SINGULARITY 05 By "HECK" Comments to heck@heckster.co.uk CHAPTER FIVE DATA WAS PERFORMING routine scans when the blip appeared. "Commander". His emotionless voice called from the helm. "I am detecting a large vessel travelling at warp, entering this sector". Riker was on his feet in a second. "On screen". The android's fingers flew across his console, and the big viewscreen came to life. "The vessel is not yet within visual range", he reported, moving to one side to allow Riker to see his readouts. "But there is a familiarity about the warp signature of which you should be aware". Will Riker was not a man given to overt displays, particularly not in front of his bridge staff. His jaw tightened and his face took on a stern aspect, but nothing in his poise or demeanour gave any clue to his feelings. This did not disguise anything from Deanna Troi's Betazoid empathic senses, however. She came to stand at his side, laying a concerned hand on his arm. "Will? What is it?" His neatly bearded face gave her a fleeting look of apprehension. "Mr Data. Compare that signature with ship's files". "Unnecessary, Sir. The vessel is coming within visual range now". All eyes turned to the screen. In the centre, it was just possible to make out a tiny moving object. "Distance?", Riker wanted to know. "Approximately two hundred forty three point eight million kilometres". "Full magnification". Data made the necessary adjustments. A hush fell over the bridge and Troi's mouth fell open as the screen was suddenly filled with a dark, ominous cube. "Shields up!", Riker ordered. "Red Alert! All hands to battle stations! Captain Picard to the bridge!" "The Borg". The fear in Deanna's voice was easy to read. Picard strode from his ready room, tugging down his jacket. "Report". Riker did no more than indicate the viewscreen. The face of his captain took on a greyish tinge as he recognised the shape. "What's their course, Mr Data?". "Their heading will bring them directly here. ETA, nineteen minutes fourteen seconds". The turbolift shushed open admitting Lieutenant Worf, still adjusting his attire. With a glance at the screen, he immediately relieved the ensign who was manning the tactical station. The Klingon analogue of adrenalin was still coursing through his veins from his encounter in the holodeck, and he experienced a further surge at the prospect of imminent battle. He frowned at what the displays were telling him. "Sir". Worf addressed Picard. "The cube is severely damaged. My readings tell me that it is sixty-four per cent disabled". "That is true, Captain", Data confirmed. "However, on previous encounters we have determined that a Borg cubeship has so many failsafes and redundancies that it can operate at full efficiency when seventy-five per cent disabled". Picard nodded gravely. "Hail them, Mr Worf". "No response". "Open a channel". "I have a channel. Audio only". "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship Enterprise. State your ..." "We are the Borg". The monotonous voice, at once one and many, interrupted him. "You will be assimilated. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own". "We will not co-operate with you. The inhabitants of the planet below are under our protection. We ..." "Co-operation is irrelevant. Protection is irrelevant. Resistance is futile". Picard turned to Worf, making slicing motions across his throat. The Klingon killed the channel. "I wish just once", Picard said. "Just once, they'd let me finish a sentence". "Sir". Data attracted Picard's attention. He indicated a display on his console. "Look at this. Lifesign readings are extraordinarily low. There are normally several thousand drones manning a Borg cube. Yet sensors indicate less than fifty individual lifesigns detected". "I'd say this cube has taken a bit of a beating", Riker observed with awe in his voice. Another hush fell as the bridge personnel contemplated a force capable of giving the Borg a beating. Picard turned to the exec. "Be that as it may, Number One. It remains a powerful threat. Not only to this ship, but to the Stochablians. And we should not allow them access to the Singularity. Options?" "We could try to divert them. Lead them away from the sector. It's likely that they're more interested in us than the planet, anyway. They obviously need spare parts and personnel". "We should stand and fight", was Worf's predictable opinion. "They are without honour". "Thank you, Mr Worf. It may come to that, but we should explore other options first. Data?" "Commander Riker is correct. It is a greater advantage to divert them from Stochablia. Although the chances of this ship surviving an engagement are approximately ..." "Your opinion is noted, Data", Picard interrupted, before the android could give what would undoubtedly be a gloomy forecast. "Very well. Lay