First Contact, page 20
Picard hurried to him—but was stopped in midstride by a faint whisper… then two, then three, and more in his head. The voice of the collective: no longer thunderous, but slowly rising in volume, and doggedly persistent…
He froze, stricken, and glanced about the cavernous chamber for any sign of the queen, of surviving drones. At last, when he looked up, he saw to his horror several Borg convulsing on the upper level—unharmed by the gas, but apparently suffering from the harm done their queen.
And still, the voices whispered.
Locutus…
On instinct, he whirled and saw behind him she who was all: a blinking steel cranium atop a smooth metal spine. She writhed in frustrated anguish, struggling to lift herself, to rise, to conquer and control as she had done from the beginning of time.…
Her condition might have been seen as frighteningly pathetic—as indeed it was—but Picard wasted no time on such emotions. Instead, he summoned to his mind a million years of misery: a million planets and their lucky inhabitants consumed by fireballs, a billion planets and the not-so-fortunate natives assimilated, their wills consumed by the queen, their individual minds forced into endless purgatory.
Picard reached forth with his hands, and with a surge of adrenalized, inhuman strength, seized her slender metal spine and snapped it in two.
The cranium ceased blinking and glowed stark red for a long, agonizing minute… then abruptly darkened, and the queen fell still.
And within his skull, there was a silence so deep, so primal that he let go a silent sob, overwhelmed by the freedom. The collective at last was dead, all Borg within the entire chamber—including those writhing upon the third level—now nothing more than lifeless scraps of metal.
When at last he turned, he saw Data, sitting up now and apparently unharmed, though still unnerving in appearance.
“Are you all right?” Picard asked.
Apparently the emotion chip was active, for the android replied with remarkable good humor, “I would imagine I look worse than I feel.” He gazed down at the corpse of the queen. “Strange. Part of me is sorry that she is dead.”
“She was… unique,” the captain allowed, though he shared the sentiment not at all.
“She brought me closer to humanity than I ever thought possible,” Data confessed, and if ever a metal skull could convey a sense of shame, his did then. “And for a time, I was tempted by her offer.”
Picard glanced up sharply, startled. “How long a time?”
“Zero point eight six seconds,” said Data, and when the captain failed to repress a grin, added hastily, “For an android, that is nearly an eternity.”
Still smiling, Picard helped him to his feet. “Try to put it behind you, Data.”
The android hesitated, his golden eyes intense with curiosity. “Is that what you did, Captain, six years ago?”
The smile abruptly fled his face; he paused a moment, recalling the future that almost was not, because of his hate. “No…”
* * *
Captain’s log, April 5, 2063: The voyage of the Phoenix was a success… again. The alien ship detected the warp signature… and is on its way to a rendezvous with history.
Braced by members of Picard’s senior crew (who were, she sensed, also his closest friends), Lily stood beside Zefram, gripping his arm. Farther away, hidden by the darkness, Picard and the wise Dr. Crusher stood apart, taking care that their mere presence did not alter the line of history.
Lily—along with them all—gazed up at the sky, at the bright lights that shone through the night clouds, the lights that had drawn every townsperson here to the silo, the lights of a descending spacecraft.
A murmur passed through the crowd as the colossal ship—a good twenty times the size of the Phoenix—at last emerged from the clouds. To Lily, it looked rather like a huge pterodactyl spreading its great wings as it lowered itself, feet first, to the ground—a sleek, high-tech pterodactyl, of course, with wings suspiciously reminiscent of warp nacelles and landing lights aglitter like jewels. And the domed head in the center: that, she decided, would be the bridge.
Like us; they must think something like us. Or else we think like they do.
As it descended, landing gear emerged from its belly, and the “claws,” which had been tucked under the nacelles, began to lower, merging with the gear to form a stable platform. With exceptional grace, it slowed almost to a stop, hovered a few feet above the earth, then settled down so delicately that the ground beneath Lily’s feet never shuddered.
