April 4, 2063
The U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701-E, explodes in orbit.
937 people are killed.
86 Borg Drones remain on Earth.
August 12, 2063
The New United Nations building rocked as another detonation went off in the city. The soldiers, in the tattered uniforms of a dozen militias and armies, grabbed something to hold on to as another skyscraper toppled in the distance.
“They’ve overrun the Bronx, sir! We just lost the last of our armor.”
Colonel Green turned to the runner, his steely eyed gaze not flickering for a moment. “Then go with small arms, grenades. Tell them to fight house by house, building by building. We’ll try to relieve them through the subway tunnels. Now, go! Any moment you’re here is one less body fighting the beasts.”
He paced through the command center, his uniform spotless in the chaos, that once hated triangular symbol still proud on his cap. The comms board – now reduced to radio since the loss of the last satellites – crackled, and Green waited brusquely for the news. “Lieutenant.”
“That was Beijing, sir.” The officer was young, younger than he should be, but the Post-Atomic Horror and the Third World War hadn’t made for many West Point graduates. Humanity did what they could. “The ECON fired what remained of their atomic arsenal at the Borg hub at Shanghai. No effect. They’re dragging out some of Singh’s surplus weapons, but . . .”
He trailed off. Green wasn’t confident either. The mutant’s scientists were genius, but this was beyond them. Gritting his teeth, he turned to the man in the simple business suit, stroking his cat in the back of the room. “Seven! Here, now. You told us this would work!”
The man didn’t stop caressing his cat. “I believed that destroying the hub would halt their advance. Neither Aegis nor Counter Strike agents believed that the Borg here would have been adapted to atomics in this era.”
“I don’t care,” Green’s military resolve was easily tested by the man, “we’ve been on the run since they assimilated the army trying to break out from St. Louis. You promised aid, so give us aid!”
“Wheels are in motion, Phillip. Yet, with the ECON routed, you lead the last enclave of resistance in the northern hemisphere- “
“We believe that Cheyenne Mountain and San Francisco are still fighting.”
“You understand the point, however.”
Green snarled. “The moment I give up to some cybernetic monstrosity is the moment I spit on everything I stand for. We’ll fight to the last.”
Another explosion rocked the command center. “That’s the subway tunnels falling, Phillip. You need – “
“Don’t tell me what I need, Seven. Hernandez, Johnson, with me. You! Give me your rifle. Send me a runner if we get any other word from the ECON. Seven. Come if you want, I don’t care.”
The drones emerged from the ruins of the 34th street subway station, climbing over debris and melted cars. The few sentries that weren’t on the front line at 94th street fired a few pot shots at the drones, the bullets ricocheting off. That endless mantra reverberated out of the mouths of dozens of pallid faces, a cybernetic monotone that echoed across the streets.
Strength is irrelevant. Resistance is futile. We wish to improve ourselves. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service ours.
“Adapt to this, toasterfucker.” The Colonel raised his rifle and fired, a dozen rounds rapid fire. Two hit the drone, staggering it for a moment, the rest pinging off green force fields. Grinding his teeth, he drew his revolver, firing it ineffectually.
“Spread out, troopers. Keep them at bay. Don’t let them get within close range.”
They crouched and knelt behind rubble, firing as the Borg marched forwards inevitably. A few rounds cut through, drawing sluggish trickles of blood, but the majority did as Green’s did, bouncing off momentary force shields.
“Grenade! Give me a grenade!” Green reached for one, grabbing it roughly off one of the soldier’s belts, hurling it towards the drones. “Down! Now!”
The squad crouched behind the debris, Seven sheltering his cat in his arms. The explosion threw dust in the air, rocks and chunks of cement flying towards them. The soldiers rose, raising their rifles and steadily moving forwards. Green raised his pistol and waited for the smoke to clear . . . only to see the drones march forward, force fields still littering as the energy bled off.
“Shit. Fall back, move to the NUN building. Hernandez, call ahead. I want anti-tank weapons, rpgs. Something has to break those shields.”
“You know that won’t work, Phillip.” Seven’s words were measured and even.
“Shut up.” He grabbed his radio off his belt. “Fall back, all units. We’ll make a stand at command.”
The troops moved in a swarm, falling back in haste as the Borg inevitably, slowly, walked over the defenders. A few spare blasts and detonations reverberated across the city, pockets of soldiers being overwhelmed and firing with whatever weapons they had at the drones.
