STAR TREK: Alliances

    Hello, everybody!  This is the repost of the entire story of STAR TREK:
Alliances.  I'm posting the whole thing again because this is my last week of
classes, and I'll be gone until the fall.  So, if you've missed any parts, get
'em now while they're still here!

Marc Mckenzie
St. Peter's College.

=============================================================================
Hello! 
   This is my first posting to alt.startrek.creative, and it might as well be a
story.  I've been impressed with the Star Trek stories that I've read so far,
so keep up the good work!
   The story that I'm writing is going to be a little different.  It will
concentrate on another starship besides the Enterprise.  Now before everyone
screams, "WHAT THE HELL IS HE THINKING?!", bear with me a moment.  I'm doing
this to see if 1)it can be done, 2)there will be appearances from the Next
Generation crew, and 3)what the heck?  I've got nothing to lose!
    So, without much further ado, here's.....


STAR TREK: Alliances.
by M. Mckenzie

A Next Generation side story, based on characters and situations from
Star Trek: The Next Generation.  Copyright (c) 1993, Marc Mckenzie.


     Captain's Log, Stardate 44439.12. 
     The USS Lincoln has just completed its survey of the newly discovered
Daleron system.  The mission was a great success, and we are now en route to
Starbase 110 for shore leave.  First, however, we have a brief stopover with
the USS Kaplan at Outpost Zeta near the Romulan Neutral Zone.

     Captain Patrick Staams clicked off the recorder and settled back into the
command chair, letting his eyes roam the bridge of the Lincoln, one of the
Excelsior-class starships that still bore the brunt of Federation exploration. 
     Three years as captain of this ship, he mused, and I'm still in awe.  Not
that he was upset or burned out, but being one of the youngest captains in
Starfleet was bound to raise a few eyebrows, and start the inevitable
comparisons with...James Tiberius Kirk.
     Staams chuckled.  He was thirty-three, and had been booted up to the rank
of Captain after taking over command of his last posting, the USS Jasta.  He
remembered that too well: a sudden attack by the Cardassians had wrecked the
ship, and Captain V'sai had been killed.  Yet the Cardassian ambush was
thwarted when Commander Patrick Staams, a year out of his twenties, had taken
command and had used the Picard maneuver to destroy the enemy.  The battle had
given him fame, honors...and command of this Excelsior-class battleship.
     "Captain?"
     Staams cut his musings short and turned to face his second-in-command,
Commander Arthur McCallum, who was seated next to him.  "Yes, Number One,
what is it?"
     "You seemed lost there for a minute.  What's wrong?"
     "Nothing!  Just a brief daydream.  But is that logical, Art?"
     McCallum cocked an eyebrow, then cracked a smile.  One of the few humans
to ever attend the Vulcan Science Academy, he was often more composed that the
average human.
     A gruff voice spoke.  "Captain, we are twenty minutes from rendevous with
the Kaplan." 
     "Thank you, Mr. Mressle," Staams answered, acknowledging his Catian
helmsman.  The alien resembled a powerful bipedial cat, yet he was gentle
around others.  Staams turned back to McCallum.  "Number One, what's the story
with Outpost Zeta?"
     "Well, it's one of our primary outposts near the Neutral Zone.  It's well
fortified, but it hasn't seen any action since construction on it was finished
in..."--he consulted the small screen on the arm of his chair--"...Stardate
43020.9."
     "A while ago.  To tell you the truth, it's been pretty quiet around this
region."
     "Captain?"
     Staams faced Lt. Rilia, the Deltan communications officer.  "Yes, Lt.?"
     "Message from the Kaplan.  They are going to be delayed for about an hour
because of a warp core malfunction.  Captain Holzmann apologizes for the
problem."
     Staams laughed.  "Poor Craig.  Always having trouble with that ship of
his...Mr. Mressle, take us out of warp.  Lt. Peterson, set a course for Outpost
Zeta, full impulse power."
   
     The stars seemed to shiver briefly, then the Lincoln emerged from warp. 
Her graceful shape still gleamed in the starlight, even though she was over
thirty years old.  Slowly, she began to decelerate, then she proceeded in the
direction of Outpost Zeta.
     The bridge was a hive of activity, as orders were relayed back and forth. 
Captain Staams wasn't worried; his crew had proven their worth many times
over.  True, the Lincoln wasn't the Enterprise, but then again, the Enterprise
was a legend onto herself. 
     "Arthur, you served on the Enterprise, right?"
     "Yes.  It was my posting before I came here."
     "Why didn't you stay?"
     "Well, it was because--"
     "Captain Staams!!  Vessel approaching!"
     Staams stood up and looked at Science officer Allarza.  The Andorian
continued: "It just emerged out of warp.  I can't identify it as yet."
     "On screen."
     The Lincoln's main viewing screen snapped on.  There was the usual splash
of stars, but moving through them was a--
     "Red Alert!" Staams yelled.  "Shields up!  Ready phasers; load torpedo
bays!  Helm, prepare for evasive action!"
     Coming straight toward them was a Romulan Warbird. 

