Strange New Worlds X

by Dean Wesley Smith

  To Grebnedlog’s chagrin, Worf threw his head back and laughed heartily. But Grebnedlog continued, certain that if he could convince the Federation ships that they had joined forces with the Bored or Borg, whatever it was they called themselves, that they would surrender their technology in fear.

  “LOWER YOUR SHELLS AND SURROUNDER YOUR SHIP …”

  Worf shook his head and laughed heartily.

  This further incensed Grebnedlog. “Don’t laugh! I want to go on!”

  “Go right ahead, my friend!” Worf said. He then opened a channel to the Bozeman. “Worf to Bozeman. Proceed to Sector 001. We will meet the battlegroup there in twenty minutes.”

  Acknowledged. Bateson out.

  Grebnedlog began to panic. I just need to finish my speech; then they will be afraid and give me their weapons so I can attack the Enterprise … wherever they are. He continued his recitation as best he could recall.

  “WE WILL EGG YOUR BIILLOGICAL AND TACK-NO-LOGICAL DESTRUCTIVENSS TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTORE WILL ADEPT TO RESURFACE US. RESISTANCE IS FERTILE.”

  The next thing he saw on the viewscreen was the brilliant star-burst of the two Federation ships warping out.

  “They are going,” said Reginod, blankly.

  Though deception had always worked for the Pakleds, and though this plan of impersonating the Borg should have surely frightened even the mightiest of Federation captains into accepting their demands, Grebnedlog once again found himself sitting on the bridge of his ship, the laughing stock of the P.I.G., and the entire Federation. His lust for revenge on the man who had destroyed his reputation and career grew more and more insatiable.

  “Find the Borg!” Grebnedlog shouted. “They can make us strong.”

  It was to Grebnedlog’s delight that the Borg cube had stopped to regenerate. He brought the Mondor alongside the massive ship and tried to contact them.

  “Borg ship, we are Pakleds …”

  There was no answer.

  “We want to be astimulated!”

  The only sounds that broke the utter silence on the bridge were the clicking and whirring of old instrument panels, and the snort-like breathing through the nostrils and open mouths of two slack-jawed Pakleds.

  “They do not think we are smart,” said Reginod. “We should leave them alone.”

  Grebnedlog scratched the sides of his portly belly with both hands. “But we want to be nothing, if not persistent. We will go to their ship and they will make us strong.”

  “And smart?” Reginod asked.

  “And smart.”

  The Mondor docked within the Borg cube and remained tucked away, undisturbed. Grebnedlog beamed over with Reginod to the Borg vessel arriving with a sense of anticipation. They walked around with mouths wide open and stared at the thousands of drones in their regenerative cycles. The smell of burnt flesh and circuitry wafted through the dark and cold corridors of the Borg cube’s interior. Terrible as it was, it didn’t compare to the horrid scent of the gagh.

  Grebnedlog naively lifted the arm-appendage of one of the drones, admiring the integrated disruptor and cutting device. A whirring sound from the Borg’s arm startled him so much that he dropped it and ran. Then, as quickly as it had awoken, the drone returned to sleep mode. Continuing down the corridors, the pudgy pair of Pakleds went in search of someone in charge—someone who could help them get a-stimulated.

  “Hello? Anybody home?” Grebnedlog called out. “Yoo-hoo!” He heard his own voice echo for what seemed like an eternity. As he turned the corner, Grebnedlog got a view clear to the other end of the ship. It seemed to stretch endlessly.

  As they walked down the long corridor, the entire ship rocked and a klaxon began to sound. Hundreds of drones emerged from their alcoves and were being beamed off the Borg vessel.

  A VESSEL HAS BEEN DETECTED. FEDERATION VESSEL, NORWAY-CLASS, DESIGNATION: ENDEAVOR. UNIMATRIX 3-5-2, GRID 5-3-4, BOARD VESSEL AND ASSIMILATE.

  Grebnedlog’s ear’s perked up at the utterance of the word “assimilate.” He began to follow the drones to the transport site. One by one, they beamed out as he tried in vain to talk to them.

  “We want to be a-simulated.”

  But they ignored him and continued to beam away. The explosions outside the hull of the Borg cube subsided, and in a matter of minutes, green transporter beams brought scores of zombie-eyed Starfleet personnel onto the Borg transporter pad. A handful of drones began herding them toward a large room.

