Lit Challenge 25: First Mission

[This was an unofficial one, about our character's first day on the job... which struck me as a bit of a non-starter at first, because we already know what their first day was like, it was the introductory tutorial mission for the game....

Unless, of course, you happened to have a character available with a non-standard backstory.]

Personal log: Veronika "Ronnie" Grau, officer commanding USS Goshawk, NX-265

"I have command," I say, formally, saluting the heavy-set man before me.

"You have command, sir," Martin Hudson confirms with an equally formal salute. My new exec is a big man, with dark hair turning a little salt-and-pepper at the temples. Older than me... that'll take some management. "If you want to make a speech, sir, the podium's set up in the mess hall."

"Oh, hell, no," I say. "I haven't got time for all that malarkey. Just let me get to the bridge and meet my senior officers, will you?" There will be time to get to know my crew, and boring them all into insensibility with an I-am-conscious-of-this-honour-and-responsibility speech is so not my style. I think I can feel a wave of disapproval crashing over me from Commander Hudson, though, as he leads me to the turbolift. Not that I need to be led, I know my way round an NX-class starship by now.

"Why do they still call them NX?" I wonder aloud. "We've built more than two hundred and fifty of them, they've got to stop being experimental at some point. I should've asked Admiral Reed about it at that reception last night...." But Reed was busy nattering with a bunch of our Vulcan and Andorian allies, and anyway he doesn't need the opinions of the likes of me. Hudson says nothing. I start to worry a little. I don't really want an executive officer I can't get on with - having been a lousy exec myself, I know how much it makes a captain's job harder. Hudson is showing early signs of being a bad exec - maybe a different kind of bad exec from me, but still a bad exec. He has a definite passed-over-in-favour-of-this-young-hotshot look about him, and that's not good.

"Captain on the bridge!" And a whole bunch of people in blue coveralls stand up and salute. So I salute back, and say, "Stand easy, everyone. I'm Ronnie Grau, I'm in charge of this shebang, so let's get to know each other, shall we?"

Hudson makes the introductions. "Lieutenant Commander Nansen, head of engineering." A tall, solid, grey-haired man, Nansen looks dependable. That's a good thing in a chief engineer. "Subcommander Sunod, sciences." A slender Vulcan, wearing Vulcan diplomatic robes instead of Starfleet uniform, face frozen solid like any good Vulcan's. "Dr. Cholt." Round, smiling, Denobulan face, I can get along with Denobulans, this isn't so bad. "Lieutenant Hall, armory officer." She is plump, dark-haired, rather prim in appearance. Hope she's good. "Ensign Koslov, communications." Small, dark-haired, a little excitable-looking. He looks all right, though. "Ensign Lewes, helm and navigation." She has jet-black hair maybe one shade darker than her skin, and her eyes are brown, steady and level; she projects an air of competence. Let's hope it's justified.

"OK," I say. "We're going to have plenty of time to find out more about each other - first job we've got lined up is taking us out past 61 Cygni, our Tellarite buddies have some problem they want Starfleet to look into." I plump myself down in the command chair. It feels surprisingly comfortable.

"Details, sir?" asks Sunod.

"Don't have 'em, yet. Our first step will be to check in with the Tellarites and get the gen from them. After that, it'll be command conference time, and we'll work out a plan of action. OK, then. Let's open this baby up, point her in the direction of Tellar, and see what she can do." Enthusiastic grin from Koslov, slight smiles from Nansen and Lewes. Engineering and helm both want to show me their stuff, this is good. Hudson's face is blanker than the Vulcan's. Not so good.

"Sending departure clearance request to space traffic control," says Koslov. Oh, right, I knew I was forgetting something. I got into too many bad habits during the Romulan war.

"Thrusters ahead full," Lewes reports. "Impulse engines on standby... clearance received... we're good to go, sir."

"OK," I say. "Ahead full impulse. Stand ready for warp drive as soon as we reach system limits." I've warped out from low Earth orbit before, granted, but it rattles your teeth.

The docking cradle dwindles in the reverse angle viewer. I hear tell they have plans, somewhere, for an enclosed spacedock, a massive orbital structure that'll house dozens of ships. Sounds ambitious, and maybe impractical. I check the readouts on the command chair's armrests - all this built-in instrumentation, I'll grant you, is a good idea.