     "Comm, hail them.  If they are mounting an attack--"
     "Belay that order, Lt. Rilia!"
     Staams looked at his First Officer.  "Number One, have you gone mad?  That
is a Romulan Warbird out there!"
     McCallum ignored him; instead, he turned to Lt. Allarza and asked, "Lt.,
status of the Romulan ship?"
     Allarza scanned her instruments, her eyes suddenly going wide.  "It's been
severely damaged, Commander.  There are very few life signs, primary systems
are down.  There are only a few auxiliary systems operating, and the warpdrive
is out."
     McCallum turned to Staams.  "Captain?"
     Staams suddenly understood.  "Stand down Red Alert.  Go to Yellow Alert. 
Lt. Rilia, hail them."
     The Warbird was closer now, and the damage inflicted on it was clearly
evident.  Much of the hull had been torn away, plus there were other signs of
severe battle damage.  One warp nacelle was gone, leaving only a tatter of
metal. 
     "No response, sir."
     Staams rubbed his jaw nervously.  What the hell was the meaning of this? 
He asked Lt. Allarza if any new readings were detected by the Lincoln's
sensors.  "Nothing new sir, except...there are high levels of neutrinos
present."
     Staams mind raced, trying to find an answer to the mystery.  Finally, he
turned to McCallum.  "Art, prepare a landing party.  Bring whoever you need. 
Lt. Rilia, contact Starfleet and Outpost Zeta.  Inform them of our situation
and what of what I intend to do."
     McCallum headed for the turbolift, giving orders along the way.  "Dr.
Nandor, Commander Velasquez, meet me in transporter room 5."  He turned and
said, "Mr. Mressle, I'll need you too.  And you too, Lt. Allarza."
                       *  *   *  *  *   *  *  *  *
   
     Captain's Log, Supplemental.  We have encountered a serious crisis while
en route to Outpost Zeta.  A severely damaged Romulan Warbird has warped into
Federation space.  Who inflicted the damage and why is unknown.  An away team
led by my First Officer is now beaming aboard to find answers to these
questions.  Until we get a response from Starfleet, I take full responsibility
for the actions taken by this vessel. 

     Ten shapes materialized in the hallway outside the bridge of the Romulan
ship.
     Commander McCallum took stock of the damage.  "My God!" was all he could
say.  Lt. Allarza began a sweep of the area with her tricorder, and Engineering
Chief Illeana Velazquez began probing at the damaged sections of the hull.
     "Lifesigns are present on the bridge, but they're faint."  Allarza said.
     "All right.  Mr. Mressle, give me a hand."  Straining, McCallum and
Mressle managed to open the door of the birdge.  The smell of burnt systems and
flesh emerged, causing some of the Away Team members to gag.  McCallum stepped
through and looked around.  The bridge was a shambles.  Small fires burned here
and there, computer screens were smashed, and metal sheets hung from the
ceiling.  Bodies were everywhere.
     McCallum saw one near him.  Instinctivly he knelt and felt the Romulan's
neck for a pulse.  None.  Taking his hand away, he saw that it was smeared with
blood.  Shaken, he turned to the Away Team.  "Commander Velazqeuz, take your
team down to engineering.  See what you can do down there."
     Velazquez snorted.  "With this?  We might as well scuttle the thing."
Turning, she headed away, followed by her team.
     The rest of the team entered the bridge and began to investigate.  The
smell of death was everywhere.  Suddenly, Nandor said, "Commander?"
     McCallum rushed over.  Nandor was at the command chair; sitting in it
was a grey-haired Romulan.  Half of the alien's face was a gruesome mask of
blood.  "He's alive, but barely.  The rest of the bridge crew is dead" Nandor
said.  "I'll give him a few drops of Cordrazine Gamma."
     "Be careful."
     Nandor administered the drug.  Slowly, the Romulan's breathing became
relaxed, and his eyelids began to flutter.  His lips moved, as if he was trying
to speak. 
     McCallum leaned over to listen.  As he did, a look of shock spread
accross his face. 
     "Commander?" Nandor asked.
     The First Officer looked up at him.  "Dr., see what you can do for any
survivors.  I'm going to contact the ship.  Wait--beam him over immediatly.  Do
whatever you can for him."  McCallum pointed to the Romulan Commander.
     "I'll try, but I can't promise you--"
     "Just do it!"
     Suprised, Nandor hit his communicator.  "Nandor to Lincoln.  Three to beam
over.  Send us directly to sickbay.  Also, beam another medical team over
here."  With a twinkling of light and sound, Nandor, his assistant, and the
Romulan dissapeared.
     McCallum hit his communicator.  "First Officer to Lincoln."
     "Lincoln here.  Art, what the hell is going on over there?"
     "We found out who is responsible, Captain."
     "Who?"
     Choosing his words carefully, McCallum spoke: "The Borg, Captain."
===========================================================================

