Second Place Winner Stardate 20209.14

Shadows of a Threat by 2Lt. D’Atal

© 2002 by Federation Space and the author pen named D’Atal 

It was a routine day aboard the Federation starship Alexandria. First officer Ryan Rollefson had the bridge of the ship for the second shift and everything was normal. Ensign Toral, the new Vulcan tactical officer sat at the helm, making the routine, but functionally worthless course calculations. Lieutenant Naynes, a Bajoran sat at the conn, listening for messages while casually reading through the Federation news reports that were constantly fed over subspace to the various ships traveling about the stars. Finally the Andorian security officer D’Atal stood at his post, stoic. Nothing much happened during second shift so if was frequent that the bridge was this empty this time of day.

Suddenly Rollefson became very aware, after taking his mental inventory of the bridge, that he was the only human on the bridge. That didn’t happen that often these days as interest in the Star Fleet had increased among the human population since the General War. There was something about that unconquerable human spirit that compelled many men and women to sign up during and after the war. The threat of oppression seemed to bother humans much more than it did many of the other races of the Alpha quadrant.

“Guess that’s why we make such good commanders,” Rollefson thought to himself while shifting positions in his seat. The left butt-cheek was getting really numb from all this sitting.

Rollefson himself was an excellent specimen of a commanding officer. He was 5’10,’’ which is not overly tall, but muscle mass made up for what he lacked in size. In combination with his dark blonde hair and striking green eyes, the athletic build of Ryan Rollefson, first officer of the Akira Class starship Alexandria, gave him a commanding presence. The red uniform with three dots on the collar helped as well. Rollefson, both a practical and an intelligent man was neither haughty nor overly meek about his rank. When need be, he could command and use that position as first officer to his, and his crew’s advantage.

Suddenly Rollefson was snapped back to reality by the voice of his communications officer.

“Commander?” the Bajoran Lieutenant repeated himself, this time getting Rollefson’s attention. “We’re receiving a distress call.”

“On view screen Lieutenant,” Rollefson said as he stood up from the command chair.

The screen that had before shown only stars blinked to life and was filled by the face of a man who looked human.

“It’s not live sir, only taped and set to play,” the voice of Naynes came again.

“I am Jonathan Bledson, a human colonist at Regii III,” the man on the view screen said. He was dressed in a brightly colored outfit that was common these days among human civilians. The brown walls behind him gave no clue as to from where he was transmitting.

“I am not supposed to be using this machine,” Jonathan Bledson continued. “We are a simple colony that avoids outside contact but I just had to get word out. I had to call for help.”

The man’s mood suddenly became more agitated and it made Rollefson restless. These small human colonies, like the one on Regii III had separated themselves from the rest of the federation’s society shortly before the General War, which itself strengthened their resolve to abandon space travel and alien species and create self-sufficient societies. They rarely contacted the outside world, and only did so in extreme emergencies.

“Their numbers have grown in the last few weeks and I fear that before long they will take over the entire colony. Please, hurry… they… they’re Borg,” the young man whispered finally.

The mood on the bridge shifted immediately from thoughtful curiosity to sudden fear. There had been no contact with the Borg for some years now. Could this mean the beginning of another conflict with Federations most feared enemy? Commander Rollefson decided not to ask that question of himself or his crew yet.

“Lieutenant, relay that message to Star Fleet command priority one,” Rollefson commanded as soon as the screen went black. “Include with it a message that we are laying in course to investigate and will proceed with extreme caution.”

“Aye sir,” the now nervous Lieutenant answered. The Borg were supposed to be something of story book villains, since that starship that had been stranded in the Delta Quadrant had destroyed the Queen. What was that ship called? Voyager… right.

“Toral, set course for Regii III, “ Rollefson continued without skipping a beat. “Warp factor seven.”

The Vulcan laid in the course without word as Rollefson stepped up to his side and then turned his head back to face D’Atal.

“Take us to yellow alert Lieutenant,” he said firmly.

Turning back to face the view screen, now covered with the backdrop of space, lit once again only by stars, Rollefson tapped his com badge.

“Rollefson to Captain Wallace,” he said almost normally.

“Yes Ryan, what is it?” came the voice of the Captain from nowhere.

“Sir, we may have a serious problem,” Rollefson replied matter-o-factly. “Will you please meet me in your ready room sir?”

Two hours later the Alexandria, one of the few Akira Class starships still in service in Star Fleet since the General War, came into sensor range of the Regii system. Now Captain Wallace was in the commanding chair while Rollefson took his place next to him. The bridge was now a little more alive. Still in yellow alert, there were now two security officers present, D’Atal and a human ensign, both armed with phaser rifles set to automatically modulate in the event that the Borg were here in the Regii system and they managed to board the ship.

There was also a young human science officer at a panel in the back, ready to perform various scans that may be needed in an emergency situation such as this. Combined with Toral at helm and Naynes at com that made seven men on the bridge. An unusual number for the end of the second shift hours but by no means strange in a situation where a serious threat may be involved.

“We are now in sensor range of the system Captain,” said Lieutenant Norman, a thin, prematurely graying black man in his late twenties. “Scanning now for any signs of the Borg.”

“Good, “ came gently from Captain Wallace, generally a meek man who, when need be could make turn serious and commanding. His salt and pepper gray full goatee was all the dark hair the forty-five year old had left above his neck; The rest was gray, military cut grace.

“What do we have Norman?” Commander Rollefson asked.

“Well sir, unless they know we’re coming and are hiding somehow behind the star or one of the gas giants on the other side of the system, there’s no Borg in this system,” answered Lieutenant Norman. “No sign at all.”

Before anyone else got the chance to comment D’Atal spoke up.

“Sir, I still recommend extreme caution. We have no idea what the capabilities of the Borg are currently. After being out of contact with them for so long we may be ill-prepared for any new weapon or tactic.”

“Thank you Mr. D’Atal,” the Captain said with almost a smirk. “But please don’t one up your Captain before he gets a chance to assess the situation. You’ve left me with nothing to say.”

If it weren’t for the seriousness of the situation the Captain’s words would almost have reached the status of humor, especially for a proud and strong Andorian who was likely himself to one day reach command. But today, under the pressure of a possible Borg sighting, Rollefson and the rest of the crew merely fidgeted briefly, or smiled slightly, only to return to the business at hand.

“Aye sir,” D’Atal responded, unsure of what really to say.