Lily watched, lips parting to release a soft and unashamed tearless sob, and remembered Picard’s words: If his chest had been a cannon, he would have shot his heart upon it.…
As she had shot her heart now, but the emotion that filled it was not hatred, but pure joy. It was as if all the bitterness of the past ten years had been lanced, drained away; and now, her joy spilled out onto the community, onto Picard, whose help had permitted her to see this, onto Zefram, who, because of Dr. Crusher’s blessed intervention, had never looked so strong, so sane…
Or so awed. As the alien ship’s engines whined to a stop, she squeezed his arm and directed her bright, shining gaze upon him; he looked back at her, suddenly decades younger than the day they had met.
The ones known as Will and Geordi stepped forward and took Zef gently by the arm. “Doctor,” Geordi said softly, “you’re on.”
Zef stared at them—perfectly sober, yet drunk with awe. “My God… they’re really from another world?”
Will smiled in his easy manner. “And they’re going to want to meet the man who flew that warp ship.”
A whirr, a hiss; a hatch in one of the landing claws began slowly to open. Cochrane glanced deliberately toward the shadows where Picard invisibly watched… then took a deep breath and strode over into the blinding circle of light where the alien ship stood. There he waited, expression and eyes bright, nervous, until at last the hatch swung completely open.
Light spilled out, illuminating the night air; three hooded figures emerged, robed in elegant patterned brocades of charcoal, bronze, aubergine. Human-sized, Lily thought excitedly; two were slightly taller than Zef, one shorter.
One of the taller ones pulled back its hood—and at that instant, Lily ceased struggling against tears and permitted them to course unwiped down her cheeks.
It was a man. A handsome man, with a strong jaw, strong cheekbones, coal-black upswept eyebrows—all framed by a severe fringe of coal-black bangs. His skin was pale, but Lily could classify it neither as white, black, yellow, or brown; if the stark lighting did not deceive, his complexion had a faintly greenish cast.
But it was the ears that made her realize: yes, this is a man; but it is most definitely not a human being. They were unswept, pointed as a pixie’s, yet they possessed a delicacy and naturalness that was becoming rather than ridiculous.
Behind him, the other aliens lowered their hoods as well, revealing another male with precisely the same coloring and haircut, and a striking woman with the same coloring and fringed bangs, but a waist-length jet braid entwined with jewels.
Slowly, regally, with remarkable and formal composure, the group’s leader walked over to Cochrane and raised a hand, palm out. Zef mimicked the gesture, adding an uncertain smile and a little wave.
The alien indulged in neither. His expression pleasant but decidedly solemn, he kept the hand raised, then separated the thumb, index, and middle fingers from the ring, and little fingers to form two V’s.
“Live long and prosper,” he said, in flawless, unaccented English.
Zef worked frantically to emulate the gesture, but he finally gave up and instead smiled genuinely at the alien. “Um… thanks.”
The alien tilted his head and cocked a black eyebrow at him. The exchange struck Lily as amusing; she smoothed away her evaporating tears with a palm as she repressed a chuckle.
From the nearby shadows, she heard Picard’s voice: “I think it’s time for us to make a discreet exit.”
Beside her, Riker nodded and surreptitiously tapped the small insignia beneath his jacket. “Riker to Enterprise. Stand by to beam us up.”
He, Dr. Crusher, and La Forge moved deeper into the shadows, out of view; Picard stepped to the radiance’s edge and smiled at Lily, who walked up to him.
“I envy you… the world you’re going to,” she said warmly.
The corner of his lip quirked, and an amused look came over his face; she got the feeling he was thinking of revealing something, but then decided against it. “I envy you,” he said, “taking these first steps into a new frontier.”
“Might’ve been fun to take them together.”
He said nothing for a time, merely looked at her intently as if to memorize each detail of her face. At last he said, very gently, “I’ll miss you, Lily.”
