Allison
Allison
"Michael, can you hear me?" Allison's contralto voice has the timbre of an accomplished jazz singer. The result is magic - it makes me shiver from head to toe just to hear it. I wonder how an alien can sound like that. It isn't the translator; she's speaking English. "I've opened a direct circuit. We can talk privately now."
I'm sealed in an armored combat suit on the bridge of an alien warship. It's cramped and the air in my suit smells strange. They claim to have optimized the mixture for humans but it has a loamy flavor like earth and ozone. The precaution seems absurd to me. If the Borg lock onto us it will only prolong the inevitable.
"I can hear you," I answer. "Are we almost ready?" I met Allison almost three days ago when she was introduced as my monocerai interpreter. I sense her moving at her station out of the corner of my eye, but I avoid looking over.
"Good," she answers. "Check your harness. We'll be shutting down gravity momentarily."
"What for?" I demand, startled. The gravity generators on Federation ships are so robust we barely do more than a day of true zero-G training at the Academy anymore. The emergency operations manual quips, 'If the gravity's gone, so are you.'
"You'll see," she purrs. She sounds amused.
"Hey, I thought you could answer my questions!" I protest, but I can tell she's teasing me.
"Oh, I am," she answers. "But nobody said I had to." As I try and decide how to respond to this provocation she adds, "You really will see for yourself in a moment."
Three shrill tones sound on the intercom. Strange how universal the indication for 'bad news' is amongst intelligent species. It might even lend credence to the Diaspora theory of galactic settlement.
"Now hear this," a bass male voice barks over the intercom, the translation unit struggling with the bafflingly subtle language of this new species. "Stand by for combat maneuvers. Interdiction in sixty seconds. Prepare to de-cloak."
"I guess I shouldn't touch anything, huh?" I joke to Allison as I gaze on the vast array of panels and gauges in front of me. I'm trying to keep my mind off my nervousness. I've had the shakes before combat since Wolf 359.
"Your controls are disabled," Allison replies. "But it might be a good idea to keep your hands visible and at your sides. Commodore Rhakshasa is still uncomfortable with having an alien on his ship. He's carrying a sidearm, Michael."
I smile uncomfortably then remember she can't see me through my silvered laser-reflective visor. "Hey, I'm kidding."
"I'm not," Allison replies frostily.
"OK," I answer. Keeping my hands down, I take another look at the bridge around me. For all of the sophisticated intelligence and technology at their disposal, I'm still baffled by the Spartan design of monocerai ships. The bridge is cold bare steel. The bulkhead blast doors would look at home on a mid twentieth century fallout shelter. The crew is tiny compared to almost any Federation vessel outside of the Defiant class, but this ship is larger than Enterprise. Most of its internals are exposed to hard vacuum with pressure confined to tiny armored crew spaces. Not even Klingons are this austere.
"Twenty seconds," a stern voice instructs. There's a clunk and the floor falls out from under my feet. My stomach floats somewhere a hundred feet overhead. I've never enjoyed the sensation of free fall in space, though I'm an avid skydiver. It's the missing context cues that make you feel sick. You expect the world to be moving and it isn't. The resulting dissonance is unnerving.
"Your heart rate is elevated, you all right?" Allison asks. I suck in a deep breath, steadying myself. I'm embarrassed. I hadn't realized she was monitoring my vitals. I wonder what other responses she might be measuring.
"I'm fine," I gasp. But I'm not fine. I've got the shakes. I'm bloody terrified. Here I am, God knows where, on a scarred alien hulk that seems to have been welded together from the debris of three or four other ships and about to be engaged in a battle with not one Borg cube but two. How did I let Captain Ames convince me this would be good diplomatic padding for my resume? Bloody Ames.
"Ten seconds."
"The other ships are in position," Allison tells me. "We'll avoid combat if we can." I'm not sorry to hear it. "The Commodore will be commanding from the Hecate but he has orders to keep you safe at all costs. If anything goes wrong, we'll reengage cloak and withdraw."
There's a familiar whoosh as the warp engines cut out. Suddenly the screens in front of me flicker to life. My secretive alien hosts have done everything in their power to keep me from getting star sightings or any other positional readout up until now. For the first time in a week I have a clear view of what's going on outside.
The Borg cubes are unmistakable and give me jitters every time I look at them. We pounded the one at Wolf with everything we'd had and it just kept on coming, tearing open our ships like tin cans with disrupter fire. I was one of three survivors from the USS Yamaguchi. My wife on the Gage was not so lucky.
There are flashes all around as other ships de-cloak. The light show begins with the glitter of phasers across the void of space. Dozens of beams pierce both cubes but it's like watching mosquitoes assaulting elephants. One cube retaliates by shredding a monocerai needle assault ship with a staccato of disrupter bursts. The ship's carcass tumbles into the empty beyond, coruscating where a dozen beams have lanced its smooth belly, surrounded by a widening field of gleaming debris. I wonder how death in space can be so beautiful.
Both cubes have been scarred by the assault, but I know all too well how superficial the damage is. I'm surprised when they accelerate, turning away from their attackers. The monocerai warships close rapidly, swarming like angry hornets.
"They're retreating?" I demand.
"Trying to," Allison replies.
The cubes look like they're about to jump to warp when I feel a sudden wrenching sensation. It's like a hippo just sat on my chest and only the safety harness prevents me being torn from my position. Grimacing under the strain I glance around to find everyone else is pinned against their harnesses as well.
The cubes change course abruptly, coming about. More phosphorescent beams glitter in the darkness and two more of the small monocerai assault ships become glittering cones of debris. The pressure on my chest begins to oscillate, so fierce at one moment that it's difficult to breath then almost vanishing the next.
"What," I gasp, "is that?"
"Gravity flux well," Allison replies tersely, her breathing heavy over the intercom. "Keeps them from engaging warp. Anyone who tries to jump out now is liable to end up part of a nearby star."
"How in hell do you manage that?" I'm stunned. To generate artificial gravity on that kind of scale...
"I'm not an engineer Michael," Allison reminds me. "I can ask someone about it later, if you like."
"Damn. Damn. Damn." We're getting closer to the battle but as Allison promised the Commodore is keeping his distance, staying out of firing range. The whole event has the feel of a carefully choreographed performance. The needle ships are engaged in a complicated dance with the Borg cubes, crisscrossing one another, trying to get the Borg to spread their fire. Suddenly there's a volley of slower moving bolts that leap from the attackers and strike both cubes in unison. There's a visible flicker as their shields falter for the barest instant.
"That's it!" Allison crows triumphantly. "They're in!"
"Whose in?" I demand. Another monocerai needle ship succumbs to a fusillade of disrupter beams. I flinch. "Dammit Ali! Your people are getting butchered out there! You need to fall back!"
"No Michael," she replies somberly. "We will not. One moment, I'm getting a secure feed from one of the boarding parties... there."
My display is subdivided into a dozen windows. I'm watching helmet cams from the boarding party, looking at the interior of a Borg cube. I've seen this place before in training holo-sims and nightmares.
It takes me a moment to realize the perspective is inverted. The monocerai are running on the ceiling using magnetic boots. They race forward with blinding speed, the pitching, heaving perspectives make me motion sick almost immediately.
The best way to imagine how monocerai warriors move in battle is to picture an armed, armored pack of leopards on stim packs. Walls, ceilings, floors... any surface seems equally suitable. I feel a lump of cold fear in my belly when I imagine these creatures storming a Federation vessel. For a moment I can almost feel sorry for the Borg. The first few drones never have a chance.
