The BLTS Archive - Rêves (Dreams) Seventh in the Blackbird series by Cavalaxis (cavalaxis@hotmail.com) --- (c)11/23/1999 Reading Suggestions: Listening to Danse Macabre, Saint-Saens Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek. All of it. I claim no profit. I do claim the story. Archive: Yes. Feedback, s'il vous plait --- One last glimpse at my ship on the long-range sensors. I find the image to be strangely comforting. Part of me longs to be back on that bridge. I gaze out the portal at the approaching image of Mars, realizing that what I long for is a false sense of security. The chaotic forces of the universe hold sway over the Enterprise and her crew just as they hold sway over every other soul, known and unknown alike. The other part of me revels in the intrigue I have found myself entangled in. I clench and unclench my fists, working the stiffness from my fingers. I am terrified. Perhaps not knowing is better than knowing. And that theory crumbles before it is even fully manifested. I turn to look at Leila as her hands move over the helm. I remember her excuse for taking over. "If the sensors think you're a trash barge, then you gotta fly like a trash barge." I smile inwardly at her intensity. She'd recharged both E'n'E's shortly after we'd departed Earth's orbit and rapidly debriefed on their functionality. She'd replicated clothes for us which now lay waiting for our arrival to the outer perimeter docking rings. We'd agreed that if we entered the inner perimeter, we would have to pass more thorough scans and the vessel would be registered with the Port Authority. So we would dock here and take a common transport to the surface. This was not an uncommon practice, especially with the recreational districts that serviced both the miners from Jupiter and her moons, as well as a diverse clientele from Earth. Now she turns to face my gaze. She reaches out to place her hand on my leg. "You've been thinking about the possibilities, haven't you?" I absent-mindedly gather her hand in my own. "There is no other option." My heart aches with the memory of her lying next to me in the warmth of my bed. Regardless, I maintain my mask of determination. She smiles and nods her head in agreement. Will we ever find time to be together like that again? I draw her hand to my lips and kiss her fingertips. Her eyes close and I watch her steeling herself. "Would that you and I had more time, Jean-Luc." Her whisper echoes across a perennial emptiness within me. "We will." I hope she can hear the promise in my voice. Again, she nods, turning back to the helm. After a moment, one silent tear slips down her cheek. I turn back to the helm myself, allowing her to brush it away. Missions of this nature always elicit strong emotions, especially when the people involved care for one another. The best course is always to deal with it after the danger has passed. That is what I tell myself. It is a delicate balance of cowardice and courage. We enter the docking corridor, along with several other small craft of various origins. A hailing frequency is opened and we negotiate for a slip. I change into the civilian clothing that she has prepared. We look at each other, and she shakes her head smiling. "What?" I inquire, a bit on the defensive. "Never before have I seen a roughneck with such an air of...authority," she states, drawing herself up and puffing out her chest. I try to let my shoulders go slack, and she laughs out loud. "Nevermind, Captain. No one will notice, if we're lucky." She kisses me. A quick brush of the lips, but I find myself capturing her, my hand on the back of her neck. I pull her close and return the kiss passionately. Desperately. A long moment passes and we separate, both breathless. "Um...right." Her motions return to the matter-of-fact as she hands me one of the now fully charged E'n'E's. "Remember, if you need to use the cloaking device, you have five minutes, *max*." I nod. Sideways between the moments, my soul is reaching for her and she is slipping through my fingers. "I'm taking you to an old friend who has a thorough background in nanotech. It is important that you let me do the talking." I watch her rub her eyes and then hold the bridge of her nose. "What's wrong?" "Nothing, just a little headache." She continues after a brief hesitation. "Now if he finds out what kind of nanotech you may have, he won't be too happy about it. And if he finds out who you are, then we are as good as dead." This thought does not comfort me, but little would right now. "What is his name?" I watch as she tries to calm the pain behind her eyes. "Max. You'll like him. He's ex-Militia." And with that we are out the door and into the bustling half- night of the Outer Perimeter. Two hours later, we touch down at Bradbury Station, in the heart of the oldest city still standing on this planet. The night explodes around us in a tumult of bodies and voices. Her hand grips mine tightly and we set off into the crush of hawkers, brothel patrons, and religious zealots. Any kind of vice a person wants is available here, name your price. Only once are we confronted, but a quick left hook puts the man down and we continue. "Nicely done," she comments. "Yes, well. Not my preferred method of negotiation. But then, your company this evening is, shall we say, non-negotiable?" This provokes a bit of desperately needed levity. Her aura of vigilance is ever- present, but here she moves with her own grace. The grace of the invisible. Soon, I follow her into an arcade of shops. The width of the alleyway is little more than two arms width. The crowd thins out, a little more subdued now. We enter a shop front, at least I believe it is a shop, filled with a myriad