A bright nova of the TV sci-fi cosmos is Star Trek, controlled by Paramount and orbited by many fans. Star Traks, created by Decker, is a happy yellow sun. The BorgSpace white dwarf you see before you was written by me! Do you know how hard it is to write when your paper keeps bursting into flames?
Delta Life
Kitra put down her stylus with a sigh. "This is boring," she said to her sister at the facing drafting bench.
"It our job," succinctly replied Leeta. She did not bother to look up at her identical twin, did not acknowledge the annoyed glare. "It is our job and we are junior engineers."
"You know what I meant," Kitra exclaimed in exasperation. "We are working on the power systems for a luxury liner. A /liner/! Astro-Engineering should be assisting in designing fighters, cruisers, anything able to kill Borg cubes."
Leeta carefully placed her own light pen on a lip of her drafting table, methodically saving her latest sketchings to the table's memory. She was the more careful of the twin pair, the one less daring but at the same time more likely to see a solution when swift action was not appropriate. Leeta looked her other in the eyes, then folded her arms across her chest in unconscious mirroring. "Life goes on, Kitra. Our life is here, designing liners. Astro-Engineering did not win the military contract, but still has many projects to complete for important clients. Phlox Cruises is such a client."
Kitra held her twins' stare, then as one, both looked away. The pens were simultaneously picked up and set back to the drafting table. "You are right, Leeta. I sometimes become so frustrated. I feel useless."
"I know," muttered Leeta.
The other engineers and architects in the cozy room, both junior and senior, ignored the argument, concentrating on their own assignments or conferring with a neighbor in a low voice. Light classical music played on a radio sat in a window alcove crowded with flowering plants native to the colonial world. While the twins, to their own perception, had just spoken in complete sentences, voiced their opinions in whole, those listening had in fact heard partly finished thoughts, seen aborted gestures.
The same confrontation, an alternate point of view-
Kitra: A sigh as pen is dropped. "Boring."
Leeta: "Our job as junior engineers."
Kitra: Arms folded, a glare directed at her sister, "Power systems and liners! Borg! We should be assisting in..."
Leeta: Moving through the automatic motions of saving her work before mirroring her twin exactly. "Life goes on, Kitra. Many important clients. Phlox Cruises is such a client."
As one, both looked away. The pens were simultaneously picked up and set back to the drafting table.
Kitra: "Frustration. I feel useless."
Leeta: "I know."
Kitra and Leeta were identical Grikite twins, a rarity among a race with a low birth rate. Twins were considered very good luck, and whatever quirks present were to be tolerated. Although superstition was to be scoffed at in the modern Grikite age, the fact remained it was considered bad luck to separate twins, and so the Astro-Engineering firm had hired both out of tech school as a package deal. As Kitra and Leeta were excellent junior engineers specializing in propulsion and power systems, Astro-Engineering had been quite happy with the recruitment.
Other than their status as twins, neither Kitra nor Leeta stood out as unusual in the room of focused activity. Of typical humanoid stature and build, Grikites were distinguished by nubs of horn which began on the nose, arched over eye sockets, and finally trailed to ear holes. Hair in both sexes was worn long, often artfully held away from the face by barrettes or pins of gold and silver. This season, the twins tied back their black hair with the leather bands which were in fashion, the material dyed to match their loose work shirt and trousers of ivory. Eyes were pale gray, a common color.
The twins silently concentrated on their work for approximately half an hour. A hypothetical observer looking over their shoulders would see Kitra sketching in the three-dimensional requirements for an extra plasma coupling while Leeta calculated heat stress at the same juncture. However, as separate work tables were facing each other and neither had their bench computers on simultaneous update, it was theoretically impossible for the one to know what the other was working upon; still, theory rarely followed reality in the case of the twins, and the sisters were unconsciously performing their tasks in a complimentary matter.
Both put down their light pens with synchronous gestures of disgust. "That will never work! Station, erase sketch and restore from previously saved file," said both as one. The table computer did so with a quiet bleep.
"Kitra?" asked Leeta five minutes later.
"Hmmm?"
"Did you hear the news this morning? There was another Borg attack on a T'yel settlement on the other side of the Combine. That is the fifth incursion in five weeks, and the past year has seen more cubes than the previous twelve years."
"Uh-hum," answered Kitra noncommittally. A doodle was taking shape on the margins of the drawing space. It was a flower of some sort, maybe.
