Worlds Without End, Part I

In the endless void between the stars the mile-long form of a starship moved silently, its chalk-white surface in perfect contrast with the infinite night. The almost casual motion of this ship and its two escorts was quietly observed. Star Destroyers, a powerful front-line ship for the Galactic Empire, and a source of terror across its territory. The recent arms race with the guerrilla movement to overthrow their leadership had continued to push their weapons technology further. It is this short time right now when that Empire would be at its strongest, when they have their most advanced technologies and an intact chain of command.

"Yes," said a voice with satisfaction, unconcerned with such physical limitations on sound in a vacuum. "This will do nicely."

When those words were spoken, a change took place that was to be felt across the universe. In some parts of the galaxy, some special individuals noticed inexplicable feelings of uncertainty and dread. For the two remaining masters of the Force, each the polar opposite of his counterpart, it produced a disturbance unlike any they had ever experienced in their long lives. And while these two were wont to agree on anything, both could sense the potential doom that had come into being.

On the other side of the universe a hopelessly mismatched battle was about to come to its inevitable conclusion. One was the Federation Starship Voyager, which has been cut off from its people for over five years. Its opponent was a gigantic ship belonging to the Federation's greatest enemy: the Borg. Unlike Voyager, it was heavily-armed and effectively shielded, and there was no doubt who would be the victor. But as it happened, this single battle between two rather insignificant ships was in fact the most important one in all of history, although neither side knew it.

"Any signs of other vessels in the vicinity," asked Captain Kathryn Janeway, commander of Voyager.

"Negative, captain," Ens. Kim replied. "No other vessels in range of our sensors."

The ship rocked under the impact of another Borg weapon. "Direct hit, Deck 12," reported Lt. Tuvok at Tactical.

Janeway's first officer, Comm. Chakotay, stepped to her side. In all crises he was her closest advisor. Unfortunately, there was little to offer under the present circumstances. "Maybe there's somewhere we can hide," he offered, "at least for a little while. Give us a chance to patch the ship together."

The ship was struck again, and below in Astrometrics, Seven of Nine was hastily examining their sensor readings. The fact that she was a Borg herself was only relevant in that she knew what she was fighting to escape. If there was any irony in her mind being pitted against the hive collective that had trained her it was lost on her. "Anything that can provide some cover?" Janeway asked over the comm.

"Nothing yet, captain," Seven replied, her voice even despite the anxiousness of the moment. Seven was not one to panic, regardless of the situation. She was adjusting the long-range sensors in the vain hope of finding something when her console began to beep for her attention. She tapped the panel and her brow furrowed in momentary confusion. "Captain," she said, "Sensors have picked up what appears to be a wormhole less than five hundred thousand kilometers from here."

The ship shuddered again, and Seven could feel the explosive decompression despite the room's seal. They wouldn't last much longer. "How the hell did we miss that?" Janeway asked. "It's practically on our doorstep."

"I'm not sure," Seven said, looking at the readings. "But it is a wormhole." She continued tapping the panel as she analyzed the readings. "Stable, but I have no idea where it leads." Seven's stomach twisted as the inertial dampeners failed for a fraction of a second. She passed the coordinates on to Navigation.

"Away from here, and that's good enough for me," Janeway said. "Alter course, Mr. Paris."

Voyager turned tightly, and the cube altered direction to pursue. Not long after, space opened up and swallowed both of them without a trace.

Standing on the main deck of the Star Destroyer Incaciad, Admiral Thrawn gazed at the space beyond. His crew was far too busy ensuring the smooth running of the ship to pay much attention, and even less time to wonder what he might be looking at, or thinking about. It was a pointless exercise anyway; few could understand all that went on behind those alien eyes, and yes he was alien. His ascent to his current rank did nothing to change that fact in the minds of the Imperial Navy, although it mattered little to those under his command. Whatever feelings they might have for non-humans were suspended for the grand admiral, and newcomers to the ship were quickly educated in that fact by his crew. It takes extraordinary effort to overcome a prejudice; but then, there was nothing ordinary about Thrawn.

As it happened, he was thinking about the future, and how the galaxy was going to change soon. The Empire was constructing a second Death Star at Endor, supposedly more powerful than the first. Rather redundant in Thrawn's estimation; a planet-destroying weapon's only real benefit was in overwhelming planetary shields, which the first Death Star was quite capable of doing. Even then, in practical military terms it wasn't a terribly effective weapon. Perhaps to eliminate the center of your enemies' leadership or to terrify a populace into surrender, but what good, in the end, was blowing up a planet you want to conquer? The Death Star was useful, but the extra effort was a bit of a waste in Thrawn's estimation.