And that's all for now.  Stay tuned for Part 2.

M. Mckenzie
St. Peter's College

       


X-NEWS: spcvxb alt.startrek.creative: 5938
Path: spcvxb!4mckenzie_m
From: 4mckenzie_m@spcvxb.spc.edu (Markmeister)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: REPOST:  STAR TREK: Alliances
Message-ID: <1993Jun2.112643.6141@spcvxb.spc.edu>
Date: 2 Jun 93 11:26:43 EDT
Organization: St. Peter's College, US
Lines: 173

Well, here's Part 2 of Star Trek: Alliances.  This is a "side story" to TNG,
and takes place on a different starship.
Now, on with the story...




                         STAR TREK: Alliances
                         by M. Mckenzie; based on characters and situations
from STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION.  Copyright (c) 1993, Marc Mckenzie.



     Captain's log, Stardate 44439.13.
     The recent crisis encountered by the USS Lincoln has increased
dramatically.  I will attempt to give a brief description of the events.  While
en route to Outpost Zeta to meet with another starship, the Lincoln encountered
a crippled Romulan Warbird battlecruiser.  It had been damaged in a recent
battle, and had apparently warped into Federation space.  Information gathered
by our away team indicates that the ship was attacked by the Borg.  If this is
possible, then the Federation faces a critical situation.
     Nearly all of the crew were killed.  Luckily, the commander of the vessel
 is alive and in Sickbay.  A Priority One message has been sent to Starfleet
Command regarding this situation.  As of now, we have the Warbird under tractor
beam and we are towing it to Outpost Zeta.  My thoughts about this are thoughts
of...well, fear.  The Federation barely survived the first Borg attack.  We
have never fully recovered from the massacre at Wolf 359.  The second encounter
with the Borg was the recent "Doomsday Machine" incident, and several ships,
including the USS Chekov, were seriously damaged.  Only the courageous actions
of the USS Enterprise saved the Federation again...
     But if the Romulans are defeated by the Borg, it could ring the
death-knell for the Federation.
     I hope that the situation doesn't come to this.

     Captain Patrick Staams ended his log and sat back in his chair, trying to
make sense of what was happening.
     The Borg.  The cold, calculating cybernetic race that had suddenly
appeared, as if out of nowhere, and had wiped out some of the Federation's 
best ships.  One Borg ship had caused the slaughter of Wolf 359...and Patrick
Staams had been aboard the Jasta, which had arrived at the battle too late. 
Several months ago, three Borg ships had appeared...and were destroyed not by
the Federation, but by the second so-called "Doomsday Machine".  So far, the
Federation had barely squeaked by in victory.
     Now this...
     His communictor suddenly beeped.  "This is the Captain," he said.
     "Captain?  Sickbay.  Our guest is conscious now; maybe you can talk to
him."
     "I'm on my way.  By the way, were is Commander McCallum?"
     "He's still aboard the Romulan ship, sir."
     "All right.  Have him beam over as soon as possible."  Staams then
contacted Lt. Rilia, who was on the Lincoln's bridge.  "Any word from
Starfleet?"
     "None, Captain.  They're still in conference, apparently."
     "Shit", thought Staams as he stepped out of his room and headed for
Sickbay, "by the time those beaurocrats are done, the Borg will be knocking at
our door with the entire Romulan Star Empire behind them."