"Do you think the Borg will make it to Bridi?"
Kitra looked up. "Bridi? Our colony system? No. And before you ask, if the Borg are a long way from Bridi, they are an equally long distance from our happy little town of Grishna." She muttered under her breath, "And if they were coming here, we wouldn't be designing liners."
Leeta glanced down at her drafting board. She began absently to sketch a night-blooming Trumpet Blossom. "Do you think the order by our militia commander for extra practice tonight is related to the Borg?"
"Sister, this is Commander Selbi we are suddenly talking about. If an accident happened at the orbital shipyards, he would attribute to imaginary enemies...which in turn would have us hopping to the depot," replied Kitra in exasperation. Yes, the doodle was definitely a flower. Probably a night-blooming Trumpet Blossom. "Don't worry. I'll always be there for you, be it the Borg or Commander Selbi and his occasional paranoid fantasies."
Leeta grinned as she erased her sketch. "That's what you say. And where were you that time when we were little that Jaquel the neighbor boy chased me with his pet slime weevil? Up on the roof with water balloons!"
Kitra frowned. "You had it coming, after what you did to me the night before. Or did you conveniently forget that detail?" The bantering conversation continued, one of many quiet dialogues occurring in room. It was a normal day at Astro-Engineering, same as yesterday, same as tomorrow.
*****
The Combine was an alliance of three space-faring civilizations, brought together through mutual treaties of defense, trade, and research. It was not the same relationship as a distant entity called Federation enjoyed: the races involved were too physiologically different to serve on multi-special ships or covet colonies. In their differences, however, each found strength.
Grikites were the eldest of the three races, maintaining a warp capable civilization for nearly a thousand years. Extremely low growth rate was the primary reason holding back Grikite expansion; an old colony such as Bridi with one hundred million citizens in the solar system (seventy-five million on the primary planet) was considered very large. Experience in travel also meant expertise: the Grikite economy was centered around ship designing, building, and related services. Spaceships (actually, anything which was space bound, mobile or not) were more than utilitarian transports from point A to point B, but works of technology and art. Astro-Engineering was a small firm in the giant cog of Grikite craftsmanship.
The T'yel were most similar to Grikite, both being oxygen breathing humanoid bipeds. Theoretically, both could live in the environment of the other. However, where Grikites were most comfortable on the Terras of the galaxy, T'yelians actively searched out the Dunes, both hot and cold. Humidity above 10% caused nasty rashes on the thick T'yel skin, and over 25% meant death; Hell in T'yel mythology was an ocean of water. Grand cities under the sand exemplified the species. The T'yelian people, those who weren't architects or artists, were traders and middlemen, adepts of the service industry.
Ten meter wide blobs of amorphous blue-green flesh requiring immersion in a heavy mineral-ladden liquid, Zhuzhus were not your typical sentient species. "Zhuzhu" itself was a fanciful translator rendering of otherwise unintelligible speech based upon fine manipulation of electric fields produced in a similar manner as Terran knifefish, or a host of other animal equivalencies. The Zhuzhu civilization had evolved in the depths of an ice-encrusted water planet, towns and cities clustered around fields of undersea geothermal vents. How they had moved to fusion power without several necessary intermediate steps requiring fire and other combustible processes was a mystery to Grikites and T'yelian alike, but it probably involved their near magical ability to synthesize tailored organic substances from their body which acted as catalysts. Services could be bought in return for ships designed to meet their needs; while not naturally warp (or even space) capable, neither Grikite or T'yel species subscribed to protocol resembling the "Prime Directive."
As outwardly and environmentally different as the three races were, they nonetheless shared compatible goals and outlooks upon life in general. Even vice categories, illegal and legal, were alike in the broad context. They also had similar fears in regards to the Borg, which in the last several decades had begun incursions to Combine-controlled space. Both Grikite and T'yel were in danger of assimilation; the Collective did not appear to know what to do with the Zhuzhu, and had thus targeted the species for outright extermination.
