Three of Ten – Four: Vega

“Emergency transport complete, sir.”

We materialised on the bridge of another starship. We spun round to look through the viewscreen just in time to see the Kicking Horse plough into the side of the Borg cube, smashing into its hull like a wrecking ball, the resulting explosion tearing it into a million tiny pieces. The shields pulsed as debris from the wreckage bounced off our hull.

“Interesting manoeuvre,” a voice boomed. We turned to face a Klingon adorned in command uniform. The scars on his face and ridges suggested that he had had a long, violent and honourable history. Willis flinched when he first laid eyes upon him, taking a few moments to adjust to what he was seeing. While the Klingon Empire and United Federation of Planets were at war over the former’s new aggressive, expansionist  regime, some Klingons remained loyal to the latter, finding greater honour in remaining in Starfleet. It was reassuring to see such a commanding presence on a Federation starship.

“I’m Captain Tonn and you’re aboard the U.S.S. Shergold.”

“We were lucky to get you over here in time: one more second and you’d still have been on the Kicking Horse. I wouldn’t normally condone such reckless decisions, but considering the situation, as well as the fact that this was your first command, I commend your actions. I’ll be recommending you for promotion once we’re out of this mess.

“But it’s not over yet. Our colony in the Vega system is under attack. We know you’ve been through a lot in the last few hours and we’re asking a lot of you now, but you’re the person most suited to halting the Borg invasion. We can’t get our ships to the surface and we’re already laid thinly as it is, so it would just be the two of you reinforcing our troops already on the ground.”

Naibe and I glanced at each other for a second and nodded.


Captain Tonn took us down the armoury where we readied up our phaser rifles and adorned our polyweave armour before escorting us to the transporter room.

“Qapla’!” Captain Tonn said as we stepped on the platform. As we dematerialised, he straightened himself and pounded his fist to his chest.

As the blue light evaporated around us, we found ourselves amidst a scene of chaos: Starfleet officers in intense firefights with the Borg, burning and crumbling buildings and colonists fleeing from the encroaching Borg horde, desperately trying to avoid assimilation.

As much as I wanted to help these people, I knew that we had to target the shield generator they had erected to allow our ships to aid the rescue effort. I waved at Naibe to follow as we darted across the battlefield to the towering, imposing structure.  We ran through the crossfire of phaser fire and photon grenade explosions, burling towards our objective.

We slammed hard against the metal exterior of the generator and I accessed a command conduit, inserting my tubules into the access port so I could interface with the computer more easily. I rerouted all available power to the generator’s interior generator in the hope that such an act would trigger an overload and cause the generator to self-destruct.

As I was doing so, I noticed that no Borg were approaching us to intervene. They didn’t see us as a threat. This was too easy.

The screen flashed red as it alerted us that a power overload was imminent. I grabbed Naibe by the arm and we sprinted clear of the generator’s blast radius. We dove ton the ground as it began to whine and explode, showering debris everywhere. We covered our heads as metal shards showered over us. None of the pieces hit us. A number of Borg drones in the surrounding area weren’t as lucky.

The shield surrounding the colony crackled before shutting down and several runabouts and shuttles began to make their way to the surface to assist and rescue the survivors. Naibe and I got to our feet, dusted ourselves off and waited for Tonn’s clearance to return to the Shergold.

At that moment, there was a scream. I jerked my head in its direction and saw a young girl, wailing and sobbing, being dragged through the sand by her long, blonde hair by a Borg drone. I glanced ahead of them to see the drone was making his way to a Borg cube about 100 metres away. I looked again at the anguished young girl.

I would not let her be assimilated.

I slung my rifle from behind my back and began to sprint towards the drone. I brought the phaser to my eye, targeted his torso and fired. A large green square flashed over him as the beam made contact with his body: his shields had adapted.

Feeling the grit and determination rise throughout my entire body, I removed the sling from my shoulder: nothing would stop me from protecting this child. I turned the rifle around, gripped the barrel with both hands, lifted it around my head and charged at the drone, roaring angrily as I did so. I swung the rifle at his head,  the force of the blow causing it to crumple and bend in half. The drone shuddered and collapsed to the ground on impact, releasing his grip on the girl, who ran to safety in the direction of the shuttles.

I rolled the drone over so he lay on his back, pinned him to the ground and raised my fist. The anger and rage inside me reached boiling point and I brought my balled fist down on the drone’s head as hard as I could. The drone recoiled, unsure of what to do in its situation. I did the same with my left fist, alternating hands between blows. I relentlessly beat the drone, who looked around in an increasingly confused manner as each blow landed. If the black gloves on my hands were padding each punch, they weren’t absorbing much, if any, of the impact.

I continued to beat him before placing my arms around his neck and clenching my fists as tightly as I could: I would not let this drone continue to terrorise innocent people. He flailed as I choked the life out of him, each jerk becoming weaker and weaker as the air was denied to his lungs. The expression on his face slowly turned from mindless confusion to sudden realisation to terror. He panicked as the remaining life seeped out of him. In that moment, his suppressed personality resurfaced, overcoming his Borg reprogramming. He snapped to look me in the eye and held my gaze in a combination of both horror and sadness. He gently placed his arm on my shoulder and whispered with his last breath…


His head fell to the ground, his eyes closed and his last breath escaped from his lips.

My hands relaxed from around his neck as the rage within me evaporated instantaneously. My hands fell to my sides and I suddenly felt weak, my body freezing, all my energy drained from it. I stared, shocked at the drone’s final word. I stayed perch over the body, unsure of what to think or do, as the pale blue light of a Federation transporter enveloped me.





2 responses to “Three of Ten – Four: Vega”

  1. […] Originally published on Ready Up on 29th June 2011. […]

  2. Cathy avatar

    Well done. I had always wondered why knock down drag out fisticuffs were not the primary concern when dealing with the Borg. You made it sound like a viable option.

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