Green stood at the top of the New United Nations building, the crack of rifle fire breaking across the cityscape as the drones marched forward like the incoming tide.
“Seven. This is it. Humanity’s last stand. If you have anything left, if your benefactor or cat has anything left. Use it.”
“I do, in fact. Get on your knees.”
Green looked at him in disbelief. “What?”
“Get on your knees. All of you.”
Colonel Phillip Green, for the first time in his life, knelt.
Fear Not.
The words reverberated across the city, the Borg halting in their paces as the rifle fire ceased.
These are the creatures threatening our former dominion? They shouldn’t be in this place. Or time.
Seven didn’t raise his head from where he knelt. “The Borg, yes. A temporal incursion, one that we had no agent to prevent.”
Asmodeus was foolish to leave here, then, if this would be the result.
“We’ve made the deal, Lucien. Hold up your side of it.”
Of course. Apollo, Kukulkan, with me.
A beam of blinding light struck across the battlefield, as a trio of titanic beings strode it. A coiled snake, with enormous feathered wings, unleashed blasts of energy, while a lounging being in a toga and laurel wreath waved his hand languidly. In the center was a smiling satyr, cloven hooves and all, trident in hand.
The energy coursed over the advancing Borg, vaporizing half as the bolts hit them. In the remaining half, the technology vanished, all that made them Borg disappearing in a flash.
An officer turned to Green, a radio in hand. “Sir. It’s worldwide. The Borg are gone.”
“Seven . . . what did you do?”
“Returned the world to its former owners, Colonel. The Aegis have ceded ownership of the Earth. It was the only way.”
“Not owners, Gary Seven. Gods.”
July 3, 2265
High Priest Julius Tiberius Kirk turned to his Magi, the first officer of the Sainted Imperial Warship Enterprise. “Number One, if the Vulcan exiles have broken back across the Romulan frontier, the resistance can only be boosted. Target the bridge. We’ll bring sacrifices back to His Satanic Majesty yet. Oh, hail them first. It’s better for the rituals if we know their names.”
“This is Captain Spock, of the VSS T’Path. You have illegally stolen our homeworld, and have illegally maintained dominion over a dozen sentient species. Stand down. Now.”
Kirk just smirked. “Fire at will.”
The U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701-E, explodes in orbit.
937 people are killed.
86 Borg Drones remain on Earth.
August 12, 2063
The New United Nations building rocked as another detonation went off in the city. The soldiers, in the tattered uniforms of a dozen militias and armies, grabbed something to hold on to as another skyscraper toppled in the distance.
“They’ve overrun the Bronx, sir! We just lost the last of our armor.”
Colonel Green turned to the runner, his steely eyed gaze not flickering for a moment. “Then go with small arms, grenades. Tell them to fight house by house, building by building. We’ll try to relieve them through the subway tunnels. Now, go! Any moment you’re here is one less body fighting the beasts.”
He paced through the command center, his uniform spotless in the chaos, that once hated triangular symbol still proud on his cap. The comms board – now reduced to radio since the loss of the last satellites – crackled, and Green waited brusquely for the news. “Lieutenant.”
“That was Beijing, sir.” The officer was young, younger than he should be, but the Post-Atomic Horror and the Third World War hadn’t made for many West Point graduates. Humanity did what they could. “The ECON fired what remained of their atomic arsenal at the Borg hub at Shanghai. No effect. They’re dragging out some of Singh’s surplus weapons, but . . .”
He trailed off. Green wasn’t confident either. The mutant’s scientists were genius, but this was beyond them. Gritting his teeth, he turned to the man in the simple business suit, stroking his cat in the back of the room. “Seven! Here, now. You told us this would work!”
The man didn’t stop caressing his cat. “I believed that destroying the hub would halt their advance. Neither Aegis nor Counter Strike agents believed that the Borg here would have been adapted to atomics in this era.”
“I don’t care,” Green’s military resolve was easily tested by the man, “we’ve been on the run since they assimilated the army trying to break out from St. Louis. You promised aid, so give us aid!”
“Wheels are in motion, Phillip. Yet, with the ECON routed, you lead the last enclave of resistance in the northern hemisphere- “
“We believe that Cheyenne Mountain and San Francisco are still fighting.”
“You understand the point, however.”
Green snarled. “The moment I give up to some cybernetic monstrosity is the moment I spit on everything I stand for. We’ll fight to the last.”