     The battered Romulan Warbird was held fast by the iredescent wonder of the
Lincoln's tractor beam.
     While Captain Staams headed to Sickbay, First Officer Arthur McCallum
pushed away another damaged section of conduit and looked into the passageway
he had found.  The place reeked of smoke and death.
     "Nothing," he said to the security guard behind him. 
     "Impossible, Commander," the guard returned, "where are the rest of the
crew?  A Warbird has a pretty large complement."
     McCallum, a human graduate of the Vulcan Science Academy, thought for a
moment, then answered, "You're right.  The crew members that are missing were
probably taken by the Borg to be assimilated."  After a moment, he added, "it
would have been better if they had died."
     The communicator pin McCallum wore beeped.  "McCallum here."
     "Commander?  Engineering.  We restored the impulse drive, but it's still a
bit twitchy.  We've also brought some of the main systems back on-line.  The
warp drive is still a mess, however."
     "All right.  Very good, Commander Velazqeuz; you've earned your pay.  And
then some."
     The lights suddenly came on in the corridor.  Squinting, McCallum turned
to the guard and said, "Go check the bridge, and tell Lt. Mressle that he
should try and get some of the weapons on-line.  Just for defensive purposes
only."
     "Yessir," the guard replied, and left.
     Alone, McCallum entered the ruined corridor he had found.  Just our luck
that the artificial gravity wasn't screwed up, he thought.  He reached a door. 
Doing a quick translation of the Romulan characters on the surface, he found
that it led to the auxiliary bridge. 
     "Luck of the Irish," McCallum said, and pried open the door.
     The auxiliary bridge was just as bad as the main bridge.  The screens
were broken, panels were blackened by smoke and warped by heat, and the place
stank.  There was no hope of accessing any information here. 
     But McCallum knew that the Lincoln, in fact the Federation, had to get as
much information as possible.  If the Borg had indeed decided to invade Romulan
space, it was only a matter of time before--
     "Don't move!"
     McCallum froze at the sound of the voice behind him.
     "Turn around, Federation pig!"
     Slowly, the Commander did as he was told.  He found himself looking at a
rather attractive (and injured) female Romulan officer.  She had her disrupter
aimed at his chest with her right hand and was clutching her her side with her
left.  It was then that McCallum noticed the blood.
     "If it's any consolation, I'm unarmed," he said, adding, "and I'm not the
Borg."
     "Shut up!" the Romulan hissed.  "Your ship--who are you?"
     "I'm Commander Arthur McCallum, First Officer of the USS Lincoln, of the
United Federation of--"
     "Enough!  Contact your ship and order them to surrender!"
     McCallum stood ther in shocked silence.  Paranoia, he thought.  Maybe
shock too.  "Your captain is on my ship being helped.  Please--put the
disrupter down and let us help you.  Fighting isn't going to do any good,
especially if the Borg are around"  Christ, he laughed to himself, I sound like
Captain Picard!  But the thought was short-lived.
     The Romulan laughed.  "Are these lies or not?  No matter.  Prepare to
die." 
     McCallum suddenly ducked and launched himself at the Romulan's legs. 
Caught off guard, she couldn't dodge.  The two fell to the ground, and the
disrupter went spinning into a corner.  The Romulan did not go easily, though. 
She raked McCallum's face with her nails, and kicked him off.  She sprang up to
get the disrupter, but them she doubled over in pain and fell to the ground.
     McCallum, hand against the bloody furrows on his cheek, looked down at
her.  "Satisfied?"
     "I...I need help...please..."
     Kneeling, McCallum ripped off the arm of his uniform and wadded it into a
patch.  "Here," he said moving her arm out of the way, "hold it tight against
the wound.  I'll tell them to beam us to sickbay.  Don't move."  He pressed his
communicator and was about to speak when the officer grabbed his arm.
     "I...am Sub-commander V'Shyareth, First Officer of the Khareaznor."  She
then passed out.
     "Transporter room!  Emergency!  Two to beam over directly to Sickbay!"
     With the characteristic twinkle and whine of the transporter, McCallum and
the Romulan disappeared.

     The three starships moved silently through space, giving off a look of
pride and intent.  The lead ship was a Romulan Warbird, just three months
commisioned, and it was flanked by two smaller, yet older, ships of the
Graceful Flyer class.
     On the bridge of the Warbird, Commander Jistred looked over his command.
 He was proud of this new ship; the better to scare the Federation with!  All
was well...except that there was a problem.
     "Well?" he growled at his communications officer.  "Any response from the
Freaga group?"
     "None, sir.  There has been no response.  I did read a garbled
sub-transmission, but it's impossible to understand."
     "Damn.  Keep trying."
     "Yes sir."
     Of all the technological achievements that the Romulans had achieved,
thought Jistred, they could have given us a better subspace radio system.
     Just then, there was a holler.  "Unidentified ship emerging from warp!"
     Jistred was on his feet instantly.  "Federation or Klingon?"
     "Unknown sir!  It is onscreen."  The main viewer flashed to life.
     "By the great bird of prey..."
     It hung in space, a giant cube composed of struts, rods,
filaments...everything that was typical of--
     "The Borg," Jistred said, fear creeping into his voice.  "Here, in the
Empire's space."  He barked out, "Sheilds!  Ready all weapons and prepare for
evasive action!"  He then turned to his communications officer and spoke the
words that were nearly the same ones spoken by Captain Jean-Luc Picard so many
months ago: "Tell Command on Romulus that we have engaged the Borg."
============================================================================

And that's all for now!  Stay tuned for Part 3.

