Resistance

by J. M. Dillard

  “I’m all right,” Allen gasped, though he protectively cradled one arm. “My board is down.” And then he let go a sound of pure amazement. “Good lord. Look . . .”

  He was staring overhead. Nave followed his gaze and saw it: the narrow crack in the hull that revealed, beyond the mists of smoke and the faint glimmer of a force field, blackness and stars. It was, Nave thought absurdly, like staring up at a sliver of night sky.

  “Hull breach requiring repair. Oxygen levels have dropped to substandard levels,” the computer reported calmly. “Toxic particulate matter detected. Filtration systems off-line and in need of repair. Temporary evacuation required.”

  Someone behind her shifted and groaned. “Commander?” she called.

  “I’m okay,” Commander La Forge mumbled, but his tone — and the fact that he was still huddled on the deck beneath the engineering station — said otherwise. A waft of smoke rose from his console, which spewed red sparks and sizzled ominously.

  “Take care of him,” Nave said to the ensign.

  “Aye, sir, I’ve got him,” Allen said and rose stiffly.

  But T’Lana was still unaccounted for. Nave scanned the area around the counselor’s chair and saw, behind it and to its left, the Vulcan’s still form, supine on the deck.

  “Counselor.” She knelt down at once. T’Lana was pale, motionless; her eyes were closed. There was a gash at her throat, just beneath her left jaw, and dark green liquid had spilled down her neck and soaked the shoulder of her uniform.

  Nave reached out with an unsteady hand to feel for a pulse. At her touch, T’Lana’s eyes snapped open.

  “Counselor. You’ve been wounded.” Instinctively, Nave pressed her combadge and said, “Sickbay.”

  T’Lana’s lips parted; she struggled to speak.

  “It’s okay,” Nave soothed, even as a voice filtered over the comm channel.

  “Sickbay. Nurse Ojibwa here.”

  “This is the bridge. We need medics up here stat. I’ve got a Vulcan who’s losing blood, and I think Commander La Forge is injured —”

  “Sending them up now . . .”

  Commander Worf’s voice overrode Ojibwa’s. “Worf to Nave. Lieutenant, what’s happening on the bridge?”

  “Hull breach, sir, conn is online, but we have wounded . . .” Nave looked down at the growing stain on T’Lana’s uniform. The Vulcan’s eyes were wide, her gaze distant. “Counselor!”

  Nave reached for the wound and gently fingered it until she felt the small puncture, probably caused by a piece of shrapnel, she decided. She pressed her hand firmly against it until she felt certain she had stanched the flow. T’Lana’s blood was feverishly warm.

  “We’re sending medics. Transfer control to auxiliary bridge. Evacuate as soon as you can. Worf out.”

  Nave absently touched her combadge, cutting off the channel. “Medics are coming!” she called to Allen. The ensign had helped Commander La Forge up into his chair; La Forge held a hand to his brow, dazed. One of his cybernetic eyes had gone ominously dark.

  T’Lana tried again to speak. Nave studied her and saw something she had never before seen in a Vulcan’s eyes: horror. The counselor could not quite manage a full whisper, but Nave watched her lips form the words.

  Your face is black.

  Nave was momentarily confused; she ran the back of her free hand across her forehead and glanced at it. “Soot,” she said. “Don’t worry, Counselor, it’s just soot.”

  T’Lana struggled and formed another word. Leave.

  “Not on your life,” Nave said.

  The Vulcan’s chest hitched as she emitted a soft hiccup; a bubble of blood appeared on her lips, followed by a sudden rush that flowed down her chin and joined the stream on her neck. Her eyes rolled back until not much more than the whites were visible.

  “Damn,” Nave whispered. “Oh, damn, Counselor, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare.”

  10

  In sickbay, Crusher withdrew the surgical stimulator from Geordi La Forge’s temple and watched with satisfaction as his left cybernetic eye flickered, then began to glow reassuringly.

  “Whew,” La Forge said. He was sitting up on the diagnostic bed, looking much better than he had when Nave and Allen had arrived with him. He blinked and studied Beverly appreciatively. “Now that’s more like it.”