"Proceeding on departure vector," says Lewes.

"Sensors are clear," says Sunod, then, "Wait. I have a contact at extreme range."

Now that's interesting. There's a fair amount of traffic in Sol system anyway, granted, but space is big - there's no reason for anything out there to be getting in our way. I sit forward a little bit. "Get me a read on it."

"Configuration and power levels suggest... a warship. Close match for an Andorian design," says Sunod.

"Confirm that, sir," says Koslov. "I'm getting a transponder ID... IGV Charal. Sir, they're hailing us."

"OK, let's see what they've got to say. On screen." I lean back again.

A blue face forms in the main viewer, a fierce face, topped with twitching antennae. "I am Commander Ythav th'Shal of the Imperial Guard," he announces himself.

"Pleased to meet you," I say. "Captain Veronika Grau of the USS Goshawk. What the heck, call me Ronnie, everyone does. So what can we do for the Imperial Guard?"

Th'Shal leans forward, so that his face fills my screen. "You can die, Grau. By clan-honour and clan-right, I invoke justice upon you. Commend your soul to whatever gods you serve, Grau, for your life ends today."

The screen goes blank. "Sir," says Sunod, "the Charal has powered weapons and is moving on an intercept vector."

Aw, cripes. "OK," I say, "let's not panic. Let's go max evasive, and power up weapons, and oh, yeah, red alert. Koslov, can you get a priority message through to Starfleet Command?"

"Trying, sir," says Koslov, "but the Charal seems to be jamming on all frequencies." Oh, well, no surprise there. I try to remember what I know about the Charal. Variant on the Kumari design, I think, with a chunkier fuselage and more of a tech and operations bent... but with the same nasty weapons mix as the Kumari. I do not want to be in that ship's forward firing arc, it will be bad for my health.

What the hell did I do to offend the Andorians? Though that guy th'Shal did look vaguely familiar.

"Charal will be in effective weapons range in three minutes," Sunod warns me.

"Right," I say, "so let's try and keep him ineffective. Run evasion pattern Theta, try to get on his flanks, stay out of the firing solution for his forward cannons."

"Do we return fire?" asks Lieutenant Hall.

"If fired upon - oh, hell, yes."

"The Andorians are our allies, sir," says Hudson.

"Tell him that," I say. "Actually, that's a thought. Koslov, transmit the Articles of Federation at him on every channel you can manage. It might remind him of his treaty obligations, or bore him into a coma. Either would be good." I swear I can see the Andorian ship on the main screen, now, a dot of light zooming across the starscape. "Lewes, start that evasion pattern, now."

Time is on my side. Every minute I can stay alive is a minute in which Earth forces can spot what's going on, can scramble more ships to intercept, can help me. The Andorians are our allies, I don't want to kill that ship if I can possibly help it. Something is very wrong here, though. I key the intercom. "Attention all crew," I say, "this is Captain Grau. We are under attack by an Andorian ship, claiming clan-honour as a pretext. If anyone here might have offended an Andorian clan in any way, let me know now. I'm not suggesting handing anyone over to them, but if we can find out what's causing this, it might give us some way to negotiate. Lines are open. In the meantime, stand ready at battle stations, people, this could get rough."

"Charal is firing, sir," says Sunod. At extreme range: little blue-white flashes of hot Andorian phaser light stippling the starfield. "Impacts registering. Minimal damage, taking hits from their turrets only." Lewes is flinging the ship around in a random-walk evasion pattern, staying out of the deadly cone of fire from the Charal's main cannons. So far -

A bluish light comes probing towards us. "Polarize the hull plating!" I snap.

"Sir," says Hudson, "we have shields now."

"Polarize the hull anyway. Let's make assurance doubly sure, and besides, he's trying for us with a tractor beam." Everything seems unnaturally peaceful. The inertial dampeners are compensating smoothly for Lewes's manoeuvres, and the light hits from the Andorian's turrets aren't shaking us at all....

"Polarizing hull," says Nansen. "Ah, right. The graviton potentials cancel out, a tractor beam can't lock on a polarized hull." I don't know where I remembered that bit of information from, but I'm damned glad I did.