  PREPARE HUMANOID BIOLOGICAL LIFEFORMS FOR ASSIMILATION INTO BORG COLLECTIVE.

  Two drones organized the pre-assimilated Starfleet officers into queues of nine. One by one they entered the assimilation chamber and eventually emerged, fully “borgified.”

  Pulling Reginod along by the arm, Grebnedlog slinked over and set himself at the end of one queue. Reginod stood adjacent to him in the next queue. Immensely pleased with the situation, Grebnedlog looked over to Reginod and wagged his thick, conjoined eyebrows up and down. He giggled in delight. “We will be a-stimulated.”

  Reginod didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm and just faced forward. “A-stimulated.” By the time they had reached the end of the queue, where the two Pakleds stood, Grebnedlog could barely contain his excitement. He was bouncing up and down like an excited little child in a pastry shop, looking forward to a treat.

  But the drones grabbed them by the shoulders, forcefully, turned them around and shoved them away.

  SPECIES 95012, UNACCEPTABLE FOR ASSIMILATION.

  Hitting the ground with a heavy thud, Grebnedlog looked up at the drones with a pathetic smile. “But … I want to be a-stimulated.”

  DESIRE IS IRRELEVANT, YOU WILL NOT BE ASSIMILATED. And with that, the drones walked back to the transporter pad and vanished.

  Reginod rubbed his portly rump as he stood up. He tapped his captain on the shoulder and said, “They do not like us. Let’s go back to our ship.”

  “But we are smart,” Grebnedlog answered. “I have a plan, just wait!”

  “Uh-oh,” Reginod groaned.

  In a matter of moments, more Starfleet personnel appeared on the transporter pad. Like the previous batch, they were being lined up in groups of nine, for assimilation.

  Grebnedlog walked towards the queues of assimilation candidates. He grabbed two of them by the arms and pulled them towards an open door. As he walked off, he whispered back to Reginod, “If they get near the end of the line, just yell.”

  Reginod’s eyes glazed over. “Yell.”

  After the Pakled captain vanished behind the doorway with his captives, the sounds of struggling and grunting could be heard. Then it was quiet. Grebnedlog stuck his head out from behind the wall and hissed at Reginod. “Psst! Reginod, Reginod!”

  “What?”

  “Take off your clothes!”

  Reginod squinted incredulously. “Off?”

  “OFF!” The captain disappeared behind the doorway again.

  The lines grew shorter and shorter as Reginod proceeded to remove his uniform and gear. He noticed that there were only two people left on each line.

  “Arrrrrggghhhhh!”

  A loud clank came from behind the doorway, followed by a startled Grebnedlog, rubbing his forehead. “What?”

  “You said to yell,” Reginod responded, now wearing nothing but his underpants and a bashful grin.

  Grebnedlog emerged from the access doorway, half-dressed in a Starfleet uniform that was much too small for him. His large belly prevented him from zipping closed the front of the grey and black uniform and the blue shirt underneath was so short that it revealed his fuzzy midsection. He arrived at the back of the line and handed another uniform to Reginod.

  “Here, put this on. Now, they will a-stimulate us into the Board Corrective.”

  “But …”

  “It will work. Try to look like the others!” Grebnedlog said, as he faced forward trying to look as he too was being prepped for assimilation. Staring blankly in front of him and plodding along as the line advanced, he s
uppressed a chuckle as Reginod nearly tumbled over while trying to squeeze into the female Starfleet ensign’s uniform.

  Once again, they had reached the end of the line. This time, Grebnedlog was certain he and his sidekick would be taken into the assimilation chamber.

  SPECIES 95012, UNACCEPTABLE FOR ASSIMILATION.

  And just as they did previously, the guard drones grabbed the Pakled duo by the shoulders and shoved them away. But this time Grebnedlog refused to be snubbed. He stood tall and walked back towards the Borg drones. “We WILL be asimmilugated!” But the first drone lifted his arm with a glowing cybernetic appendage.

  “Uh-oh,” Grebnedlog gulped and backed away with both hands lifted in the air. “Don’t shoot! We just want to be strong, like you!” But his pleading didn’t seem to move the Borg in the least, so he tucked tail and ran.

  A green bolt of energy shot out of the drone’s integrated hand-weapon and crackled smack on the heavy hindquarters of the Pakled captain. He let out a loud yelp, grabbing his burnt backside.

  “Ow!”

  Everything went black … or was it green?