In response to the Collective threat, Grikite and T'yel governments, with critical support from Zhuzhu manufactories, had embarked upon a secret project to build a fleet of warships. All three species knew the danger represented by Borg adaptation, knew that randomly rotating phaser and shield frequencies only had limited worth, that the most destructive torpedoes would detonate useless against cube defenses. A new tactic was required. The fruit of decades of careful research and testing was eleven "Borg Killer" class ships, all built at secret shipyards located in Bridi system. Breaking with tradition, careful engineering and life support balance allowed the ships to be swiftly converted to Grikite, T'yel, or even Zhuzhu environment requirements, precluding the need to build a new ship for each species when one would serve.
With serious attacks on T'yel colonies, the secret was no longer prudent to keep. Morale of Combine citizens was more important than mystery. The small fleet had been moved into orbit over Bridi itself, final charging of systems and loading of munitions occurring at the common shipyards. While ten of the vessels were ready, Grikite crews impatient, to drive the Borg from Combine space, the eleventh remained in dry-dock, minor problems with propulsion system being rectified by around-the-clock engineering teams. Two days of waiting would not bring back those assimilated. With no immediate Borg threat detected, Command dictated the miniature fleet would travel as eleven, or not at all.
Eager anticipation spiraled to new highs.
*****
"This is a waste of time," muttered Leeta. She squinted at the downrange targets - humanoid forms with red marks painted on torso and head - as they shimmered. The militia depot's hologrid was old and had a tendency to blur objects at the most inopportune times.
Kitra lifted her rifle and fired. A bipedal shape disintegrated with stylized vigor, replaced seconds later with a new target. The weapons were virtual representations of the real thing - kinetic slug-throwers. Projectile rifles taken to their evolutionary extreme, each spat a splinter of tritantium moving at a considerable fraction of the speed of light. Hand held rail guns, the slug-throwers were also much more effective than phasers or other electromagnetic-based weapons at stopping Borg.
"Why would the Borg come to Bridi? All attacks, both historic and recent, have occurred at the other side of the Combine, the portion nearest the Collective's claimed space. By all rights, we should be safest here, which is why I bet those prototype ships were built in this system." Leeta was ignoring her target. Rumors had been confirmed by other militia members that the schedule to increase practice was in fact based upon Borg incursions, and not Commander Selbi's random fits of paranoia.
Kitra sighed. "Leeta, you never know. Assuming the Borg aren't eventually stopped by Combine forces, it will probably take them decades of even get to us, but if they did, we should be ready."
"This is the /militia/, Kitra, not the marines or navy. The only reason I allowed you to talk me into volunteering when we moved to Grishna was because of the humanitarian opportunities."
The Grikite concept of militia was not of a regular military force, although depots located in most of the larger communities held surplus military equipment, usually old troop transports and the occasional hover tank. The most common duty was to assist in times of local natural disaster, lending a disciplined hand to help people recover. Militias at small colonial outposts at the outskirts of the Combine sometimes dealt with pirates and smugglers, but old colonies like Bridi system were not at risk. War with a civilization other than the Borg had not occurred for nearly a century, fights with the Combine's neighbor Pakin Empire never escalating beyond deep space skirmishes. With the increasing threat of Borg, however distant, all the militias on Bridi had ordered once a week target practice. The five hundred members of Grishna militia were no exception.
Sergeant Koil's penetrating bellow rose above the cracking hiss of rifles. "Kitra, Leeta! Back to practice! Still half an hour to the briefing!"
The twins glanced at each other, both rolling their eyes. Leeta's posture remained one of reluctance as she lifted her rifle. "Tell me the real reason you wanted to enter the militia. It's Frile, isn't it?" Kitra did not answer Leeta's vocal prodding. "It is Frile. I see the way you look at him."
Kitra demolished another target with her holographic weapon; firing the actual rifle would be disastrous as the back wall of the depot hologrid would not withstand the onslaught. The Grikite equivalent of a flush was coloring Kitra's neck. "Not so."
Leeta dropped her rifle's muzzle again. "I /was/ right. You know you can't hide anything from me, sister. No secrets as long as we are together!" The twin laughed.
"Leeta! What did I say? Back to work!" bellowed Sergeant Koil once more. Leeta hefted her weapon, aiming, a sisterly smirk on her face. Her target fell apart, victim of hypervelocity holographic slugs.
It was the wee hours of morning, a time of solitude for those with reason to be awake. Kitra and Leeta were deeply asleep, the uninformative militia meeting (mostly speculating on the capabilities of the "Borg Killer" ships in orbit) lasting well into the evening. The twins should have returned to their small house earlier, but Leeta had blackmailed her sister into a card game at the depot with Frile and his good buddy Willi. The morning was to bring yet another day of work at Astro-Engineering, prompting both to finally walk home to get some sleep.