of electronic gadgets and pieces of gadgets. In any other context, I believe I would have begun looking for survivors in the rubble, but this debris seemed to have its own sort of order. She picks through the pieces, apparently beguiled, selecting something that looks like a power supply and a part of what used to be some sort of holo- processor. She indicates that I should watch the entrance. I maneuver casually to watch her back and the door at the same time. "Yah salaam, Meedi." I hear the muffled voices as she speaks with the old woman in the back of the store. On the street, the crowd shuffles past, going about their daily lives, unperturbed and unaware. I listen with half an ear as she negotiates in pidgin Standard for the parts, and then asks about our man. After a brief exchange, Leila beckons to me. The crone behind the partition pulls open a door and indicates a set of stairs that spiral down into the shadows. "Thank you, Meedi." We descend. The air is thick and humid here. In the distance, heavy machinery clanks and churns. The stair is lit by a series of incandescent electric bulbs. This doesn't surprise me for some reason. I don't believe gaslight would surprise me at this point. "How far?" I whisper. "Not very." She pauses on the steps, listening intently. Her eyes screw shut for a moment and I watch as her hand tenses about the railing. I reach out to steady her but she opens her eyes and shakes her head. "I'm okay." "Is your implant malfunctioning?" "I don't know, but we don't have time to worry about it now. Let's keep moving." "No," my voice stern. "If you need medical attention..." "Max can take a look at it. Don't worry. I'll be fine." She turns, continuing down the corridor. My skepticism is obvious on my face, but I follow. My memories wander to the caverns on Romulus, very similar to these. Filled with the same sense of apprehension. After a few minutes, we emerge into a larger room, well-lit and somewhat organized. The silence is only broken by the distant hum of machinery and the sound of water dripping somewhere. "Ne'chi, Max? It's Nyhojha. I've brought a friend." "Nyho?" a disembodied voice inquires. The figure that emerges from between two workbenches is a man who wears many years, yet still walks with the gait of a warrior. His hands extend to Leila, while his eyes drink me in. His distrust is obvious. "Who have you brought to me, Nyho?" Her smile warms the entire room as she takes his hands and pulls him into an embrace. "Max, it has been too long!" He hesitates only briefly before returning the hug. Her demeanor overcomes his uneasiness momentarily. "Max, this is John. John, this is Max." I extend a hand in greeting, and his grip surprises me. "My pleasure, sir." "Yes, well. It certainly isn't mine. Nyho, what have I told you about bringing people here." These words leave no doubt as to my worth in his mind. "Max, this is something I can't do elsewhere. We need your help and there isn't much time." "No, my little one, there never is with you." His voice carries with it the exasperation of a man dealing with a favored child. "Come. Tell me." He pulls us into a back corner of the room and offers us something to drink. A replicator, somehow out of place in this anachronistic world, soon produces our beverages and we sit down on an old work bench. Leila, woman of many names, launches into a paraphrased and somewhat fictional version of our story. Max stands and paces as he listens. "Hostile nanotech? I don't suppose you'd know...no, of course not." I meet his gaze with my eyes fixed, remembering the withering glance that Boothby could give. Even visiting the Academy as captain of the flagship, he could still cut me down to size with one look. I feel like a green cadet caught out after curfew. This is the harsh scrutiny I face. I sip my tea, hopefully nonplussed. "Yes, I can scan for it." She watches him carefully for a moment. "But will you?" Her voice imparts a certain passion to her question that is immeasurable. His hesitation is obvious. "Yes. But on one condition. I take samples. And you will sit while I run a diagnostic on that mnemonic implant of yours." "But," she starts to protest. "No 'buts'. You sit for the diagnostic or you can leave right now." His words leave no room for bargaining. She looks at me and my eyes narrow. I agree silently and my nod results in her chin dropping to her chest. I reach out and touch her chin, raising her eyes to mine. "He's right, Nyho." I can see her fighting with herself, but she acquiesces. "Aiwa, Max. I will sit for your damned diagnostic. But you will scan him first." The bitterness in her voice is apparent as she resigns herself to the decision. "Negative, we will do both at the same time. Now, 'John', I'll need a blood sample." Half an hour later, I nurse a small wound in the crook of my elbow, a piece of cotton held over the needle's entry point, and Leila, sits in an arm chair, her hair piled on top of her head. A thin lead wire travels from a computer terminal into the skin at the base of her scalp. Her eyes are closed and every so often she winces as the device scans her internal hardware. I want to go to her, just to touch her hand, but the old man has made it very clear that I am not to go anywhere near her. He bends over an optical device that contains a sample of my blood. After a few moments calibrating and adjusting the machine, he utters a sharp curse under his breath. When he sits back, his glare upon me feels like a fist. "I don't know who you are, but I gather that you have had a run in with the Borg before." This pronouncement knocks the wind from me. My jaw clenches and my eyes close. So it is true. A seething anger rises up from my belly