"What're they doing?" I ask Allison. I'm captivated, my eyes glued to the display. Part of the team splits off, setting up a barricade at a junction to hold back the oncoming drones while the rest proceed ahead. The rearguard follows one junction at a time, keeping the Borg at bay with a deluge of phaser fire.
"Assault team," Allison replies. "They're carrying an eighty megaton anti-matter primed fusion bomb to a strategic control node. There are similar teams in both vessels. Over twenty in total."
"Why don't you just beam the bomb in there?" I ask, but can already guess the answer.
"Cubes are too big to beam anywhere far from the surface and the control nodes are buried deep inside. We can't get transporter locks through their shields that far. So it has to be carried in by hand."
The monocerai soldiers leap ten feet to a bound, crashing about the inside the Borg vessel. I start to get a better look at some of front runners of the patrol from the helmet cams of those further back. Monocerai are heavyset quadrupeds, and these are almost completely ensconced in their power armor. I can see only brief glimpses of blue fur and rippling muscle. Fitted with helmets and laser reflective visors their angular muzzles seem even sleeker than in person. The bulge in the armor that accommodates the tusk on the bridge of their nose enhances the alien, threatening appearance of the warriors.
Beam fire dances as the element leader shoots a drone with the phaser units built into the sides of his helmet. The drone collapses, smoking, and the team continues without pause, leaping from one raised walkway to the next. More drones close and the firing picks up apace.
"That can't last much longer!" I exclaim. "They'll adapt at any moment Allison."
"Yes," she agrees, "they will."
Her response is prophetic. The next beam glimmers off a drone's phase shield, dispersing harmlessly. The leading member of the assault team crouches as one of the soldiers behind him suddenly lunges high and fires a burst, dropping the drone. A rotation takes place as those further back now take up point.
"OK," I reply. "So even if they all have different harmonic frequencies, it's still just a matter of time..." I'm interrupted by another three tone alarm.
Allison utters an expletive in her native tongue. The half-garbled translation makes me blush.
"Michael, standby for combat maneuvers. The Borg have adapted their disrupters and the Commodore is ordering Hecate into the battle lineup to help draw fire while the assault teams complete their mission."
"Crap," I whisper. The words "Borg" "adapted" and "draw fire" together in conjunction with the vessel I'm aboard leaves me with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Memories of acrid smoke and the cries of my crewmen at Wolf rise unbidden. Here we go again, I think to myself.
A moment later the ship shudders as we take our first volley. I'm supposed to be watching my monitors and evaluating the monocerai effectiveness against the Borg but my eyes are half closed. I cling to the arms of my gel couch with gloved hands. The ship trembles and the bridge lights flicker. The Commodore bellows orders over the intercom. A siren wails somewhere in the distance.
There's smoke in the air but the scents in my suit don't change. Somehow, all is calm inside of the protection of my armor. I know it will be vaporized in an instant if a Borg disrupter scythes through the bridge, but it still feels solid around me, comforting and impregnable. Maybe the monocerai are on to something.
Suddenly the video feeds from the assault team rearguard go dead.
"What's going on Allison?" I demand, restraining myself from reaching for the controls. I'm unused to being a mere observer.
"Probably just interference, let me try... there!" When the displays come back I can see something is terribly wrong. Three monocerai warriors are sprawled unmoving around the corridor. One is still up, firing wildly, dragging a companion with him as he retreats.
I hear Allison call out in her native tongue and the translation arrives a moment later. "Digit commander Hanu, what's your status?"
A hoarse, panting voice answers. "Myself and one other still holding at junction L792. Others dead. Some kind of... explosive device planted at the junction. Seina is wounded, bleeding from under her armor, I can't tell from where... There's something wrong... something wrong with my eyes. I can hardly see." His voice sounds weak.
The drones are closing on him and he continues firing, but moments later his phaser bursts are repulsed by shimmering curtains of energy. He curses loudly, twisting to reach for something beyond the view of the camera. A moment later there's a crackle of fire as he disperses round after round from a projectile pistol he had hidden somewhere in his armor.
"Hanu!" Allison shouts over the volley of gunshots, "fall back to junction M-7-4-0, repeat M-7-4-0 and rendezvous with digit gamma..."
He tries to obey, but with one forepaw gripping his pistol and the other dragging his companion, his progress is glacial. He takes one step backwards, then another, moving hunched over his hind legs. The drones draw closer when he pauses to reload his pistol.
He's shouting at his companion. "Seina, get up! We have to move! We have to move now, Seina!" She stirs briefly, head lifting a scant few inches, her front legs flailing briefly, but she's either too dazed or too injured to comply.
"Hanu!" Allison repeats, "You are ordered to fall back! Move, soldier! You can make it!" The drones are almost on top of him now. He empties more rounds into them. The first few drop, but those behind keep coming. He attempts to drag his companion further.
"Hanu! GO!" Allison's voice is a hoarse bark of command.
Hanu's reply is eerily calm. "I'm sorry, I can't. Sorry." My teeth are clenched, he is seconds from being overrun. There's a soft click as he expends the final round from his pistol. Gun smoke curls lazily around him. He stands immobile for a long moment and all I can hear is his breathing as he reaches for something else in his vest.
Allison starts to yell, "Don't-!" There's a flash and the feeds go dead.
I'm cold all over. My heart aches.
Allison is silent for a long moment then says, "The first team has reached its objective." Her voice is flat. "But there's no way out."
I squint down at the monitor. The assault team has reached a broad chamber. Energy cascades down conduits on all sides around them. With the rearguard gone, drones advance mercilessly down the corridors behind, closing off the escape route. A massive firefight breaks out. The corridors are soon littered with fallen forms but an ever increasing number of phaser blasts fizzle uselessly.
The monocerai warriors form a defensive circle around their leader, firing intensely. The leader squats to remove his heavy pack and magnetically lock it to a bulkhead. He begins to fiddle with the controls.
"They're surrounded," I shout. "Can you beam them out?"
"No," Allison replies, her voice soft, barely audible. I check my exterior display.
"Allison! There's a shield generator just above that ventral nodule... there, you see it? If we can hit it hard enough you might be able to get a lock..." I realize that the pass will take us right past two Borg disrupter arrays. I start to point this out, but Allison is already shouting to the Commodore in her native tongue. The ship veers sharply. Oh shit, I think to myself.
"Forward shields Allison, forward shields!" I shout as the helmsmen takes us in low and fast. I'm not sure if she hears me. We absorb a withering burst of fire and I'm thrown forward as the cube tries to snare us with a tractor beam. Allison is still calling out instructions.
I check my display. The drones are closing and the monocerai warriors leap forward to engage them. The first few drones are torn apart in moments, the warrior's corded muscles rippling as they literally shred their opponents with sharpened steel claws. But another wave surges onwards. And another. The first of the monocerai goes down. I have to look away when I see the Borg's piercing tongs breach a weak point in his neck armor and the soldier's body goes rigid. Another follows soon after. I'm surprised to find tears welling in my eyes.
Beams leap from our vessel and lance into the cube as the Hecate opens fire. The first few blasts are deflected by their shields but moments later there's a localized burn through. With a flicker, a shield subsection fails.
Only a few of the monocerai are still standing, their backs to the bulkhead. There's a chatter of pistol fire as they abandon their useless phasers. I can see from one of the boarding party's helmet cams that a red light is blinking rapidly on the fusion device.