in an intercept course and engage at full impulse". "Course laid in". "Mr Worf, can you set our shields to a rotating frequency? The less opportunity they have to adapt, the better". "I have already calculated the parameters". "Make it so". The interior of the cave looked dank and gloomy, but the environmental controls compensated, and actually the conditions inside the holodeck were very comfortable. Brenhya blew out her cheeks with boredom as she counted the stalactites and stalagmites for the umpteenth time. She was totally bored. Since Worf's hurried departure, she had tried to cope with her frustration by shadow fighting with the claymore, and practicing with the bat'leth, but the attraction of that had quickly paled. Then she had explored some of the side tunnels, all of which seemed to lead her back here. So now she just sat on the flat boulder, twiddling her thumbs and cursing silently. "Oh, I wish something would happen!", she sighed aloud, and with feeling. "Please specify". She had all but forgotten about the computer, and the sudden voice made her start slightly. "I don't care. Just ...something". "Do you wish to run another program?" "Am I allowed to?" "Your security clearance is sufficient. Please state the program you wish to run". "What are the choices?" "There are currently two thousand six hundred eleven simulations on file". The large numbers involved in making choices aboard this ship were, contrarily, not conducive to easy selection. "Oh, just forget it". "Do you wish to end this program?" Brenhya gave a deep sigh. "No. Just leave it for now". She lay down on the floor with hands clasped behind her head, staring up at the rocky ceiling. She had a soldier's ability to sleep anywhere, any time, and she closed her eyes thinking she might just as well take advantage of that now. She was jerked awake by a violent impact that juddered the floor beneath her. Instantly alert and on her feet, her internal clock told her she had been dozing for no more than fifteen minutes. "In Themyra's name, what was that?" "A reaction to an external impact", the literal-minded computer told her. "You don't say". Her irony was lost on the metallic intelligence. "What caused it?" "Enterprise is under attack by external forces". "What? Who? Pirates?" "Your security clearance does not ..." "..authorise you to give me that information. I know". She picked up the swords. "Let me out. I want to help". "Your security clearance ..." "I know, all right? But you can't just leave me in here, when I could help fight the pirates!" "Your security ..." "Oh, shut the hell up! Security clearance ...pah!" A thought occurred to her. "Can you shut this thing off, now?" "Please specify". "This cave. This, what's the word? Program? Can you shut it off?" "Do you wish to end program now?" "Yes, dammit. End program". The cave vanished, leaving her once again in the stark cubicle with its black and yellow grid. Unfortunately, so did the weapons. She cursed under her breath. "Damn! Hello? Are you still there? Comp pewter?" "Working" "Can you give me back the sword? I want to ...practice some more". "Do you wish the same specifications as previously?" "Agh!" She yelled her frustration. This might be the future, and she might have seen some marvellous things, but whoever was working the pewter thing seemed to take her own sweet time. "Yes! The same!" The claymore materialised at her feet. She picked it up and looked at the door with a wolfish grin. "Now, let's see what we can do". "They are firing again". "Evasive action!" "Shields at seventy per cent and holding". "Thank you, Mr Worf. Number One, what's our weapons status?" "Main phasers are fully charged. Secondary phasers are down ninety-three per cent. Full complement of photon torpedoes". "They are trying to lock on a tractor beam". "Target their emitter. Fire!" "No effect. Firing again". "Tractor beam disabled. Veering off". "Let's see if they follow us. Come about, Mr Data". "Coming about, Commander. They are following". "Go to warp six. Let's take them out of here". "But don't get too far ahead, Number One. Don't lose them for now". "Acknowledged. Mr Data?" ""They are maintaining pursuit. Their warp capabilities appear unaffected". "Very well. Mr Worf. Prepare a photon torpedo burst. Rear full spread". "Aye, Captain. Burst prepared. Standing by". "Fire". "Torpedoes away .....direct hit. All missiles". "No significant damage. They are preparing to fire again". "Evasive act..." "Direct hit. Aft shields have failed. They have adapted". "Come about. Damage report?" "Minor hull breech on deck thirteen. No casualties". "Mr LaForge?" "Re-routing power to shields, Captain. Damage control measures in place". "Sir. A single drone has beamed aboard through the gap in our shields". "Where is he, Worf?" "Life support. I have delegated