Resistance - J.M. Dillard [45]
As her mind filled with images of her lost love, she remembered why she had come to his room in the first place. He had left something for her.
Sara looked down to find a delicate-looking model airplane resting on the desktop. As she carefully picked it up, she recognized the design from her academy history lessons. It was a replica of a flying machine designed by his namesake, the artist and scientist Leonardo da Vinci. Sara was impressed by the simple detail on the handmade model. Nothing on it appeared replicated. It had a genuine feel to it. She immediately loved it for its imperfections as well as for the fact that it was the perfect gift for a flight controller.
She gently placed the model back on the desk and picked up the note it had been resting on. It was parchment paper, with lettering written in calligraphic script.
For Sara—
My mother made this for me as a gift that she gave me on the day I was accepted to the academy. It was a fitting enough gift, but now I wonder if maybe there was a bit of premonition about it, that she knew I’d fall in love with someone who dreamed of flying, like yourself.
I never thought you’d give me a chance, Sara. Since the first day I saw you, this model inspired me to take a chance. Leonardo da Vinci never successfully got off the ground, but with you, I could soar.
You gave me hope; you gave me yourself. Borg or no Borg, I leave this room a happy man. Remember that. It’s the only thing that really matters.
Lio
She read it over several times, numb at first, but with each successive reading, her defenses slowly melted, until they could no longer contain the torrent of grief. She put down the paper, put her hands to her face, and wept.
She thought of the terrible moment when Lio had faced the Borg, when he had first realized he was going to die. The physical pain must have been horrible enough, but the mental must have been unbearable for him. She thought of the anguish he had felt on seeing his friend Joel as one of the Borg. How much more anguished had Lio felt realizing that the same fate now awaited him?
Just consider me dead. It’s easier…
When she was finished, she said, as if Lio himself were standing in front of her, “As much as I love the conn, I’m going to transfer back to Security. They’ll need a new chief, and I’m the most experienced.” She paused, then added, bitter and vehement: “The Borg will never win. I’ll board that ship, Lio. And I’ll find you.”
7
IN SICKBAY, BEVERLY WAS PERFORMING MICRO -surgery, staring down at computerized enlargements of Borg nanoprobes.
Unaltered, they would infiltrate Jean-Luc’s neurons, twisting and intertwining themselves around the double helix of his DNA, corrupting its chemistry, supplanting it, until it became something new and inhuman.
Beverly was subtly changing them so that they would mask, not replace, Jean-Luc’s humanity. The process made her recall their last encounter with the Borg—but her memory ran not to the harrowing battles aboard the Enterprise but rather to the moment she had first gazed upon Zefram Cochrane’s ship, the Phoenix.
She’d seen old pictures of nuclear missiles, and there was no mistaking the Phoenix’s genesis. If ever there had been a plowshare hammered out of a sword…
Which was precisely what she was attempting to do now. If the nanites were successfully implanted, and the captain’s neutralizer chip functioned correctly, the technology the Borg had used to enslave billions would finally bring about their downfall.
She glanced up, then turned at the sound of the door opening behind her. She expected to see Jean-Luc and was prepared to tell him to be patient a little longer.
Instead, standing just inside the door was Counselor T’Lana. Beverly rose and faced the Vulcan, who stood primly, hands clasped behind her back. Beverly had to direct her gaze downward. She was not a tall woman, but T’Lana was exceptionally short for a Vulcan.
“Doctor Crusher,” T’Lana said by way of greeting.