J.M. Dillard - Emissary (Star Trek Deep Space Nine, No 1)

H IS FIRST ENCOUNTER with Jean-Luc Picard shattered Ben Siskos life forever.

On stardate 44002.3, a fleet of forty Federation starships received orders to proceed to Wolf 359 to intercept a Borg vessel on its way to Earth. The Saratoga was the first to arrive.

Lieutenant Commander Benjamin Sisko served as the Saratogas first officer. Like the rest of the crew, Sisko had never seen a Borg and knew little of the race save that Starfleet Command deemed them a grave threat. He knew they were considered even more treacherous, more dangerous, than the Romulans; he knew that most others who had engaged them perished. Sisko was not afraid. He had absolute faith in himself, his captain, his ship, the Fleet.

But he had not been prepared for the size of the thing.

On Saratogas main bridge viewscreen, the Borg ship hung gray and motionless against a backdrop of stars, dwarfing the Federation vessel with its vastness. To Siskos eyes it wasnt even a proper ship, but a huge ungainly cube of spaceborne metal layered with thousands upon thousands of randomly placed conduits, piping and tiny compartments. There was no sleekness to it, no grace, no suggestion its builders had taken any care or pride or pleasure in its design. It looked as if some mindless force, some instinct, had driven them to add on each scrap of metal, each honeycomb, bit by bit. Like a bird building a nest, Sisko thought.

Or a hive. Insects building a gigantic metal hive.

At the sight, Captain Storil leaned forward in his chair and frowned, a faint crease appearing between his dark upswept brows.

Sisko took note of the gesture. For the captain, it was the equivalent of a gasp, a muttered curse, a reaction of resounding surprise. Storil was a Vulcan, dedicated to the repression of feeling in the pursuit of pure reason. Like most of his race, he possessed an astonishing intelligence and a degree of mastery over his emotions that made him, by human standards, seem cold and calculating. Sisko had at first worried that the Vulcans decisions would not take into account the morale of his mostly human command; that was before he learned that Storils devotion to logic was nothing compared to his devotion and loyalty to his crew.

Ensign Delaney. Storil tilted his head in her direction. Attempt to establish

The screen flickered and went dark. In place of the Borg ship, a face appeared. A human face, Sisko thought, in the first millisecond before the image coalesced, but even before the features formed completely he knew something was terribly wrong.

Picard, Storil whispered beside him.

Sisko returned his gaze to the screen. It was indeed Jean-Luc Picard who stood on the bridge of the Borg vessel. Sisko had seen a Fleet missive when Picard assumed command of the Enterprise several years beforePicard was one of the best-known captains and Enterprise one of the best-known ships in the Fleet. The impression Siskod gotten was of a dignified, confident man, but there had been warmth beneath the dignity. This was indeed the famous captain of the Enterprise.

And yet... it was not. Not human, not machine, but a monstrous marriage of metal and flesh. One of Picards arms had been extended with an intricate mechanical prosthesis, his eyes augmented with a sensor-scope protruding from one temple; his pale face was utterly, frighteningly blank. The dignity and the warmth were gone. Behind him, Borg stood motionless, thoughtless, in their individual honeycomb compartments. Sisko got a fleeting mental image of mindless hive insects excreting skeins of metal, wrapping Picard in a cocoon of machinery.

If any part of Jean-Luc Picard remained, the man-machine hybrid gave no sign. The sensor-scope flashed red, whirred softly, and angled forward, studying the humans with an intelligence as empty, as infinite, as cold, as space.

If that was what the Borg intended for the Saratogas crew, Sisko intended to go down fighting.

I am Locutus, it said. The voice was Picards, but lifeless, grating, devoid of intonation. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.

Siskos lips parted, half in astonishment, half in outrage at the forthright arrogance of this proclamation; his gaze caught the captains. Storils face remained impassive, composed, but Sisko had served with him enough years to recognize the faint glimmer of defiance in the captains dark slanting eyes.

Assimilate? Siskos look said. Like hell we will.

The Vulcans gaze serenely affirmed the sentiment.

You will disarm all weapons and escort us to sector zero-zero-one, Locutus continued. If you attempt to intervene, we will destroy you.

Zero-zero-one: Earth. Hranok, the Bolian tactical officer, moved pale blue hands over his console, then lifted his chin and made a small sound of indignation.

Sisko stared down at his viewer and saw a schematic display of three starships gliding silently into formation around the Saratoga; now four Davids challenged Goliath. Sir, Admiral Hanson has deployed the Gage, the Kyushu, and the Melbourne. Captain Storils attention did not waver from the screen. Move us to position alpha, Ensign.

Aye, sir, Ensign Tamamota replied, eyes wide as she forced her attention away from Picard on viewscreen. Tamamota was young, a bit green, but her hands were steady on the controls; the Vulcans stolid, quiet presence had a calming effect.

Load all torpedo bays, Storil ordered in the same tone he might have used to order a routine tactical check, but Sisko fancied he detected a faint heaviness there; the captain deplored the use of weaponry, relied on it only as a last resort. Ready phasers.

Picards mutated image disappeared abruptly, indicating he had understood Captain Storils reply, and was replaced once more by that of the Borg ship.

Hranoks muscular torso leaned over his console. The Borg ship is attempting to lock on to the Melbourne with its tractor beam.

Target the origin point of that beam, Lieutenant, Storil said smoothly. Fire when ready.

Sisko watched the screen as Saratogas phasers and torpedoes streaked through the void, flared briefly against the surface of the Borg vessel, then dimmed.

Simultaneously the Borg ship fired a bright, searing beam, striking the Melbourne.

Thats it, Sisko thought before he could stop himself. And were next.

For an instant the Melbourne trembled, illuminated against the blackness by a deadly corona of light. Sisko squinted against the painful brightness on the screen, forced himself not to look away as the Melbournes hull exploded into scorched, hurtling fragments, forced himself not to think of those dead and dying on a bridge very like this one.

Sisko prided himself on being unshakable and efficient during emergencies. In his first year at the Academy he had failed an unannounced emergency drill miserably because of an attack of nerves. Since then he had trained himself so that, even now in the face of certain attack, he felt the overlay of calm descend, felt his brain shut off the capacity for emotion until he became as impassive and detached as his captain. A part of his mind screamed that they were all certainly about to die, that he should leave his post, find his wife and son, spend his last few seconds with thembut the rational part knew that Jennifer and Jakes best chance lay in his ability to perform his duty efficiently now.

Time slowed. Sisko became hyperaware of his breathing, of the beating of his heart. He faced his captain, calmly waiting, not thinking at all as the Borg ship turned, ominous and implacable, to face the Saratoga.

The deck lurched; Sisko staggered, regained his footing as Lieutenant Hranok called: The Borg are attempting to lock on to us.