A beeping began, half-awaking the pair.
"If you set the alarm early again, Leeta, I am going to strangle you, sister or not," called Kitra from one of the two pallets in the room, voice heavy with sleep.
A reply, muffled by pillow: "'Snot my fault. Didn't set anything."
The beeping became increasingly insistent. Finally the house computer turned on the bedroom lights and refused to acknowledge the commands of its owners to lower ambient light to more tolerable levels.
"Incoming message from Grishna militia Commander Selbi, house function override," apologized the computer. "Transmission is one-way only, non-interactive. Shall I put it on the wall screen?"
The twins sat up on their pallets, nest blankets dropping away. The beeping had been, and still was, the militia radio link they kept on an out of the way table in the room. The faux artwork which normally graced the wall screen flickered into a "stand by" pattern.
"Yes," said Kitra and Leeta together.
The image of Commander Selbi consolidated on the screen, stern visage glaring at the two. In fact, the message was recorded, and all militia members were seeing the same picture; and Commander Selbi always looked like he had swallowed a bitter fruit. He cleared his voice.
"Militia members. As of three hours ago, three Borg cubes entered Bridi system. The primary shipyards in the outer system are destroyed. The cubes will be entering orbit shortly, but militia navy contacts assure us the prototype fleet in orbit will be able to handle them. And even then, we have several marine contingents who were to accompany the fleet currently barracked at various compounds around the planet. Still, I want all militia members, volunteer and regular, up and ready to go in case the worst happens. Sorry to get you out of bed so early, but the Borg obviously have no concept of propriety for us in Grishna." The line was delivered as a bit of dry humor, the effect totally lost by the severity of the situation. "Therefore, my orders are for you to unrack your rifles, load up on ammunition, and stand by your militia radio link for further developments. Commander Selbi out."
Kitra and Leeta stood from their pallets, faces set in grave expressions. Much needed to be done.
*****
Above the planet, a Hellish battle raged. While one cube of the trio of Battle-class attackers was now debris soon to burn in the fire of reentry, a horrible price had been extracted. Of the ten new "Borg Killer" class cruisers previously in orbit, only two remained; and one of those displayed several gaping wounds along its flank. Hopefully, hopelessly, the defending pair limped towards a Borg vessel with craters deeply pockmarking its hull; the cube's shields flared as phasers and kinetic weapons impacted, new Grikite-T'yel weaponry, years of design and testing, no longer of use.
A luxury liner, recently brought to the yards over the colony for final fitting before presentation to its owners, regally descended from a higher orbit. It had been ignored by the Borg, of no concern despite an astounding length of four kilometers and a beam of nine hundred meters. It was the largest of her class ever produced, a mammoth feat of engineering and art meant to be the new flagship of Phlox Cruises. She was also defenseless against any threat more severe than the random pirate or unexpected asteroid. Behind her graceful lines, the Bridi colony pride and joy, its shipyards, fell apart under bombardment of the other intact cube. The single "Borg Killer" class cruiser still trapped by a cage of zero-gee scaffolding disintegrated.
Warnings flashed over subspace to the liner for her to leave, to run. The Borg obviously did not care about her, and perhaps she could escape with a message of warning. The heavily wounded cruiser abruptly exploded, the victim of an overloaded warp core unable to be ejected. Still the liner fell, her nose rotating serenely until she was aligned with the cratered Borg cube. Heavy maneuvering thrusters, powerful enough to lift the mega-multiton ship unassisted from the deep gravity wells of gas giants, fired.
Belatedly the cube recognized the danger represented by the liner, shifting the bulk of its attention away from the cruiser. More distantly, the cube at the Bridi shipyards abandoned its task, hastily firing a pair of torpedoes which had no hope of hitting the target before the scene played out. Bolts of green disrupter beams slammed into the rapidly approaching liner, torpedoes of increasingly isoton yield stripped her of hull plates. However, the all important engines, located aft, continued to function, protected by four kilometers of shielding.
Explosions wracked the liner, bridge and brave captain disappearing in a quantum instant, atoms lost to the uncaring solar winds. The ship sailed unerringly to her target, thruster input still increasing, a dying crew urging giant engines to redline and beyond. The point of no return was past, laws of inertia forbidding the Borg cube from dodging. The Collective knew this with cold calculation, knew the outcome even as the cube continued to direct all its fire towards the liner.