“Well Ryan, what do you think?” the Captain asked his first officer while turning to him in his chair. There was something about a Captain like Wallace that made his crew comfortable and respectful at the same time. Rollefson was always in on the decision making process, whenever it was plausible. That made him trust his Captain even more, even when they disagreed.

“Well sir,” Rollefson started. “I think we should adjust course a bit and come in at an angle while making further scans. That should give us a clean shot with the sensors of the larger planets and behind the sun.”

“Make it so,” Captain Wallace said, turning some power over to his First Officer. Perhaps the Captain had already thought of that, but by giving the decision to Rollefson he shared not only a little power, but the respect of the crew. They were a well-oiled commanding team, after four years together aboard the Alexandria. Rollefson hoped that he could find as fine a partner once he had his own command.

“Toral, Norman,”Rollefson said. “Adjust course and continue scanning. We’re not walking into any surprises here.”

The junior officers followed orders and the Alexandria shifted in her course, continuing to scan. Still, there was no sign of any Borg, of any kind.

“Sir,”the voice of Norman spoke again. “Still no Borg in the system, nor anywhere on the scanners I might add.”

“Well, “ the Captain decided aloud. “Then lets head for planetary orbit above Regii III.”

“Aye sir,” Toral said, making the adjustment again in the navigation.

Captain Wallace stood, starred briefly into the view screen and then walked forward to the Com station, resting his hand on Lieutenant Naynes shoulder.

“Get me Star Fleet command, on a secure channel,” the Captain ordered. “I’ll take it in my ready room. You have the bridge, Ryan.”

“Aye sir,” Rollefson answered according to protocol.

With that the Captain left the bridge and headed into his ready room.

“How long until we reach the planet Toral?” questioned Rollefson.

“Less than twenty minutes now sir.”

“Good,” replied the first officer, back in the commanding chair. “Norman, keep me abreast to any changes. Keep scanning.”

With that, Rollefson turned his attention back to the view screen, watching the stars and wondering what threat, if any, would meet them at Regii III.

“Making planetary approach sir,” Toral droned off in his typical Vulcan manner.

Not even the Borg could ruffle him. Didn’t Vulcans read history? Wolf 359? Maybe they just didn’t detest the idea of dying as much as humans did or maybe it didn’t quite hit so close to home for them, literally, considering that the Borg had targeted Earth not once, but twice in history. The first time cost the Federation an entire fleet of ships before the Enterprise D saved the day. Then some years later it was the Enterprise E, under the command of the same man, Jean Luc Picard, stopped them from destroying human history. What Rollefson wouldn’t do to have Picard here with them now.

Coming back from his traverse into history, Rollefson tapped his com badge and spoke.

“Captain, we’re making our final approach,” he said, then turning his attention to the Bajoran at the Comm. “Naynes, attempt to make contact with the colony.”

Captain Wallace came from his ready room just as Naynes was following through with the order.

“What’s our status Ryan?” he asked.

“Attempting to make contact sir,” replied Rollefson, while taking his chair to the Captain’s right. relinquishing command again.

“But to no avail,” came Naynes voice, finishing a sentence Ryan Rollefson hadn’t known he’d left hanging. “No one is replying to our hails.”

“Are there life signs?” Rollefson asked, looking back at his science officer.

“Yes sir,” Lieutenant Norman answered. “Thousands.”

Captain Wallace turned to his first officer and looked him in the eyes.

“Well Ryan, it seems we have a bit of a mystery on our hands, don’t we?” the Captain said. “Lead an away team down to the planet’s surface and see if you can contact either the leaders of the colony or this Bledson person and see if figure out what is going on down there.”

“Aye sir,” Rollefson replied quickly, getting up. “D’Atal, you’re with me.”

The men headed for the turbolift quickly and deliberately until the voice of the Captain stopped them.

“Oh, and Ryan,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Star Fleet command considers this priority one. Leave no stone unturned.”

Joined in the transporter room by two other security officers, armed with regular type II phasers now, Rollefson, D’Atal stepped onto the platform to leave.

“Sir,”the Andorian said, beginning a question. “Are we armed well enough going into a situation where there have been Borg sighted?”

“D’Atal, this is a human colony and there’s no sign of Borg threat right now. I will not beam into town square armed to the teeth,” replied Rollefson firmly, indicating to the transporter chief that these men had had this conversation before, or at least one like it.

“Aye sir,” D’Atal resigned.

“Energize,” Rollefson said just an instant before he felt a little buzz and a flash of blue light appeared before him.

When his vision cleared Rollefson found himself standing in the middle of a colony that looked like something out of an old French novel. The buildings were stone and stucco and a light brown color. There was a fountain next to them with crystal clear water and mountains in the distance. If it weren’t for the hum of the reactor that powered the colony, one could almost imagine that there was no technology here.

Not that there was a lot. There were few visible blinking lights or metal conduits that are telltale signs of a modern federation colony. The market, which they beamed into facing even had wooden tables, a rare sight indeed considering the length of life and ease of replication of metal tables.

The people of the colony that were in the square or at the market area immediately noticed the strangers beaming in. They were all dressed in brightly colored clothes, similar to the ones worn by this Jonathan Bledson character that had sent the distress call and all of them were looking at the Star Fleet officers that were now in their presence.

Before Rollefson was able to say anything, a young man came dashing from the crowd and grabbed his arm, wisely not touching the slightly annoyed Andorian next to him.

“Come, “ he said, pulling them away from the market and into the woods on the other side of the fountain. “You’ve have taken far too long already.”

Rollefson got his wits about him in time to stop them from going completely into the woods.

“Hold on a second now son…” he started but then realized who he was talking to. “You’re Jonathan aren’t you? Jonathan Bledson?

“Yes.” he said, his impatient mood not changing. “I’m the one who sent the message. We must hurry. You have to stop them…”

“Hold on here boy,” said D’Atal. “We need to speak to someone with authority. Where is your governor?”

“He won’t be of any help,” Jonathan replied. “He’s a sympathizer with them.”

“In any case son,” Rollefson said, “We need to speak with someone in authority. It’s standard protocol.”

For a second the young man looked both confused and frustrated and then without warning he grabbed at Rollefson’s waist, stripping the phaser from his belt and running into the woods. D’Atal pulled his phaser quickly and readied himself to fire into the woods until the hand of Rollefson steadied him.

