Oh, no. That's not for me.” Bart concentrated on his drink. “I'm quite happy here.”

Geordi regarded him for a long moment with those odd, artificial eyes. “If you ever change your mind, let me know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Download complete,” came the computer's voice.

“Damn. And just when my coffee was exactly the right temperature,” said Geordi in a mock-mournful tone. “Come on, Bart. Time to see what's on this thing.”

At that moment, Geordi's combadge chirped. “Commander La Forge, Faulwell, get to the briefing room at once.”

They exchanged glances. “Captain Gold,” said La Forge, “we've just finished downloading the information from the tricorder. We're about to try to decipher it.”

“And I want you to, but not right now. It'll have to wait. On the double, gentlemen.”

Faulwell had always thought that the expression of one's heart leaping into one's mouth was a bit over the top. But when he looked at what a tight-lipped, pale Dr. Lense
had to show them, he realized that the old cliché was actually quite true.

Borg.

Hard to believe that one word, comprised of four letters, could produce such violent emotions. But then, Bart had always respected the power of words. Now, as he gazed at the replicated body on the viewscreen, with its lengths of cables and artificial implants, all he could think of was a giant cube sweeping down to assimilate them all.

“What do you think, Geordi?” Gold asked, his calm voice breaking the horrified silence that filled the briefing room. “You've had some experience with Borg technology.”

Geordi licked his lips. “I don't know, Captain. This technology is different from any Borg technology I've encountered before. Take a look at the delicacy of that cable, the seamless way the artificial has been integrated with the organic in the brain. Borg technology was …” He searched for the right word. “Crude, but efficient. It got the job done, but not much more. This is almost elegant. Then again, if there's one thing you can count on with the Borg, it's that they're always improving. Upgrading.”

“Assimilating,” said Duffy, managing the complicated trick of putting a sneer of disgust and respect into the single word.

“Exactly,” said La Forge.

“But it was my understanding that the Borg travel in
groups—in a collective, or subdivisions, in a unimatrix. Never just alone like this,” put in Gomez.

“Again,” said Abromowitz, “that's always been true … so far. But don't forget the Borg queen. She is quite definitely an individual.”

La Forge nodded agreement. “And there was an adolescent male Borg who came aboard the
Enterprise
several years ago, who was able to understand the concept of the individual. We even named him. Called him Hugh. Got kinda fond of the guy, actually.”

“I remember reading about that,” said Abromowitz. “Because of his interaction with the
Enterprise
crew, he was unable to fully reintegrate into Borg society. He joined with others who split off from the Collective, right? What became of him?”

“We don't know,” said Geordi. “I like to think that he and his group are all right, but who knows with the Borg? They could have reassimilated him and studied this thing called individuality. They could have found the group and reassimilated them. When you think about it, the Borg are already a blending of organic being and machine. It's not that big a step to link an individual with a vessel to form a new collective of one unified mind—instead of a humanoid simply being implanted with cybernetics and linked together, link that mind directly with a personal, mobile machine. With a ship.”

Carol sank back in her chair. “It does sound exactly like something the Borg would do.”

“The ship's ability to withstand the crash also points to Borg technology,” said P8 Blue. “It powered up well enough when it wanted to. Self-repair, just like a Borg cube.”

“Let's think like the Borg for a moment,” said Gold. “Not that it's a pleasant task. What would be the advantage to the Borg of forming such a collective? Tying only one mind to one machine? What's the point in that?”

“Easier maintenance,” said Gomez at once. “One person, one ship. Elizabeth, it looked as though that pilot was able to disengage from the ship. Is that right?”

Lense nodded. “They could join, and I'd imagine they could separate. There was no indication that the pilot required any sustenance while joined. The entire digestive system had shrunk. I suspect the pilot didn't even eat as we understand the term, but got her nourishment somehow through her connection to the ship.”

“Again, exactly like the Borg,” said Gold, frowning. His bushy black eyebrows stuck out over his eyes like alarmed caterpillars. “She would regenerate. As long as the ship had power, she could live.”

Lense nodded confirmation. “And yet, she died and the ship continued on. There was no trace of injury or illness, so there must have been some kind of malfunction that was localized and didn't spread to the ship.”

“So,” continued Gold. “Easier maintenance might be a reason. What else?”

“A single-person vessel could travel places that a more
standard Borg ship couldn't,” said Abromowitz, clearly warming to the subject. “It could scout out races for assimilation, then alert the more aggressive cube.”

Bart felt cold. All this made terrible sense.

“There's your explanation as to why someone would attack Intar,” said Corsi. “The Borg are hardly tourists. You know their mantra. ‘We are the Borg. Resistance is futile. Prepare to be—'”

“Stop it,” said Bart. He hadn't intended to speak, but the words came out of his mouth. Everyone turned to stare at him. He felt his face grow hot.