She smiled as he clasped her hands, and they gazed at each other for a timeless moment. And then she forced herself to walk away, back into the blazing lights—but stayed near to the darkness to hear his voice.
“Picard to Enterprise. Energize…”
Then a strange, shimmering hum. They had gone, Lily knew, and she would never see any of them again; even so, she could not resist staring up into the night sky.
* * *
Aboard the Enterprise-E, now gratifyingly back to normal, Picard looked upon his bridge and his senior crew—Will, Geordi, Beverly, Deanna, Data—and the on-loan Worf—with newfound appreciation. He felt appreciation, too, for the future that awaited them, and all who had helped bring it to pass.
“Report,” he said, with unalloyed pleasure.
“The moon’s gravitational field obscured our warp signature,” Worf responded. “The Vulcans did not detect us.”
Picard gave a satisfied nod as he headed for his chair.
“I’ve reconfigured our warp field to match the chrono-metric readings of the Borg sphere,” Geordi was explaining at his console.
“Recreate the vortex, Commander,” Picard ordered.
“Aye, sir.” La Forge set to work.
“All decks report ready,” Riker confirmed.
Data half turned from his station, most of his face still silver, gleaming android. “Helm standing by.”
“Lay in a course for the twenty-fourth century, Mr. Data.” The captain hesitated, gratefully studying his bridge crew for a moment. “Something tells me our future will be there waiting for us.”
“Course laid in, sir,” Data reported.
Picard permitted himself a small sigh, and the faintest ghost of a smile. “Make it so.”
* * *
And in the unseasonably warm Montana night, Lily Sloane stood just outside the Crash & Burn, staring up at the sky. There she saw what she’d been waiting for: not the horrifying bolts of laserfire streaking earthward, but a flash of rainbow light and a tiny star sailing inside it, then abruptly vanishing into the future.
She smiled and took a step back to peer inside the tent, where Zef was standing near the jukebox, waving his arms and talking a light-year a minute; seated at the bar, the ones who called themselves Vulcans listened with polite, reserved expressions. Nice people, apparently, but a bit uptight; they refused Zef’s offer of drinks, and she had yet to see them smile.
As for Zef, he was far too excited to touch the glass he’d poured for himself. Excited, but utterly lucid—Dr. Crusher had taken a timeline liberty and permanently cured his brain-chemistry disorder with a single injection.
Zef suddenly reached out and, grinning broadly, hit a control on the jukebox; at the instant hard-driving rock music filled the air, each Vulcan lifted his or her right eyebrow, then listened with perfectly detached scientific curiosity. Lily could not help but laugh delightedly, along with the other settlers who had silently crept up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the aliens.
The Phoenix had risen at last, and she was never coming down.…
A First Look at Star Trek® First Contact™
A special report by Judith Reeves-Stevens and Garfield Reeves-Stevens, authors of The Art of Star Trek and Star Trek Phase II: The Lost Series
Thirty years after its creation, there are still secrets to be learned in the Star Trek universe, unknown stories to be told, sights to be seen that no one has ever seen before. Star Trek: First Contact, the newest installment of the most successful science-fiction franchise of all time, is living proof. True to its title, and to the spirit of Star Trek, this action-packed movie is full of firsts—a testament to the limitless possibilities of the creative arena originally imagined by Gene Roddenberry more than three decades ago.
Surprisingly, one of the seeds for this new movie dates back almost as far as Star Trek’s creation, to “Metamorphosis,” an episode of the Original Series written by Gene L. Coon. It was here that Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy met Zefram Cochrane, the reclusive genius who invented humanity’s first warp drive. At the time of the episode, Cochrane was more than two hundred years old and had been kept alive by a mysterious alien known as the Companion. Nothing was revealed about the circumstances in which Cochrane had come to discover the principles of faster-than-light warp propulsion. Nor was any mention made of the events that immediately followed his first warp flight.
But now, as the saying goes, the official story can be told.