“I don’t want to be killing anyone today,”Rollefson said, reigning his security officer in. “We’ll deal with him without firing on him. You two,” he continued directing his attention to the other security officers. “Go find someone in authority in the colony and tell them I need to speak with them but say nothing about the Borg.”

The security officers left and Rollefson turned back to his Andorian friend.

“Now, we follow the boy and get my phaser back.”

The Star Fleet officers plunged into the woods and followed a trail that was cut through towards the mountains. The footprints of the boy were clearly visible and even if they weren’t with the aide of D’Atal’s antennae, which were extensions of his nasal cavity giving him a tremendous sense of smell, the boy would be easy to track.

Finally they came to a little hill and walked to the top of it, silently. At the bottom stood the boy holding the phaser and obviously waiting for them. Behind him was a small field full of some sort of native wheat, which from the looks of it, was ready to be harvested.

“Come!” the boy commanded softly. “I will show you the Borg people!”

Both Rollefson and D’Atal looked at each other in question of what to do and then the Commanding officer nodded and they walked down the hill. Rollefson met no resistance when he took his phaser again and holstered it.

“That was very foolish boy,” said D’Atal. “Do you even know how to handle one of those?”

“No, but you just had to follow me!” protested the young man. “And I am nearly sixteen. Call me Jonanthan, not boy.”

“Ok Jonathan,” the voice of Rollefson steadied the tension. “Now what about these Borg you’re talking about. Do you even know what Borg are?”

“Yes of course.” Jonathan started. “We learned about them in child-school. “They were the great enemies of the Federation. They were all linked at the brain and they uses machines to make them stronger than us.”

Convinced that the boy knew what he was talking about Commander Rollefson nodded. Maybe there were some isolated Borg hidden in the mountains. Perhaps their ship had been damaged somehow and had been forced to crash land here. But how had the Federation missed them?

“Ok boy,” Rollefson said. “Why don’t you show us the place where they are?”

Without another word the boy turned and started walking towards the field, with the officers in tow. D’Atal reached for his phaser.

“Tricorder,” Rollefson said firmly, “not phaser.”

Complying the Andorian took his tricorder out and started scanning ahead of them, in the direction the boy was taking them. Now they were in the wheat-like plants, which grew a bit taller than any of the men walking, so the tricorder was all the vision they’d have until they reached the end of the field.

Very suddenly they stumbled out into a clearing. Ahead of them was a house, fairly large for a farmhouse, with a garden beside it. The whole thing sat right at the edge of the mountain. Immediately behind where the house sat, the mountain started jutting up into the sky.

“In the house,” Jonathan whispered.

Rollefson looked at Lieutenant D’Atal, hoping for some good news from the scans. Nodding, the security officer took another scan of the house, strange as it was that the Borg might be keeping a garden.

“Lifesigns,” D’Atal started. “Four humans, and… lots of machinery.”

“Borg?” asked Rollefson.

“I can’t tell. It’s just unclear from the scans.”

“Ok,” Rollefson said. “We’ll head back to town and talk to the governor…”

“No!” Jonathan screamed, much to the surprise of both men. He grabbed the phaser from D’Atal’s belt this time and started running for the farmhouse.

“Boy!”

“Jonathan! No!”

The Star Fleet officers jumped to action and chased after the boy, hoping that he wouldn’t find a way to discharge the phaser, and that there weren’t really Borg in that house, because if there were, the three of them could be dead, or assimilated within the next few seconds.

Jonathan tore around the corner of the house and to the place that was obviously the front, with a large coutyard. D’Atal and Rollefson rounded the same corner and then found themselves running into Jonathan, who fell and dropped the phaser in front of him.

“There!” Jonathan pointed from the ground. “Get him!”

Rollefson instinctively grabbed his phaser as he looked up. D’Atal, security officer to the last, fell on the boy to cover him from fire and reached for his own phaser all at once. Combat training at Star Fleet had improved considerable since the old days. Every soldier could fight, officer or no.

The sight that met them when they lifted their heads was something neither of them was ready for. Standing there in the same brightly colored civilian clothing was a man; tall, dark skinned and looking somewhat normal, except for a large electronic eye that covered the right half of his face. Everyone present froze, and then the man began to speak.

“Welcome,” he said calmly. “We mean you no harm. Please, put away the weapons.”

Unsure of what to do, Rollefson slowly lowered his phaser and gave D’Atal a look to do the same. The Andorian lifted himself up to his feet and with little effort pull Jonathan up to his feet as well.

“I am Commander Ryan Rollefson, of the Federation starship Alexandria,” he said. Before he could finish his sentence a woman, with a bionic implant clearly visible in her arm walked out of the house with a smile on her face and joined them.

“Welcome, Commander Rollefson,” she said now. “We are the Collective.”

Rollefson was taken aback but knew needed to remain composed, since he could almost feel his security officer’s desire to take out his phaser and just start firing. That would not look well in a hearing at Star Fleet.

“I’m sorry,” Rollefson said, almost stuttering. “What did you say?”

“We are the collective,” the man said, repeating for the woman. “We live and farm here. We genuinely mean you no harm. In fact, you are welcome to join us if you would like.”

“I don’t think so,” D’Atal said firmly but as politely as he could.

Now Rollefson was truly confused. These people could just be speaking in the “we” because there are two of them, or four, if you count the other life signs coming from the house, but they are electronically enhanced. He needed a surefire way to make him speak in the first person.

“Like I said, “ Rollefson said, this time a little warmly. “I am Commander Rollefson and this is my security officer D’Atal.” He motioned toward the taller, bluer man to his right. “What are your names?”

“Well, we are the Collective,” the man said again, adding more tension to the situation. “But, there was a time when I was called Dalen. You may call us… I mean you may call me that.”

Now the questions were whirling in his Rollefson’s head. Now even he was feeling unsure enough to want to grab his phaser and start shooting, but they hadn’t shown any hostilities, so that was way out of the question.

“The boy here,” he started while motioning to Jonathan, who was now being held still very tighly by D’Atal. “Well, he seems to think that you are Borg.”

Both the man and the woman chuckled softly and warmly, obviously amused by the whole situation.

“Yes, we know.” the one called Dalen said. “He and his friends have been here to throw rocks at us before. The governor has dealt with it in the past for us.”

Rollefson was still unclear as to what was going on, but decided not to be hostile, just to ask questions and be prepared for this to turn bad.

