Perfection, 9 of 28
"PERFECTION"
by Jim Smith
Fine print: I don't own Star Trek and I'm not claiming to. I just own the story. Ask me before you do anything with it.
Chapter Nine.
Janeway refused to let Jimenez see her sweat. "For the sake of argument," she told him, "let's suppose that I would have anything to gain by making it easier for the Borg to assimilate the Stormwind's crew. It stands to reason that I would have taken steps to protect myself. It also stands to reason that any plan to tamper with the ship's supply of similinhibitizine wouldn't affect someone who was only aboard for fifteen minutes."
For a moment this frustrated Jimenez, but then he--and Vystir--decided that this answer still worked in his favor. "We think you do have something to gain," he smiled. "You want them to be assimilated. You're up to something that's worth sacrificing an entire starship."
"Listen to me, Ensign." Janeway's tone was firm, but not as resolute. Her poker face was slipping. "You're letting this grudge of yours blind you to reality. We're not talking about requesting asylum at the Romulan embassy, or selling out to the Orion Syndicate. The Borg will strip you of your identity and everything that makes you an individual. I know them better than anyone in Starfleet..."
"No, you don't." He turned away from her, disgusted. "You've fought the Borg, negotiated with them, cooperated with them, liberated them, betrayed them. I've done all of that, too. But I've talked to the Borg. People born into the Collective. People still in the Collective. People who wanted to return to the Collective. I've been linked to their minds. And you know what I've learned? It isn't so bad.
"Everybody in Starfleet acts like the Borg turn you into an automatons. Well maybe that's what happens to your body, but your mind is still there! Your essence becomes part of a superorganism. And yeah, you can't act as an individual. But on that level of consciousness, maybe it's not as important!"
"You're talking about being an expendable cog in a soulless machine..."
His full attention snapped back to her. "Better than being a discarded cog in your machine, Admiral."
Vystir returned from the shuttle's cockpit, and at that moment Jimenez stepped away from Janeway's cell to attend to other business. The pair moved about the aft section without a word, configuring a subspace transceiver to remodulate an incoming signal.
"Care to let me in on the conversation?" Janeway asked. They ignored her. When their work was completed, they stood at attention before a monitor, with their backs to the admiral.
The screen flickered to life, revealing the interior of a Borg vessel. "WE ARE THE BORG," the transmission began. "YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS WILL BE ADDED TO OUR OWN."
"Borg vessel," Jimenez responded. "We wish to disclose tactical information on Intercomplex 934."
"DISCLOSURE IS IRRELEVANT. YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. DISARM YOUR WEAPONS AND LOWER YOUR SHIELDS."
"We cannot comply," Jimenez continued, "until we are safe from interception by Federation forces. It will take time for you to adapt to assimilate us. We propose to use that time to assist you."
"NEGOTIATION IS IRRELEVANT. THERE ARE NO TERMS."
They were as stubborn as ever, but Jimenez had Vystir to help him maintain his composure. "The Federation Alliance is attempting to divert your forces to Intercomplex 934."
Janeway's jaw was set. "Ensign..."
"It is an attempt at deception," Jimenez elaborated. "You must maintain your defensive positions, and prepare for a large-scale attack."
The image of the Borg ship became jumbled, and faded into subspace static. When the resolution was recovered, the image had changed. Jimenez and Vystir were now greeted by a close-up of a Borg woman, with chrome eyes and a crown of conduits.
Caught up in the moment, Vystir squeezed Jimenez's hand. "Imzadi," she murmured.
Jimenez didn't so much as blink. "The Borg Queen, I presume."
"Hello, Nathan," came the reply. "It seems you have adapted to service us." She tilted her head to examine his associate. "Species 1599."
A tear rolled down Vystir's cheek. "We...we are Borg," she whimpered.
"You will be," the Queen smiled, before looking past them both. She muttered a single word, with the collective contempt of a billion billion beings: "Janeway."
The admiral replied with a sardonic grin and a wave. "So lovely to see you again."
"We're prepared to do with her as you see fit," Vystir explained. "She will make an excellent drone."
"Oh yes." Janeway couldn't contain her grim amusement. "That worked out so well for you the last time, didn't it?"
"Indeed," the Queen said, only just concealing her scorn. "For now, you are all more valuable to us with your individuality intact. We require further information about this...diversion."
"We've had little success interrogating Janeway," Vystir admitted. She seemed almost giddy to present her failure to the one authority she recognized. "But resistance is futile."
"And irrelevant in this instance."
That upset Vystir, and Jimenez felt it. "Respectfully," he said, "we don't see any other way to help you learn where the Alliance will launch their offensive..."
"We are Borg," the Queen stated. "The offensive will fail. We are more concerned with Intercomplex 934. You will assist us in determining its tactical strengths and weaknesses."
Jimenez and Vystir exchanged curious glances before responding. "We can...try, I guess. But Unimatrix Zero won't exactly welcome us aboard..."
"You will adapt." The Queen cocked her head at an odd angle, and then looked straight ahead. "Zero point zero three two eight eight five. We'll see you soon, Nathan." And then signal abruptly cut off.
Vystir stared at the black monitor for several seconds, and then at her partner. "Wh-what did she mean by that?"
Janeway, for her part, curled up on the bench in her makeshift cell, studying her captors closely.