SINGULARITY  06 
By HECK


Comments to heck@heckster.co.uk

CHAPTER SIX

SHIP'S LOG, STARDATE 43567.3. Lieutenant Commander Data recording. It is now
five hours, twenty eight minutes since the Borg flooded the life support
systems with a neuro-paralytic gas. The bridge remains sealed off, but the
remainder of the Enterprise is under Borg control. Sequentially, all ship's
functions have been re-routed to engineering as the intruders secure their
hold. What remains of internal sensors show that surviving crew members have
been sequestered in Ten Forward. Many have already been assimilated, and are
under the control of the Borg.

Captain Picard and the other bridge staff remain incapacitated. However, they
appear undamaged, and I expect them to begin to revive momentarily.

It had been hell for Geordi LaForge. The neural toxin had reacted badly with
the interface between his cerebral cortex and the VISOR, which normally
allowed him greater visual acuity in spectra hidden from normal human eyes.
The result was that his brain had been assaulted with weird and distorted
images, flashing colours, and swirling patterns. He wished he could take it
off, but his body was locked immobile.

Worf's Klingon constitution began to throw off the effects a little earlier
than the other prone bridge officers. He groaned and raised a stiff arm to his
bony brow. Data was at his side in a moment.

"Lieutenant. How are you feeling?"

Aided by the android's servo-assisted strength, Worf managed to sit up. He was
unable to prevent a groan escaping him. "I will be all right. See to the
others".

Riker was the next to stir. Data helped him back to his chair. "Report, Data.
What's our status?"

"The rest of the ship is under Borg control. I have maintained the ship's log.
You can see for yourself that our situation is difficult".

"You seem to have developed a talent for irony, Mr Data". Picard came to in
the command chair, where he had been throughout the attack. "Number One, will
you assess the situation, while Data continues to assist the crew?"

"Yes, Sir".

LaForge was next to regain movement. He sat up with a deep groan, snatching
the VISOR from his face. "Oh, man. My head. I have one mother of a hangover".

"Geordi. I am pleased that you are awake, although I regret that you have a
headache".

"Thanks, Data. Help me up, will you? That's better. Just put my hand on the
console, until I get my head clear".

"Does your VISOR require repair?" Data asked as he assisted his friend.

"No. It'll be fine as soon as I get my head straight. Go see to the others"

Within a few minutes, all the bridge crew were back on their feet, although it
could not be said that they were functioning at full efficiency. From Data's
log entries, Riker could see the extent of the Borg infiltration; all
essential functions including life support, propulsion, and weapons, were no
longer his to command. Data had recorded the facts in his flat, unemotional
tones, but had nonetheless managed to impart the severity of the situation.
When Riker spoke to his Captain, he tried to keep his feeling of desperation
from showing in his voice.

"The ship is under total Borg control", he reported. "They are running
everything from engineering. But they seem to be concentrating on the
technology for the moment. Looks like, so far, less than fifteen percent of
the crew have been assimilated. The rest are being held in Ten Forward".

"They must be packed like sardines, in there", LaForge commented. His head was
clearing, and he snapped his VISOR back into place. The bridge swam into focus
as he looked around.

"Indeed". Picard's face was grim. "Counsellor. Are you getting anything?"

"Just impressions, Sir". Concern was etched across her beautiful features.
"The crew are afraid, and there is a general feeling of hopelessness. But they
aren't panicking".

"Good. Let's hope it stays that way. Number One, what about our status here on
the bridge?"

"We're still sealed off from the rest of the ship. Life support has been
adjusted to Borg normal, as you can probably tell". He used the sleeve of his
jacket to wipe the sweat from his brow. "We have our personal phasers, and a
few phaser rifles in the emergency locker. We could probably hold out for a
while, but..."

"...but the Borg need only to cut off our life support", Picard finished for
him. "Do you agree that our only option is to try and recapture the ship?" He
glanced around his staff, receiving nods of agreement from them all. He rose
from his chair. "Very well, then. Mr Worf, will you break out the phaser
rifles and adjust them all to rotating frequencies. Same for our hand phasers.
Data, work with Mr LaForge to gather tricorders, and cannibalise anything you
need to provide us with additional equipment".

"Yes, Sir. But I should point out that only way off the bridge is via the
turbolifts. Which are off-line".

"Good point. Number One, alternatives, please".

The Commander nodded, and picked up a padd. Ship's schematics appeared on the
screen at his touch.

"What can I do?", Deanna Troi wanted to know.

"You and I will formulate a plan to contact the crew in Ten Forward. They
should be aware that we are attempting a rescue". He raised his voice. "This
will be difficult. On your toes, everyone. We are going to take the Enterprise
back".

She moved quietly and carefully through the labyrinth of corridors. She knew
she had to get off this deck. She had tried to get into one of the funny
little cubicles that somehow, and almost magically, transported people through
the ship, but it did not respond to her commands.

She had met two parties of the strange, half-mechanical pirates. Her fighting
skills and strength had again overcome the odds, but she noticed that these
did not ignore her as the first three had. It was almost as if they had been
warned about her, although she was sure there had been no communication. They
had been totally silent throughout the encounter. In fact, none of the
intruders she had met so far had made any sound at all.

