From: Kenneth Field (envision_at_fidalgo.net)
Date: Sun Jan 13 2008 - 19:11:05 PST
"What Little Boys Are Made Of"
(continues from 's "")
Location: Gagarin City, LUNA
Stardate: 2.80113.1628
Scene: the Vukovic residence
Time Index: ten years ago
Tomas' Alexei Vukovic knew that his mother would cry when he told her what the doctors had said. She did. She hugged him to herself as if he was on the brink already. Which he was, but he hadn't told her how quickly the thing could run if his immune system continued to break down at this pace.
His father knew, and said nothing. His father did not speak much about his feelings. He showed his love in other ways ... sometimes harshly, but always with Tomas' interest at heart. He knew that, too.
"The doctors," his mother said, "they have a cure ... or at least a treatment?"
Tomas' sighed. This was going to be very bad.
He'd been studying archaeology and xenopology at Tyco University on the other side of LUNA. The fellowship he'd earned was quite prestigious, but he had not yet made a name for himself among his peers. And now he never would. He'd begun feeling seriously fatigued after a bout of influenza, one of the scourges of the underground communities of LUNA. Only it never got better. He'd gone to see the campus physician, who'd sent him on to a specialist only to learn that he'd acquired a rare form of hemophelia. Ironically, it was considered the "royals" disease among the Slavic community. There hadn't been a royal for centuries among them, hence the irony.
"The doctors say that the only thing that has any real chance of success is impossible to acquire," he explained.
His mother's face filled with sudden hope, determination. He knew it would. She would grasp at any straw that might keep him in her life. She never heard the word "impossible" in his explanation. But his father had.
"What do you mean 'impossible'?" his father asked.
"The BORG have a type of medical nanotech that can maintain a stable organism, keep diseases like mine in check, if not actually cured. But it's not exactly available to just anybody. They're called nanites, and they're in very short supply among the Federation worlds. Partly, I suppose, because they're as dangerous as they are helpful."
Kids still told stories about the bogey-men ... the BORG of WOLF-359. Automatons that advanced like a plague across the universe. The Federation and Starfleet had stopped them at great cost, thrown them back, disprupted their Collectives. But everybody knew it was just a matter of time. The BORG were mechanized zealots. For them, there were only BORG, and cultures who would one day be BORG. Anything less was unthinkable to them.
"We will get these nanites, then," his mother smiled through her tears, putting on a brave face for him.
"You don't understand," he said, a little angrily. "I don't qualify."
"Qualify?" his father snapped. "What nonsense is this?"
"Nanites are rare in Federated space. Barely available even for research. I was told, as diplomatically as possible, that I was neither wealthy enough to afford them, or special enough that my life might be worth them," Tomas' fired back. "I am ... unworthy."
The look on his parents' faces ate him alive. He was the most important thing in the universe to them. He'd always known that. But for this ... it was't enough. And that was his death sentence.
"No!" his father swore explosively in Russian. "We will see who is worthy, and who is not."
His mother hugged him again, hard enough to squeeze the breath out of his lungs. He began to hope.
-------------------- (llli
Location: DELTA QUADRANT, STARBASE 59
Scene: E=MCSquared, a theme restaurant on the Promenade
Time Index: Several months later
Tomas' could not tell if the man was BORG or not. If he was, his augmentations were well concealed. But he seemed to be listening to something only he could hear during the conversation with his parents. They had spent their savings to gain passage to the DELTA Quadrant and STARBASE 59. It was as close as they could get to the BORG Senate, and this man was their liaison.
He did not give them his name. And he volunteered no designation. But he made his point clearly enough.
"The BORG are not in the habit of doling out charity," he told them.
Tomas' flushed with anger. He would pay for this emotion later. His sickness ran apace now, and he knew he didn't have many more months. But the bluntness of the man's behavior toward his parents enraged him.
"The BORG don't know how the humanoid culture works," he snapped.
For the first time in the conversation, the man looked at him directly. Closely.
"Really?" the man replied.
"Really," Tomas' snapped. "The BORG have been beaten to a standstill, fragmented by humanoid culture. If they have any hope of expanding their influence again, regaining their primacy, they'd better start thinking about their role in the universe. If the BORG doesn't figure this out, our culture will overrun theirs. It's happened before."