According to the secret communication, the Death Star's construction was behind, and Darth Vader and the Emperor would oversee the final stages of construction in person. Yes, the Emperor was leaving the impenetrable security of Coruscant to personally observe the construction of an inoperable and defenseless battlestation. Seemed rather obvious a trap, but the Rebels had been suffering several setbacks, and the Emperor's rather obvious trap did have a particularly attractive piece of bait. He considered who might be commanding the Imperial forces; probably Piett. Not a bad commander, but not a very brilliant tactician either.

Thrawn was just considering some attack scenarios, were he in charge, when he heard one of the crewmen speaking to Captain Jarrol. "Sir, two ships have appeared on our scope."

Thrawn turned around and looked down towards the young man. There was almost a sense of casualness about the way he acted. "Out of hyperspace?"

"No sir," the crewman quickly responded to Thrawn, "they just appeared out of nowhere."

"Indeed," replied Thrawn, still nonplused. "Let's have a look," he said as he stepped towards the control station. He didn't waste time telling the crew to raise the shields; they knew what he expected of them. He examined the ships for several seconds. They were clearly alien, and they didn't share any similar designs. The smaller ship was visibly damaged, but if the larger cube-shaped vessel was responsible, it showed no interest in making the kill just yet.

"Admiral," Jarrol said, returning from a quick discussion with his deck officer, "we have an intruder on board. Engineering."

"I assume you're not referring to a rebel spy."

"No," Jarrol said. "According to witnesses it appeared out of thin air."

"'It?'" Thrawn replied. Jarrol offered him the datapad and Thrawn looked at the intruder. Mechanical components, but obviously a living thing. "A cyborg," he said quietly.

"It made no threatening motions," Jarrol continued. "But when it didn't heed instructions it was shot. They're taking it to the infirmary to study it."

Thrawn looked up from the datapad to the two ships beyond the windows. "So," he asked no one in particular, "which one did you come from?"

"Sir, we're receiving a hail from the cubical vessel," an officer reported. The sudden voice was chilling, as if a million voices were speaking as one in some horrible chant.

"We are the Borg. We have analyzed your defensive capabilities and judged them to be inadequate. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add your distinctiveness to our own. You will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile."

On board the battered remains of Voyager, Captain Janeway rose from her chair. "Hail them again."

Lt. Tuvok sent the message, but... "No response."

"Captain," Harry Kim said anxiously, "the Borg have beamed over to the alien ship, the center one."

"How many drones?"

"One." Ens. Kim checks his instruments. "They must have beamed over while their shields were still down."

Janeway turned to her first officer, unable to hide her confusion. "Why would they not answer our hails? If they were hostile, why haven't they fired? If they're peaceful, why ignore us?"

"Perhaps their communication technology is incompatible with ours," he offered.

"We did receive energy readings earlier which may have been a communication device," Tuvok informed them.

Janeway turned, her hand stroking her chin. Finally she walked towards the turbolift with a quick gait. "Analyze those signals, see if you can communicate with them. I'll be in engineering - we still have a ship to put back together."

Thrawn watched the Cube advance. It was certainly big, but there was no visible sign of any armored defenses, a rather odd construction given the appearance of the cyborg below. "Flank them," Thrawn ordered, and the Kartinian and Lucinda advanced on the Cube while the Incaciad moved into position. "Have the fighter crews standing by," he ordered, "but don't launch until my order."

"Commander," Tuvok said, "the energy signal the Borg sent earlier was similar in nature to the one we received from the alien vessels. It might be their method of communication."

"Look at modifying our communications equipment to broadcast using those signals," Chakotay said. "Whatever their intentions, we've got to warn them before the Borg try something."

"Looks like we're too late for that," Tom Paris, Voyager's pilot, said as Chakotay's attention returned to the screen. "It's heading right for them."

Chakotay took a deep breath. "Let's hope they learn quickly," he said quietly.

"Use the Ion Cannons," Thrawn said, his voice with a steel edge to it. "Perhaps we can take it intact."

Silvery-blue beams launched from the three star destroyers, washing over the Cube's surface. It was clear that they were striking the ship itself, but there was no noticeable effect, not even on the sensors.