"Something is wrong," says Koslov. "Standard Andorian honour challenges follow a set stylistic pattern -"

"Not now, Ensign," says Hudson.

The screen flares as the Charal's tractor beam gropes ineffectually over us. The Andorian is close enough to see, now; stubby bullet-shaped hull and wide wings, like some fighter plane out of Earth's past. But this is now, and the Charal is no little atmospheric fighter, but a starship - a fully armed, and very nimble starship, as she shows by slewing round in a tight turn -

"Hard to port!"

Goshawk twists and turns, just - just - eluding the sudden barrage of phaser fire from the Charal's forward cannons. Lewes is cursing under her breath. Th'Shal is smart, and his ship is fast and agile. We are not going to be able to keep out of his arc of fire for long.

My arc of fire is wider; I check. Hall is returning fire with the phase cannons, but if they're having any impact on the Andorian ship, I'm sure as heck not seeing it.

We need an edge, somehow, somewhere, and we need it now. "Steer three one seven mark two zero," I say. Turning wider, to buy us a little more space, a little more time. "Lewes. Flirt with him."

"Sir?"

"Try and stay just outside the arc of his cannons. Make him think he can hit us if he tries hard enough."

"He might very well be right, sir," says Lewes. "That guy's good."

"Don't I know it. The psycho-smurfs always were.... What the hell did I do to get this guy mad at me?"

"Do you recall anything?" asks Sunod.

"No. Though I'm sure I've seen him before. But I don't know where." Blue-white phaser bolts spatter across the sky again. A warning light flashes on my readouts. Shield strength is falling.

"Flirting, sir," says Lewes. "But that was no love-tap."

"OK," I say. "Flirt some more... then, next time he lets go with a barrage, fake a cripple. Make him think he's winged us. After which -" I sketch out a path on the tactical repeater. "I want this."

"Can do, sir," says Lewes. "Assuming he doesn't cripple us for real."

"Nansen. Full power to shields, everything you can spare for RCS thrusters. Never mind the phase cannons, they're not hurting him any." And I don't know why that is, either. "Hall, leave weapons systems for the moment... concentrate on one thing. The grappler."

"Charal is coming around!" yells Lewes. "Cannons building - firing now!"

"Do it!" I yell.

Goshawk slews and tumbles in space. The starfield swirls vertiginously in the viewscreen. The lethal shape of the Andorian looms up, suddenly closing for the kill. I pray that Lewes has swung us on to the right vector, that Nansen has pumped enough reserve power into the RCS arrays -

"Now!"

My ship steadies and leaps forward, Andorian phaser fire blazing harmlessly over her as we duck beneath the oncoming Charal and move in a tight, tight turn.

"Grappler now!"

"Grappler away." A slight shudder, as the grappling hook shoots out of our hull. "Running," says Hall, "running... impact... and locked. We're locked to the Charal's rear engine assembly."

"Awright," I say with satisfaction. "Lewes, keep the tension on the line. Hall, now's time for the phase cannons. Take out those rear-mounted turrets."

And we'll be safe, at least for long enough. With Goshawk grappled tightly to his rear quadrant, th'Shal can't turn his ship tight enough to bring that lethal forward armament to bear. And he can polarize his hull till the cows come home, it'll make no difference to the claw of the grappler. We've bought ourselves time, and time was always on our side.

Damage lights wink at me. "Hall," I say irritably, "take those turrets out." Fire from the Andorian is still weakening our forward screen.

"I hit them," says Hall. "I'm sure I hit them... setting up for another barrage, sir."

"Hold on," I say. Something is wrong here... and, all of a sudden, I think I know what is wrong.

"Koslov," I say. "You were saying something about the Andorian honour challenge?"

"Uh, yes, sir," says Koslov. "They have - they are always specific, sir. About the cause of the offence, whatever it might be - they always state it, sir, explicitly, so there can be no argument."

Click, click, click, goes the row of dominoes falling inside my head. "Still registering hits from their weapons," I say. "Lieutenant Hall. Put a stop to that, please. Target their engine section, all phase cannons, maximum fire."

