Paul Hengest looks like a political animal to me. */*error---sentient being suitable for assimilation---species 5618*/* - what have I said before about metaphors, Two of Twelve?
Anyway. Hengest has a sleek look about him, and calculating eyes. I suppose, if Starfleet Intelligence wants someone to handle the Hegemony situation, a highly experienced political animal is the right choice for the job. Doesn't mean I have to like it. Or him.
He smiles warmly as he shows me into the briefing room. "Vice Admiral Shohl recommended you as a tactical expert," he says. "And I checked your record myself, of course - it's certainly, ahh, distinctive."
"Oh. Right. Yeah. Gaps in my CV and all that. Yeah." Tylha is already sitting at the conference table; an aide from Intelligence is hovering in the background, and that seems to be it. Nice cosy little chat.
"Take a seat, please, Vice Admiral Grau," says Hengest.
"Oh, call me Ronnie, everyone does." I slide into the seat next to Tylha. Hengest sits down opposite us, and touches a button on the table. The lights in the room dim, and an image appears above the central holoprojector.
"What I'd like, from both of you," Hengest says smoothly, "is an assessment of this ship design. Your initial impressions will be good enough, I'm not asking for a full report."
The ship is long, cigar-shaped, with a ring-like warp drive around it. Instantly recognizable, even to me. "Suurok class?" Tylha asks.
"Or of similar vintage," says Hengest. "The Hegemony has apparently persuaded the VDF to expand its operations - using some numbers of these vessels. I'd like, ideally, to be able to reassure my superiors that - well, that it's an antique design, so it should pose no threat to a modern starship, right?"
"Oh, hell," I say. "I'm an antique design, and the day I pose no threat, you can put me in a long box and nail the lid down. Combat assessment? I can tell you, back in the First Romulan War, we were damn glad to see one of these guys show up. Damn glad." */*memory retrieval commencing---emotional states not relevant*/*. "They could take a hell of a lot of punishment, and they could dish it out, too. And the Vulcans seemed to have a better understanding of Rom tactics than we did - like they thought the same way - of course, we didn't know why, at the time."
Hengest's face is partly in shadow, but what I can see of his expression tells me I'm not going down well. "But that was more than two hundred years ago," he says, "and ship design has moved on, surely?"
"We'd have to assume the internal systems are updated," Tylha says. "In which case, we're just looking at the overall construction of the spaceframe itself... and it's a surprisingly solid design. Don't forget, sir, my Charal is a design of roughly the same vintage, and you've seen what that can do."
"Andorians were always a welcome sight too," I say. "Though your ships didn't cause as much snickering as the Vulcan ones. Shouldn't do. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." It occurs to me that I'm rambling, so I shut up and let Tylha talk sense.
"The salient feature," she says, "is that annular warp drive. Andorian ships are compact, for high combat manoeuvrability, with the extended wings giving space and targeting angles for multiple weapons hardpoints. The keynote of this design, though, is endurance - the annular shape allows for a massive extension of the Bussard collection field, and a smoother, high-efficiency, warp configuration. It's an exploring ship, designed to travel long distances with minimal support. Ships like this were the mainstay of the Vulcan expansion into space."
"An explorer, then," says Hengest, "and not a combat vessel."
"I'd disagree, sir," says Tylha. "Those exploration craft are rugged, self-contained, highly durable, and ready for a wide range of circumstances - including hostile action. They're cruisers, sir, with all that that word implies. If one of these designs was kitted out with the same level of technology as I have on the Spirits of Earth - and we can be quite sure Vulcan technology is cutting-edge - well, it would be a very significant tactical asset for any navy."
Hengest is looking like a man who hasn't been told what he wants to hear. "Two of Twelve," I say, "my Borg half, she's looking at that ship now -" */*traditional species 3259 design---points of inefficiency---vulnerable to strikes on centralized structures---decentralize command and control---collective effort will overcome the individual*/* "- and all I'm getting from her is standard Borg propaganda. That's a workable combat design, there's no getting around that. If I were the Remans, I'd be getting worried. If I were us, I'd be getting worried about the Remans getting worried. We're sure the Hegemony is still chasing the Remans, right?"