"What's th-" I gasp as all video feeds from onboard the cube go dead. On my external view screen I watch as a blast rips out one corner of the Borg cube. Another follows soon after, then another. Suddenly the needle ships are breaking off, fleeing in all directions as the cubes begin to rip themselves apart.
"Transporter control says we got three Michael!" Allison calls to me.
I grit my teeth as our ship pivots hard to avoid a piece of careening debris, our phasers still firing as we disengage. We take another barrage of disrupter blasts, a dying retaliation from the cube. This time our shields buckle. There are screeches as atmosphere abandons the bridge and a whirlwind of debris clatters off my armor. My screens flash white then go dead as the cube blows apart.
"Brace yourself Michael!" Allison shouts. I scarcely have time to grunt an acknowledgement when the shockwave hits. The whole ship tumbles around me and everything goes black as main power fails. For a moment I sit in absolute darkness, and I'm sure we're finished. All I can hear is a cacophony of alien voices shouting over the comm circuits, somehow still functioning, then the ship banks and stabilizes. Some of the screens come back. We narrowly avoid a collision with a massive piece of debris, cutting so close I suck in a breath and throw out my arms instinctively in front of myself.
The gravity flux field vanishes and we're in free fall again. I experience a bout of vertigo as we roll wildly, the helmsman taking us through a series of desperate maneuvers, then we're clear of the debris field.
I've just witnessed the destruction of two Borg cubes of the same class that almost ended the human species six years ago.
"Welcome to our great galactic scrap yard." Allison says, standing at my side. I watch as a vast field of debris slowly resolves into individual ships, or pieces of ships. Most of the hulks bear the scars of disrupter beams. Service vessels swarm about and everywhere is the flicker of welding torches like fireflies on a dark night. Amongst the detritus an occasional whole ship stands off, patrolling for danger. Now I know why it looks like the Hecate was assembled piecemeal from scrap. From the center of the wreckage a larger shape draws into view.
"Halcyon station," Allison explains. "Our sector headquarters."
I'm staring at a relic, flotsam from another age. The hub and spoke design of this station hasn't been used by humanity for hundreds of years. It's hard to judge size in space and it isn't until I recognize a monocerai ship departing the hangar at the station's hub that I begin to get a sense of the scope of it. I suck in a sharp breath. Halcyon can't be less than twenty miles in radius. Some of the spoke arms are incomplete, smaller ships cluster about these. Construction is still in progress.
"I apologize in advance," Allison says after a moment. "The rotation doesn't sustain much gravity. Perhaps one third of Earth normal."
I shake my head. "I don't understand. You have artificial gravity more advanced than..."
"We can't afford to build it on our stations," Allison interrupts quietly. Her muzzle brushes my hand and I tussle my fingers through her mane. I nod mutely as the station grows steadily larger on the view screen.
"This isn't a star system," I observe suddenly, realizing there are no strong shadows in the shipyard, only the dull ambiance of background starlight.
"No," Allison replies. "We keep clear of solar systems where possible. They're easy targets for the Borg to home in on. To find Halcyon out here in deep space, they'd almost have to stumble on top of it."
"Or follow one of your ships back," I reply. She grimaces.
"Yes, or that."
When we disembark from the Hecate, I discover that low gravity takes getting used to. Allison laughs at me when I drift away after pushing off too hard, reaching up with one forepaw to snag me by the cuff and drag me back to the deck.
"Careful," she admonishes playfully. "What would I tell the Federation if you floated away? 'I'm sorry Admiral, he drifted off.'"
I laugh at her, finding my space legs on the next attempt.
At a porthole I finally get to look back at the Hecate and I'm struck dumb for a moment. The starboard nacelle has been torn away and there are three ruptures clear through the hull. There's no way a Federation ship could have sustained that kind of damage and returned to tell the tale.
Allison leads me deeper into Halcyon station and shows me my quarters before she leaves for a debriefing.
I wander the station, trying to imagine how the monocerai don't go mad here. Everything is built as cheaply and quickly as possible, using the minimal amount of energy and materials. In some sections there are no walls. In others the floor is simply a tiled corridor amongst a trellis of metal beams through which you can see the decks below. Lighting is scattered and weak, a mixture of ancient and modern technologies, whatever rubbish they could cobble together from their salvage yard. I wear layers because the station is nearly freezing.
The monocerai navigate the walkways fearlessly while I proceed with caution, all too aware that in some places the drop to either side is a mile or more. Most greet me politely or watch with curiosity. They are beautiful creatures, sleek, muscular quadrupeds. I suppose it's only human to recharacterize what we see in a context of that which is familiar. This being the case, to me they are something like a cross between a lion, a heavy horse and a rhinoceros in appearance, though they stand just below chest height to me at the shoulders. Covered in a coat of plush blue fur most monocerai have long, lustrous manes.
The wounded far outnumber the able bodied on Halcyon, though the grievously injured are confined to medical bays scattered through the station. Even amongst the uninjured many bear visible scars. The mixture of technologies visible all around the station bespeaks a level of ingenuity and desperation I hadn't heretofore imagined. Here and there I see ancient alien equipment mixed with their own technology, pieces of salvage they've found floating around in open space.
I stumble across a dormitory where a dozen or more monocerai lie in a heap of blue fur, piled together for warmth. A pair of gleaming eyes watch from the darkness to one side and a phaser is leveled at me for a moment, then tucked away. I draw back, sucking in a breath. The sentry steps forward.
"I'm sorry," I say, speaking quietly so as not to disturb the sleepers. "I didn't know where I was. I didn't mean to intrude."
"Not intruding, you are." The sentry replies. My translator clucks, indicating it's having trouble. She's speaking a regional dialect. Smaller than the others, this sentry looks like an adolescent. I've learned to tell the males from females on sight by the steeper curve of their tusks and the way they decorate themselves. Males also seem to enjoy more elaborate trappings such as gold and silver rings, beads, feathers and small amounts of paint. This female is wearing only a combat vest and her sidearm. "I keep watch tonight," she tells me. "For enemies. For Borg. So others can sleep."
"Borg?" I ask, taken aback. "Here?"
She lifts her head higher to peer up at me. "Silly, you may find it." She replies. "But for us the threat is too near. Horrors in the darkness. Cannot sleep without knowing one of the family watches. Cannot sleep."
"Michael?" Allison's voice comes from behind me. I look over my shoulder and watch her approach. She's wearing her combat garb, a heavy vest, her mane braided snug to her neck. "Sector Marshall Tyr is ready to see you."
I nod my head and turn back to the young sentry. "Good bye," I tell her.
She seeks upwards with her muzzle, touching my arm lightly. "Be safe, sib."
I don't know what to say to that so I swallow awkwardly, give her a nod in response and follow Allison.
"Everyone lives in dormitories here?" I ask as we walk together.
"Yes," Allison replies. "It's a matter of economy as well as comfort. None of us would enjoy sleeping alone. Which is why I offered to share your bed when we first met." She shoots me a wry grin.
I blush, I'd almost forgotten about that rather awkward moment shortly after our first meeting. The proposal had come across to me, at the time, as being rather forward.
"It's different for us," I reply, which only makes her grin wider.
"So you explained," she replies airily. "I hope the extra blankets have been a sufficient substitute?" Why do I get the feeling I'm being horribly rude and that she hasn't quite forgiven me for it?
"Yes," I reply awkwardly, "yes, they've been fine, thank you."