The corridor ahead curved round to the right. Brenhya kept close to the left
hand wall, the better to see the greatest distance. Her progress was graceful,
panther-like, as she stalked the corridors, alert to every nuance of sound.

Heavy footfalls sounded ahead of her. The muffled acoustics of the ship gave
her no clue as to distance or numbers. She crossed to the opposite wall, to
conceal herself from the approaching pirates as long as possible. They were
armed with weapons that shot blasts of killing light, she knew, and were
formidable opponents in close combat.

She expected them to be searching for her, so her advantage of surprise was
lost. Apart from retreat which, to her, was not an option, her best tool was
her speed and strength. Flattening against the wall hid her from view as she
waited, knife in hand, tensed and ready.

Five drones, marching at a fast pace, appeared in the corridor. They seemed
intent on a goal, and moved purposefully, weapon appendages held at the ready.
Without allowing them an instant to react, Brenhya launched herself into the
attack. She sailed through the air, muscular arms outstretched to take the two
lead drones across their throats, felling them like a pair of redwoods.
Sickening gurgles came from them as they clutched at their smashed windpipes.

She broke her own fall with her hands, kicking her feet up and over to crash
into the faces of the second pair, smashing their optical implants with the
force of the impact. She was back on her feet almost before they hit the
ground, grabbing the final drone by his throat in her strong right hand. She
hoisted him high off his feet and slammed him hard, back first, into the
floor. Raising her foot high, she stamped her heel into the centre of his
chest with such force that she stove in his ribs and stopped his
electronically actuated heart.

In less time than it takes to tell, Brenhya had killed three drones and left
the other two sprawling on their backs like beached turtles. She was away down
the passage at a flat sprint almost before the two survivors had registered
what had happened, looking for a way off the deck.

As she raced past a side passage, the corner of her eye caught sight of
another drone, crouching near the wall. She spun on her heel and ran back to
him, slamming a hard knee into the side of his head and ripping out the tube
from his neck in the same movement. He fell convulsing to the floor.

He had been working to open a panel in the wall. Brenhya ripped the panel from
its remaining dogs, and peered inside. A narrow crawlspace, lit by the same
unobtrusive lighting as the corridors, stretched away from her, intersecting
with another some yards away. This could be a way out.

Squeezing into the space was less difficult than it appeared. It had been
constructed with a regard for the technicians that would have to work there,
so while Brenhya was unable to stand erect, progress would not be excessively
uncomfortable. She wedged the panel back into the opening behind her.

It took less than a minute to reach the intersection. Passages led off in six
directions, including that down which she had come. Forward, left, right, and,
lined by metal rungs, up and down, all the passageways stretching away beyond
the range of vision. She needed to decide where she could be of most use.

She had been on ships before. Robust, square-rigged, wooden craft, festooned
with ratlines and bustling with shouting sailors. In every case the control
centre, the bridge, was at the rear of the vessel, close to the tiller and
where the captain had ready access to his officers. The bridge seemed to be
the place to get to.

But this was a ship of the skies. Where would the equivalent be on this
vessel; where would be the hub of activities? It would be where the captain
and his men could see outside, she thought, and where they could command the
functions of this massive craft.

Up. That was where it would be. Up and forward.

She placed a sandalled foot on a rung, and began to climb.

Almost an hour passed before she reached the top of what she had come to think
of as a funnel. She stepped off the ladder, and moved off at a half crouch
toward what she guessed was the bow of the ship. She had kept one ear cocked,
but there had been no sounds of pursuit thus far.

More by luck than judgement, she came to a point in the crawlspace where she
was convinced she could hear voices below. She got down on her belly and laid
her ear to the floor.

The space was tubular, and the floor was in fact a false floor, aluminium
plates laid atop a series of metal joists to provide a flat surface on which
to walk. The curved panels below formed the floor of the tube proper. So
laying her ear against the surface upon which she stood helped her not one
jot. She lifted out one of the heavy plates and slid it aside, lowering her
head into the gap and listening carefully.

"Captain". The voice of the strange, pale golden skinned person she had heard
the others call Data reached her straining ears. "There is somebody in the
Jefferies tube above us. I heard the sound of metal against metal".

"Quiet, everybody!" Picard's authoritative voice silenced the bridge crew.
Brenhya could all but hear the tension.

"It's all right", she called out. "It's me. It's Brenhya".

The voice that she heard next was muffled. Unless they spoke in raised voices,
she was unable to make out the content. She had to assume that they could not
understand her call, either. She began to examine the panels of the curved
surface beneath her.

The engineering that had gone into constructing the tube was more than
impressive to her eyes. The panels fitted together with such precision that
there was no gap between, into which she might have fitted a makeshift lever.
Her smooth brow furrowed as she considered ways of reaching the people below.

She found a point where four panels met. If the tube had a weakness, it would
be there. She looked at her own hand with a lopsided grin as she closed it
into a large, hard fist. This might hurt some.