"That... seems to be it," Hengest says. "They've released every detail of the autopsy on Valikra, and the cause of death is consistent with a focused psionic assault. So far as we can tell - and it's hard to tell, with psi phenomena, as I'm sure you realize. Starfleet Intelligence has followed up other angles, believe me." He smiles ruefully for a moment. "There are a number of Lethean agents who now know that we know about them.... But, yes, the Hegemony is still accusing the Remans."
"Well, if they're doing the accusing in ships like that," I say, "the Remans had better watch out."
"I see." Hengest touches his controls again; the lights go up, the image fades out. "Well, thank you both for your expert opinions. I wish they'd been more... reassuring, though."
---
"Political animal," I mutter to Tylha as we walk out onto the spacedock concourse.
"Hengest? He's not so bad." Oh, these soft-hearted Andorians. "He's not a combat commander, he's quite open about that... and we need people like him in Intelligence."
"Hmph," I say. "Maybe. Maybe. He looked pretty miffed when we didn't give him the right answers, though."
"Well," says Tylha, in philosophical tones, "that's the thing about facts, sooner or later, you have to face up to them whether you like it or not. Come on, let's get a drink."
Ah, finally, she's talking my kind of language. I let her lead the way to Club 47.
"One thing," she says, along the way. "The way you talk about Two of Twelve - it's always puzzled me. Let me know if I'm prying -"
"Oh, you'll know," I say. "Tact. Not my strong point."
"I'd noticed." She smiles at me briefly. The left side of her face is more mobile than the right, where her scars are. I hadn't noticed that before. "You talk about Two of Twelve as if she's a separate person...."
"Yes. Maybe. I dunno, I think that's just the way I want to think of her. I suppose, really, all she is - is a collection of Borg-altered neurons. Residual patterns left in my neural circuitry. Everyone who's ever been assimilated has got 'em... to a greater or lesser extent."
Tylha nods. "There was something unusual about the way you were liberated, wasn't there?"
"Yeah.... Received wisdom is, my brain's kind of miswired anyway, so when the local vinculum got shot out from underneath me, in a scrap with Starfleet, Two of Twelve's built-in control wasn't good enough to hold my native personality in suppression. Mental judo, and she didn't know the right holds. I've been through the standard liberation protocols since, mind. Can't rely on something like that." I sigh. Two of Twelve is still busy behind my forehead, and memories are flooding back as her mnemonic enhancements feed them to me. "The probe was an advanced scout for what we now know was the invasion attempt at Vega Colony. By the time that happened, I'd been cleaned out, checked out, and reassigned as a probationary lieutenant j.g., with minders watching me day and night to make sure I didn't eat anyone's brains. And then Vega blew up, and - well, you were there too, weren't you?"
"I was." Tylha's eyes are thoughtful, introspective. "I think half of Starfleet was, at one time or another.... One of my crew is a liberated Borg drone. But he's not like you - not like you at all."
"How so?"
"Oh - he's a special case. But I'm starting to think all you guys are special cases." Her gaze is almost intent, now. "Sometimes, I wonder... what it must be like."
"Assimilation?" */*desirable state---individuality leads to disharmony---discomfort---unhappiness---r
"You make it sound like a cult."
"It could be. Maybe that's how it all started - a few true believers, creating the neural circuitry, hooking themselves up - going out and, and proselytizing -"
Tylha shakes her head. "A cult. Frankly, I think we've got quite enough trouble with cults."
"Yeah." My miswired brain realigns itself, starts to turn back to current practicalities. "Like, the one that's building old-style Suurok class cruisers."
"That worries me," Tylha says flatly. "A whole lot of those flying about, under Hegemony commanders - it only takes one hothead, sometimes, to start something very, very bad."
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