She gives me an arched glance. One ear flicks back in what I would swear is a coy expression. "Good," she replies lightly. I sense I've just dug myself a deeper hole.
I wish I had the courage to ask her, for the truth is that company would be welcome. But I don't trust myself. We spend the rest of the walk in silence.
"Michael! A pleasure to meet you!" Tyr blusters as we enter his small, strangely appointed office. Monocerai don't use furniture the way we do and Tyr is sprawled on his belly in front of a terminal atop overlapping rugs. He's a large monoceros male, a hint more formally dressed than the others, wearing an overcoat of black silk engraved with patterns in gold. True to form, he's also elaborately decorated with multiple piercings in both ears. He rises to greet us.
This chamber is one of the first I've seen with what could be described as non-functional amenities. Rugs woven in bright colors with elaborate geometric patterns hang from the walls and bare steel is covered wherever possible. There's a low ornate wooden table at the center of the room where a meal has been laid out. Some kind of spiced poultry, water and a root vegetable. The smell is more than passable, and I can feel my mouth watering. This is a far cry from the synthesized goop they've been apologetically feeding me since I boarded the Hecate.
"I'm pleased to meet you as well Marshall," I reply, stepping forward. It still feels strange to me, but I duck into a bow to touch noses with him, sharing breath. When in Rome. I'm slowly getting better at it.
"Call me Tyr," he chastises. "Please sit! Eat! Don't let these dark times weigh on you too much lad. We've much to be grateful for. You too Allison, join us, please."
I grin wryly. "Gladly, and thank you." I reply, settling cross legged in front of the table. Allison sprawls at my side and my hand goes instinctively to her neck. Being in contact with her has become habitual for me and she seems to expect it.
Tyr notices this familiarity at once, his eyes flicking to Allison. I start to draw my hand back, chagrined, but Allison shifts and seizes my arm with her paw and places it back against her neck.
"Michael's been exploring the station," Allison observes, a welcome segue from this suddenly awkward social situation.
"Ah?" Tyr replies thoughtfully. "And what do you think of our fine facility?"
I try and come up with a flattering response, then think better of it. "Austere." I reply finally. "Functional."
Tyr laughs. "Downright primitive I'd call it!" He barks in reply.
"A real shit hole," Allison adds with a remarkably straight face. I laugh aloud though, shaking my head. Every time I think I've got a sense of these creatures, they surprise me.
"Well," I answer after a moment. "Honestly, yes. I don't know how this place doesn't drive you crazy."
"Sometimes it nearly does," Allison replies quietly. Tyr spares her a sympathetic look.
"Need keeps us going," he answers. "As it would you, I suspect, were you in our position. We miss our homes, fields, forest and meadows... things that grow, air that smells fresh. Warmth. But at least it's nothing we can't laugh about."
"How frequently do the... kinds of engagements I saw take place?" I ask.
"In this sector?" Tyr answers, and I nod. "We make between five and ten intercepts per week, totaling perhaps a dozen Borg cubes and lighter support ships."
I whistle softly. "How do you repel that kind of strength?"
"By not giving them a large enough target to mass against," Allison replies.
Tyr nods. "Defense in depth." He explains. "They push, we yield. We've abandoned all our colony worlds near the combat zone and our assets are mostly mobile or located in deep space. Then we isolate and annihilate." He sighs. "Our analysts once believed that if we inflicted enough losses, the Borg would withdraw and search for easier prey. In retrospect that assessment was optimistic. The reality we face is that they can sustain this level of attrition, and we cannot."
I notice Allison's attention has wandered elsewhere, namely to the magnificent spread in front of us.
"Dinner's getting cold," she observes, a definite edge to her voice.
"Ack," Tyr grins. "A real food hound, that's my daughter. " My eyes widen a little at this, and I give Allison a look, since she hadn't mentioned this to me. She returns my gaze with complete innocence and Tyr gives a bark of laughter. "Has she been pulling her mysterious act on you Michael? If she gets too much for you, feel free to wrestle her down and squeeze the whole story out of her."
I cough awkwardly. "Ah-", I reply, caught off guard. "I'm sure that won't be necessary." Allison favors me with an arch expression that seems to say 'good answer'.
Tyr cackles. "That turned him a funny color! You need to bring more humans home with you daughter! This one's a riot. Ahhh... but she is right though. The food is getting cold. Let's eat and we'll talk real business afterwards."
The meal is every bit as good as it smells. The textures and flavors are familiar yet oddly distinct, much like other alien foods I've tried. The poultry is heavily spiced, reminiscent of South American fare. I eat with my hands and the monocerai with their remarkably delicate digits. Almost raccoon like, these fingers are kept curled when they're walking. I soon notice I'm consuming the lion's share of the feast, Allison and Tyr picking and choosing smaller portions, mostly waiting on me.
"You don't want more?" I ask, consciously slowing myself.
"Don't mind me," Tyr replies, "I'm not hungry today." Allison gives him a look.
"You're practically slavering over it father," Allison sniffs. I hadn't noticed anything of the sort. "You should have more. When did you last eat?"
"That's beside the point," Tyr answers. "I said I'm not hungry."
"You should have more. That part isn't a question, Dad," she replies. "I know you want to put on a brave front for Michael, but I think he should know the truth. When did you last eat?"
Tyr balks visibly, then reaches forward and tears off another piece of meat, gulping it down. "Three days ago," he replies. "Same as everyone else on my duty cycle."
Allison glances at me significantly, but I don't need the prompting. "You don't have enough food?"
"Yes we do," Tyr replies primly.
"No we don't." Allison interjects, glaring at him. He looks defiant. "No we don't, father." She repeats with more emphasis. "We don't have enough of anything and if you'll admit that we might even be able to actually begin negotiating."
I sit back, getting comfortable. This isn't what I'd had in mind when I'd been called into my Captain's ready room and told I was being sent on a diplomatic assignment to a new species. But I've learned the monocerai set little store in formality.
"Before we go further," I tell them. "I need to be sure you both understand that I'm a Starfleet officer serving only as an interim representative for the Federation. I'm not an Ambassador and therefore not authorized to create or sign treaties vis-a-vis other species. I'm here only because you said you wouldn't wait for a Federation diplomatic official to be sent. Anything I say has to go back through my superiors for confirmation."
"We know that," Allison answers.
I nod. "Then we can get started. It is one of the mandates of Starfleet to form peaceful relations with new species. In this respect we seem to have common ground."
Tyr rumbles his assent. "We would willingly agree to a treatise of mutual peace and good will," he replies obligingly.
I smile, these are the words I'd hoped to hear, the words every ambassador from the Federation hopes to hear and perhaps what makes our jobs so rewarding. But I know things are about to get a lot more complicated. "Would I be amiss in observing that there seem to be other matters you wanted to discuss with us as well?"
Tyr shakes his head. "No," he answers after a moment. "No, you'd be right there. We're a proud people Michael. This is not easy."
"Father wants to ask for your help," Allison chimes in, giving Tyr an indulgent look.