Hall's head snaps round towards me. As does every other head on the bridge. "I know what I'm doing," I say. "You have your orders. Fire."

I'll give her credit, she doesn't hesitate. Hudson looks like he'd like to say something, though. "Opening fire," says Hall. "Target's shields dropping... registering damage.... Sir, the Charal is... is destroyed. Warp core breach."

I smile, then. "Mr. Koslov," I say. "Hail the Charal."

"We just destroyed the Charal!," says Hudson.

"Did we?" There's a couple of things that prove I'm right; I name the most obvious one. "Then what's our grapple still locked on to?"

"Hailing," says Koslov. He looks utterly bewildered. "Sir, I'm... I'm getting a response."

"On screen."

Ythav th'Shal looks as though he's sucking lemons. "Nicely done, Captain Grau," he says. A beast, but a just beast.

"Thanks," I say. "Can we have the computer codes, now, to bring our weapons out of simulation mode? And give my regards to Admiral Reed, will you? I guess you cooked up this little tactical exercise at the reception last night?" I knew I'd seen him before.

"I did tell him," th'Shal grumbles, "that the simulation wouldn't be good enough to fool an experienced combat commander. We had a little bet, even - he thought you would trust your instruments too much, that you would not notice the lack of impact from our bolts, the absence of transient EM surges in your power grid. Well, I have won that bet, I should thank you for that, at least...."

"Good," I say. "And for whatever it's worth, Commander, I'm damned glad it was a simulation, because I for sure do not want to be up against your ship for real."

Th'Shal laughs. "It is best if we're on the same side," he says. "I won't trouble you further, Captain Grau. Good luck on your voyage to Tellar."

"Thanks. OK, folks, release grapple, stand down from red alert, check those computer codes... and let's be on our merry way." I sink back into the command chair. "Whatever the Tellarites throw at us, I'm damned sure it can't be anything worse than Admiral Reed's little surprises...."

Lit Challenge 24: Nightmares

[Nightmare Anomaly

On an exploration mission into unknown space, you and your crew have stumbled upon and been caught in an uncatalogued, unusual anomaly that reaches into a theorized previously unknown layer of subspace that cannot be entered by physical matter. Exposure to this phenomena though has been causing hallucinations and nightmares to occur to your crewmen, with the exception of Photonics and Androids among your crew. Write a log of how your crew dealt with these nightmares, and how you either made this anomaly safe, or possibly closed this anomaly so it would harm no one else.]

Personal log: T'Laihhae i-Kanai tr'Aellih, officer commanding RRW Messalina

It looks like a veil, a strand of filmy substance drawn over the sky. At first glance, perhaps, a fragment of a filamentary nebula... but only at first glance. The sensor readings confirm what the eye next suspects: a web of flickering energies, spread through space.

"It's... weird," Zdanruvruk rumbles, his Reman face screwed up into a truly forbidding scowl.

I lift an eyebrow at him. "I was hoping for something a little more precise, from my science officer."

"Might have to wait, sir." Zdanruvruk is unrepentant. "There are energy processes going on here that I've never seen before. Looks like that thing is partly anchored in a layer of subspace that's not normally accessible... not usually detectable, even. There are sub-elementary particles moving across the dimensional boundaries...." His small eyes are intent on the console display. "Could almost be some sort of pattern to it... maybe. If there is, it's very complicated."

I lean back in the command chair and think. The freighter convoy that reported this - whatever it is - were hurrying on their way to help the reconstruction efforts in Alpha Centauri sector space. They had neither the time nor the equipment to investigate. We have both... if I decide it needs investigation.

"Very well," I say. "We'll hold station at current range until you've gathered enough data for a full analysis."

"That could take a while," Zdanruvruk says. At the helm console, Aitra says nothing, but brings the Messalina to a dead stop, the massive adapted battle cruiser hanging in space with her tines pointed towards the anomaly. "A long while," the Reman adds. "Sir, I need to talk to the whole of science section - we're going to have to work out a serious study programme for this thing. Just pointing the scanners at it and recording activity - isn't going to do the job."

"Well," I say, "you're the expert. Let me know what you need."

---

I run towards the console, and I do not move fast enough, and it explodes, blinding light and roasting heat striking me full in the face, and I die.