  “Just some pressure on your optical circuit. That’s what comes of hitting your head so hard.”

  La Forge rubbed his scalp ruefully. “Good thing I have such a thick skull.”

  Crusher could not quite bring herself to smile. She was operating numbly, mechanically now. She could not allow herself to feel, to think about anything other than the present moment, until Jean-Luc was finally back safe aboard the Enterprise.

  Both she and Geordi glanced up as Worf entered, his customary scowl even grimmer than usual.

  “So, Doc . . .” La Forge slid off the edge of the bed to his feet. “Can I go? I’ve got things to do.”

  Beverly gave a nod. “You’re good.”

  Worf stepped in front of him. “Commander La Forge, Nelson reports that the bridge should be habitable within the hour. In the meantime, all operations are being run from the auxiliary bridge.”

  “Are we out of the cube’s weapons range?” La Forge asked.

  Worf gave a curt nod. “And we should soon be out of scanning range as well.”

  “We’ve abandoned the captain?” Beverly asked, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice but knowing she had failed.

  “The damage to the ship is extensive,” he explained. “There are several hull breaches in the saucer section. The docking bays are all inaccessible. Our shields are still down. The Borg have left us no options.”

  Worf and La Forge shared a grim look. Beverly understood all too well: Jean-Luc had left them with no options.

  “So we just give up?” Beverly asked.

  “That is what we were ordered to do,” Worf acknowledged, but there was something behind his words, something other than defeat. Worf was handling the decision far better than he should have been. Beverly doubted he had any intention of leaving the captain behind.

  As such, she decided to play along. “Before he left, the captain said that the Borg cube’s engines would be online in less than seven hours.” She paused. “That was two hours ago.”

  Geordi’s tone was grim. “That gives us five hours.”

  “Four,” she countered, “to be safe.” It was hard not to hold her breath while waiting for Worf to react.

  “Understood,” Worf said. He paused and glanced at Crusher. She realized that he was waiting for La Forge to leave so that he could speak to her privately.

  Geordi took the hint. “I’ll be in engineering, then.”

  Worf nodded. “I’ll be in touch with you shortly, Commander.”

  “Your report, Doctor?” Worf asked as Geordi left sickbay.

  “Two dozen injured,” she reported without emotion. “Ranging from minor to critical. I had to induce a coma in Ensign McGowan to preserve his higher brain functions.” She stood in awkward silence with the Klingon a moment before finally breaking the silence. “If we continue out of the area . . .” she began.

  “The captain did order us to do so,” Worf said. She had guessed right: he had wanted to discuss precisely this matter. And given his uneasy relationship with the Vulcan counselor, he could hardly discuss it with her.

  “But you know what would happen if we did,” Beverly countered. She could not be neutral on the subject; she could not even try. She had worried earlier about questioning her professionalism, which led to where they were in this moment. She would not let appearances keep her from speaking her mind. She was a Starfleet officer, and Worf was now her commander. She would abide by his decision, but she would not shy away from the conversation this time.

  Worf sighed. “The Borg’s engines will come online. They will be able to attack and to pursue us and any other vessel or planet they choose.” He paused a long moment; h
is gaze dropped as he uncomfortably shifted his weight. “I . . . made an error of judgment once before, because I followed my heart instead of my orders. My decision cost many lives.” He looked up at her. “I do not want to make the same mistake again.”

  “I understand completely,” Beverly responded. “But, in all honesty, this is not the same situation, Worf. It’s true you’re the captain’s loyal friend —”

  He began to speak, but Beverly waved him silent.

  “I know, my heart is involved here, too,” she said. “I want to save him more than anyone. But I think that, when the captain gave the order to leave him behind, he was thinking only of the good of the crew.”

  Worf gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “But I must consider the greater good. If we do not stop the Borg now . . .”

  Beverly let the question hang in the air between them. At last, she asked quietly, “And if the ship can’t handle another encounter?”