Shields can hold back only so much directed energy, be it electromagnetic or kinetic, before collapsing. Borg shields are among the most robust in the galaxy, but the Phlox Cruises flagship liner more than adequately overcame that obstacle. With half her bulk still intact, the dying matriarch plowed into the larger cubical vessel, driving herself deeply into the heart of her enemy.
The eruption was anticlimactic.
Cube and liner disappeared in a fireball more nova than simple explosion. Massive warp cores tore through space-time, temporarily rippling the very fabric of reality. The destruction expended in the heroic kamikaze death dance of liner and cube reached out to engulf the solo cruiser in its retreat, turning it into a lifeless, twisted hulk. The final cube of the initial trio was not excluded, radiation and plasma slamming into its currently forward face, melting ablative armor, shearing antenna clusters, disrupting sensor grid, and literally cooking drones down to a distance of half a kilometer.
Hell retreated; nothing moved for several minutes. Then, slowly and with little grace, the remaining Borg cube began to rotate. Functional thrusters winked in the darkness, one assembly exploding as it failed from stress. However, the cube did survive, was beginning repairs to severely compromised systems. Reinforcements in the form of eight Assimilation-class cubes were several days behind, but they would come. Until then, a task beckoned.
Resistance was futile.
*****
Kitra and Leeta watched as the massive fireball painted the early morning skies, an artificial star dashing from birth to death in a manner of minutes. Were the defenders successful? Was the colony saved, at least temporarily? The still air, expectant of a dawn less than an hour away, seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. Two pairs of eyes intently watched their radio, willing the militia commander to come on the air.
The transceiver crackled to life, static slurring crisp syllables into a nearly indistinguishable hash. Militia Over-commander Cervin of Bridi spoke, tone demanding compliance, mandating order-to-be.
"All militia regulars, all militia volunteers, we have received direction from the marine base. One cube, I repeat, one cube has survived, although those orbital sensors which remain to us indicate the vessel is heavily damaged. It is, however, assuming a stance of extreme threat. This information will be released in minutes on civilian channels.
"All militia members will report to their local commander at designated meeting locations. Bring your weapons; if you do not have one, a weapon will be provided from local militia stores. Do not panic.
"The civilian channel will include orders to evacuate non-combatants to prepared shelter areas. This will be the primary role of the militia, specifics to be dispensed by your commander. Allow our marines to fight the anticipated Borg invaders. If the marines fail, then we will show the Borg what this colony is made of. The Borg will pay dearly for their aggressions.
"Resistance is not futile."
If the Over-commander had more to say, it dissolved in a wash of static. However, neither twin was still in the house. Both, Leeta with much greater reluctance than Kitra, were heading down the flagstone path to the street, rifles slung over shoulder and slug cartridges strapped around waist.
Leeta paused at the edge of their rented property, looking at the nodding night flowers heavy with nectar. The pale blooms jiggled as small pollinators, mostly fingerlong lizards and tiny flying insects resembling cottonballs, went about their work in unconcerned ignorance. She could not shake the feeling this was the last time she would see the garden, smell the fragrances of plants she and her sister had planted with their own hands.
"Come on!" Kitra yelled, pausing twenty meters distant as she suddenly noticed her hesitating twin. "Commander Selbi will be pissed if we don't get to the depot soonest! Lights are coming on in all the local houses: I think the central news agency is dispensing the tidings now, and we have to help guide the evacuation!"
Leeta sighed and hitched the rifle higher to her shoulder. Behind, flowers swayed in the quickening dawn breeze.
The twins stood on the foredeck of the old militia hover tank, just above and behind the glacis plate. The tank was currently grounded and serving as an elevated observation point from which to direct fleeing civilians. Liquid light from the sun poking above distant hills and vocalizations of local birds were at odds with the serious matter of evacuation. A gentle breeze shivered the pointed tops of needle trees.
The town of Grishna was medium-sized by Grikite standards, about eight thousand within municipal boundaries. Another fifteen hundred people lived in surrounding agricultural communes. All citizens excepting the five hundred odd member militia force were in a state of steady exodus towards the shelters. Militia personnel existed to direct the stream of people, prevent uneasiness from evolving into panic and riot, assist the elderly and sick, enforce the proclamation to travel on foot, and dissuade individuals from carrying more than the bare essentials.