M. Mckenzie
St. Peter's College   

   
X-NEWS: spcvxb alt.startrek.creative: 5939
Path: spcvxb!4mckenzie_m
From: 4mckenzie_m@spcvxb.spc.edu (Markmeister)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: REPOST:  STAR TREK: Alliances Part 3
Message-ID: <1993Jun2.113207.6142@spcvxb.spc.edu>
Date: 2 Jun 93 11:32:07 EDT
Organization: St. Peter's College, US
Lines: 206

This is Part 3 of STAR TREK: ALLIANCES, written by M. Mckenzie, and based on
the characters and situations of STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION.  Please note
that this is a copyrighted work of fiction, so no part of it may be reproduced
without my consent.

And now, without much further ado...



STAR TREK: Alliances
written by M. Mckenzie
(c) 1993.


     All around Commander Jistred, the bridge had fallen silent.
     "Well?" the Romulan demanded, "Battle stations!"
     "Commander..." said his First Officer, "We are dealing with the Borg here.
  The Federation did not have much luck with them; what makes you think that--"
     "I didn't ask for your opinion," Jistred hissed, "I asked for this ship to
go to battle stations.  Now carry out my order!"
     As the bridge crew hastened to thier assigned posts, a message came in. 
The communications officer put it on the screen; it was the commander of the
Deathwatch, one of the two Romulan Graceful Flyer-class ships.
     "Jistred!  Are you taking the Superior into combat?"
     "There's no time for talk," Jistred shot back.  "The Borg are in Romulan
space, or haven't you noticed that?"
     "Yes, I have.  It's suicide to attack!"
     "Would you rather scurry back to the homeworld in shame?"
     A scowl appeared on the face of the commander of the Deathwatch.  "Very
well.  We will fight."
     The weapons officer gave a shout.  "Commander, the Borg ship is slowing
down. It is approaching us."
     "Good.  Helm, take us to position 024, mark 35.  Tell the escorts to
assume combat formation."
     Like some dark demon of war, the Superior moved toward its new position. 
The Borg ship was closer now, and Jistred could see more of its surface.  How
the hell can that thing work? he thought.  Yet he knew how deadly it was.  The
Battle of Wolf 359 was well known in the Romulan hierarchy, as was the recent
"Doomsday Machine" encounter.
     On the screen, Jistred watched the two Graceful Flyer ships cruise toward
the cube, then stop.  They looked like flies compared to the massive size of
the Borg ship. 
     Suddenly, there was a hailing tone.  "What the--who is it?"
     The communications officer turned around, a look of pure shock on his
face.  "It's from the Borg ship sir."
     "Onscreen."
     The view of the Borg cube and the two Graceful Flyers disappeared,
replaced by a scene that made Jistred take pause.
     A single figure faced the screen.  On both sides of it were rows of more
figures, stretching to the rear of a long, dark corridor which was light by an
unholy glare.  The figure facing the screen was deathly pale, and clad in
either black leather or metal--Jistred could not tell.  Covering the right side
of its head was...a prosthesis that resembled a squashed bug.  From the
prosthesis a cyber-blue eye stared malevolently.  Cables and tubes were all
over the figure, and its right arm was a bulky cylinder of wires and cables. 
The rows beside the figure appeared the same, but were different in their own
way.
     "By the Great Bird--" said the helmsman, but Jistred silenced him with a
wave of his hand.
     Then the voice spoke.
     To Jistred, it wasn't so much a voice as it were _voices_.  There seemed
to be a multitude of voices speaking as one, with a flat, mechanical tone.
     "We are the Borg.  We have come with the sole purpose of assimilating your
civilization.  You will disarm your weapons and escort us to your homeworld,
Romulus, where we will assimilate your culture and cilvilization.  If you do
not, we will destroy you."
     Jistred nearly laughed.  The threat was not bombastic; it was so deadpan
that it seemed hilariious.  Jistred faced the screen and demanded, "What is
your purpose?  Is this an act of vengeance against the Federation?"
     The Borg answered.  "Vengeance is irrelevant.  Our purpose is to
assimilate your civilization and then proceed to sector 001 and assimilate the
civilization of the planet Earth.  You will escort us to your homeworld
immediatly."
     "Are you threatening us?" Jistred replied.
     "Threats are irrelevant.  You are irrelevant." 
     Suddenly, a green beam shot from a the top corner of the Borg ship.  It
struck the Deathwatch and sliced right through the hull of the scout.  In a
soundless flash, the ship detonated in a fireball.
     Jistred could only stare at the sight.  He broke out of his topor,
yelling, "Full impulse power!  Helm, take us to position Beta-23!"
     The Superior swept toward the massive cube, just as the second Graceful
Flyer was hit by the green beam.  A second later it was gone in a brilliant
flash of light. 
     "Fire phasers!  Full photon torpedo spread!"
     The Superior spat out a full spread of photon torpedoes, and sent out twin
phaser blasts.  The Borg ship was hit, but appeared undamaged.
     "No damage to Borg ship, sir," said the weapons officer. 
     Then the ship was shaken violently, as if grasped by a giant hand.  "The
Borg have locked onto us with a tractor beam, Commander!"
     "Fire at the source of the beam!  Modulate phaser frequencies!"
     Struggling against the tractor beam, the Superior fired its phaser banks. 
A small explosion appeared on the surface of the Borg ship, and the Warbird
suddenly jerked free. 
     The Borg ship fired again.  The Superior was hit, and the crew were tossed
around like peas in a large can.
     "Commander!  Shields are at sixty-four percent!"
     Jistred knew when he had been beaten.  "Helm!  Take us out of here!"
     Just as the helmsman began to execute the command, the Borg locked onto
the Superior with its tractor beam.  Then, a thin beam from the cube hit the
Warbird, and began to cut into the hull.
     "Commander!  Shields have failed!  The Borg are cutting into the hull!"
     Jistred watched in mute horror as damage indicators began to light up all
over the bridge.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a decompression alert
light up.  Then, something else appeared on the bridge, then another, and
another, and another. 
     "Borg!" screamed the First Officer.  He drew his disrupter and fired again
and again at the first Borg.  The Borg's chest exploded in a shower of sparks
and melted plastic and flesh, and it fell to the deck.  The rest of the bridge
crew opened fire on the remaining Borg, but their blasts were deflected by
shields that had appeared around the Borg. 
     "They're adapting!  Use a higher power!" Jistred yelled. He increased the
power just as a shape materialized in front of him.  He found himself looking
into the unseeing horror of a Borg's face.  Reflexifly, Jistred struck out with
his fist, but the Borg simply lifted its massive arm and sent Jistred sprawling
with one blow.  Jistred hit the deck, and felt blood over his face.  Through a
haze of pain, he saw that more Borg were appearing on the bridge, and were
making short work of the bridge crew.  The last thing he saw was the Borg that
had hit him standing over him, as if in triumph. 
     Then he saw nothing at all, except the dark. 