Tyr glares at her for a moment, then sighs. "My daughter is being kind," he replies finally. "Beg for your help, would be more fitting." He takes several deep breaths, as though searching for words. "We are desperate, Michael. We've searched for other allies, any who could aid us in fighting the Borg. At one time, we even had a small coalition. But one by one, they have fallen and been destroyed. And now we stand alone, at the twilight of our civilization. Every month the frontier sags another dozen light years, another colony is abandoned. Allison is right. We're short of almost every resource. There is more than enough food to see us all fed well, more than enough radioactives lurking beneath the ground of our worlds to heat all our stations and ships. But every ounce of our strength must be spent on holding back our borders. Every factory, every hand and every heart is committed to this effort. I would say our economy is on the edge of collapse, but we have no economy left to speak of. We need your help. We need the Federation's help. Food. Medical supplies. Whatever you don't want or need. Your old starships. The contents of your scrap yards. Anything."
His plea stirs me, but I keep sympathy from my voice. I have a sense neither of them want it. "The Federation has been known to aid to those in need. But we'd need to know a lot more before we could put a program in place. Set up a proper embassy. Oversee and invigilate the distribution of the program. You'd need to let a lot more of us come to your worlds and stations."
"We can't do that Michael," Allison replies. "It isn't safe."
"My daughter is right." Tyr adds. "To do so could mean our destruction. Once knowledge about the whereabouts of our bases and our logistical capabilities spreads, there's no telling when the Borg might get a hold of it. They'll close in and gut us."
"I understand your concern," I reply. "And your desire for privacy. But I can tell you that the Federation is likely to be intractable on this point. We have a set of contact rules that were put in place for good reasons. When we get involved in situations we don't understand there's a whole host of things that can go wrong. If we can't see how our aid is distributed, how can we be sure it's truly going to those who need it? How can we be sure we aren't unintentionally making enemies or manipulating a political balance?"
"Rules can have exceptions." Tyr observes hopefully. "Consider the circumstances."
I nod my head. "And your circumstances are persuasive." I reply. "I've told Allison that we've had our own contact with the Borg. I'm the last person who would hold back giving you what you need to fight them. But I'm also not the one who makes the rules or the decisions. If you give me a list of what you need most, I can send that to my superiors along with my observations and recommendations. But I have to tell you realistically that Starfleet command tends to err on the side of caution."
"We'll give you what you need," Allison says.
"Is there anything we can do to persuade you further? Short of allowing more of your officers here?" Tyr asks quietly.
"It's not me you have to persuade," I tell him honestly. "If I were permitted to see more of your culture... meet with other leaders of your people, see more of your civilization... that would help."
Tyr glances at Allison thoughtfully.
"I... I would like it if you came to our home world, Michael." Allison tells me after a moment. "To Eudemonia. I can only stay for a few days because I'm scheduled for a combat rotation soon, but you could meet with other leaders during your time there. Perhaps that would convince your Federation officials?"
"Perhaps," I reply quietly. "I don't want to overset your expectations. I'm only one person. There are those in the Federation who will point out that you can easily hide the truth from me." I soften my expression slightly. "But I'd be happy to come Allison."
The look she gives me warms my heart.
I'm standing on the observation deck of a small transport ship that's taken us from Halcyon station to the monocerai home world.
"Welcome to Eudemonia," Allison says when she walks in behind me.
I'm taken aback when I glance over my shoulder at her. For the first time since I met her she isn't wearing armor or carrying visible weapons. Her mane is elegantly braided with brightly colored lacquered beads. She's wearing what looks like a black silk vest with sea-blue patterns. The trim fit flatters her, I'm amazed how natural it looks. She is unmistakably a lady. Her catlike tail performs little jigs, the tuft of cobalt hair dancing in the air, and I can tell she's in a good mood.
She approaches and lifts her head to meet my gaze, her face reaching almost to my shoulder. I execute a shallow bow to exchange breath with her.
"Your world is beautiful," I tell her honestly, glancing back out of the windows. A pale blue orb hovers just to port, a water world. I can see two continents from here, hidden under a smattering of cloud. The blue-green-grays of the planet herald echoes of Earth. I experience a pang of homesickness.
"Thank you," Allison murmurs. "Sit with me?"
I settle agreeably at her side, twining my fingers at once into the braids of her mane, leaning close. She makes me tingle all over when I touch her, a comforting warmth. There's that sense that she's a long lost childhood friend, a complete ally in this alien place.
When she curls beside me she settles her chin atop my shoulder, resting it there. Her breath tickles my ear. When I stiffen she tilts her head to peer up at me with a sly look, as though daring me to ask her to move. I refuse to grant her the satisfaction.
"I'm trying to decide," I tell her after a moment. "Why you seem so familiar." I give her a lopsided grin. "Don't I know you from somewhere? Wait, back up, total pick up line."
She chuckles - the sound is a rumble from somewhere deep in her throat. The vibrations pass from her body into mine. The sensation is... alluring. Dangerously so.
"I want you to visit my home, here," she tells me. "If you can spare a couple of days. It's all the time I have, then I'm back on combat cycle." Thinking about that creates knots in my back. I try not to make my tension too obvious.
"You mentioned that," I answer. "Will you be returning to the Hecate?"
"Hecate isn't my ship," Allison replies, her voice low. "I'll be going in with the assault teams Michael. I'm a digit commander."
"Oh." It's all I can say, all I can manage to say. She has to feel the way my fingers tighten on her crest. I try not to think about the outcome of the battle I so recently witnessed, to consider the percentages. But it's the way my analytical mind works. Far less than half of the combat teams survived the battle. How can they sustain that level of attrition?
She looks into my eyes. "Will you visit my home?" She blurts suddenly. "Please?"
I'm taken aback, flattered by this abrupt request. "Yes," I answer. "I will, Ali." I stroke my fingers through the braids of her mane and her purring resumes.
"That's the second time you've called me that," she observes. "'Ali'," she rolls the word off her tongue.
"Yeah," I answer. "It's a familiar form of your name."
"A term of endearment?"
"I suppose so."
"Good," Allison pronounces firmly. "Call me that from now on?"
I have to grin. "Sure," I reply. Something draws me forward and I lean down as her face lifts. My lips brush hers and my heart is suddenly beating a hundred miles an hour. I straighten, drawing back, glancing away, trying to compose myself. What just happened? Does she know what I just did? Does it mean the same thing? There's a moment of awkward silence as we avoid looking at one another.
"Demitir," she says abruptly.
"What?" I look back to her. She's staring out at a moon through the glass, gleaming pearl as it heaves its way over Eudemonia's horizon.
"Demitir," she repeats. "He was the captain of the survey ship that first encountered a Borg cube. Thirty years ago. He quickly recognized the danger. They sent a brief message back to us, before self-destructing. The courage of those four spacefarers denied the Borg information and gave us the warning we needed to prepare. We wouldn't exist anymore were it not for them. We renamed our planet's moons to celebrate their sacrifice."
I shiver, remembering the final moments of the assault on the cube. The flash as the first nuke went off, vaporizing monocerai warriors and drones alike. Three survivors from that assault team. I'd learned that some of the other teams had escaped, but the battle had cost the monocerai dearly. Fifteen ships by my count and thousands of lives.
"They aren't the only ones who have sacrificed."
"No," Allison replies. "But we've long since run out of moons. We began by preying on lone Borg. Sending fleets far afield to ambush them while they were assimilating other species. Individual cubes are more vulnerable than pairs." I struggle to reconcile the word 'vulnerable' in conjunction with anything I know about the Borg, but Allison continues unabated. "They don't travel alone inside of our striking distance anymore. But our jamming technology still prevents them from sharing information with the Collective once interdiction begins."
My heart skips a beat. "So that's how -"
"Yes," Allison cuts me off. "The Borg never learn how we destroy their ships, so they guess at new tactics. Sometimes they work and it costs us dearly. Every time we fight it gets a little harder, a little closer."