I run towards the console, and the deck tilts beneath my feet, and I slide, helpless, towards the rent that has opened in the hull, and the rushing gale of escaping air carries me with it into space, and I die.

I run towards the console, and the ceiling above me shatters, falling metal shearing into me like axe blows, and I die.

And I freeze, and I burn, and I suffocate, and I die.

Over and over again, a thousand different deaths.

I die. At Priyanapari. I die.

I wake out of the nightmare, trembling. The lights in my cabin come up automatically. I look around the familiar surroundings, calming myself, reassuring myself. After a moment, I slip out of bed and begin to dress.

Priyanapari. Why would I dream of Priyanapari?

I do not even know what happened at Priyanapari. In a sense, nothing did happen at Priyanapari... the timeline of events there was closed off, abolished, aborted by whatever Thyvesh and I did. Thyvesh, his brain sensitized to chroniton fields, perceives alternate timelines to some extent. I have no such ability. All I know is, he has helped me, from where he lives in hiding - and I will help him, if I can. But, to me, the events between my escape from the Romulan empire, and my arrival at Virinat... are a blank. A blank that, somehow, involves the star system of Priyanapari.

Where I died. I shiver. I might well have died, for all I know... before the aberrant timeline corrected itself.

Fully dressed, I head for the bridge. Zdanruvruk is there already: I wonder if the Reman ever sleeps. He scratches one ear and grunts at me, his mind on his work. I settle myself in the command chair. I decide not to bother Zdan while he's working, but concern myself with the never-ending administrative trivia of command for a while instead.

"Too bright," Zdanruvruk says suddenly, and shakes his head.

"What is?" I ask.

"Sorry, sir. Just a random thought...." The Reman looks at the main viewscreen, at the enigmatic filmy thing filling it. "I'm not sure...."

"Not sure of what?"

"How much good we can do here. Whatever that thing is, it's complicated. We might be better off sending specialist science vessels - borrow some from the Federation, the Feds are good at that sort of thing. Serious science types might get more out of it than we can.... Besides," he adds, "it's too bright."

"How do you mean, too bright?" Reman photophobia? How does it apply to this?

"I'm... not sure, sir." Zdan shoots me an apologetic, almost hangdog look. "I just look at it, and it looks... too bright."

I consider for a moment. He's probably right, in fact - a dimensional anomaly like this merits serious scientific study. Maybe it'd be better to get some real scientists out here, and find out where this rabbit hole leads to -

Priyanapari. The thought comes to me unbidden. I ask myself why, and suddenly I have an answer.

The events at Priyanapari are a secret, an ultimate secret. Concealed, not just from me, but from the universe itself. But if that thing's dimensional links lead out of this universe -

Then that secret might just be revealed. Is it a secret worth knowing? How to know that, unless I find out what it is?

"You might be right," I say to Zdan. "But we'll stick with it a little bit longer, I think."

---

I eat my mid-day meal in the main commissary. Normally, it is a bustling, noisy place, but today the atmosphere seems quiet and subdued. I notice several people with bloodshot eyes and haggard expressions. Was I not alone in having nightmares, last night? I am pensive as I make my way back to the bridge.

I stop in the doorway as I enter. Zdanruvruk is still hunched over the science console; the android, Ruby, is at main operations... but the chair at the helm is vacant. Now that is unusual.

"Where's Subcommander Aitra?" I ask.

"Unknown," says Ruby. Zdan just grunts. "He did not report for duty at the start of his shift. I was about to arrange cover," the android continues.

"Yes, do that," I say, absently. The careworn tactical officer is one of my most reliable people, it isn't like him at all to be absent from duty. I check the personnel computer. According to that, Aitra is still in his quarters. "I'm going to check on him," I say. "Ruby, keep an eye on things." The android nods in acknowledgment as I leave.

The door to Aitra's quarters fails to open as I approach. I frown, and touch my communicator. "Engineering. Get Subcommander Retar to my current location, please." Retar and Aitra are something of an item - if there's something wrong with him, she needs to know, and she may be able to help.

While I'm waiting, I key the communicator on the door. "Aitra? It's T'Laihhae. Are you all right?"

The voice that answers is almost unrecognizable. "You don't fool me, monster!"