  A VESSEL HAS BEEN DETECTED: SECTOR 001. FEDERATION AKIRA-CLASS, DESIGNATION: U.S.S. THUNDERCHILD.

  The words rang in Grebnedlog’s ears and caused his head to ache. He awoke from the stun beam to find that the stream of incoming humanoid assimilate-ees had stopped.

  FEDERATION SHIPS SHIELDS MODULATING, UNABLE TO BOARD AND AQUIRE ADDITIONAL LIFE-FORMS FOR ASSIMILATION.

  The ship shook with a thunderous explosion somewhere on the far end of the cube. Grebnedlog realized that they were in the midst of a fierce battle.

  A VESSEL HAS BEEN DETECTED: FEDERATION DEFIANT-CLASS, DESIGNATION: U.S.S. DEFIANT.

  More terrifying explosions sounded and got closer to their location. He got to his feet and woke Reginod.

  “They are running out of people to a-stimulate!”

  “We should go back to our ship and leave,” Reginod said.

  A maddened rage flashed in Grebnedlog’s eyes. “No! We are very close. They can make us strong and smart. Then we can fight the Enterprise and that … that … Riker!”

  A VESSEL HAS BEEN DETECTED: SECTOR 001. FEDERATION SOVEREIGN-CLASS, DESIGNATION: U.S.S. ENTERPRISE.

  “Enterprise? Enterprise!” Grebnedlog shouted. He then ran up to the Borg drone that had stunned him earlier. It was preoccupied with the dwindling numbers of humanoids for assimilation.

  “A-singulate us, Mister Borg!” Grebnedlog shouted. “We want to help destroy the Enterprise !”

  The drone shut his eyes momentarily, as if to consider the request. Then the collective voice spoke over the intercom again.

  RESOURCES LIMITED. REPLACEMENT DRONES REQUIRED. INTELLECTUAL STANDARDS SHALL BE LOWERED TO ADMIT SPECIES 95012 FOR ASSIMILATION.

  The Pakled twosome held each other and jumped up and down in excitement, cheering wildly, as the Borg drone directed them into the assimilation chamber.

  The ship shuddered again. Hissing sounds could be heard all over. A klaxon began to blare.

  Grebnedlog shook an angry fist into the air. “We’ll get you, Enterprise !”

  “You too, Riker!” shouted Reginod.

  The drones in the assimilation chamber were unperturbed by the crumbling bulkheads and fires burning around them. They simply stuck tubules into the necks of the Pakleds, and the assimilation began.

  At first, the sound of thousands of voices in his head frightened Grebnedlog. But gradually, they began to harmonize, like a well-tunedchoir.

  SPECIES 95021, PAKLED LIFEFORM, GREBNEDLOG.

  REDESIGNATE: AUXILIARY ADJUCT 9 OF 9.

  Order … efficiency … unified purpose … he began to smile as he realized he was being made “smart” and “strong.” Riker and the Enterprise would soon pay for what they had done to him, years ago. Grebnedlog’s thoughts as an individual began to ebb. He accessed the cultural database of the Borg collective and instantly came upon a set of Klingon Proverbs. He found one that fit his situation perfectly. Just before the assimilation procedure was complete, he began to laugh out loud as he recited to himself: REVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED COLD.

  FEDERATION VESSEL ENTERPRISE HAS BREACHED GRID 3-2-1-0. HULL BREACHES IN CRITICAL ANTIMATTER CONTAINMENT SECTIONS. WARP CORE BREACH IN TEN SECONDS. BORG QUEEN WILL EVACUATE IN SPHERE 0-0-2-0-1.

  He thought his last individual thought, as the transformation from Grebnedlog, the Pakled into Auxiliary Adjunct 9 of 9 completed.

  UH-OH.

  The Very Model

  Muri McCage

  Muri McCage has just realized that this is all Leonard McCoy’s fault. He was the first Star Trek character to make her desperately want to write fiction, period. Now, with her third Strange New Worlds appearance, she is very grateful for the nudge. She continues to write original fiction, scripts, and poetry for the sheer joy of it, though she strives toward publication for the sheer joy of that as well. She would like to thank Dean Wesley Smith, whose gentle guidance has taught her things she hadn’t known she’d needed to learn. Thanks also to Margaret Clark, Paula M. Block, and Elisa J. Kassin, and a special thank you to John Ordover for the unforgettable first phone call for Strange New Worlds VII. And to Lisa, for the friendship and encouragement—“Gopher it” indeed!