“I see where his confusion lies though,” Rollefson said. “If you had only learned about the Borg in school, well… one could mistake you for them, I think.”

Again, the man and woman responded as one, nodding. It seemed they both felt the situation regrettable. Now Rollefson’s curiosity was genuinely peaked.

“What exactly is the nature of this “Collective?” Rollefson asked. “Is it social?”

Before an answer could come, the sound of running feet came from around the corner of the house and into view came the rest of the away team, as well as a couple of civilians from the colony. One was clearly older, balding with all gray hair on the sides and in his full beard.

“Jonathan,” the older man said. “I cannot believe you would be so irresponsible.”

“But Father,” Jonathan started, revealing his association with the man. “You would do nothing!”

Ignoring his son’s last comment the older man approached Rollefson, taking his hand.

“I am Jovan Bledson,” he said. “I am the governor of this colony.”

“I am Commander Rollefson of the Federation starship Alexandria,” Rollefson repeated his introduction. “And this is my security officer, D’Atal.”

“I am so very sorry for this inconvenience,” Jovan said, shaking his head. “If I had known my son had gotten access to the emergency communications system I would have contacted you all before it had come to this.”

“Jovan,” the man called Dalen said warmly. “Welcome back friend.”

The two men shook hands and embraced briefly and stood and faced each other.

“My son causing you more trouble I see,” Jovan said smiling.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Dalen said. “We are no threat to the Federation. We have nothing to fear.” Then turning to Rollefson. “Come, we will sit and eat and we will answer all of your questions.”

Rollefson nodded and turned to his security officers.

“You two stay outside,” he said. “D’Atal, with me. Rollefson to Captain Wallace,” he said, tapping his com badge.

“Yes, Ryan,” the Captain said from space. “Good news?”

“You can stand down yellow alert,” Rollefson said confidently. “But, we will need to be talking when I return to the ship. I need some more time with the governor down here.”

“Very well then Ryan,” the Captain said. “I’ll be waiting for your report.”

“Ready then?” Jovan asked.

With a nod from Rollefson, the four men, accompanied by the woman from earlier all headed for the front door of the house. The house looked much the same as the buildings that were in town, at least from the outside. The walls were brown and there was little evidence of technology. The inside of the house, Rollefson discovered, was another story all together. The walls that had been brown outside were gray inside, covered from place to place with panels and conduits in plain sight. It was if Federation technology had wormed its way into the wall, infesting itself into the quiet farmhouse.

The people, however, seemed not to notice or care, not even Jovan. Perhaps this colony was not so removed from technology and the Federation as most people assumed. All Rollefson knew was that it felt creepy, this hybrid of small town and spaceship.

Finally they came to the back of the house where there was a large table, made of metal, unlike the ones in town. The men took seats around it, Dalen at the head with Rollefson and Jovan on either side. D’Atal decided to stand, much to Dalen’s confusion.

“Are you alright sir?” he asked genuinely. “Do you need something special?”

“No,” D’Atal replied. “I simply prefer to stand.”

Before Rollefson could order him to take a seat Dalen replied.

“Very well then,” he said and then turned his attention to Rollefson. “We are the Collective.”

“Yes,” Rollefson said. “You’ve said that. I wish to know the nature of this Collective.”

“Perhaps it is best if we start with history, and work up to the Collective,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, that is likely the best way to start. We think so.”

“You see Commander Rollefson,” he said, starting his narrative. “A long time ago, just before the General War, our parents settled this planet as a human colony bent on staying out of the stars and the affairs of other races. We… I was merely a boy of seven when we landed and started building with what supplies we brought.

“Some time later we married a beautiful woman named Torella, who bore us a daughter. The colony was doing well at this point and we had gone years without contact from the outside world. Our daughter grew up, knowing little of the stars and the aliens that flew about the heavens. She was a happy little girl, and brilliant at that, first in her class in child-school.”

Rollefson was having a hard time focusing. Not that the man wasn’t being clear with his story, but his inability to stay within one point of view was frustrating. We, us, I: it was all a jumble. This was evidence enough that these people really were linked mentally in some way, either telepathically or electronically, but in either case, the story was what was important. Rollefson decided to try harder to ignore the plural pronouns, even when they didn’t make any sense.

“Then one day a terrible thing happened,” Dalen continued. “Our daughter came down with a terrible neurological disease. No one knows what it was or how it developed but it struck us terribly, making every nerve and every thought hurt.”

Rollefson noticed the sudden switch. Now the daughter was included in the “we” of his story telling. Perhaps she was one of the other life signs in the house. Speaking of which, the woman returned, this time with a muscular black man at her side. They sat down and joined in, listening to the story.

“We were desperate to save us, our daughter,” he said unclearly. “So we used research that we had not used since before our families settled this planet and we started looking for a way to save our life, but it seemed that the condition was fatal.

“Finally, once all hope was lost, we built a machine. This machine would house the body of our daughter, our body and make us live, our brain at least. She was sealed in a stasis chamber and connected to the machine, never to leave, but never to die either.”

“I’m so very sorry,” Rollefson said softly. Then, as an after-thought, “how does that tie into the Collective then?”

“We couldn’t hardly communicate with us,” came a new voice, the voice of the black man that had just joined the table. “We could only speak to her and receive very little communication back. We were afraid since we could not speak with our parents.”

This man was making even less sense than Dalen.

“Perhaps it would be best if I took over from here,” said Jovan, sensing the confusion. “I will be able to more clearly present the truth.” In their creepy way, all three of the present Collective members nodded in unison.

“The girl,” he began, “was unable to communicate except in the simplest ways. She had access to the computers that her parents were keeping her in but couldn’t do very much by way of outside communication. She was very much alone.

Finally Dalen and his wife decided that they had to develop a way to make real and meaningful contact with their daughter. They came to me for help but I was unable to provide much except allow them to use the computer database that was left over from the ship that brought our families here. Things did not look very promising.

Then one night Dalen came to me and explained that he had found a way to create a form of artificial telepathy that could link himself, his wife and their daughter together. He asked me for the freedom to pursue the option. Perhaps I should have said no, but I had grown up with Dalen and I had watched as his only daughter suffered. I decided to allow him to try.

The procedure was a success but it linked them together in ways that I had not foreseen. They became as one mind together and were constantly connected to one another. Each shared thoughts, ideas, pain, pleasure all together, as one unit. Their family was complete in a way that no other family in human history had ever been.”

