The Light (3 page)

“I understand,” he said, then glanced at Tev. “I am sure with Commander Tev's assistance, we will make an effective team.”

“I look forward to working with you, Specialist,” Tev said.

Soloman nodded in response. Six months ago, the Tellarite would have made a comment that would have been at once aggrandizing to himself and belittling to Soloman, but repeated rebukes from Gold and Gomez—as well, according to rumor, as some enforced sensitivity training in the hololab—had served to soften Tev's bluster a bit. Slowly but surely, he was actually becoming a team player.

“Well,” Stevens said, rubbing his hands together, “who's up for some pre-mission beverages? We've got a few hours to kick back until we drop in on the
Hood
.”

“Are you buying?” P8 Blue asked.

Stevens grinned. “Of course.”

Tev emitted a soft snort. “Despite the fact that there's no monetary value assigned to replicator food and drink, I accept your offer.”

“Will wonders never cease,” Stevens said.

“Considering you've just ‘bought' us all drinks, my guess would be no,” Tev said, and this garnered a chuckle or two from the Tellarite's crewmates.

“I think I'll pass,” Gomez said and stood up. “I've got some things to do to prepare for the mission.”

“Are you sure, Commander?” Stevens asked.

Gomez looked at Stevens for a long moment as she considered the question—longer than seemed necessary, Soloman thought. It was as though they were communicating telepathically, but Soloman knew neither of the humans had that particular skill. He glanced at the others to see if they had similar thoughts, but no one appeared to notice anything was wrong—not even Commander Corsi, who was watching their silent exchange with a level expression.

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Gomez said at last. “Thanks anyway.” She turned and left the room without another word. It seemed odd that she wouldn't join them for a drink, but Soloman supposed that as the head of their team she did have other preparations to make before they arrived at the mission site.

“What was that all about?” Corsi asked, her eyes shifting to Stevens.

“I dunno,” Stevens replied, then shrugged as he turned back to the table. “I guess she wasn't thirsty. I'll be right back with those drinks.”

As Stevens left the table, Soloman noticed that Corsi's gaze did not waver from the retreating tactical specialist. This wasn't surprising, considering the pair were engaged in a relationship; Soloman supposed, as the human expression went, she just couldn't keep her eyes off of him. After a few moments, Corsi shrugged off her distraction and turned back to the group.

“What do you have to do to get some real service in this place?” she asked casually.

“Get up and get your drink yourself,” Tev suggested. Not surprisingly, Corsi fixed the Tellarite with a scowl that was surprisingly more sedate than those she usually reserved for him.

“That really is the only option,” Pattie said. “Unless you want to apply for a waitressing job.”

Corsi puckered her lips a bit as though she were contemplating whether or not to react in the manner her instincts probably wanted her to. Finally she just said, “No thanks. I'll just stick with Stevens for the time being.”

“Suit yourself,” Pattie said with a cheery tinkle. “But we could really use a waitress in here.”

Stevens returned and set a platter of small glasses filled with a reddish liquid on the center of their table. “Don't worry, it's nothing lethal. Just a little something I concocted.”

“In that case, perhaps we should be wary of its toxicity,” Tev said with a snort. This prompted a few chuckles from around the table, including Stevens himself.

“Funny,” Stevens said. “Okay, glasses up.” Mirroring his crewmates, Soloman raised his glass in the customary toasting fashion. “To success on the upcoming mission. May we get through it without being assimilated.”

“Hear hear,” Corsi said and drained her glass in one gulp.

“Success,” Soloman said in tune with the others.

“Qapla'.”

Everyone turned upon hearing the Klingon word, and Soloman was pleased to see Bart Faulwell approaching the table.

“Is this a private party or can anyone join in?” the linguist asked.

Stevens grinned as he sat down. “Well, it
is
an exclusive gathering…but we'll make an exception for you, Bart.”

“You're too kind,” Faulwell said as he slipped into the seat Commander Gomez had vacated.

Soloman smiled. It was times like these—before a mission even started—that he was glad to be a part of the S.C.E. team on the
da Vinci
. The camaraderie they shared always made completing their tasks much easier than they had any right to be, and he had a feeling this upcoming Borg-related mission would need all the smoothness it could get.

W
ith the prospect of exploring a Borg cube on her day's agenda, Domenica Corsi had wanted to take a full complement of security personnel with her to the surface of the planet, armed to the teeth with phaser rifles and no-nonsense attitudes. The idea wasn't at all out of line as far as she was concerned. Venturing inside one of the vessels wasn't exactly a run-of-the-mill experience, particularly considering the unease and fear that was associated with the race of cybernetic bad guys. It was better to be safe than assimilated, after all, and despite all assurances that the site was safe and secure, Corsi preferred to determine that on her own terms. Besides, those cubes were huge, and there was no telling where a stray drone or two might be lurking in wait.

