Hard Crash - Christie Golden [15]
"Stop it," said Bart. He hadn't intended to speak but the words came out of his mouth. Everyone turned to stare at him. He felt his face grow hot.
"Faulwell is right, Corsi," said Gold gently to his chief of security. "This isn't a laughing matter. Very well. I'd say that while we can't be absolutely certain that this isn't the latest version of the new, improved Borg, it's a highly likely possibility. I'll alert Starfleet Command, see what they want us to do about it. Gomez, I remember right before we beamed you out, you said something like, 'there's nothing there.' What did you mean by that?"
"There were no control panels," said Gomez.
"That's right," said Bart. "No buttons, no lights, nothing to indicate how the pilot controlled the ship. I guess we know now. There's no need for control panels when you can maneuver a vessel with your thoughts."
Gomez frowned and her brow furrowed as she tried to recall exactly what there had been. "At least," she amended, "no control panels as we understand them. Now that I think of it, there might have been some ports where the pilot could have linked other than the chair." She looked a little embarrassed. "We were so distracted by the pilot, and then we were transported out. We didn't have time to conduct a more thorough investigation. I'm sorry, sir."
Gold waved off her apology.
"That's why I couldn't locate where the tactical and
propulsion systems were," said Corsi. "With most ships, there are separate sections where the various pieces of equipment are installed. Here, it's all spread throughout the ship, controlled by the pilot's mind."
"Oy vey," said Gold, with feeling. He rubbed at his eyes with his hand. "No chance of learning anything without a whole Starfleet team of Borg experts swarming over that ship, then. La Forge and Faulwell, you two are now the indispensable crewmen. The information on that tricorder is so far the only information we've got. Translate whatever is on there. I want concrete data, not theories, when some admiral starts trying to pull rank and questions our actions and conclusions. Understand?"
"Yes sir," said both Bart and Geordi at once.
"You're pretty quiet," La Forge observed as he and Bart stood in the turbolift.
Bart shrugged. For some strange reason, all he could think about was the unfinished letter to Anthony sitting in his quarters. If this thing was indeed a Borg ship, as was looking more and more likely, who knew what would happen. He wondered if he'd even have a chance to finish the note, let alone see Anthony again.
"Finding a completely new type of Borg threat isn't something that happens every day. Not even in this job," Bart added in a weak stab at humor.
"Listen, I've survived a lot of up close and personal encounters with the Borg," La Forge said, "and while they're definitely to be taken seriously, they're not totally indestructible. Besides, the captain must think there's at least a chance that it's not a Borg ship, or else he wouldn't assign you to this."
Bart brightened at that. "True," he said. If Gold expected the tricorder information to be recorded in standard Borg, the computer would already know how to translate it. The sometimes-archaic skills of a linguist wouldn't be required.
When they began their work in earnest, Bart was heartened by the fact that the language recorded was not Borg. After working with the computer, he narrowed it down to a branch of the Taklathi language with some of the grammatical structure of the Nemar and Olisu thrown into the mix. By cross-referencing with languages as varied as Xlatitigu and Pe, he was able to establish a root structure from which the universal translator could extrapolate. He loved these moments. They were positively exhilarating, and it was a refreshing change to work with someone who, like him, respected and enjoyed language.
Finally, the tricorder was adjusted and linked with their system. After a burst of static and