and I suppress it. This is what a rape victim must feel. This will never end. Never will these scars heal and never will I be allowed to forget their vile intrusion upon my very soul. "Well, my friend. You are very lucky to know this young woman." His voice yields a bit. "You have survived the plague this far. You will not succumb to it." I look up and see him watching her as her nails dig into the arm of the chair. "She has brought you to the right place." A mechanical voice announces: "Diagnostic complete." I stand and cross the room to her as she sighs exhaustedly. Max disconnects her from the machine and she slumps forward in the chair. I crouch beside her and then gather her to me, lifting her from the ground and carrying her to a small cot in the back. Her eyes blink open and she reaches out to touch my face. She smiles in counterpoint to my grimace. "Don't worry, azizam." Her words are bone weary. "We will fix you too." And with this her eyes close and she passes into unconsciousness. I smooth the hair out of her face. And then I hear the hiss and feel the cool sting of the hypo against my neck, too late to turn. Blackness swallows me. --- Black plasteel. Stench of antiseptic. Cold sting of metal against my skin. Cold seeping through my bones. Wet hiss of respiration. Gurgle of a feeding tube. Total absence of color. A grey world as far as I can see, through miles and miles of corridor. Tingle of a regeneration field, pain as metal snakes burrow into my flesh, clipping away unnecessary nerve tissue to make space for circuitry and enhancements. The rhythm of my heart in my ears. I can see her, moving between them. She walks purposefully, her eyes locked with mine. Hell hath no fury. Even as my body shrieks in agony, my soul sings. She comes for me. Angel of mercy. Angel of vengeance. A black armored hand reaches for her and she evades it. She shimmers and disappears. The crack of bone, the wrenching of cartilage, the dull slice of a blade as it pierces flesh, these all mark her passage as the figures crumple to the floor, one after another. I cannot move to help her. I cannot see her. But I hear her come, a distant storm approaching. --- "I can get him back to the ship. His CMO will help him from there." Voices filter in from far away. I feel as though I am wrapped in wool. The dream images still float about me. And I ache from head to toe. "But what about you, Nyho?" Max's voice. I can hear his despair. "There's nothing you can do, is there?" A long pause. I try to reach for her. She grips my hand. I realize that I'm laying on the same cot. My body is so very cold. "It is imperative that we get him where this fever can be treated." "Nyho, you do know who he is?" Fever, that would explain the chills. I try to speak and my voice fails me. "Yes, Max. I do. And I don't care." I feel her hand on my arm and feel her lips next to my ear. "It's okay. You'll be back safe on your ship soon. I've contacted Commander Riker. He will pick you up in your shuttle. You're going to be okay." My voice is a croak. She feeds a soft tube to my mouth and I suck on it. My voice returns. "What happened?" "Max made some incorrect assumptions, but I straightened him out. You were suffering from a latent infection. Nanotech left over from your assimilation. I helped Max decloak them and then he gave you a quick electromagnetic pulse to destroy them. Your heart implant is fine. Your body is just now perceiving the debris in your system as an intruder and is responding to it as if it were a virus. High fever. Dr. Crusher is standing by." My eyes focus on her face. This is worse than a Saurian Brandy hangover. But my mind latches onto the word 'latent'. "Were they designed to..." I can't bring myself to finish the sentence. "No, love. No, it was just garbage they left in your system." I realize her eyes aren't focusing on my face. She's looking to my left. I reach up to touch her face. Her hands press me back into the cot. "Don't. You aren't up to it." I sink back, remembering the vision of her slicing me out of the cocoon of Borg implants. My eyes close and our hands are interwoven. I cling to her warmth. I recognize the click I heard before as her jawbone comm link is activated. "Kix, Blackbird here. Two to transport site-to-site, Omicron One. Coordinates keyed. No, I don't want to hear it. Site-to-site authorization *Omicron One*." Her command voice. Somehow I am reassured. "Max, thanks again. Don't worry about me. And don't worry about the Section. You're still invaluable to us." I see him move away, realizing that he'd been standing with his hand on her shoulder. If I was more coherent, I would have heard the lie in her voice. I would have heard the unspoken warning and seen the apology in her eyes. "Nyho. Journey safely." "Aiwa, old friend. In sh'Allah." Go with God. "In sh'Allah." "Initialize transport." The tingle of the transporter surrounds me and I see the familiar surroundings of the Calypso. Commander Riker and Security Officer Lt. Riggs are there. "Commander, get us back to the Enterprise." "Aye, sir. Next time, let us know when you're going to go outside of your itinerary, Sir. You had us worried." Riker deftly maneuvers the craft out of the traffic corridor and towards the Enterprise at maximum impulse. I hear a muffled curse and I realize that Leila has been pulled from my side and is now in restraints. Through the fever, I watch as Riggs escorts to the back of the shuttle and shoves her into my quarters, closing the door behind her. My head sinks back to the pillow. I fight to hold on but the dreams overtake me again. I hear the muffled sound of tears as the blackness swallows me. Will the tears never end, I wonder? --- ~File Terminate~