     At the same time that the Superior encountered the Borg ship, another
encounter was taking place light-years away aboard the USS Lincoln.
     Captain Patrick Staams entered the sickbay of his vessel, nodding to the
two guards posted outside, and was taken aback by what he saw.  All around him
on the biobeds were Romulans.  Some were burned severely, others had limbs
missing, and a few of the biobeds had the sheets covering bodies.
     Dr. Gene Nandor, the ship's medical officer, saw the Captain and spoke
something to one of his assisstants.  Then he headed over to Staams.
     "Captain,"
     "Dr.  What's the situation?"
     "Well, we have about fifty survivors.  These are the most seriously
injured; the rest are in cargo bay 3.  The have the least amount of injuries."
     Staams could not believe what he heard.  "Fifty survivors?  The regular
complement of a Warbird is normally--"
     "400 crew, 300 troops is a best estimate Starfleet has."
     "Good Lord.  Where is the Commander?"
     "Here," Nandor said, and led Staams to a biobed were a Romulan was covered
by a sterile sheet.  "We were lucky he was still alive.  Third degree burns,
internal hemmoraging, a concussion--we were lucky indeed."
     Staams studied the Romulan.  He was middle aged, but his face was not
lined.  His hair was grey.  Suddenly, his eyes fluttered, and Staams found
himself looking into the Romulan's dark eyes.
     "F...Federation?" the Romulan said weakly.
     "Yes.  You are on board the USS Lincoln.  I'm Captain Patrick Staams.  You
are--"
     "Commander Mastech, of the Khareaznor.  Captain...thank you.  Where is my
ship?"
     "It is in tow.  Captain, you took a major chance doing what you did."
     "I had no choice...we were all but destroyed...I had the helm lay in a
course beyond the Neutral Zone...and we put all of our power into our warp
drive in order to escape those soulless bastards..."
     "The Borg?"
     "Yes...they destroyed two ships...we could have been the third...ohhhh..."
Maistech's head lolled to one side.
     "Damn!  Captain, I have to treat him right now," said Nandor.  "I'm
sorry."
     "Don't be. Just make sure that-" Staams was cut off by the whine of the
transporter.  In a fanfare of light, Commander (and First Officer) Arthur
McCallum appeared, holding in his arms a Romulan woman.  "Hurry, she's been
injured," he said, laying her on a biobed.  He stepped back while Dr. Nandor's
assisstants began to treat the Romulan.  McCallum then turned to Staams and
said, "Reporting, sir."
     Staams looked at the blood on McCallum's uniform and the torn sleeve of
the right arm.  "Who is that?"
     McCallum gave the wounded Romulan a quick glance.  "She's the First
Officer, Sub-commander V'Shyareth.  She was badly wounded, and suffering from
shock."
     "Your face.  Are those scratches-"
     "Yes, from her going into shock and delusions.  What about the Commander?"
     "He spoke for a short time, then he lapsed into unconsciousness.  But from
what he told me, there were three Warbirds that encountered the Borg ship.  His
was the only one to escape."
     "Barely."
     After McCallum's face was treated, and he was given a fresh uniform, both
he and Staams left Sickbay and headed to the turbolift to go to the bridge.
     "Has Starfleet given any word on what to do?"
     "No, not yet.  I can only guess what the hell is going on.  I'm sure some
of the members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff are pleased as punch that the Borg
are going to lay it into the Romulans.  And the other half are probably scared
that if the Romulans fall to the Borg, the Federation is next."
     Just then Staams communicator beeped.  "Bridge to Captain.  Message from
Starfleet Headquarters."
     Staams and McCallum exchanged looks.  Staams hit his communicator and
said, "Tell all section chiefs to meet me in the Ready Room immediatly. 
Prepare to transfer the message to there at my command."
     "Aye, sir."
     "Come on," Staams told McCallum, breaking into a quick jog, "this is bound
to be interesting."
============================================================================= 