No one was more surprised that it could be told than Ronald D. Moore. Moore shares screenplay credit for First Contact with Brannon Braga and story credit with Braga and producer Rick Berman. Moore and Braga both began their television writing careers on Star Trek: The Next Generation. Today, Moore is a producer on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, and Braga is a producer on Star Trek: Voyager.
Thinking back on the genesis of the First Contact story, Moore explains, “It’s a funny universe, Star Trek, because it hangs together far better than it ever should in truth. I mean, we do try to maintain continuity, but given the thirty-year history of the show, and the countless episodes, and the movies, it’s amazing that any of it makes sense. And yet it does.”
Moore knows that continuity is an important part of Star Trek’s ongoing appeal. “Making it a believable universe,” he says, “has always been important to the people who worked on the series, right from the very beginning. That was Gene Roddenberry’s vision from the start—that this franchise had to be believable. You had to believe these people were on a starship. You had to believe that it all made sense. You’re in such a fantastical environment, you had to try and hang onto reality, and so the more the backstory made sense, the more you accepted it all.”
But Cochrane’s story was not the starting point for First Contact—at least not at first. Instead, two other story elements began the process.
At the initial story meeting held by Rick Berman, Brannon Braga, and Ron Moore, Berman said he wanted the new movie to be a time-travel story. Why? Rick Berman explains: “All of the Star Trek films and episodes I have been most impressed with—Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, “Yesterday’s Enterprise,” “City on the Edge of Forever,” and I could give you half a dozen more—have all been stories that deal with time travel. In a way, Star Trek Generations dealt with time travel. Nick Meyer’s wonderful movie, Time After Time, dealt with time travel. The paradoxes that occur in writing, as well as in the reality of what the characters are doing and what the consequences are, have always been fascinating to me. I don’t think I’ve ever had as much fun as being involved with “Yesterday’s Enterprise,” and having to tackle all the logical, paradoxical problems that we would run into and figure out ways to solve them.”
For their part, Moore and Braga wanted to tell a story about The Next Generation’s most popular alien threat, the Borg, and it was quickly decided that the new movie would combine the two.
For everyone involved with the production, the chance to bring the Borg to the movie screen was an opportunity for a real Star Trek first. As Rick Berman says, “This is our chance to see the Borg the way we’ve always wanted to do them.”
The Borg—half-humanoid, half-cybernetic aliens who share a group mind—originally appeared in the second-season, The Next Generation episode “Q Who?”, written by Maurice Hurley. They returned in several episodes, most notably the two-part “Best of Both Worlds,” considered by most The Next Generation fans to be among the best of the series.
But for all the Borg’s popularity and previous appearances, Rick Berman says, “We have never had the time for the R&D necessary to make the Borg what we always wanted them to be like. Nor did we ever have the money. The money and the time have always stood in the way of turning out the Borg the way we’ve always envisioned them. But this film has allowed us to do that at last.”
With a budget more than ten times that of a single episode of The Next Generation, and months of preproduction time to design this new incarnation of the Borg instead of the typical television schedule of a week or two, the Borg of First Contact promise to be a breathtaking new addition to the Star Trek universe.
“We spent months designing them,” Berman says. “And then months building and refining the costumes, the makeup, their prosthetics, even the way they move. We have gotten an opportunity to take the group who are among the most favorite Star Trek villains and do them properly. And this has been very exciting for us.”
First Contact’s production designer, Herman Zimmerman, shares Berman’s enthusiasm at this chance to re-present the Borg. A movie’s production designer is responsible for the appearance of everything we see on the screen, except for the actors, and Zimmerman is no stranger to guiding a skilled and imaginative team of artists, designers, and technicians in creating fascinating new visions of the Star Trek universe. As production designer of The Next Generation’s first season, Zimmerman had brought Star Trek into the twenty-fourth century. In the same role on the third Star Trek series to be made, he had conceptualized the distinctive and visually compelling Cardassian esthetic of Space Station Deep Space 9. And he brought all his skills to bear on the new look for the Borg.