"Allison, can you imagine what you could do with the resources of Starfleet? If you joined the Federation? With the technologies you have, the gravity generator, your jammers... we might even be able to hammer the Borg back into the delta quadrant."
"I can imagine all too well," Allison answers. She stares out the window at the blue-green jewel that draws steadily nearer. "And some factions amongst us would be receptive to your offer. But the risk would be greater than the gain. We cannot join with you."
We sit together in silence. I stare on Eudemonia, a jewel of a world in the dark expanse of void. "Sometimes," I admit to her. "I wonder what the point is of fighting. Of postponing the inevitable."
She gives me a sharp look. "You don't really mean that."
"No," I admit. "But sometimes it just seems too much to bear."
Her fingertips stroke lightly along my forearm. "The Borg," she says quietly, "are doomed. If we don't destroy them, someone else will. Perhaps it will be your people, Michael. But if not, someone else will."
"I wish I had your confidence."
"Who needs confidence for a mathematical certainty?" Allison rumbles. At my raised brow, she explains. "For every parsec they advance, the space they must guard expands exponentially. It seems almost ironic that their undoing is one simple equation - the volume of a sphere. Eventually they will stretch too far and pay the price. Furthermore, they have one key weakness. The communication links they use to maintain collective consciousness makes them a terrible enemy. But it also means the right attack could destroy all of them, everywhere, in an instant. Sooner or later, someone will find a way to exploit that weakness."
"That's true," I answer, "but it might be small consolation if they destroy us first."
"We're not dead yet." She replies stoically.
I look down and give her a sad smile. "I'm afraid for you." I tell her gently. Terrified would be more accurate. Panicked by my own emotions. She tenses against me, sliding her head up and touching my cheek with her lips. She wants me to face her, but I dare not turn my head. I'm afraid of what will happen if I do, and what it might mean. I sit rigidly.
"I am too," she whispers back finally, disappointment in her voice. "I'm afraid for all of us."
We sit together in silence after that.
Two sun filled days pass on the planet's surface. I wake that night from fitful sleep. Outside my bedroom window two swollen moons hang low on the horizon. The shutters are open and the cool night air carries the scent of wildflowers. I can hear the soothing hum of insects from the gardens outside. It is the very peace of this place that disturbs my rest, the knowledge that all this is temporary, that it sits on a precipice waiting only one final push to be gone forever. It is the sense I have that Allison wanted me to be with her here in peace, so that the memory of it won't be forgotten when she is gone.
I climb from my lush nest of cushions and rugs. I'm wearing nightclothes but I throw a rug over my shoulders for warmth anyway. I walk across the woven reed floor of this rustic mountain villa and slide open the shoji that encloses my room. The house is quiet. Moonlight floods through the windows, more than enough light to see.
I cross the living room and step into the overgrown garden. The wild grasses are soft around my bared soles, creeping untended all around the squat wood framed house behind me. Plant life unfolds here, adhering to no rigid order, but representing instead a wandering panoply of flowers, moss and rocks. Forest looms beyond the edge of the garden. To the east the house has a view over a small lake and I wind my way there, my feet growing damp as they gather morning dew from blades of grass. The moonlight casts pale, rippling trails across the water. Somehow I overlook a form curled on the porch to my side.
"Will you join me Michael?" Allison asks, her voice scarcely above a whisper. She sounds sleepy. I turn to her, surprised. She is perched atop a rug, amber eyes gleaming in the moonlight. She is naked.
Hesitant, I nod and slip up onto the porch beside her. She shifts closer and curls her forepaws around my waist, touching with her delicate digits. Her chin slides over my shoulder and the hair stands up on the back of my neck. "Why do you fear my touch?" She wonders of me, but does not withdraw.
"I don't," I reply. "It's habit. Instinct. Close contact is personal for humans, shared amongst those who know one another well. Or those who are... intimate."
She absorbs this thoughtfully, but does not draw away. "You want to help us," she says after a moment.
"Yes," I answer her truthfully. "With all my heart I wish there was something we could do."
"But you don't think the Federation will give what we've asked?"
"They would, willingly, Ali... if you met their conditions."
"Would you risk... this?" she wonders, staring out over the water. I follow her gaze, leaning back into the plush fur of her neck. My heart aches.
"No," I answer. "I wouldn't."
She nods. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed," she tells me gently. Her paws tighten around my waist. I can feel the velvet warmth of her muzzle brushing my cheek.
We sit in silence for a long time. Then she says, "Tell me about your home world."
I close my eyes, picturing Earth. Then, I tell her. The night drags onward as we share laughter, stories and tears. The moons slowly traverse the sky. Together, they pass the zenith.
"It'll be dawn soon," Allison whispers. Talk has long since been exhausted and we've been sitting in silence for hours, watching the diminishing night. A sense of dread hangs over me. She'll have to leave in the morning. I turn towards her when her forepaw slides across my thigh and her head lifts to gaze on the moons above. "Sios and Karid," she explains. "They were lovers aboard the survey ship Tranquility."
"The one that..."
"Yes. They lived in a time of peace and hope. When there were families on Eudemonia, when children played in our parks... and couples sat as we have, whiling away the night in the comfort of one another's company." Her muzzle glides forward. I feel her warm breath across my face. Her lips brush mine and something not unlike electricity passes between us. "Despite everything, there's a tradition for those who spend a night in the open together beneath Sios and Karid that I think is worth keeping. If you're willing." Her paw slips higher on my thigh and leaves no doubt in my mind to the meaning of her suggestion.
"Yes. Hell, yes." I stammer. I'm erect immediately, painfully so. "Ali," I ask softly. "How did you... know? That I would come out here?"
"I didn't," she answers quietly. "But I hoped."
I slide my arms around her neck and dig my fingers through the silky hairs of her mane. "You'll forgive me," I whisper, "if I'm ignorant of your ways?"
"We'll find new ways," she replies lightly in my ear, touching my lobe with her lips, tickling there and making me tingle all over. "Tonight. Together." I lean forward, digging my fingertips into her hide and she purrs throatily, the vibration passing from her body into mine. I'm almost trembling from restrained need. How long have I desired this? The answer comes to me. Since the first moment she spoke, that moment when I knew she was my soul mate. Why have I been denying it?
Her lips slide to my neck and she bites down hard. I moan loudly in response. Bracing one leg I press her back, twisting her torso with my arms. She's far too strong for me to overpower, but she plays along with a playful rumble. I roll her to her back and then step astride her belly, facing backwards. Perched lightly atop her, I glance playfully over my shoulder. She's watching me intently, her paws gripping my hips, squeezing me.
With my fingers I explore along the curve of her belly. I've never seen her naked before. Her sleek form is revealed by the moonlight and I know at this moment that she's the most attractive woman I've ever seen. My touches wander below her ribs when she gives a small buck and laugh underneath me.
"Michael!" She exclaims. "That tickles!" I grin and keep going, teasing further down. She gives another buck and I let out a "Yeehaw!", doing my best to keep my seat. She laughs at me. Suddenly she's twisting, grabbing at me with her forepaws. I struggle, but the outcome is inevitable. She hauls me over and pins me down on my stomach with her weight.
"Well now," she purrs. "Perhaps I should see if I can find somewhere ticklish on you?"
"I'm not ticklish," I boast proudly. She snorts derisively.