Another explosion rocked the command center. “That’s the subway tunnels falling, Phillip. You need – “
“Don’t tell me what I need, Seven. Hernandez, Johnson, with me. You! Give me your rifle. Send me a runner if we get any other word from the ECON. Seven. Come if you want, I don’t care.”
The drones emerged from the ruins of the 34th street subway station, climbing over debris and melted cars. The few sentries that weren’t on the front line at 94th street fired a few pot shots at the drones, the bullets ricocheting off. That endless mantra reverberated out of the mouths of dozens of pallid faces, a cybernetic monotone that echoed across the streets.
Strength is irrelevant. Resistance is futile. We wish to improve ourselves. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service ours.
“Adapt to this, toasterfucker.” The Colonel raised his rifle and fired, a dozen rounds rapid fire. Two hit the drone, staggering it for a moment, the rest pinging off green force fields. Grinding his teeth, he drew his revolver, firing it ineffectually.
“Spread out, troopers. Keep them at bay. Don’t let them get within close range.”
They crouched and knelt behind rubble, firing as the Borg marched forwards inevitably. A few rounds cut through, drawing sluggish trickles of blood, but the majority did as Green’s did, bouncing off momentary force shields.
“Grenade! Give me a grenade!” Green reached for one, grabbing it roughly off one of the soldier’s belts, hurling it towards the drones. “Down! Now!”
The squad crouched behind the debris, Seven sheltering his cat in his arms. The explosion threw dust in the air, rocks and chunks of cement flying towards them. The soldiers rose, raising their rifles and steadily moving forwards. Green raised his pistol and waited for the smoke to clear . . . only to see the drones march forward, force fields still littering as the energy bled off.
“Shit. Fall back, move to the NUN building. Hernandez, call ahead. I want anti-tank weapons, rpgs. Something has to break those shields.”
“You know that won’t work, Phillip.” Seven’s words were measured and even.
“Shut up.” He grabbed his radio off his belt. “Fall back, all units. We’ll make a stand at command.”
The troops moved in a swarm, falling back in haste as the Borg inevitably, slowly, walked over the defenders. A few spare blasts and detonations reverberated across the city, pockets of soldiers being overwhelmed and firing with whatever weapons they had at the drones.
Green stood at the top of the New United Nations building, the crack of rifle fire breaking across the cityscape as the drones marched forward like the incoming tide.
“Seven. This is it. Humanity’s last stand. If you have anything left, if your benefactor or cat has anything left. Use it.”
“I do, in fact. Get on your knees.”
Green looked at him in disbelief. “What?”
“Get on your knees. All of you.”
Colonel Phillip Green, for the first time in his life, knelt.
Fear Not.
The words reverberated across the city, the Borg halting in their paces as the rifle fire ceased.
These are the creatures threatening our former dominion? They shouldn’t be in this place. Or time.
Seven didn’t raise his head from where he knelt. “The Borg, yes. A temporal incursion, one that we had no agent to prevent.”
Asmodeus was foolish to leave here, then, if this would be the result.
“We’ve made the deal, Lucien. Hold up your side of it.”
Of course. Apollo, Kukulkan, with me.
A beam of blinding light struck across the battlefield, as a trio of titanic beings strode it. A coiled snake, with enormous feathered wings, unleashed blasts of energy, while a lounging being in a toga and laurel wreath waved his hand languidly. In the center was a smiling satyr, cloven hooves and all, trident in hand.
The energy coursed over the advancing Borg, vaporizing half as the bolts hit them. In the remaining half, the technology vanished, all that made them Borg disappearing in a flash.
An officer turned to Green, a radio in hand. “Sir. It’s worldwide. The Borg are gone.”
“Seven . . . what did you do?”
“Returned the world to its former owners, Colonel. The Aegis have ceded ownership of the Earth. It was the only way.”
“Not owners, Gary Seven. Gods.”
July 3, 2265
High Priest Julius Tiberius Kirk turned to his Magi, the first officer of the Sainted Imperial Warship Enterprise. “Number One, if the Vulcan exiles have broken back across the Romulan frontier, the resistance can only be boosted. Target the bridge. We’ll bring sacrifices back to His Satanic Majesty yet. Oh, hail them first. It’s better for the rituals if we know their names.”
“This is Captain Spock, of the VSS T’Path. You have illegally stolen our homeworld, and have illegally maintained dominion over a dozen sentient species. Stand down. Now.”
Kirk just smirked. “Fire at will.”