"Cease fire," Thrawn said. There was an unusual tone to his voice, as if he were about to make a chess move right into a trap that he could feel was there but couldn't quite see. "Turbolasers," he ordered.

While the message was relayed to the stations Jarrol stepped over to Thrawn's side. "Shall we launch our missiles as well?" he asked.

Thrawn didn't answer at first, he just stared at the image of the cyborg on his datapad. "No," he said finally. "And no fighters. Just fire our lasers and let's see what happens."

Due to the sheer size of the Borg Cube the star destroyers turned their ships so the heavy turbolaser batteries on their dorsal side could all be brought to bear, much like it did during a Base Delta Zero. That much firepower could normal eradicate all life on a world in little time, and with the rate the plasma bolts tore through the tritanium hull of the Cube it seemed that would be the case here as well.

But for the Borg the purpose of the attack wasn't to fight, it was to learn about this new species. Their scans had revealed new types of technology, and what little information their lost drone had gathered indicated that there was some that could be of use to the Collective. Because even though they had been cut off from the hive mind, the Borg never for a moment deviated from their purpose: to consume technology and cultures that would increase their own perfection. That it would involve their own destruction wasn't even a factor.

The Voyager bridge crew watched in amazement as the cube was slowly torn to pieces by the aliens with few retaliatory shots of their own. The last time they'd seen anything like this -the only time actually- was Species 8472. It was clear that Chakotay wasn't the only one thinking that. "It doesn't look like the Borg have adapted yet," Harry Kim observed.

"I don't think they'll get the chance," Chakotay said as a corner ten times Voyager's size broke off from the main mass of the Cube.

Paris swiveled nervously in his pilot's chair. "I hate to be the pessimist here," he remarked, his eyes glued to the screen. "But, I have a feeling they're not going to just ignore us after they're through with the Borg."

Chakotay had been thinking the same thing. "Any progress, Tuvok?"

"I believe I have the answer," Tuvok said, "but I am unable to send the response."

"Was the comm system damaged?" Chakotay asked as he came around to the tactical panel.

"Negative. But there is a powerful distortion field that's blocking our ability to communicate."

"Some kind of energy noise," Harry Kim said. "It's playing havoc with our sensors as well. I think it's coming from those alien ships."

Any further discussion was halted when the Cube ruptured in a series of smaller explosions as individual power distribution nodes failed. Random debris scattered across space, buffeting Voyager with shrapnel. Mercifully the shields held, but as they watched the three ships responsible close on their location it was clear that was where there good fortune ended.

It was fifty thousand lightyears from where the battle just ended to the Imperial capital of Coruscant, but for a master of the Force distance was something that happened to other people. The Emperor hadn't moved since he had summoned Mara Jade hours before. His meditation was so deep she wondered if he would ever return. It was clear why she had been called here; with Vader overseeing construction on the Death Star she was the only one left who could feel that he was still alive. Even this deep there was no mistaking the powerful impression he left on the fabric of life, a neutron star on the rubber sheet that was the Force. Despite herself Mara jumped when he spoke. "There is a great disturbance in the force."

"Yes master, you have told me." She tried to disguise her fear. There was something different about him, but she was afraid to probe it for fear of rebuke or, even worse, actually discovering what it was.

"No, not that. No mere Jedi can do this. This is something... alien."

Mara Jade had received little training in the Force, so she could only wait while her master pondered what he'd felt. He seemed to reach a decision. "You will remain here with me on Coruscant."

That hadn't been what she'd expected. "But, I was to kill Skywalker."

"He is no longer a cause for concern," the Emperor said flatly. "We must prepare for an even greater challenge." He stood up and reached out for Mara. "Come." Mara climbed the steps and then knelt before him. "Are you prepared to give up the life you have led until now? Will you leave that person behind, if it meant limitless power at my side?"

"Yes, my master," she said. Immediately she felt her mind stabbed. It was hate, a cold hate, a hate that was born from isolation in the frozen stars, a hate weaned on pain and nurtured by abandonment and isolation. It was a hatred so black it consumed the light, boundless and barren, it allowed no room for pity or mercy or compassion, but it offered a strength that Mara could never have imagined.

It had been an instant, and it had been forever, but the sensation ended and Mara found herself panting on the stairs to the Emperor's throne. "Rise," he ordered, but with a touch of friendship to his voice. "It is time to begin your training, my young apprentice."

Go To Part II
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