"We'll see about that..." she replies, her voice sing-song. I gasp as her paws slide under my nightshirt. They're cold against my skin but they make me tingle up and down. She tilts her head, exploring with her hands, then lifts one up to caress the back of my neck, tugging at my shirt. "This," she pronounces, "is in the way." Her claws curl and I yelp in surprise as she shears away the fabric in one swift motion. Cool air is warded away as her muzzle brushes across my naked flesh. "So smooth," she muses, amazed.
I'm not used to feeling helpless in the bedroom, but next to her I feel intimidated. Incredibly horny but somehow almost impotent at the same time. The result leaves me trembling with need.
She keeps me pinned as she brushes her muzzle sinuously along my back. Somehow I manage to keep from laughing. I'm usually not ticklish. Maybe it's my nervousness, you'd think I was a virgin. Her muzzle slides to be the back of my neck. I lift my head a little as I feel her breath there.
"Oh Ali," I whisper. She bites me hard, her teeth pressing lovingly taut against my skin. "Ohhhh..."
She releases my neck and arches up. I look over my shoulder at her, to watch her standing there, poised in the moonlight. Then she's sliding back, hooking one clawed finger under the waistband of my night slacks, pulling down sharply. I lift my hips, panting as she whips them down to my ankles and casts them free into the night.
"Over," she commands huskily, one paw closing on my hip. I twist for her and sprawl on my back, my erection bobbing upwards. She leans forward to investigate and I close my eyes as I feel her warm breath bathing my shaft and sac. Lifting her head, she gives me a coy look, then she very lightly bites the inside of my thigh. I cry out, convulsing with laughter, slapping the reed mats underneath my hands.
"All right! All right!" I admit between gasps of air. "I'm ticklish!" She nibbles again. "Aahhhh! No more! No more!"
Purring to herself in satisfaction Allison's lips slide up. Suddenly, warmth envelopes my cock. "GODS," I gasp, almost sitting upright as she takes my shaft in her mouth. Against the cool night air the heat of her mouth is unbelievable. She just holds me like that but I have to fight not to writhe in place. I rock my hips forward and almost come immediately. Grinding my teeth I manage to settle back. She places her forepaws on my thighs, guiding them further apart as her head bobs. I moan. She has no trouble taking me completely in her mouth.
She begins to give me the most incredible head I've ever received. She keeps me so near the edge of climax that I almost convulse in place. Her broad tongue curls and caresses down my length, her lower lip nudging at my sac. Her amber eyes glance up occasionally to check on me, a downright mischievous look on her face.
"Ali," I gasp finally. "If you keep on going... I'm about to..."
She slips her head back, looking me in the eye. "I'm not going to let you get away that easily," she tells me playfully, "And I'll never know if I like..." I gasp as she takes me back in her mouth again. My hands grapple for purchase in the reed mats beneath as I thrust heavily up into her mouth. It takes only moments for me to reach the pinnacle, my body shuddering in a paroxysm of pleasure as I cry out into the night.
She draws back and gives me a shy smile, her tongue dipping out to gather a small dribble of my semen that's wandered down one corner of her lip.
"Damn, Ali," I whisper, rising up to press against her, wrapping my arms around her warmth. "That was incredible. I've never felt..." I shiver, I'm almost hard again thinking about it. She brushes her lips against mine. I close my eyes and we kiss, long and deep. Minutes pass.
"Could I..." I suggest, running my fingers across her flanks and leaning down towards her rump suggestively.
"Maybe another night, Michael," she answers wistfully. "It's almost dawn." She brushes her cheek with mine, lips finding my ear. "And I want you inside me," she whispers.
There's a mad scramble as I climb to my feet, finding myself more than ready to answer this request. She turns her back to me, her tail curling high as she presents. I stand behind her, feeling suddenly perverse. Strange that until this moment I hadn't pictured just how it would look when we finally made love. But it seems right somehow as well. I guide myself against her and then with a grunt of pleasure I put myself inside of her. She's very wet, warm and surprisingly tight around my length as I lean forward until my hips grind against her.
"Oh Michael," I hear her moan softly. She clenches and I gasp at the strength of her inner muscles pulling on me. I thrust forward, calling her name in answer. She moans, but urges me onwards. "Harder Michael."
The position is awkward. We experiment and finally find a combination that works. She crouches on her forepaws, leaving her rump in the air. I bend forward overtop of her, wrapping one arm around her waist. I can barely reach the soft folds of her udders. She cries out a sharp exclamation when I pinch one of her thick teats. The horizon is growing light. I grab the base of her tail with one hand and haul it up hard as she yowls in pleasure.
There are lurid sounds with every thrust, obscenely wet in the still night air. She's so hot around me. I grip her tight and grind myself into her body, slamming forward as we stare out towards the lake and the horizon beyond. My pleasure heightens and my breath comes in shuddering gasps. The flesh of her teats is soft, somewhat rubbery. I pull on them harder and she responds to this with intense cries of pleasure.
"Almost Michael..." she whispers.
Then I know the moment is at hand. Together, we plunge over the edge as the leading curve of the sun breaches the skyline. My release goes on longer than I can ever remember before, my body surging against hers, her form braced against mine.
Finally, panting, we twine together, safe in that shared embrace. We stay that way for a long time, basking in the rising sun.
"I need to leave in a few hours," Ali whispers. I feel a pang in my heart, a physical sensation of falling. How can I lose her now? After this? How can I find love again only to have it taken from me?
Alone again.
I meet with other monocerai on Eudemonia. Though friendly and accommodating, they want something I know the Federation will never give. I send reports to Starfleet and wait for their answers. Through it all my heart aches with worry for Allison. Monocerai don't use galactic communications as it would reveal the locations of their worlds and stations. One day I receive a message from her by courier.
I forgot to tell you I love you. Allison.
I cry when I read it.
This world is almost abandoned. Those too young or too old have already fled to distant places far from the front lines of the war. There is infrastructure here to support billions but everywhere I travel is uninhabited. Littering the landscape are overgrown gardens, empty markets, towns and starports swallowed by jungle. The world itself seems sad and forlorn, a living relic waiting to become memory and legend.
Starfleet urges me to continue my efforts to persuade the monocerai to join the Federation or at least send an envoy to Earth. But I know they'll never agree, and I can't disagree with their reasoning. The cost of betrayal can be too high.
I hated Picard for years after Wolf 359. I avoided him when circumstances brought us together. I didn't know how to face the man who killed my wife and almost ended my life as well. Time has healed some of those wounds. I know that he wasn't responsible for what happened. For me now what lingers most is not anger, but fear.
The idea of being used as a tool of the enemy to harm those I love is perhaps the most terrifying fate I can imagine for myself. And now that I've found love anew, I have to wonder if I can allow it to be taken from me again.
I grow more pensive by the day.
The time comes when further talk is futile. We've all said what needs to be said, and the conclusion that has loomed inevitable over me these past few weeks has come about. There will be no alliance between the monocerai and the Federation.
But from Allison I hear nothing. I delay needlessly. In my reports to Starfleet I make it seem that there's hope where there is none. Then I get a message from Tyr.
Michael, come to Halcyon. Hurry.
Those who have known love will understand the desperate panic and need that sweeps over me when I read those words. Those who have not will never understand until they do. It's as though I'm stuck in an elevator doing a death plunge down the shaft.
I catch the next shuttle to Halcyon. Those three days traveling are the longest of my life.
Tyr meets me at the airlock.