In the end, however, Gomez granted her a team of two plus herself, citing again that the mission didn't warrant so much security because there weren't any living Borg on the cube to worry about. Corsi argued that it was better to have half a dozen armed guards when only three were needed than only have three and discover that you needed more. It seemed logical to her, but Gomez felt that one security person per engineer was sufficient. Corsi didn't like it, but she'd have to live with the fact that she, her deputy security chief Vance Hawkins, and Tomozuka Kim would be the extent of the away team's protection.

As the security team materialized on the surface of the planet with Gomez, Stevens, and Blue, Corsi didn't really expect an army of Borg to be waiting with open arms. But the sight of the massive cube ship's remains was enough to give her a sense of foreboding and mild anxiety. It was partially embedded in the turf near the edge of a wooded area and towered over them like a forgotten sentinel.

“Well, well, well, it's about time.”

The loud voice managed to pull Corsi's attention from the cube to a male Starfleet lieutenant who approached her and the others with a smirk on his slightly stubbled face. Three officers milling about a makeshift camp behind him made no move to follow, but they did look up with interest and appeared relieved that Corsi and the others had arrived. As the lieutenant drew near, Corsi could almost see the word “obnoxious” emblazoned on his forehead in bright red lettering.

“I wasn't aware that our arrival was so eagerly anticipated,” Gomez said with a smile as she moved past Corsi to greet the man. “I'm Commander Gomez from the
da Vinci
. This is Lieutenant Commander Corsi, Chief Hawkins, and Crewpersons Stevens, Kim, and Blue,” Gomez said, indicating each of them with a nod.

“Lieutenant Gibson, from the
Hood,
” the officer said by way of introduction, then glanced down at Pattie. “A Nasat. It's a pleasure. I've never met a member of your species before.”

“I hope your first time was a memorable one,” Pattie said with a tinkle of amusement.

“Believe me, after six hours stewing next to this thing,” Gibson said with a gesture at the cube, “you've definitely made my day.” He turned and gestured to the trio behind him. “That's Ensign Jones, Ensign Abrams, and Chief Featherstone.”

At the mention of the latter name, Stevens perked up. “No way,” he said. His eyes lit up, and he didn't hold back a grin as he walked past Corsi like she wasn't even there, moving swiftly toward the other crewmembers from the
Hood
. “Heart-of-Stone, is that really you?”

Featherstone, an attractive woman with fair skin and long hair the color of wet rust, looked up at Stevens as he approached and broke into a grin herself. “I'll be damned. Fabian Stevens, long time no see.”

Corsi felt her jaw tighten as Stevens and Featherstone gave each other a quick friendly embrace before proceeding to babble like two long-lost friends.

“It appears they know each other,” Gomez observed dryly.

“Yes, it does.” The twinge of annoyance in her own voice surprised Corsi, particularly since she knew there was nothing to be annoyed about. They were just two acquaintances, seeing each other after what had apparently been several years. And even if something more had gone on between them, so what? It obviously wasn't an issue now. But Gomez must have seen something in her expression, because she fixed Corsi with an odd look.

“What?”

“You okay?” Gomez asked.

“Of course,” said Corsi as she met her look. “I just don't work well with jealousy.”

“I'm shocked,” Gomez said with a smile that didn't seem entirely there. In fact, her whole expression seemed somewhat clouded to Corsi.

“Don't worry, Commander,” said Corsi. “I'm not going to march over there and slit her throat.”

Gomez nodded vaguely. “I'd appreciate that.”

“So would I,” Lieutenant Gibson said with a grin. “We kind of like her on the
Hood
. Uh, Commander Gomez, I take it you're here to relieve us of Borg babysitting duty?” he asked as though trying to steer the conversation back to more pressing matters.

“That's right,” Gomez said, turning back. “Anything to report?”

“Not a thing,” he said, turning toward the cube. The wrecked vessel cast a dark shadow across the hillside to the north. “Except for the the faint power signature, the thing is as dead as a grave.”

“What about the interior?” Gomez asked. “Anything we need to know before we go in?”

Gibson shook his head. “We've completed routine scans every few hours since we arrived yesterday, and we haven't detected any lifesigns.”

Corsi had only been half-listening to Gibson's voice as he and Gomez spoke, but this last remark was enough to pull her attention away from Stevens and the redhead. “You haven't gone inside yourself?”

Gibson turned and fixed her with a look. “Those weren't our orders, Commander. We were told to secure the site and determine that it was safe. That's what we did.”

“And how can you determine that with one hundred percent accuracy if you don't even go inside to visually inspect the interior?” Corsi asked.

Gibson pulled the tricorder from the holder on his hip and waggled it in his hand. “We find that these are very helpful for that sort of work. If they don't beep a certain way, then there's nobody inside.”

“Watch your tone, Lieutenant,” Gomez said crisply.

Gibson started at the rebuke and looked down at his boots. He shook his head, then regarded Gomez and Corsi again. “I'm sorry. I guess this place has put me a little on edge. It's not exactly the cheeriest place I've ever been, and between you and me, it's creepy as hell.”