“Faulwell is right, Corsi,” said Gold gently to his chief of security. “This isn't a laughing matter. Very well. I'd say that, while we can't be absolutely certain that this is the latest version of the new, improved Borg, it's a possibility. I'll alert Starfleet Command, see what they want us to do about it. Gomez, I remember right before we beamed you out, you said something like, ‘There's nothing there.' What did you mean by that?”

“There were no control panels,” said Gomez.

“That's right,” said Bart. “No buttons, no lights, nothing to indicate how the pilot controlled the ship. I guess we know now. There's no need for control panels when you can maneuver a vessel with your thoughts.”

Gomez frowned and her brow furrowed as she tried to recall exactly what there
had
been. “At least,” she amended, “no control panels as we understand them. Now that I think of it, there might have been some other ports where
the pilot could have linked, other than the chair.” She looked a little embarrassed. “We were so distracted by the pilot, and then we were transported out. We didn't have time to conduct a more thorough investigation. I'm sorry, sir.”

Gold waved off her apology.

“That's why I couldn't locate where the tactical and propulsion systems were,” said Corsi. “With most ships, there are separate sections where the various pieces of equipment are installed. Here, it's all spread throughout the ship, controlled by the pilot's mind.”

“Heavens above,” said Gold, with feeling. He rubbed at his eyes with his hand. “No chance of learning anything without a whole Starfleet team of Borg experts swarming over that ship, then. La Forge and Faulwell, you two are now the indispensable crewmen. So far the information on that tricorder is the only information we've got. Translate whatever is on there. I want concrete data, not theories, when some admiral starts trying to pull rank and questions our actions and conclusions. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said both Bart and Geordi at once.

“You're pretty quiet,” La Forge observed as he and Bart stood in the turbolift.

Bart shrugged. For some strange reason, all he could think about was the unfinished letter to Anthony Mark sitting in his quarters. If this thing was indeed a Borg ship, as was looking more and more likely, who knew what
would happen? He wondered if he'd even have a chance to finish the note, let alone see Anthony Mark again.

“Finding a completely new type of Borg threat isn't something that happens every day. Not even in this job,” Bart added, in a weak stab at humor.

“Listen, I've survived a lot of up-close-and-personal encounters with the Borg,” La Forge said, “and while they're definitely to be taken seriously, they're not totally indestructible. Besides, the captain must think there's at least a chance that it's not a Borg ship, or else he wouldn't assign you to this.”

Bart brightened at that. “True,” he said. If Gold had expected the tricorder information to be recorded in standard Borg, the computer would already know how to translate it. The particular skills of a linguist wouldn't be required.

When they began their work in earnest, Bart was heartened by the fact that the language recorded was not Borg. After working with the computer, he narrowed it down to a branch of the Taklathi language, with some of the grammatical structure of the Nemar and Olisu thrown into the mix. By cross-referencing with languages as varied as Xlatitigu and Pe, he was able to establish a root structure from which the universal translator could extrapolate. He loved these moments. They were positively exhilarating, and it was a refreshing change to work with someone who, like him, respected and enjoyed language.

Finally, the tricorder was adjusted and linked with
their system. After a burst of static and snow—which gave Bart a bad moment, thinking they'd shorted the whole thing out—it began to transmit information onto the screen. Their eyes widened in shock at the first image, and the shock did not diminish as they watched. Engrossed, they listened to the entire recording with a growing sense of horror.

At last, it was done. Geordi turned to regard Bart, who felt exhausted and emotionally drained after viewing the information.

“The captain needs to see this. Heck, I think
everyone
needs to see this.” Geordi's voice was heavy and somber.

Bart blinked rapidly and swallowed hard. “It's pretty awful. How much of it do you want to show them?”

“All of it.”

Lense regarded the still form of the solitary Bynar. She didn't want to do this, but Gold had insisted. 110 had had the most direct contact with the computer system of that ship. He had information that had been downloaded into that buffer of his. He knew things the rest of them didn't, things that Gold needed to know.

She sighed. “Em, bring him around.”

Emmett pressed a hypospray to the Bynar's neck. It hissed gently, and 110 opened his eyes. Lense squeezed his newly healed hand gently and smiled down at him.

“Welcome back, 110,” she said softly. “How do you feel?”

He blinked slowly. “As well as can be expected.”

With the tenderness Lense had come to expect from the surprisingly sensitive hologram, Em leaned forward and eased the Bynar up into a sitting position. 110 blinked, seeming a little dizzy, but, otherwise, he appeared to be fully recovered.

“We—I must speak to Captain Gold,” he told Gomez.

“And he wants to speak to you. Let me run a few tests first, to make sure that—”

“You do not understand,” insisted 110. He turned his dark eyes to her. “The vessel is
alive
. It is in pain. And it is very, very angry.”