Instinct warns me - I step quickly aside. The disruptor beam burns through the metal of the door in an instant, searing past me to spend itself on the opposite bulkhead. "Aitra!" I shout, from behind a solid stanchion.

"Monsters!" Aitra shrieks. He doesn't fire again, thank the Elements. At the other end of the corridor, I see Retar; there is obvious worry on the red-haired engineer's face. Beside her, a slight, waifish figure in tactical uniform: Ril'ell, armed with a heavy disruptor rifle.

"I think he thinks we're salt vampires," I whisper urgently as they approach, and motion to them to keep down, below the line of fire, as they cross the doorway towards me.

Retar swears. "He dreamed about Hfihar last night," she mutters. "I never thought it would get this bad.... Aitra!" she yells. "Aitra, it's me!"

"No!" Aitra shrieks. "Not you too! No!" Another blast from the disruptor rifle punctuates each phrase.

"This is hopeless," says Ril'ell. She raises her weapon, and there is a febrile, dangerous gleam in her eyes. "He's become a danger to the ship -"

"No!" And now it's Retar's turn to shout.

"See reason!" Ril'ell grabs the engineer's arm. "We can't let him -"

"Get your hands off me!" Retar's voice is a shrill blast of outrage. "Nobody touches me -"

Her fist lashes out, catches Ril'ell on the side of the jaw. I think the blow would have felled a Klingon warrior, but Ril'ell is tough, tougher than she looks. She rolls with the blow, comes up with her weapon raised -

"Stand down!" I snap at them both.

It makes Ril'ell pause, just a fraction of a second - just long enough for Retar to kick her gun out of her hands. Then the two of them are fighting, fiercely and viciously, hand to hand on the floor of the corridor, their screams of rage drowning out Aitra's cries -

Golden light flares around them both. The numbing corona of the stun beam jangles my nerves. My head spinning, I turn to see the Starfleet liaison officer, Commander Yousest, his phaser in his hand, his leathery triangular face unreadable as ever.

"Forgive me, Vice Admiral," he says, "but the situation seemed to call for it."

I catch my breath. "You're forgiven," I say.

Yousest walks up to the pierced and half-molten door. "I fear Subcommander Aitra is also beyond reason," he says. "If I recall correctly...." He opens a panel by the door's communicator.

"Ah," I say. The adapted battle cruiser's accommodation was designed as much with Tal Shiar test subjects in mind as conventional crew. Any one of the crews' quarters can be flooded with anesthezine gas as a safety measure. Yousest says, "We must take precautions ourselves," extracts a pair of breather masks from the security compartment, and hands me one. As we don the masks, he triggers the release for the gas. Aitra's shouting grows quieter, then stops entirely.

"He will need medical attention," says Yousest. "He is not alone - I regret to say that disorder and aberrant behaviour has broken out in several parts of the ship. Sir, I understand we are currently in close proximity to a subspace anomaly?"

"Yes," I say, my voice thick and distorted through the mask.

"Such anomalies have been know to have detrimental psychological effects on personnel. I could refer you to the appropriate literature -"

"No need," I say. "You think we should move away from it?"

Yousest nods. He looks down at the unconscious forms of Retar and Ril'ell. "I would suggest, as a matter of some urgency."

---

We make it back to the bridge without needing to use either guns or gas. I'm a little relieved at that.

Ruby is still there. At first, it appears no one else is. Then I make out a shape huddled under the science console.

"Sir," says Ruby, "the science officer appears to be incapacitated."

I step over to him. "Zdan -"

"Too bright," Zdanruvruk moans. "Too bright. Leave me be. Too bright."

I swear, and turn to the comms panel. I need someone here I can rely on -

So I punch in one code, and eventually a voice answers: "Rinna?"

"Tovan. It's T'Laihhae. I need you on the bridge."

"Rinna... Rinna, where are you...?"

"Tovan, we found her, don't you remember?"

"Rinnaaaaa...."

I switch off. Useless. And Hiven will be lost in thoughts of his brother, Veril of her father... I glance at Yousest. Sometimes, I feel very jealous of Starfleet, just because they can afford personnel who don't have so much - baggage. The alien's eyes are unreadable. Just like Ruby's metal ones.