  “We will have tried,” Worf said. His gaze was confident now that he had made his decision. “I do not relish disobeying a direct order from the captain. But I have an idea of a way we can . . . circumvent his directive.”

  Beverly’s lips broke into a grin.

  Worf did not return the smile, of course, but the lines in his face softened. “Thank you, Doctor.” He paused. “Is Lieutenant Nave recovering?”

  “Yes. She just had a few cracked ribs. I expect to be releasing her back to duty in the next half hour.”

  “Good,” Worf said. “She will be heading security for the away team to rescue the captain.”

  “I’ll tell her to contact you,” Beverly responded. As the Klingon turned toward the exit, she added, “Before you go, Worf. Since it looks like we’re headed back to the Borg ship, I’ve been doing some research, and I think I can come up with something to neutralize the queen and give us a chance to destroy the cube.”

  He frowned. “Neutralize?”

  “It’s . . . a theory I want to test. I’m sure the queen has metamorphosed from a Borg drone because of a feminizing hormone. If I can develop a chemical to counteract that hormone before we reach the Borg ship, then we might be able to transform the queen back to a drone . . .”

  Worf shrugged. “There is a simpler way, Doctor.”

  Killing, of course. Beverly briefly averted her gaze. “I know. But . . . I can’t help thinking I’m on the verge of a breakthrough here. Call it instinct. If we can transform the queen back into a drone, then . . . then there might be a way to prevent the transformation from occurring again. Ever. It would send the Borg into disarray. Weaken them.”

  Worf’s brows raised; she had caught his interest. “That,” he said, “sounds like a very worthy pursuit, Doctor. If there is any assistance that you need . . .”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” she said. “Thank you, Worf.” She was referring to more than just his offer of help; she was thinking of Jean-Luc as she said it.

  He seemed to understand. He hesitated for a moment, then awkwardly, quietly said, “Thank you, Doctor.” Then he turned and was gone.

  • • •

  Impatient, Sara Nave ignored the doctor’s orders to remain on her diagnostic bed and wait until Crusher came to release her. Instead, Nave sat up — gingerly, because her two cracked ribs, although healed, felt stiff — and swung herself around so that she could stand. Holding her tender side, she headed out toward the lab, where she could hear Doctor Crusher speaking to someone.

  Whoever it was left. The doors closed and Crusher turned around and almost collided with Nave.

  “What are you doing up, Sara? I thought I was pretty clear that you weren’t to budge until I came for you. Those ribs are still knitting. If you don’t hold still, they might not heal properly and we’d have to start the process all over again.”

  “I have to get to the helm,” Nave insisted. “It’s critical that I monitor the ship’s course —”

  “You’re not the only competent helmsperson on this vessel,” Crusher said. “The helm’s being taken good care of. Commander Worf will let you know when you’re needed. Unless you want to go somewhere now — and wind up having to come back to sickbay for twice as long.” She gestured toward Nave’s diagnostic bed. “Now, shall I escort you, or can you find your way back?”

  Nave sighed in defeat. “I’ll go . . .”

  Crusher turned back toward the lab. Nave moved toward her bed, but as she did, she caught sight of Counselor T’Lana lying in a nearby surgical alcove.

  She’d been quite worried about the Vulcan. When the medics had carried T’Lana to the lift, Nave had overheard one of them mention she was in shock from blood loss.

  Careful not to draw Crusher’s attention, Nave moved silently to T’Lana’s side. The Vulcan skin was pale, sallow. With her long lashes and cherubic lips, she seemed very, very young — As young as me, Nave thought, though she had no idea how to gauge a Vulcan’s age. T’Lana’s eyes were closed as if she were sleeping, but when Nave stepped up beside her, her eyes snapped open at once.

  “Counselor,” Nave said, a bit startled. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “It is not a disturbance.” T’Lana was sharp, thoroughly alert. She pushed herself up on her elbows, as if she found it unsettling to be lying down in the presence of someone standing. “It is fortunate that you have come. I was aware that, on the bridge, you applied manual pressure in order to stop my bleeding.”