“I hear you, Lieutenant,” Gomez said as she glanced at the silver-gray monstrosity.

Corsi followed her gaze, her annoyance abating. She certainly couldn't blame him for being a little nervy. She was feeling the same thing, and she'd only been here five minutes.

“Trust me, Commander, our scans were thorough,” Gibson said. “If there were any Borg in there, they would have come out by now. Besides, the place has been dead for years. I'm surprised the thing has power at all.”

“So are we,” Gomez said. “And that's why we're here.”

Gibson nodded. “Well, good luck with that.” With a nod at them both, he turned and walked back toward his crewmates. “Wrap up your reunion, Chief. We're outta here.”

Stevens waved good-bye to Featherstone, then Gibson called for a beam-out. A moment later, the foursome from the
Hood
disappeared in a wash of twinkling silver-blue light.

Corsi started toward Stevens, trying to keep calm and trying not to be the
kasnik
Gold had called her in jest once. “Friend of yours, Fabe?”

“Yeah, I met her when she was temporarily posted to Deep Space 9 for a few weeks,” Stevens said.

Corsi could almost see the little daggers shooting out of her eyes. “A few weeks, huh?”

Stevens nodded. “Yeah, she made quite the impression. On Captain Sisko, I mean. And Chief O'Brien. In a completely professional, engineering capacity, of course.” He paused a moment, no doubt noticing that she was disemboweling him with her eyes. “Wait, you're…Dom, you're not—”

“No.”

And that was the end of that.

Gomez tipped her head back and looked way up along the side of the cube that faced them, a balmy breeze blowing through her wavy black hair. It was odd to see a symbol of so much fear and destruction in such a dormant unkempt state. It looked for all the world like an abandoned building that had been lost to the elements and the surrounding flora, not a ship belonging to one of the most feared species the galaxy had ever known.

Though scans confirmed the vessel was indeed one of the infamous cube vessels, much of its external cube-like shape was actually no longer in evidence, having been pulverized during the crash. The fact that it had remained in this condition for so long was also another indication the ship was no longer active; if it had been, it would have repaired itself long before now.

Where the cube brushed up against the edge of the forest, thick vines wound their way up along the vessel's superstructure, snaking in and around the eroded latticework. On the side facing the trees, Sonya saw a tree branch jutting out of the vessel, but she couldn't tell if the source of the branch was outside or actually growing within. A crisp chirping sound drew her attention, and she turned to see a blue bird flying out of the upper reaches of the cube near the top. With all the nooks and crannies present in the structural design of these ships, she imagined the cube was a haven for a variety of creatures.

“Doesn't look like anyone's home,” Stevens said, his eyes tracking the chirping bird as it disappeared into the forest. “No Borg, anyway.”

“All the same, let's do a scan,” Gomez said from the rise where she stood. “We can't be too careful, right?” Since they'd arrived on the surface, she'd found it pretty easy to keep her mind on the mission rather than the issue between herself and Stevens, though she had to admit that Corsi's remark about her delicate relationship with jealousy had given her pause. Shaking the thought aside, Sonya glanced at Pattie and nodded at the apparent Klingon dagger strapped to the Nasat's torso. “Are you going to use that thing, or is it just for show?”

Pattie's laughter sounded like delicate wind chimes in a soft breeze. The impressive-looking knife was actually a unique scanning device designed to her specifications and inspired by a similar device owned by the Klingon engineer Kairn, whom they'd all met on a joint mission eight months back. While Kairn's Master's dagger had really been a measuring tool, Pattie had modified her design to include more conventional scans. Gomez knew the Nasat was lucky to still have it at all after almost losing it when she crashlanded on Zhatyra II. Maybe she was feeling a little protective of it.

But Pattie drew the knife and held it vertically toward the cube, blade pointing upward. After a moment, she brought it down to eye level and examined the results that glowed blue along the flat side of the blade facing her. “Results are negative for lifesigns, Commander,” she said.

Good, now let's keep it that way
. Gomez marched down the slope to join her crewmates, “Okay, let's look for an opening we can use to get inside.”

“I wouldn't think the Borg would have any use for doors,” Hawkins said as he moved off along the edge of the cube, his phaser rifle held lightly in his hands. “They pretty much beam everywhere they go.”

“A valid point, Vance,” Pattie said, still wielding her dagger. “However, there would have to be some manner of hatches available for their sphere vessels to enter and exit.”

“I don't think we need anything quite that big, Pattie,” Gomez said with a smile. Those round hatches were probably big enough for a
Galaxy
-class starship to fly through with ease.

“Anything that big would be partially buried anyway,” Corsi noted, then pounded the ship with the side of a closed fist. “Why don't we just blast a hole in the hull and walk through it?”

Stevens chuckled. “Leave it to you to come up with that idea.”

Corsi turned, her brows knitted into a frown. “What's that supposed to mean?”