  T he holodeck doors opened with a dramatic swoosh. Unfortunately, the drama ended there. Or at least any dramatic appearance. Instead of some bold scenario of derring do, or a romantic getaway, the large open space was empty black. A yellow grid-pattern added a dash of color, as did the two figures occupying the center, one seated on a simple stool, while the other bent forward slightly, as if silently urging some much-desired action.

  Captain Jean-Luc Picard stood just outside the doors for a moment, then sighed, and stepped forward. Two heads swiveled in his direction, yet only one face showed recognition.

  “Captain.”

  Picard nodded, grimly. “Any change, Geordi?”

  The engineer shook his head, though the answer wasn’t entirely in the negative. “Occasionally.”

  “Still the sporadic outbursts?”

  “Yes, sir. Though I can’t say for sure, I think I’m starting to see at least the beginning of a pattern.”

  “What kind of pattern? One we can build on?”

  “I think it’s more that we need to let him do whatever it is he’s doing, without interference.” Geordi LaForge shrugged eloquently. “As for the pattern itself, you know the way some people are auditory learners? They have to repeat information out loud over and over, to get it to lodge in their, for lack of a better term, organic data banks?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, I think that’s what we’re dealing with here. I mean, it’s all in there already. But it’s as if he’s having to learn to access the information we uploaded, as well as to utilize it. My best guess is that the silent periods are when he runs a search subroutine, and the outbursts are when he’s trying to learn how to use what he gets hold of.” LaForge used one foot to brace himself against a rung on the stool. He rubbed his eyes exhaustedly, only then reminding Picard that not so very long ago his VISOR would have prevented such an instinctive action.

  So much technology was contained at the moment in this one space, yet so little they could do to control the situation. Really, when one thought of it fully, there was little they could do to control anything at all, beyond the simple choices such as when to pause for a cup of Earl Grey or how often to comb one’s hair. Assuming one had hair to comb. Finding himself face to face with a clone he hadn’t known existed had turned Picard to philosophical musings, when he wasn’t occupied with the effort to avert disaster, but he had no time at the moment to indulge himself.

  He realized then that it was possible they … he … had become too dependent on their android crewmember. Data was indispensable. He was Picard’s first officer, and his friend. Of course that was the other Data. The one that was lost to them, in a climax to his lifelong quest to attain humanity th
at would have astounded even his positronic brain. Instead they were faced with a shell. A mirror image of their own Data on the outside, yet inside was a chaotic morass. Chaos that at some point they just might be able to tame and soothe and amend, until it was as if Data himself had been given a second chance.

  For now … for now, they had a problem. It walked like Data, it talked like Data, it looked like Data, but, at the moment, it was most definitely not Data.

  “Isolating him in here was wise, Geordi. Seeing such a vivid reminder is very difficult for the crew right now.”

  “Not to mention hearing him!”

  “Yes. He does ha—” Picard laughed a little self-consciously. “I was about to say he has quite a set of lungs on him.”

  “Well, he does. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.”

  Picard sighed. “It’s so very easy to forget entirely that he’s not really human at all. Not this version so much, but our own Data …”

  “Our own Data, the hero. Life can be strange, can’t it, sir?”

  “Very. He wanted so to be as much like us as possible. I think it wouldn’t be out of line to say he surpassed us every one—”

  “Three little maids—

  “from—

  “from school—

  “from school—

  “are we—

  “we!”

  The android’s outburst ended as abruptly as it had begun.

  As one the two humans removed themselves several paces from the vicinity of the stool. Organic eyes met ocular implants, and they chuckled together at the incongruity of the three occupants of the holodeck juxtaposed with the high decibel lyrics.

  “Yes, Geordi.” Picard barely stifled the impulse to rub at his ringing ears. “Bringing him here was very wise indeed. The soundproofing alone …”

  “We can keep him here indefinitely. Take shifts with him, may be. It might not come to that, but there’s no way to tell how long this whole process will take. I’ll admit that I’m just a tiny bit worried that it could be years.”

  “Surely not!”

  “I just don’t know, sir.” The brilliant engineer gave the reluctant impression of exploring uncharted territory. “He’s made differently enough that I’m having trouble anticipating how this learning process is going to work with him. I’m hoping it’ll hit a stage where his memory buffers will acquire enough information, even if it seems random to us, to trigger a critical mass protocol and initiate some kind of cascade effect. If that happens, it will all fall into place, and he’ll be a whole—”