  “Yes,” Nave said.

  “Doctor Crusher said that the action saved my life. Thank you.”

  Nave felt herself flush. “It was nothing. You would have done the same for me.”

  T’Lana gave a single grave nod. “Yes. You are a valuable officer. It would be logical.”

  Nave shook her head and allowed herself a smile. “Naturally.”

  “I’m glad you are well, Lieutenant,” T’Lana said. “What is our course heading? Are we returning to a safe location?”

  “I have no idea,” Nave said. “I just got out of bed myself; I haven’t had the chance to talk to anyone. Frankly, I hope we’re returning to the Borg vessel.”

  “Why would you wish such a thing? It would put the ship and crew in great danger.”

  Nave’s temper flared, and she did not try to keep the heat from her voice. “Because my friend is there. Because the captain is there. Do you think we should just leave them there — to be Borg drones? So that they can fight against us later? So that other Starfleet officers, on some other starship, can come and kill them without even knowing who they are?”

  “I would regret losing the captain and a fellow officer,” T’Lana said softly. “But leaving would be the logical thing to do.”

  “What is logical about betraying your friends and crewmates to keep yourself safe?” Nave countered. “If that’s logic, then the hell with it. I’ll take loyalty any day.”

  She turned on her heel and — ignoring her aching ribs — went back to her bed.

  • • •

  Half an hour later, Worf stepped off the lift onto the bridge. The air had been filtered and brought up to standard oxygen levels, and all systems were back in operation, but there would be no time to repair the damage to the hull.

  Worf had seen hull breaches before. This one did not compare to the damage done to the hull during their encounter with Shinzon, but still, it was not a sight he could ever become accustomed to. The great crack overhead, the shimmering force field with stars just beyond, inspired an eerie sensation.

  He felt relieved to have made his decision; he was already impatient for action. He nodded briefly to Ensign Allen, who was back at his station, and at Lieutenant Nave, who had swiveled in her chair to face him, awaiting orders.

  “Ensign,” Worf said by way of greeting as he assumed the captain’s chair. “Lieutenant. Welcome back.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Nave said, and Allen echoed the sentiment. Nave hesitated, then colored faintly as she said, “I saw the course heading, sir. May I ask, are we running away?”


  “No,” he replied simply. “Just tending to repairs and getting out of the Borg sensor range. We’ll be returning to the cube and I will be calling on your services as acting security chief shortly.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Nave favored him with a somber smile before turning back to the helm.

  As she did, the lift doors opened, and Geordi La Forge emerged. He came to stand beside Worf with a faintly worried expression.

  “Report, Commander,” Worf told him.

  La Forge kept his voice low. “I’ve looked over your plan. I’m pretty sure it can be done in the time we have.”

  Worf scowled at him. “But?” Behind him, the lift doors opened, but he kept his attention on Geordi.

  “Well, we’re going to require a massive amount of energy. Energy we don’t have right now, especially considering the damage to the saucer section.”

  “I have already taken that into consideration,” Worf said. “We will need to separate the ship.”

  “Exactly what I was going to suggest,” La Forge agreed. “In that case, I think we can do it. If you can manage to get those codes.”

  Worf nodded. “Considering the alternative, I do not think that will be a problem. How soon do you think you can be ready for us to return to the Borg cube?” As he asked the question, Counselor T’Lana arrived and soundlessly took her seat beside the Klingon. Worf watched her in the periphery of his vision. Being a Vulcan, she had doubtless heard his question even though they had spoken quietly.

  “Within the hour,” La Forge replied. “Depending on how extensive the process —”

  Worf cut him off. “Prepare the ship.”

  “Yes, sir.” La Forge nodded and left the bridge.

  As soon as the turbolift doors closed, T’Lana addressed Worf suddenly, formally. “Sir. May I ask whether you intend to take the Enterprise back to the vicinity of the Borg vessel?”

  Defiant, Worf looked down at her. “I do.”

  “Then I wish to make a formal objection, Commander.”