Rollefson was completely engrossed in the story at this point, watching it unfold in his mind. So this collective was merely a family’s attempt to bring themselves all together again, after a devastating loss. Rollefson could understand that. When he Father had died in the General War, it shattered the family. His brother had abandoned hope in Star Fleet and the Federation and had joined one of these colonies. Just a boy then, Rollefson could only watch the way his mother fell apart and his uncle go mad before the end of the war. If he could find a way to bring them all back together, he would have.

“So what about the others?” Rollefson asked the obvious next question. “How did this man become a part of the group?”

“Jame and his friend Gozan became part of the collective some time later,” Jovan explained. “Jame was a sort of trouble maker who got himself into a bit of trouble. We sent him to work here to pay his debt to the colony and he ended up joining. Gozan and Jame had been friends since childhood and later, Jame convinced his old friend to join the Collective as well. They all seem to be quite happy.”

Rollefson sat back in his chair, frowning and thinking deeply about the issue at hand. If what Jovan says is true, then these men, in fact all these people entered this Collective voluntarily. But, but could he be sure of that. Borg drones of the old war games in the academy holodecks never complained that they were drones. Then something else came to mind when Rollefson’s vision came again to the black man he now knew as Jame. His chest could partially be seen through his shirt and it had metal implants as well.

“What about the implants?” Rollefson asked. “Why these augmentations?”

“Have you ever lived on a small colony?” asked Dalen. “The rest of this colony may have rejected the excess of technology, but this small farm thrives because of it. Our enhanced vision allows us to read air pressure, temperature, humidity and see parasites and problems with my plants. Our chest implants make him immensely stronger than we would usually be.”

Again with the confusing pronouns, but the message was clear. They viewed these implants as mere tools to aid them in their daily lives. Still, something felt wrong. Rollefson kept frowning and he could feel the restlessness of his Andorian companion behind him. Were these harmless people who just happened to live telepathically linked? The Betazoids lived in a completely honest and open society, devoid of lies. Was this the same thing? Or was this a brewing disaster? Could these people be the beginning of something very dark and evil? Questions. Questions and no answers, at least not yet.

“Well gentleman, ma’am,” Rollefson said, standing. “We’ll return to our starship now that we’ve asked all our questions. Jovan, will you please post someone to listen for any further communications we may need to have?”

“Of course Commander,” Jovan replied congenially. “How long should we wait fro you?”

“We will let you know if we are leaving,” he replied. “Thank you for being so helpful.”

With a nod to the rest of those present, Rollefson, still plagued by questions and fears turned and left with his security officer, heading outside to beam aboard the Alexandria. Now, how exactly was he going to tell this story to Captain Wallace?

Rollefson had just finished briefing the senior officers of the situation down on the surface of Regii III. He was sweating a bit, not because he was nervous, but because the questions this situation raised and having to be the one to raise them was a stressful event. The Captain had been briefed privately before the meeting with senior officers but had remained silent the entire time, just nodding. Then, he had called this meeting.

The conference room was clearly ablaze with emotion. Naynes sat there thoughtful, but obviously a little scared. He tapped his fingers incessantly on the table in his nervousness. D’Atal was clearly angry, possibly because he viewed this as some kind of crime but also possibly because he knew that whatever he wanted to do, it would likely be stopped, as it usually was. Also present was Toral, ever stoic in his Vulcan fashion, Doctor Sexton, a human who seemed disturbed but intrigued and head engineer, Lieutenant Park, also human who also was deeply intrigued by the whole thing.

Then of course, there was the Captain, who sat like a concerned old man waiting to see how the rest of the crew responded before he made his judgment. He was stroking his beard, as he had a habit of doing when he was thinking, and watching his senior officers think this thing out themselves.

“So people,” Rollefson said. “Any input?”

“You say the whole thing is completely voluntary?” Dr. Sexton said, the first to pipe up.

“Yes,” Rollefson said. “That’s the way it was described and the way it appeared.” He had decided to simply state the facts here and not tip his hand on how he felt about the whole thing. “Getting more like the Captain everyday,” he thought to himself, cracking a mental smile.

“Well then what are we concerned about?” the Doctor replied. “They seem to be no threat. Even the governor of the colony, this Jovan person, seems to feel that they aren’t anything to be concerned about.”

“How do we know things are going to stay that way?” D’Atal spoke up, not liking where this conversation was going. “Or even that it truly is this way. If nothing else, Captain, we should stay a while and investigate.”

“And what if we do conclude that they’re a threat D’Atal?” asked Park, an Asian man with long black hair.

“Then we shut the Collective down,” D’Atal replied, annoyed.

“By force if necessary,” chimed in Toral, to everyone’s surprise. “It would be illogical for us to let a genuine threat to Federation continue to grow, if we deemed them truly to be a threat.”

“Now hold on a minute!” came Naynes. “My people were oppressed for a very long time and that memory has not been lost in us. We are not going to trample the rights of these people because we don’t like what they’re doing.”

“It’s not a matter of like or dislike Naynes,” D’Atal said. “It’s a matter of federation security. What if these people did start to grow, and became a threat. What if they eventually hook up with the real Borg? What then?”

“Captain,” the Bajoran petitioned. “We can’t seriously be considering doing this! These people have basic rights. What… what about the Prime Directive? Don’t they have a right to evolve as a society?”

The Captain merely frowned and looked around the room again, obviously wanting his officers to talk this out some more. Rollefson just hoped the man would make a decision so that they could end this. But, he was the Captain.

“I don’t know if the Prime Directive applies here does it?” Park asked honestly. “These aren’t indigenous peoples, they’re human colonists. Toral?”

“I am uncertain,” he said. “It depends on the interpretation you would prefer I suppose. We would have to put this to Federation legal experts to get a clear decision.”

“Well great then,” Dr. Sexton said. “Then we’ll have a decision in a year or two.”

Finally Rollefson could stand no more. This conversation had just begun and it was spinning out of control into relativistic morals and other absurd things. Before too long they’d all be arguing over the existence of God. This was going to get them nowhere.

“Captain,” Rollefson said, somewhat pleadingly. “Please say something. You’ve been silent this whole time.”