And that's all for now.  Stay tuned for Part 4.

M. Mckenzie
St. Peter's College
"I'm a TREKKER, not a TREKKIE!!"

X-NEWS: spcvxb alt.startrek.creative: 5889
Path: spcvxb!4mckenzie_m
From: 4mckenzie_m@spcvxb.spc.edu (Markmeister)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: [Fanfic] STAR TREK: Alliances Part 4.
Message-ID: <1993May27.151800.6100@spcvxb.spc.edu>
Date: 27 May 93 15:18:00 EDT
Organization: St. Peter's College, US
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Well, here it is...STAR TREK: Alliances, Part 4.  There have been some changes
made, mostly to correct my errors (such as writing about the Romulans when I
know very little about them!), but the story should be fine tuned now. 
Thanks for the comments and pointers; it's been an enjoyment to read them.

Now, on with the story....






          STAR TREK: Alliances
                          written by M. Mckenzie; based on characters and
situations from STAR TREK: The Next Generation.  Copyright (c) 1993 Marc
Mckenzie.  No part of this work may be reproduced without permission.


     Captain's Log, Supplemental.
     We are preparing to recieve a priority message from Starfleet headquarters
regarding the crisis at hand: the invasion of Romulan space by the Borg.  As of
now,  the Lincoln is under full impulse power to Outpost Zeta near the Neutral
Zone, towing the damaged Warbird Khareaznor.  The chief officers, the Commander
and Sub-Commander, are both alive and in sickbay, but have been wounded.  They
haven't told us much--which makes the situation all the more frustrating...