"Less than a kilometer to go," encouraged Kitra cheerfully, and loudly. "If you require water or a bathroom break, a station has been set up just beyond the road bend." A few faces, tan skin paled by delayed shock and the two kilometer forced hike up the old logging road, glanced at the twins. The procession was quiet, initial anger and panic spent at the base of the hill.
The shelters were located three kilometers from town, built in the shafts of a played out mining facility. All population centers on Bridi had such a bolthole, most constructed approximately twenty years prior when Borg incursions into Combine space began to rise. Located deep underground, metal shielding and natural stone prevented scans from detecting hidden citizens; harvested geothermal energy provided power to indefinitely run the life support needed to keep people alive. Grishna Complex had been constructed and provisioned to hold up to twenty thousand Grikites in relative comfort for one year; ten thousand would fit easily.
No one, militia or non-combatant, asked if the precautions were adequate, or if the Borg did successfully besiege the planet would there be anything left to emerge to after a year of molelike existence. The answers were too depressing...and realistic.
"Keep moving, citizens. Almost there! Marines are kicking drone butt right now, and we'll all be back in Grishna by dusk," yelled Kitra. No one actually believed the proclamation, but it was expected. More than expected, it was required by all to keep the semblance of morale. Without hope, resistance truly would be futile.
Leeta watched a mother and her half-grown son walk by, one of many such faces in the train. The militia radio link indicated the column end was less than half a kilometer away, excepting inevitable stragglers. Door-to-door searches of Grishna by militia members was nearly complete, ferreting a surprisingly few number of evacuation holdouts. The first teams were approaching ag communes for similar inspection.
"Is it worth it?" muttered Leeta.
Replied Kitra. "What?"
"It is worth it?" repeated Leeta. "We should be in the Complex, hiding, and not out here. We'll only attract the Borg if we are in the open waving around our rifles."
"The marines will keep them occupied."
"Do you really believe that?"
Kitra caught her twin's face, forcing the other to look into her eyes. "I have to. That is the only way to survive this trouble. We have to believe the marines will prevail, that we can hold out long enough for reinforcements to arrive and destroy that cube, that the Collective will decide the Combine is too tough to swallow and will leave us alone for another century or so."
Leeta sighed. "I know too, I guess. Still, I wish I were in the Complex right now, or perhaps with Momma at Tsie."
"You aren't alone, sister. You are never alone. I will always be with you."
"And I with you," affirmed Leeta. Both silently watched rank after rank of silent evacuees pass, imagining their mother in a similar situation half a planet away.
Said Kitra after the radio spat another static laden situation report in Grishna proper, "The Borg will go after the marines first, then the cities and manufactories before they come here. That is how we've been told they operate. The big threats are a priority. By that time, everyone will long be in the Complex, hidden, us included. The only thing the Borg will find will be an empty town. Maybe after a few months, when things settle down, Commander Selbi will authorize guerrilla missions. We can strike back then. Before that time, however, we need to get these people to safety."
Leeta sighed. "I guess it is better to be /doing/ something, to have /some/ information about what is happening. I would hate to be in the dark about the situation, only knowing I had to get to the Complex."
Kitra nodded in silent assent. "Almost there! Step lively!" she encouraged.
Several more minutes passed, during which an update from Borg-marine engagements was relayed. The news was sketchy, but hopeful. Thus far, the rifles were working well, drones falling to old-fashioned Grikite slug-throwers. Reports on losses were obviously being censored, but overall, it was a warm feeling to know the Borg were not infallible.
Screaming suddenly started on the road, location about a hundred meters townwards. A panicked wave of people rushed forwards, striving to run from some danger. Wide-eyed, Kitra and Leeta craned their necks to see the cause of the alarm, the former scrambling to the precarious perch represented by the hover tank's turret. Leeta tried to shout reassurances, but the crowd was not listening. The threat was immediately obvious.
Two dozen Borg had materialized on the road and in the middle of the evacuation stream. Two dozen Grikite bodies had already fallen to the packed gravel bed, eyes staring at nothing...or too much. Several drones held additional citizens in their grasp while the rest spread out in pursuit of fleeing refugees. It seemed the Borg had altered their tactics, perhaps deciding to shore up dwindling mobile resources before eradicating the marines.