a security team. Do you wish me to lead it myself?" "Negative. Remain at your post". "Aye, Commander. I recommend that now is the time to make a stand". "I agree, Captain". "Agreed. Very well, Number One. Make it so". "Data, reverse course. Attack pattern Riker Delta". "Riker Delta, aye". "Fire when ready, Mr Worf". "Aye, Sir. Firing phasers, alternating frequencies". "Another direct hit. We have disabled their propulsion system. They are coming to a halt". "Reverse engines. Back off, Mr Data. Take us out of their weapons range". "Out of range ...now, Captain". "All stop. Full sensor sweep". "Sir. Security reports they have apprehended the drone in life support. He has some sort of canister with him". "Tell them not to touch it until we get a science team down there". "Sir! The canister has exploded. It is emitting some sort of gas". "It is a neuro-paralytic agent. It is permeating throughout the ship". "Three hundred crew already affected!" "Full power to atmospheric scrubbers! Make it so!" "Too late! It's already on every deck! The bridge ..." "Geordi! Help him, some ..." "Captain. The gas is not lethal, but humanoid organisms will be incapacitated for several hours. As an artificial life form, I will be unaffected. I will seal off the bridge and remain at my post until you revive". "Very good, Mr Data. I ..." Brenhya stared at the heavy, solid door, bracing herself against the bucking of the deck as it reacted to the buffeting the ship was taking. She had an idea which, she hoped, would free her from the holodeck. About to put her plan into effect, she stopped and sniffed the air. She wrinkled her nose as a sickly-sweet smell filled her nostrils. What was that? "Comp pewter. What's that ..." "Please specify". She did not know how long she had lain, rigid and unblinking, staring up at the crosshatched ceiling. Her innate sense of time seemed to have been disoriented, and it could have been minutes, hours, or days. She climbed groggily to her feet. Her head felt muzzy, her limbs heavy, and there was a buzzing in her ears. She combed her fingers through her long auburn tresses, readjusting her headband, and shook her head to clear it. A hand wiped across her brow showed her she was sweating, slightly. It was much warmer than she remembered, almost stifling/ "Comp pewter. What just happened?" Silence. "Comp pewter?" The voice of the ship, Worf had said. She still did not know exactly what that meant, but had the feeling that its absence indicated a serious problem. She had to get out of here. The claymore lay where it had fallen. She flicked it into the air with a toe, and caught it with one hand. Taking hold near the point with her other hand, she tested its strength. It gave a little, but she thought it would be adequate. The double door was wide and solid looking. Examination revealed not the tiniest gap between the two halves, the separation appearing as a hair-thin line on an otherwise unbroken surface. Carefully, Brenhya placed the tip of the blade on the crack. She curled her fingers into a large fist and pounded on the pommel of the sword. It took three blows, each delivered with every ounce of her strength, to force the point an inch between the doors. By moving the sword from side to side, she managed to wedge it in another inch. That should be enough, she thought. She now had a lever, and she threw her full power against it. The mechanism holding the door shut groaned and whined as it fought against her, but her strength was unrelenting and eventually it opened sufficiently for her to jam it open with the broadside of the blade. She was able to get the fingers of both hands into the gap. The muscles of her shoulders and back sprang onto relief as she took up the strain, and she heaved against the doors. The servos fought against her, endeavouring to keep the doors closed. Her muscles coiled and bunched as she poured more and more power into her efforts. The claymore fell to the floor with a clatter as the pressure holding it eased. Her teeth ground together and her mouth stretched in a rictus of strain, pitting her whole being against the mechanics. Finally, a tiny wisp of blue smoke curled from the casement as a circuit burned out somewhere. She grunted as the tension released, and the doors parted, allowing a space of about fourteen inches before jamming solid. She picked up the sword, and squeezed through the gap. She cursed as the weapon dematerialised. Worf had told her it could not exist outside the gridded room. Never mind. She was a warrior, and the searches of these future people had not been as thorough as they thought. Using her fingertips, she extracted her slim knife from its niche inside her left wrist guard. Its presence had been a comfort to her since awakening in sickbay, and the familiar feel as it nestled in her hand