Captain Wallace took his hand from his goatee and leaned forward in his chair, looking around the room one more good time. It wasn’t like he was trying to decide what to say or what to do. No, he’d likely known since Rollefson first explained the situation to him. It was more, more like he was letting the whole thing sink into their brains. They needed not only to hear the facts of the situation, but also to feel the situation. Obviously there were some strong emotions and ideas in the room, and each of them needed to take those into account. Finally he spoke.

“I wish we could just leave this place and forget what we’ve seen and learned,” he said gently. “But we are Star Fleet officers and sometimes we have to make hard decisions that we don’t wish to make. I would like very much to…”

A beep came through from the bridge, making the Captain pause in the middle of what was obviously going to be one of his classic speeches. It was from the bridge.

“Sir,” came the unidentified voice. “You have a message coming from Star Fleet Command, priority one. I was told to interrupt your meeting and have you take it immediately.“

“Thank you ensign,” the Captain said. “If you will all excuse me, I must take this. Please return to your posts and I will brief you all later.”

Still worked up mentally and emotionally and dissatisfied that they had never come to a conclusion, the crew stood and headed out of the conference room. Rollefson felt most dissatisfied of them all. Usually as the first officer he was the first to know what the Captain was thinking and now, well now he was in the dark with everyone else. He sighed, turned and left the room last, wondering what the rest of this day would bring them.

Some time later, Rollefson had retaken the bridge while the Captain was in his conference with Star Fleet Command, and a conference it must have been. It had been going on for more than two hours. What was going on in there? It made him nervous to know that it was taking this long to make a decision.

Not that the atmosphere on the bridge helped any. By now word had spread all over the ship about what they had encountered down on the planets surface, a Borg-like Collective of people, mentally linked and technologically enhanced. That made no one on the ship comfortable. All over the ship by now the crew would be talking about it. The bridge, now eerily quiet was full of thoughtful men and woman who wanted nothing more than to be out of this situation.

Finally, as if in response to Rollefson’s thoughts, Captain Wallace stepped from his ready room. The look on his face was an unhappy one. He sighed, uncharacteristically and then walked over to relieve Rollefson of command.

“Thank you Ryan,” he said almost sad as he took his seat.

If the bridge had been eerily quiet before, now the silence was sharp, screaming to be broken by a word from the Captain. The entire bridge crew was sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting for a word of how to deal with these new “Borg” or whatever they were.

“Ryan,” Captain Wallace began, after what seemed to be an eternity. “You will take Dr. Sexton and a small away team with you to the surface to deal with the situation. No security officers. I want this to be as unconfrontational as possible.”

“What exactly am I doing?” Rollefson asked, wondering what had been said in the room for two hours.

“You are going to tell them,” the Captain replied, obviously frustrated by the whole situation. “You are going to tell them that the Federation has ordered that they break the Collective and disassemble the computers that allowed them to maintain such a link.”

“Aye sir,” Rollefson said, both relieved and saddened at the same time. These people seemed, as creepy as they were, genuinely kind people who only wanted to be able to communicate with their daughter. Perhaps they can work out another way to communicate with her clearly.

“And the Doctor?” Rollefson asked, as an afterthought.

“Is to assist them in any surgery or medical difficulties involved in breaking the link.”

Rollefson gave his patented “I understand and am complying” nod and headed for the turbolift, leaving behind a still confused and frustrated crew, an obviously melancholy Captain and one very angry Andorian.

When they materialized this time, the away team, consisting of Rollefson, the Doctor, Park and two other medical officers, did so immediately in front of the farmhouse. There would be no hiking through the woods this time. The house was completely unchanged, standing alone underneath the shadow of the mountain and unaware to the danger that the Federation deemed lived within its walls.

They headed towards the courtyard where they had first met Dalen and the others and were met before they could enter into it by Dalen and Jovan, coming out together, laughing together.

“What’s the joke?” Rollefson said, trying to sound friendly before he had to deliver this message that would obviously destroy them.

“No joke,” Jovan said. “We are celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?” the Doctor asked, unsheepishly.

Before either man could reply, out ran Jonathan, the boy who had originally called them, from the house. He smiled and hugged his father when he approached but then he pulled away, revealing something that made the entire Star Fleet crew gasp. The boy’s arm had been replaced, or at least covered, by a metallic arm, covered in tools.

“Apparently,” Jovan said. “My son returned after you left to apologize for how he had treated the members of the Collective. Then in a surprise to everyone, he decided to join!”

While the rest of the crew stood a little shocked, Rollefson immediately felt warning flags fly up in his head. Just hours before this boy had been ready to run into battle with a phaser he didn’t know how to work to kill these people and now he had joined? Could a young man really have changed his mind that fast?

“I’m sorry,” Rollefson said. “You volunteered Jonathan?”

“Yes, we are pleased with the addition to the Collective,” Jonathan said, sounding more drone like than the others had previously.

“His distinctiveness has been added to our own,” Dalen said, sending the entire away team into a panic. That was a Borg phrase, no matter how nice these people seemed. There was no time to waste in stopping this.

“Well that’s what we’ve come to talk to you about actually,” Rollefson said. “There is a problem.”

“Well what kind of problem?” asked Jovan, looking confused.

“I don’t know how to say this exactly but… well, the Federation has ordered that the Collective be shut down and the machinery dismantled.”

“They what?” Jovan asked defiantly.

“I’ve brought along my doctor,” Rollefson said, ignoring the governor’s indigence. “And my engineer to assist in the process, as it’s likely an extensive one.”

“That cannot happen,” Dalen said. “We would die from the separation. We are one. The Collective will survive.”

“Doctor?” Rollefson asked, looking for assurance that he wasn’t lying.

“I’d have to understand the link better to know that for certain,” he answered.

“We’ll have Sexton here and Park examine the system to make sure that…” Rollefson started, only to be cut off.

“You will do nothing of the sort,” Jovan said, getting up into Rollefson’s face. “The Federation has no authority here. We are an independent colony.”

This situation had gotten bad quickly. Jovan was angry, the away team was both frightened and angry and Dalen looked, well different.

“Look, Jovan you have to understand that…” Rollefson started again, again to be interrupted.

“I have to do nothing. This Collective is a good thing for my people. Jame was a thief and a thug and now he is useful. My own son was always into trouble for silly little things and this Collective will bring stability to his life. You sir, and your little crew here should leave now. As governor of Regii III I am ordering it.”