"Allison," I ask, "is she-"
"Alive," Tyr answers gravely. "Barely. She's in an intensive care ward. She's asked to see you, but I should warn you Michael, she is no longer conscious often or for very long."
I want to ask what happened, but I find I just don't care. It doesn't matter. My stomach just reached the ground floor and is headed for the basement.
"Take me to her," I ask him, my voice hoarse. Tyr leads me onwards.
She's laid out on one low palette in the ward amongst dozens of others. Her lips, nostrils and inner ears have a grayish pallor to them. Her neck, chest and right fore leg are all heavily bandaged. Her eyes are shut, her expression surprisingly peaceful. The doctors don't fuss, don't insist I leave, or let Allison rest. This frightens me.
"I can leave, if you prefer," Tyr offers.
"No," I answer him. "You've... you've a right to be here." I run my fingers across her cheek. "Ali?" I whisper gently, leaning forward. One of her ears stirs slightly, her lips pursing ever so slightly. I lean down and kiss her. She murmurs a few syllables, shifts, then sighs and goes still once more.
"The surgeon said she should wake again before..." Tyr's voice breaks slightly. "Before..."
I just nod. "I'll wait here." I'm cold through to my heart, my mind shutting down. I can't think.
"Michael?" Her voice comes to me as though out of a dream. Her lips have scarcely moved.
"I'm here Ali," I answer her, taking her left forepaw in my hand and squeezing.
"I wanted to see you," she whispers. "I'm sorry I couldn't take better care of myself."
I shake my head, tears roll down my cheeks. I'm mute, unable to speak.
"I should never have done this to you," she whispers. "Go back home Michael, go back to your people. Our troubles aren't yours and should never have been."
My eyes narrow. "I won't leave you," I say it with finality. She gives me a sleepy smile, then her eyelids drift closed. "Ali! I won't leave you."
I turn and glare at Tyr. "Give me a shuttle. I'm taking her with me. I'm taking her to a Federation Starbase. I'm not going to let her die. I won't allow it."
Tyr draws back. "Michael, I can't-"
"DON'T," I bark back. Tyr actually gives me a wry grin.
"I was about to say," he murmurs, "that I can't stop you. Particularly if you were to borrow my personal shuttle while I was busy with other logistics. Ventral port thirty-two. I expect one of the staff here could help you move her." He pauses, staring at me. "Bring her back to me. Please."
I'm taken aback, I gape openly at Tyr, but he's already turned his back. He leaves without another word.
The young intern I browbeat into helping can't wheel the gurney fast enough.
"Ali?" I prod gently. Starbase 104 is almost painfully decadent by my adjusted standards. Light pours down around us in the sickbay where Allison occupies the sole berth. I smile as her eyelids drift open.
"Michael?" She asks bewildered.
"It's all right," I tell her. "You're all right. You're going to make it."
She shifts and I have to put a hand on her to keep her still.
"Easy there kiddo, I didn't say you'd be doing cartwheels by the afternoon."
"Where am I?" She asks. "Michael, I'm not..."
"You're on a Starbase," I reply. "In Federation space."
Her eyes go wide. "Oh no," she whispers. "Michael... the medical data... what have you done? The Borg could learn..."
I smile wryly. "They could learn what re-sequenced gerbil DNA looks like," I reply. "I just finished sabotaging every scan they took of you."
She laughs and my heart sings to the timbre of her voice. I lean forward, looking into her eyes.
"I forgot to tell you I love you," I tell her with a smile. Then I kiss her. Minutes pass as we stare at one another. "They say you'll be a few more days recovering," I tell her at last. "But I was thinking you might be able to do some of that in transit."
"I'm in no condition to pilot a ship," she points out.
"You'll have a chauffeur, so to speak."
Her eyes widen.
Admiral Williams is a lean, fine boned man with a full pelt of graying hair. I'm looking at him through a view screen on Tyr's shuttle. I've removed the pips from my uniform, a ceremony that almost hurt me physically to undertake. "Yes admiral, I'm quite certain." I tell him.
"Commander Boehn, I need to be sure you understand what you're doing," he replies. He seems taken aback by my decision.
"I do, sir," I tell him honestly. "I know this comes as a surprise. I'm asking you to see it as a part of my recovery process." He looks skeptical. I try and find words to explain. "I've been careful with every bit of data I transmitted from Eudemonia," I begin finally.
"Damn near inscrutable!"
"Yes," I reply. "It was necessary, or they wouldn't have let me send anything at all. The point is admiral, that I understand why they're concerned, and I know information that could be damaging. I'd never reveal anything willingly, but if I were captured..."
Williams gives me a sympathetic look. "Michael, I know how hard it was for you after Wolf. Hell, that reverberated all through Starfleet. We lost some damn fine people, Lily among them. But there are other places you can serve. We can pull you off the front lines for a while if you need leave. Go back to Earth, do an assignment at Starfleet command. Take the time you need. We need officers with your kind of experience too badly to just let you go. With your resume I could even get you a teaching position at the Academy."
"Thank you sir," I answer him, genuinely surprised by his compassion. I'd expected a stern dressing down. "But being away from the front lines is the last thing I want or need right now. It's not my own life I'm worried about."
Williams purses his lips. "You should think this over."
"And wait for them to come after us again sir? We've speculated for years about why the Borg haven't pressed their attacks against Earth harder. Now we know it's because the monocerai have been bearing the brunt of this war. That's where I want to be." I glance to the side, meeting Allison's eyes where she stands to one side, watching me with her fierce gaze. I'm telling the truth, but not all of it. I couldn't leave her without severing some part of my soul. A part I never thought would be whole again.
"Your captain is going to be very disappointed Michael," Williams says finally.
"I know sir. I'm going to send him a personal message as well explaining my decision. He knows me well enough that I think... I think he'll understand." I salute sharply. "Will you finalize my resignation sir?"
"I certainly will not!" Williams answers and I flinch. I'm prepared to leave without permission, but it wasn't how I wanted to part ways with Starfleet. "If I really can't persuade you otherwise..." Williams stares at me hard, "... and I can see that I cannot. Then I suppose it's only right to ask how you might feel about a long term diplomatic assignment."
"Sir?" I reply, taken aback.
"Michael, the monocerai trust you. Perhaps if you're amongst them long enough you can persuade them to trust a few more of us. Convince them that we truly want to help, if they'll open up to us."
I'm almost crying with relief. Starfleet has been my home for so many years. They're closer family than the parents and brother I left on Earth, with whom I now have little in common. "Sir, I'd be honored."
"You understand I'll have to clear this with Starfleet before it becomes official?" Williams grins. "But I don't imagine that'll prevent you from getting underway immediately."
I give him a delinquent smile. "Actually sir," I admit guiltily, "I've already left."
"I expected no less. Put those pips back on Commander!"
The screen flicks off.
"Hold me," Allison whispers demandingly a moment later. I wrap my arms around her neck and draw her in tight. I squeeze her as hard as I can and she responds with a low purr. The sound makes me tremble. She's warm and impossibly soft against my skin. She fills parts of me that I thought would be cold and empty forever when Lily was killed. There's pain there too though, guilt in indulging myself, in letting new love into my life. But I think it's what she would have wanted for me.
I don't know what the future holds for either of us. The possibilities are vast and uncertain. I don't know if we'll live to see the end of this fight. But Allison's hope is infectious. She believes the Borg are doomed, and now I do as well. Perhaps it really is only a matter of time.