The man stared at him. His gaze was penetrating, cold and evaluating. He was listening to those inner voices again.
"State your proposal," he said.
Tomas' went with it. He had good instincts. He'd defended his thesis before academics at Tycho. The BORG were not nearly so specialized.
"The BORG have facts. They have data. Information. They know nothing about evaluation, about understanding. Cultural differences will doom them. Humanoid cultures flex and change to meet their challenges. They are never the same more than once. The BORG think they are the masters of adaptation, but they're wrong. The humanoids have them beat hands down."
"And you know how to change this?"
His parents looked at him aghast. He was telling the BORG, for this man was definitely their voice in this clandestine meeting, how to defend themselves against the Federation, how to achieve their goals.
"Educate. Don't assimilate," Tomas' said. "Learn about us. We can coexist. We can help each other. We don't have to spend our lives and our resources tearing each other to shreds."
"We have a counterproposal," the man said.
"I'm listening," Tomas' replied.
"Serve as our cultural liaison with humanoid culture. Explain humanity to us. If we can acquire what we need without assimilation, we do not have to expend valuable energy and resources."
"I get the nanites?"
"You will be the bridge, both BORG and human. You will speak for us. You will explain humanity to us. We will achieve primacy. We will achieve perfection. Eventually."
"Done," Tomas' held out his hand to the other man, intending to shake hands.
The other man reached out, but it was not to shake hands. Two slender tubules ejected from the man's hand, pierced his own and injected nanites directly into his system. Tomas' jerked his hand back, but it was too late. He could feel the nanotech spreading up his arm.
"Do not resist," the man said, getting up to leave. "Resistance is futile. We will contact you."
His parents stared at him. Tomas' looked at his hand, saw the subtle changes in skin tone beginning to creep up his arm. He wondered how the nanites would change him.
-------------------- (llli
Location: UTOPIA PLANITIA
Scene: USS MCINNIS Docking Portal
Time Index: the present
Tomas' Alexei Vukovic looked out the transparent aluminum portholes at the great ship. The USS MCINNIS, an Eclipse Class vessel, hung in the darkness beyond him. Named for the man who'd died in the beginning of hostilities with the Dominion, the MAC was sleek and strong and dangerous. He'd known the man himself. No love lost between them, actually. Gene McInnis had served in the DELTA Quadrant on the USS SUTTNER dealing with the BORG on a regular basis. He hadn't trusted the BORG. Hadn't trusted Tomas' either when he'd first appeared on the GATE.
But with Xana Bonviva it had been somewhat different. Not at first, but later. He'd achieved the rarest kind of friendship. And lost it. He was BORG, through and through now. He looked human enough. But he could look like anyone now ... at least for short periods of time. It was rumored that the MCINNIS would be going at the Dominion, and that Xana Bonviva would be sitting in the Big Chair. Tomas' was not a member of the Federation. Nor was he Starfleet.
He walked to the docking port and stopped when challenged by security.
"I'm looking for work," he told the guard honestly enough. "I hear this ship has a bar. I'd like to apply."
The guard touched his ear. Tomas' noticed an earpiece inserted there, knew the guard was listening to someone. Apparently, he was under surveillance. Not like this hadn't happened before. He wondered who was looking at him now, passing judgement on him now.
The guard nodded.
Stepped back.
"You may pass," the guard said. "Report to the Quartermaster."
He handed Tomas' an electronic card with directions mapped on it, and he stepped across the threshhold of his new life.
-------------------- (llli
NRPG: Sarah, was this what you had in mind?
-------------------- (llli
Kenneth Field
envision_at_fidalgo.net
aka Tomas' Alexei Vukovic
covert BORG infiltrator
currently bartender, USS MCINNIS
aka Lt. JG Mowree Nurunyon
aCNS/GS-2
aka Maury R. Tee
Professor of English (Retired)
Proprietor of "Impulse Drives,"
a little shop of horrors
GS-2, Promenade
aka Commander Gene McInnis, deceased
formerly CNS/GS-2
"To gently lie and prove the lie true ... everything is finally a promise ... what
seems a lie is ramshackle need, wishing to be born." -- Ray Bradbury
From HyperNews_at_youth.net
This archive was generated by hypermail 2.1.5 : Wed Nov 19 2008 - 03:11:29 PST