Before Rollefson had a chance to react Dalen stepped forward, looking confused and thoughtful. He looked Rollefson in the eyes and then it dawned on him, he realized why these Collective people seemed so weird. It was their eyes. The eyes of people who are focused inward leave people feeling uneasy and the eyes of someone constantly listening to the minds of several other people are constantly focused inward. That thought, however, was brushed aside in an instant when Dalen spoke.

“We do not think you understand us, Rollefson of the starship Alexandria,” he said. “We are attaining a perfection that you could only dream of. We are learning from each new person added to the Collective and with each new mind we take another step towards perfection.”

Rollefson became uneasy in the face of this man and took a small step back. The confusion on Dalen’s face had whipped away into what seemed to be confidence, even arrogance.

“It would be better for this whole colony to join us and then all together we could make a great leap towards perfection. Don’t’ you see? We are the Collective!” and now the face changed from arrogance to a flash of anger. “And you, and your Federation are small creatures to not see this truth.”

Rollefson finally snapped back into officer mode, recovering his composure and his ability to command. Something had snapped inside this man, or these people if they were all connected and it was a bad something. He was convinced now that this dismantling was the right thing to do.

“Jovan,” he started.

“Don’t Jovan me,” he replied shortly. “I may not agree with this man on everything, but I will not let the Federation step all over our rights. This is why we separated ourselves long ago. Now leave.”

Rollefson knew he needed to head back to the ship now, not only to comply with the wishes of a truly sovereign state, but also to discuss this with the Captain. Somehow, Prime Directive or no, this Collective needed to be shut down, he was sure of it.

“Rollefson to Alexandria,” he said, tapping his com badge.

“Yes Commander?” came the voice of the transporter chief.

“Five to beam up.”

“Aye sir,” came a slightly confused reply. This was turning into a terrible mess.

“Captain,” Rollefson started his next sentence, after telling Captain Wallace of the encounter on the surface. “I am more confident than ever that that Collective needs to be dismantled. That boy… there’s no way that boy went back on his own.”

The Captain seemed deeply disturbed by the news from his first officer. The story of the child’s addition to the Collective and the speech that came from that individual Dalen was just more smoke to cloud the problems at hand. And it was very black smoke at that.

“Can you be certain that the boy was…” Captain Wallace paused, unwilling to use the word he was thinking. “that he was assimilated?”

Rollefson paused. This was the question that an officer had to ask and every time hated asking. Was he certain? Was there reasonable doubt? Even when an officer was gripped by a “gut feeling” that something was wrong, he had to still keep himself in check. The Federation was not founded, neither preserved by gut feelings. It was established by truth, and it was his duty, as a first officer to search truth out.

“No,” Rollefson said, dying inside while saying it. “His father seemed satisfied, and who am I to decide what Jonathan was “really like” when I would be disagreeing with his own flesh and blood father.”

The Captain nodded and sat back in his chair, seeming satisfied with the answer. The role of an officer was never easy. Giving commands that mean the death of comrades, making the hardest decisions in Star Fleet and all the while keeping control. All that was etched into this Captain’s face.

Then in an instant the images from the Academy came rushing back to him, battling back words like “duty” from his mind. This was about survival and he had seen what the Borg did to people in those simulations. He’d watched the security tapes of the Enterprise-E’s invasion by the Borg and the reenactments of the battle at Wolf 359. Gut feeling was winning.

“But Captain,” he said, only seconds after his last statement. “Everything inside me screams this is wrong! They must be stopped…”

“Stopped from what Commander?” the Captain barked, obviously frustrated. This was the first time since Rollefson had stepped onto this ship as first officer two years ago that Captain Wallace had failed to address him as Ryan in private. It startled him.

“Stopped from living? or from being what they choose to be?” the Captain said, still obviously troubled. This was harder for him than he would ever let on. “They aren’t even Federation citizens. We cannot do anything.”

“Captain we cannot let this threat continue to grow!” Rollefson argued back, forgetting himself and the rank of the man in front of him.

“I’m glad you agree with me Commander,” came a voice neither officer was expecting. In their debate neither had noticed when the screen directly in front of them had beeped and then lit up.

“Admiral Black,” Rollefson said, knowing the man only from pictures and news stories, not to mention reputation. Rumor had it he had his hands in Star Fleet intelligence and in Section 31, but none of that could ever be substantiated.

“Yes Commander,” Admiral Black said, unemotionally. “That would be me. I need to speak with your Captain.”

“If you would excuse us Ryan,” Wallace said, reverting back to his gentle self. “I do need to speak privately with the Admiral.”

Rollefson stood and with a nod to both his Captain and the infamous Admiral, he headed for the doorway. He stepped out onto the bridge and relieved Lieutenant Naynes of command, taking the Captain’s seat.

Emotions that he had rarely felt in his adult years swelled up inside the proud first officer of the Federation starship Alexandria. Not since he was a teenager, standing before his philosopher of a father, had he felt so misunderstood by a man he so deeply respected. This was a clear threat to the Federation! Why couldn’t he see that? Even that blasted Vulcan knew it. What was it that they learned in Star Fleet about that other old Vulcan? “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” It was perfectly clear, even to a man not governed by “gut” but by logic.

The tide of emotions ebbed and flowed over Rollefson’s mind as he sat there, staring at the view screen and the image of the planet below them. Was the freedom of a few not worth the safety of the Federation? They were even sounding like the Borg now! Again, isn’t the freedom of a few worth the safety of the Federation?

“Is the freedom of a few not worth the…” Rollefson thought again over in his mind. But, was it? What is limit on freedom? Who decided what was safe and what wasn’t? Could he trust others to make that judgment for him later on? Is the freedom of a few worth the “safety of the Federation?” What was safety anyway?

Safety surely wasn’t what was going on down on that planet! Those people, they’d opened up a Pandora’s Box and they had no idea what they were standing on. Was the memory of humanity so short that we forget the massacre of our own people in just a single generation? “His distinctiveness has been added to our own.” The words made Rollefson shudder. That was a massacre waiting to happen down there.

And what about the logic of the matter? Did not even the Vulcan on board agree that they must be stopped, by force if necessary! Logically, this was a threat that must be headed off at the pass. If these new Borg became aggressive, if they made it into the stars, well, what could stop the Federation from collapsing from the inside out? It was so logical, why couldn’t the Captain see it! Logic!