Leeta grabbed the radio as Kitra raised her rifle to shoot. The hover tank driver came pelting around the corner from his previous position assisting at the water station. "Waypoint Eight to Grishna Base, respond. Waypoint Eight to Grishna Base, respond. We have a major emergency. I repeat, a very major emergency."
Leeta hid behind the remains of the hover tank, quickly ejecting spent rounds of her rifle. Kitra's weapon was fully loaded, muzzle held in readiness, thumb lightly resting on trigger button. It was difficult to believe the vehicle which was now belly down in the street of what had once been a pleasant Grishna neighborhood was the same one they had been standing on only days before. Fused turret mount indicated it had become the pressure-cooked tomb of the friendly pilot who had driven it. The tank had been one of the first unfortunate casualties in the Borg assault; it now served as temporary cover.
The battle was not going well.
The Borg had been uncharacteristically slow in adapting to the high kinetic slug throwers, although it was certain the Collective had encountered such weaponry before. Adaptation, when it came, had not been in the form of physical changes, but an alteration in tactics. Fight was now a deadly game of cat-and-mouse, hide-and-seek, fox-and-hound. The object was to find the other side before they could find you. One or two hidden drones served as spotters in an area, watching motionless for a group of defenders to come into view. Ambush was quick to follow, enough drones transported in to assimilate before Grikite militia members could kill more than a few attackers. Some people were desperately working to change a few single shot rifles into semi-automatics, but the going was slow due to precise machinery which had a tendency to explode if not carefully handled.
The militia was in a holding action, trading nearly a fifth of its force in the last four days in an effort to keep the Collective at bay. Increasingly sporadic radio reports indicated similar attacks elsewhere on the colony, those captured and assimilated funneled to the marine strongpoints. The marines themselves, well trained, continued to effectively hold territory, but they were slowly being whittled down by waves of the recently converted. With no hope of marine reinforcements in the near future, and navel ships at least three days distant, the militias were on their own.
Grishna Complex remained uncompromised, quick acting volunteers waiting until the last moment to not only close the gigantic doors, but explode tons of rubble over the single entrance. Because of the assimilations, the Complex was no longer a secret. However, if all went well, the citizens would be dug out soon; if all fell to pieces and the last militia defenders were killed or worse, well...the thought did not bear pondering. Kitra and Leeta hoped the people trapped in the Complex would make a decent showing of themselves against the Borg.
Leeta finished loading her weapon, tentatively poking her head around a half melted fender. The ten Borg near what had once been the militia depot remained still; both twins knew more of the creatures were inside.
"Point to Command, Point to Command, come in. We are in position and have not been spotted," whispered Kitra into her transceiver. The radio was little more than a clip to wrap around her neck with an earpiece and microphone. Leeta wore a similar piece of equipment.
"Are you two in place? Sure you have not been seen?" asked Command. The voice was that of Tech Leader Biofe, the most senior officer still alive. Commander Selbi and the rest of the primary command staff had been killed yesterday during a Borg raid on the temporary headquarters. The Borg had homed in on the stationary position, teaching a very valuable and difficult lesson on mobility. Tech Leader Biofe, everyone with a radio, was now continually in motion.
"Yes, sir to first question. As to second, I do not really know, but none of the drones are advancing on us."
Silence. "I guess that will have to do. The other teams will be checking in shortly. If no command to advance is heard within five minutes, assume we have been compromised and abort."
"Yes, sir."
The twins gripped their rifles, silent as they perfectly mirrored each other. The depot was the center of the Borg resistance; scouts had recently counted forty drones inside, many unfortunately previous Grishna citizens. While the cube in orbit would simply beam in more drones if these were killed, perhaps the effort might lessen the pressure at other towns. The cube certainly had a limited supply of units specialized for assault; and as painful as it was to contemplate, new drones could be processed and modified only so quickly to the standard of those assaulters which initially entered the system.
"Command to all teams, listen. Order is to proceed. Repeat, order is to proceed. Attack." The command was not given in enthusiasm, no exclamation mark appended the word. Fighting was simply a duty, a study in endurance. Any veneer of glory had been lost when Grishna citizens, horribly mottled gray, had been seen advancing side-by-side with Borg of unknown species origination.