Fourteen heads jerked upwards as the bridge staff reacted to the booming sound
from above. "Heads up, people!", Riker called. "Looks like we're about to have
company".

Brenhya shook her hand. The impact made her very bones tingle. She examined
the surface of the panels where she had struck, and fancied that she detected
a very slight indentation. The metal was far tougher than any she had
encountered in her world.

Ah. Well, she thought. In for a farthing, in for a groat. She raised her fist
again. The muscles of her arm and shoulder sprang into relief as she brought
it crashing down on the joint with all her strength. Again. And again.

"Why aren't they just cutting through?", a young ensign asked. The dread on
her face was evident, but she held herself with a steely resolve, swallowing
her fear with a gulp.

"Stand fast, Ensign", Picard's calming voice said. "Phaser at the ready". As
he spoke, the repeated booming came to a halt. He gave Riker a knowing glance.
The Exec returned it with a grim look.

Brenhya sat back panting at last, sweat glistening on her skin. She held her
throbbing hand to her chest as she examined her handiwork.

A corner of one of the panels had been bent down a little more than an inch,
just enough for her to get her fingers beneath.

Her intense athleticism gave her recuperative powers beyond the norm, so in
just a few minutes she had fully recovered from her exertions. Her hand still
hurt, but her training allowed her to shove that to the back of her mind. She
crouched over the joint, keeping her feet clear of the panel she was intent
on, and curled her fingers under its edge.

Bracing her feet, she began to heave. Muscles rolled and coiled under her skin
as she threw her whole power into the task, and the tendons in her neck stood
out like steel cables as she gritted her teeth and grimaced with effort.

Phasers were brought to bear as the groan of tortured metal set teeth on edge
in the bridge below. Riker looked at his captain. "What the hell ...?"

Brenhya grunted and strained. A spectator would have seen her as an immovable
object, seemingly carved from polished teak, as she heaved and strained
against the metal plate. Her palms and fingers were hard and calloused from
years of practice with her sword. Even so, the sharp edges began to cut into
her flesh, and tiny rivulets of crimson oozed between her knuckles as the
stressed metal screamed in protest.

She ignored the pain, and threw even more power into her efforts. Her
tremendous strength began to prevail, and the panel began to peel back. The
further it bent, the easier the job became, and she heaved at it until she had
created a gap wide enough for a human to pass.

Again, she sat back to catch her breath. Below, the crew stared fixedly at the
ceiling, ready for whatever assault was coming through.

Under the tube was another panel, made of a smooth, flexible material the
warrior woman had never seen until she came aboard this ship. Pla-stick, she
thought Worf had called it. It was lightweight, and just rested on a lattice,
forming a ceiling for the room below.

If she had called out, the personnel on the bridge would have heard her with
no trouble. But her exertions had left her nearly exhausted, and she did not
think of such things. She pushed the light panel aside, and looked down into
the bridge.

The muzzles of a ring of phaser rifles stared back up at her. "Whoa!", she
called. "It's me. I'm alone".

Picard looked up at her carefully, examining her for any signs of Borg
implants. Satisfied there were none, he breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.
"Come down, Brenhya".

She swung her legs into the gap and dropped lightly to the floor. "Nice to see
you, Captain. I thought the pirates had captured you all. Hello, Worf". She
gave a secret smile. "Good to see you, too".

"And I, you. I had thought you were assimilated".

Riker came to stand behind Picard. "Pirates?"

"The Borg", Picard said. He spoke to Brenhya. "They're called the Borg. They
assimilate and consume other cultures and species, implanting them with their
technology and making them part of the collective".

"Nasty", Brenhya said. "How do we kill them?"

"Time for that later. Yours hands need attention. Counsellor, would you break
out a med. kit?"

"Of course". The serene Betazoid looked just a little harassed, but was hiding
her fear from the others well. "Hello, Brenhya".

"Hi, Deanna. Where's Beverley?"

Troi looked grave. "We have to assume the Borg have her".

"I'm sorry. We'll get her back, if its possible".

"Captain?". Riker looked expectantly from Brenhya to Picard and back again.

"Ah, yes, of course. Brenhya, this is Commander Riker, my second-in-command.
Will, Brenhya".

Riker came forward with hand outstretched and his most winning smile.
"Delighted to meet you at last, Brenhya". Her feminine charms were not lost on
the handsome officer. In the background, Worf growled quietly.

"Commander". Brenhya took his hand. Hers was bruised, swollen and bleeding,
yet her grip was almost painfully strong. There was no mistaking the warmth
and openness in her greeting, though.

"Come and sit here", Deanna said, indicating her own chair at the left of
Picard's. "Let me look at that hand".

Brenhya sat obediently. Riker moved to stand beside Worf. "That's an
impressive woman", he commented.

"Indeed, Sir". There was no open aggression in Worf's reply, but it did hold a
proprietary tone.

Data joined the two. "I would estimate that she is even more impressive than
you imagine".

Riker looked at him curiously. "How so?"

"The panels that make up the Jefferies Tubes are made of duranium alloy".