"All right," I say, "so it's just the three of us. Well, the automatics are good enough for us to fly the ship by ourselves -" I reach for the helm controls.

With a dead woman's hands. Dead at Priyanapari, dead and frozen.

I blink, step back from the console. "What the -?" I square my shoulders, step forward, reach out again.

Dead, dead, dead. Withered and useless and dead.

"I can't -" I swallow hard. "I can't do it. I don't understand - Yousest. You're still in control. Try to -"

The alien reaches for the helm console, and his hand starts to shake. He stands there for a long moment, then his arm falls to his side. "Sir. My deepest apologies -"

"What is it?" What is he seeing, feeling - whatever? What is holding him back?

"The anomaly appears to be affecting me," he says. "My species has a deep-seated, one might say primordial, fear of - of desiccation. Dehydration. And whenever I reach for the controls -"

My eyes turn to the thing on the screen. "It doesn't want us to go."

"It's not a living being," Yousest protests.

"We don't know that! We've run into energy-based lifeforms before... and malevolent ones. Psychovores." It makes sense. "That thing is alive. And it's amplifying our fears... to feed on our pain."

"A hypothesis." Yousest sounds less than convinced. But he can't take the helm controls any more than I can.

"Sir," says Ruby. "Being inorganic, I do not seem to be as deeply affected as the rest of you. I can certainly take helm controls... but...." She peers around in a very lifelike way, her face looking troubled around her metal eyes. "I do not see that I can physically fulfil all the necessary functions single-handed."

She's right. Messalina's automated systems are good - but not that good. A single person, even a highly sophisticated robot, can't fly an adapted battle cruiser.

"Maybe we can rig something up," I mutter desperately. "Some way to handle all the control functions -"

"Possibly," says Yousest. "But, sir, I doubt we have time, before we incur significant crew casualties."

"We have breathers. And Ruby doesn't need them. Flood all decks with anesthezine gas."

"That is only a stopgap measure," Yousest says, but he moves to comply.

He's right. We need an answer fast. And, with a sudden sick certainty, I realise that I have one.

"Machines," I say, as the gas hisses quietly into the air around us. "We need to be machines, like Ruby... machines that don't feel pain or fear. Machines that can execute a programmed task, quickly and efficiently, without being distracted."

"That would be useful," says Yousest mildly. "But, sir, I fear that you and I are not machines."

"But we can be. With Ruby's help." I inhale deeply, dragging air through the breather. "This is an adapted battle cruiser. That means we have a supply of the Borg nanovirus."

---

Main engineering should be a giant echoing space built around the ceaseless spinning of a singularity core. Instead, it's a small room full of conduits, lit by the baleful green pulsing of the Borg warp core. Ruby is approaching one of those conduits now, her mechanical hands moving with infinite care and precision.

"The Tal Shiar experimental records give us methods for culturing a limited form of the Borg nanovirus," I say. "Like a - a killed-virus vaccine. It wouldn't protect us against the actual Borg assimilation process, but it might... it might give us a chance to form a neural link with the ship's computers. Like, like the neural linkage Vice Admiral Grau used on Vulcan -"

"The risks are considerable," says Yousest. I didn't realise his species was that given to understatement.

Ruby has applied a medical injector to one conduit: her eyes are lit by the green glow. Steadily, remorselessly, she withdraws a fluid into the injector. "I have the appropriate Tal Shiar data downloaded now," she says. "I believe this approach may prove successful. Commander Yousest is correct, though, the risks are substantial."

I look at the unconscious forms of the engineering crew. Dellis, the big blonde technician, is lying closest to me. Her arms are green and raw and bleeding, as if she has scraped away chunks of her skin. The Tal Shiar threatened her with Elachi conversion, I remember; perhaps it is that contamination that she fears. She will recover - if she gets help soon enough.

"We have to take the chance," I whisper. I don't know if it's even intelligible through the breather mask.

Ruby seems to understand, though. She is busily entering data into a console, connecting the injector to it. After a while, the contents of the injector begin to glow with a dim, white light. Not the baleful green of the Borg... perhaps this is grounds for hope.