Kitra and Leeta hopped out from behind the tank, same defiant yell on their breath. On all sides of the depot, three quarters of the remaining four hundred militia members similarly emerged, rifles at the ready. Mortars from more distant support positions whistled in the air, arriving with a thumping blast into the center of the depot compound, flattening the vehicle building. The large fueling tank exploded into an immense fireball, as had been hoped. Rifles targeted and shot all drones which exited the smoking carnage, turning bodies into holed pieces of meat.
The action was all in vain.
Outside the circle of ambushers, fully a thousand Borg appeared in transporter beams. The twins whirled to confront the menace. A highly disproportionate number of the new drones sported nearly complete marine uniforms. Very few implants marred bodies, although all were obviously under Collective control.
The twins' earpieces spat static on the common frequency, "Pull back! Pull back! It is a trap! I have just received word that most of the marine contingent was overrun several hours ago, but the news has been jammed until now. I repeat, pull..." Biofe's frantic voice abruptly cut; a hiss of pure white noise replaced the Tech Leader's words. The officer's fate was obvious.
"To me. To me!" shouted a sourceless voice of authority to Kitra and Leeta's right. "Ordered retreat on me! Plan Final Gambit!" Final Gambit was a swift run to the Complex; at the doors any who made it were expected to fight until overcome. Death was preferable to assimilation.
Leeta trembled. "I can't," she whispered, fingers tightening painfully around the rifle stock as the Borg advanced, "I can't."
"Yes you can," said Kitra roughly. "You can, as long as I am here, you will never be alone. Together we will prevail. Come on, that sounds like Sergeant Koil. He was once marine; he'll know how to keep everyone alive." She grabbed her sister's elbow and turned to move towards the rally cry.
A crack assaulted Kitra's ears, followed by the sharp smell of ozone. It felt like lightening had just missed her, yet the depressingly cheerful afternoon sky was not clouded. A dead weight dragged Kitra down; her shoulder stung although it was not injured.
Leeta was hurt, hurt very badly. Kitra sank to the ground, rifle forgotten as her twin collapsed, gasping in pain. Leeta's right shoulder was blackened by Borg disrupter fire, a near miss that if taken square would have vaporized half her body. Instant death would have been a gift. As it was, Kitra could feel a sympathetic throbbing in her own shoulder which was swiftly moving beyond the realm of simple agony.
"Kitra," gasped Leeta, "leave me. I'm...I'm sorry I held you back."
Kitra shook her head rapidly back and forth in denial, "Leeta...no. No! You are not to blame. Listen to me, you are not to blame. I am! I am to blame!" Her eyes widened as her twin slipped into unconsciousness. The Borg advanced was unheeded, no longer important.
"Leeta? Leeta?" screamed Kitra, sight blurry with tears. "Answer me! Come on, sister, wake up! Don't leave me alone. I'm scared." The last was uttered as mere whisper.
"I'm sorry Leeta, I'm sorry. I know you didn't really want to fight, only hide and hope these Borg creatures went away, but I insisted. And you almost always let me get my way. I'm so, so sorry." Kitra stroked her twin's hair, holding the head in her lap. Around her the battle continued to rage, remains of the local militia volunteers pushed back. As the dominant twin of the pair, Kitra held an undue influence over Leeta, one which the former was now regretting. "Don't die. I don't want to be alone."
A shadow, dark in the increasingly surrealistic scene, fell over the pair. Kitra looked up to see the pale, implant shrouded face of a Borg invader. "Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated," mechanically stated the creature. Dully she recognized it as one of her co-workers at Astro-Engineering, another junior engineer recently hired.
Returned Kitra, looking down at her sister, listening to soft breaths of pain, "I don't care about assimilation. Just kill me. My twin is dying and I can't face being alone. I would rather die than be without Leeta."
As the Borg reached forward, Kitra collapsed her body over her sister and closed her eyes. "We will always be together. We will always be together," she whispered in her twin's ear.
The sweet perfume of night-blooming Trumpet Blossom, plants crushed by the feet of uncaring drones, wafted on the late afternoon air.
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Wondering about the title? Well, there is actually a meaning behind it, therefore allow the author to explain. Delta, the Greek symbol, is often used in scientific notation to stand for a change in status. Thus, delta T represents a change in temperature; and delta v a change in velocity (also known as acceleration). And Delta Life? Kitra and Leeta did undergo a major life style change, did they not?
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