reassured her. As she stepped from the alcove, it was obvious that the corridor was the same one. But the lighting was very subdued, and had a greenish tinge. The background hum she had been unconsciously aware of had ceased, and there was a muffled silence that seemed wrong to her. It was totally deserted. The pirates must have taken over the ship, she thought, casting her eyes up and down the corridor. What now? Heavy footsteps from around the curve reached her acute hearing. She ducked back into the alcove, knife held ready, letting just one eye peer out. Three men came into sight. At least, she assumed they were men. They had the right general shape. But one eye and one hand of each were some sort of metallic device, and a number of tubes and cables looped from their faces and necks. They were hairless, and their exposed skin was pale, greenish grey in the eerie light, and glistened with what she took to be sweat but looked like a clear grease. Brenhya withdrew into the alcove, flattening herself against the ruined doors as the three came level. They marched past doggedly, single-mindedly intent on whatever purpose they were pursuing. One of them turned his head. She tensed ready for action as he looked directly at her. But they marched on, completely ignoring her. What was that about? There was no way they could not have seen her. Yet they showed no surprise at her presence, and walked on as if she was inconsequential. Besides being puzzled, she felt a touch of annoyance. She knew how Worf felt. It was not pleasant to be treated as being of no importance. Acting as much on instinct as anything else, she stepped into the open. "Hey!" The three turned and regarded her disinterestedly. "I wonder if you can help me?" Her voice was friendly and relaxed as she walked boldly up to them. "I'm looking for ..." On the last syllable, a long, strong leg flashed up and out, taking the nearest man on the side of the head. He went down without a sound. In the same move, her fist crashed into the face on the middle one. He, too, dropped like a felled tree. The third man raised his mechanical hand. A green beam of light speared out, missing her by fractions of an inch. She closed with him, grasping the weapon in both hands. She turned her hip into him and, with a twisting wrench, tore the appliance from his arm, flinging it wide. For an instant, her back was turned. The assailant raised his other hand close to her neck. Two assimilation tubules protruded from the back of his hand. She was saved from assimilation by her lightning reflexes, which jerked her out of the way at the first touch of the obscene implements. She rammed her elbow into the belly of her opponent, which did not drive the wind out of him as expected, but sent him reeling back a couple of feet. The other two were starting to climb to their feet. Which was something of a surprise to her. Usually, antagonists who received her best blows did not get up for several hours. If at all. It was obvious that these were no ordinary antagonists. She would have to play for keeps. First, she needed to neutralise these beam weapons, whatever they were. Before they were fully on their feet, she planted a foot on each chest. Those tubes leading from face to neck looked important. Her knife slashed once, twice. Clear fluid mixed with white sparks sprayed from the severed piping. The two Borg began to gurgle and twitch, eye rolling up and faces grimacing as the life ebbed from them. Brenhya leapt clear as they began to convulse, and whirled to face the other. He was coming at her. No emotion or even interest showed on his face, but there was no mistaking the determination in his stereotyped movements. Brenhya dropped to the floor, bringing her leg around in a sweeping arc that carried his feet from under him. He fell heavily onto his back, falling like a toppled log. Brenhya sprang erect, at his side in an instant. She raised a foot high and stamped down with all her strength in the centre of his chest. She felt bones give under her foot, and sparks flew up around her sandal. She stepped back, slipping her knife back into its hiding place. But the Borg wasn't finished yet. He staggered unsteadily to his feet and came for her again. "What does it take to kill you guys?" The cyborg made no reply. He came at her with grim determination, even though weaponless. "This has to end", Brenhya told him. She sprang high and somersaulted over his head to land behind him. Her arm snaked around his neck, while her opposite hand cupped his chin. A violent wrench turned his head completely around and his neck snapped with a sickening crunch. His body went limp and she let him slump to the floor in a lifeless heap. She could not believe that there were no remaining crew. She loped away down the passage, looking for survivors.