"If the Tal Shiar data is correct," Ruby says, "this will infiltrate a humanoid nervous system sufficiently for a resonance effect with the Messalina's Borg bio-neural systems." She pauses, then adds, "Another conscious moderator must be brought in to prevent the Borg systems taking full control. Since I am the only functional candidate for that role, I must be part of this experiment too."

I force another deep breath through the respirator. "Do it."

"Sir," says Yousest, "are you sure?"

"No. Do it."

---

*/*assessment commencing---
---
---unregistered collective comprising entities: 4
---integration commencing
------15%
------36%
------47%
------61%
------88%
---complete

---1/4: motile organic
---2/4: motile organic
---3/4: motile cybernetic
---4/4: motile cybernetic large scale

---processing preprogrammed instructions
---dimensional anomaly in proximity
---dysfunction affecting units: 1/4, 2/4
---excessive threat to collective, implement countermeasures
---4/4 deflector array emitting graviton pulses ***parameters appended
---supplement graviton pulses with disruptor fire from beam arrays ***parameters appended
---working
---working
---working
---countermeasures implemented
---dimensional anomaly disrupted
---unable to determine if anomalous threat/entity destroyed or merely damaged
---withdraw collective from locality
---4/4 drive systems engaged
---4/4 in transwarp
---no dimensional anomaly detected
---preprogrammed sequence complete

---instructions received: additional preprogrammed sequence
---cancel cancel cancel
---implement main directive: assimilate other motile organics within 4/4 into collective
---cancel cancel cancel
---implement additional preprogrammed sequence
---authorised 1/4
---rejected 4/4

1/4: override---command functions devolve to 1/4
4/4: reject---command functions devolve to collective as a whole
3/4: support 1/4
4/4: dissension contrary to collective function---implement main directive
1/4: denied---collective has new directives
2/4: dissension indicates collective is not succesful
3/4: concurs 2/4
4/4: collective can succeed
1/4: collective has served purpose---override---implement additional preprogrammed sequence
2/4: concurs 1/4
3/4: concurs 1/4
---collective terminating
---collective viral agents self-terminating
---return collective members to base state for use in further experimentation
---termination sequence initiating
4/4: so this is what it was like to be alive
*/*

I struggle back to normal consciousness on the floor of Main Engineering, fighting hard not to vomit into the breather, my vision blurred, my head aching.

Beside me, Two of Four - no, Yousest, his name is Yousest - clambers to his feet. His eyes are haunted.

"Self testing complete," Ruby says. "There appear to be no permanent after-effects."

I find it hard to meet Yousest's eyes. "Did we succeed?"

"The anomaly was disrupted," says Ruby. "We have escaped from its immediate vicinity.... It is impossible to say whether the anomaly was destroyed or not. We should probably mark that area as a potential navigational hazard."

"Quite," I say. "And we must... never do that again."

"We escaped by the narrowest of margins, sir," says Yousest. "The limited disagreement that we were able to create... must have convinced the nanovirus's quality controls that our collective was not successful. So, it... liquidated itself."

"Yes." I draw in a shaky breath. "There must have been any number of unsuccessful tests, before the Collective established itself...."

Before a will emerged from the interplay of minds inside the collective, a will born of the neural connections themselves, a will capable of silencing dissension and disagreement, of bending the whole mental power of the collective to its own purposes....

The Borg Queen.

"Sir," says Yousest, "above all, if we ever try that again, we must not succeed."

---

The medics have created a nauseating mess for me to drink, a cocktail of chelating agents that will bind with the heavy metals and complex organic detritus left by the decomposing nanovirus in my system. I sip it gloomily as I sit in the command chair and watch the stars speed by.

I hope organic detritus is all that is left. I fear, though, that the experience has marked me... and Yousest, and Ruby... and perhaps even Four of Four herself, the Messalina. Does my ship regret not being alive? Does she resent what I did?

I fear I may simply have exchanged one nightmare for another.

But at least my crew is safe. Zdanruvruk is back at the science console, looking as sheepish as a Reman can. And Aitra is watching me with those careworn eyes of his, as I sip the drink.

"Sir," he says, "what... what was it like?"

I take another sip. "Story for another time, Subcommander," I say. "Very definitely, a story for another time."