And with that last word other words came back to the mind of Ryan Rollefson, from a time before he wore a uniform, back in Virginia, on Earth. They were the words of his father. They were words that were repeated to him time and time again when he argued that his father was being unfair.

“The logic of man, nor of Vulcan for that matter, does not necessarily being about truth, Ryan,” he had said, smiling in that sad old way his father always did when he was giving advice. “Remember that. Hold firm to the things you know are true.”

With that thought Rollefson’s daydreams were brushed aside when the Captain, obviously angry, emerged from his ready room and approached the chair where Rollefson sat. Immediately he rose and gave over the chair of command.

“Ryan,” the Captain said, seeming to regain his composure. “We may have some dif…”

Interruptions seemed to the be the theme of the day as the image of Regii III blinked away during the Captain’s words and was replaced by the face of a very angry Admiral Black. Startled, the entire bridge crew looked wide-eyed at the red-faced man.

“Wallace,” he snapped. “You will do as you are ordered!”

“I will not allow,” the Captain started to argue back.

“It is not your decision!” the Admiral cut him off, yelling. “Fire on that complex and destroy that Collective!”

The bridge crew stood shocked. Was this Admiral really ordering the destruction of that farmhouse and the death of six people? Perhaps he just meant the machinery that bonded the Collective together, some of them rationalized. Many of them were in favor of that, but of murder?

“They are not Federation citizen’s,” the Captain was yelling back now. “And I will not have the blood of innocents on my hands!”

“Innocents!” the Admiral raged, most definitely breaking protocol by having this argument in front of the rest of the crew. “Those people down there are the beginning of a new Borg threat in this quadrant. How do you know they weren’t planted there by the Borg to infiltrate our society? How do you know that entire colony won’t be assimilated before you can make it to the next star system?”

Some of the bridge crew nodded their heads softly, their opinions swaying with the speech of the Admiral. The tension on the bridge suddenly got thicker as everyone there realized that their Captain stood in direct violation of orders from a senior officer, and that those orders, some of them were beginning to agree with.

Rollefson felt his heart had stopped in his chest. Not only had this situation escalated to a point far beyond what he had ever expected, but now he was watching his Captain throw his career away, a man that respected as much as any man he’d ever known. His “gut” had swung from angry and confused to sick and hurting. This would not end well.

“I will not violate the Prime Directive, the very cornerstone on which this Star Fleet stands!” Captain Wallace yelled, sounding more and more like the powerful Captain he was.

“Damn the Prime Directive Wallace!” the Admiral barked. “The Federation is not the benign old grandfather it once was! We will not stand idly by as threats are growing all around us and watch while even within our own borders the enemies swell! This Federation will survive and not because of your outdated moral standards and high ideals…”

“Well then tell Grandpa that his own children will beat him back,” the Captain said, coming down from the yelling. “The Prime Directive is a precipice from which I… from which we will not so easily fall!”

The Admiral growled in rage and slammed his fist on the table in front of him and out of sight. His face was red and a vein had popped from the front of his forehead, his anger taking control. He paused for a moment and then twitched slightly before he spoke.

“Commander Rollefson,” he said confidently, but still full of anger. “I am promoting you to Captain and giving you command of the Alexandria. You will remove Captain from the bridge and complete the orders he was given. Destroy the Collective and preserve our Federation.”

Is the freedom of a few not worth the safety of the Federation? The question rang again in the mind of the first officer, or was he the Captain now? Duty? The entire bridge crew was watching him, waiting to see how he would react. Honor? Safety? Logic?

“Hold firm to the things you know are true,” echoed the voice of his father from the past, the words attached to a sadly smiling face. “Hold firm.”

“No,” he finally said, raising his head. “I swore an oath to uphold the Prime Directive, and I will.”

Infuriated the Admiral gritted his teeth and leaned closer to the display on the screen. If it was possible, the men and women there could have smelled his hot, angry breath as he pressed his face closer and growled in a lone tone.

“Then I will find someone who will not.” he said, and then the message disconnected.

The bridge of the Alexandria was silent. If a telepath had been present, it would have likely been one of the most overwhelming experiences of their lives. There was anger and there was relief. There was frustration and there was satisfaction. The Andorian was raging at both the thought of leaving the new Borg alive and growing and the thought of this boorish Admiral abusing his Captain. The Vulcan even “felt” something as he reexamined the logic he had originally used to determine that this Collective must be stopped. The Captain had somehow swayed him. Was this logic or was it respect for a man that had lead and earned his trust.

But the two men that felt the most, that were in the most agony were the commanding officers of the Alexandria. They felt the burden of decision. Could either man say that this Collective would not rise up and become a threat to the stability of the Federation? Could either one truly deny that their guts felt that something was wrong on the surface of Regii III? No. But neither man could forget their first duty, to protect the very truth that the Federation was founded on. So with a mixture of sadness, of pain, of resolution and of “gut” they had both made their decision. The essence of the Federation must survive.

“Attention all decks, all personnel aboard the Alexandria,” the Captain said after touching a switch on his chair. “I have directly violated a direct order from a commanding officer. Your first officer, Commander Rollefson has also violated this same order.” The Captain turned and met the assuring look of a man that now admired him more than ever. “We have been ordered to fire on the Collective below, of whose existence I am sure you are all aware of now. I will not violate the Prime Directive. If you choose to protest this decision, please note it now in your professional log. We may shortly have to face one or more of our own ships for this defiance. If you wish to do so, please transport to the surface of the planet with supplies and communications and await the end of this debacle. Otherwise, prepare yourself for a possible battle.”

The Captain turned off the ship wide communication and turned to his attention to Rollefson. They shared a look for a brief moment and then both of them adjusted themselves and turned back to the view of the planet, now restored on the view screen before them.

“Captain,” came the meek Bajoran voice of Lieutenant Naynes.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” the Captain replied, gentle again.

“What do we do now Captain?” he said, embarrassed for speaking up.

The Captain smiled, understanding the fear and apprehension in his Bajoran conn officer.

“We wait.” the Captain said simply. “We wait and then we defend the truth, with words and with actions. The essence of the Federation must survive.”

Nodding Lieutenant Naynes turned back to his station, accepting the Captain’s response fully. There really was something about a Captain like Wallace that made his crew comfortable and respectful at the same time. Rollefson nodded his head too and faced the view screen with the rest of the crew. This was the burden of command. Choosing truth above gut, and the right above the simple. Whatever he felt, he knew he would hold to what he knew was true.