     The Conference Room of the USS Lincoln had a subdued atmosphere as the
main officers of the starship filed in and took their places at the table.
     Captain Patrick Staams sat at the head of the table and ran a hand through
his dark hair.  His First Officer, Commander Arthur McCallum, noticed this as a
sure sign that deep down, the Captain was nervous.  Still, who wouldn't be,
especially with the Borg?  At any rate, McCallum reasoned, Staams was keeping
his composure steady. 
     The table was now filled.  Sitting to Staam's right was McCallum, then
Science Officer Allarza, Chief Medical Officer Nandor, Chief Engineer
Velazquez, and Bridge Specialists Mressle and Peterson.  Staams said, "Lt.
Rilia, send the message through."
     From the bridge, Lt. Rilia keyed in a sequence.  In the Conference Room,
the main screen flickered to life.  The Starfleet seal appeared, then was
replaced by the image of Admiral Ryoichi Tasaki and Captain Jean-Luc Picard.
     "Greetings, Captain Staams.  How are things?" Tasaki asked.
     "The pleasure is all mine, Admiral.  Hello, Captain Picard.  I believe
that this is the second time we've met, at least since the Khitomer 7
Conference."
     "Yes.  I see a familiar face in the crowd.  Mr. McCallum, or should I say
Commander?"
     "Any one is fine, sir," McCallum answered.  "I couldn't stay on the
Enterprise; it would have given Commander Riker competion."
     Picard smiled, but he put on a serious face quickly.  "We recieved your
communication.  I believe the Admiral asked what the situation was at this
time."
     "We have the Romulan Warbird in tow, and are proceeding to Outpost Zeta."
     "Very good," said Tasaki, "because you will begin Stage Two of a mission
that was decided on rather quickly."
     "Begging your pardon sir," asked Peterson, "_what_ mission?"
     On the screen, Picard glanced at Admiral Tasaki, then spoke.  "The
Enterprise is undergoing refit at Earth Station McKinley.  We couldn't possibly
reach the Neutral Zone in time for assistance.  The Lincoln is the only
starship in the vinicity, since the USS Kaplan is having difficulties. 
     "Only a short time ago, we recieved a message from Romulous--Priority One.
 They've lost contact with a second patrol group.  The Warbird you have in tow
is from the first patrol group that disappeared."
     "Could the Borg be responsible for the second group'e disappearance?"
asked McCallum.
     "The chances are in favor of that by a wide margin," said Tasaki, "and we
have decided to give the Romulans a hand."
     Around the table, looks were exchanged.  Staams faced the screen and
asked, "Admiral, do you want us to _go_ into Romulan space?  To cross the
Neutral Zone?"
     "Yes."
     "But such an event--"
     "--Is a once-in-a-lifetime chance," Picard added.  "Think of it, Captain. 
A chance at possibly ending this tension between the Federation and the
Romulans which has existed for over two hundred years.  A common enemy has made
us, pardon the old Earth phrase, 'strange bedfellows'."
     "But the Borg are close to invincible!" Lt. Mressle growled.  His fur
stood on end and his eyes narrowed to thin slits as he added, "This could be a
suicide mission."
     "We've weighed all the options, Lt. Mressle," Picard returned, "but we
would rather face the Romulans than a Romulan Empire that has been assimilated
by the Borg."
     "Your mission, Captain," Tasaki said, "is this.  At Outpost Zeta, you will
rendevous with the Romulan Warbird Artez.  If the Kaplan does not show by it's
assigned time, the Lincoln will follow the Artez into Romulan space.  There,
you will use whatever means neccessary to neutralize the Borg threat.  The
Romulans assure us that you will be granted full assistance."
     "What do they mean by 'full assistance', Admiral?" asked Staams.
     "They haven't stated exactly what they mean.  But understand this: So far,
only the Federation has encountered the Borg.  Of course the Romulans have
pobably intercepted most of our data, but they still do not have the whole
story.  We've learned a lot since Wolf 359 and recent encounter with the three
Borg ships and the second planet killer."
     "Captain Picard," McCallum asked, "I know that this will bring up some bad
memories, but can you give us any information that you gained while you were
under control of the Borg as 'Locutus'?"
     Picard remained silent for a moment, then spoke, steadily but firmly. 
"Information?...well, the Borg are just more than cold and mechanical.  They
have absolutly no concept of freedom, love, or independence.  I...it was as if
I were raped.  Not phsyically, but mentally and spiritually.  The Borg do not
care who or what is destroyed, as long as they achieve their technological
perfection."
     Silence ruled in the Conference Room for a few moments, only to broken by
Admiral Tasaki's voice.  "Remember, Patrick...this is one of the most important
missions ever undertaken by the Federation.  If you succeed, a new age of
understanding could be ushered in between the Federation and the Romulans.  May
I dare compare it to the 'detente' and 'glasnost' eras of the 20th Century."
     "And if we fail?" Staams asked.
     "Then," Captain Picard answered, "what's left of the Federation will go
out in a blaze of glory at the Neutral Zone."
     "Better to go out fighting than letting the Borg get their hands on us,"
said Admiral Tasaki.  "All right, then, you know what to do.  And
Captain...good luck."
     "Godspeed," Picard said, and the screen flickered off.
     Looking at his assembled officers, Staams felt a great weight fall on his
shoulders.  Suddenly, the entire galaxy was at stake...and here was Patrick
Staams coming up to bat against the meanest pitcher ever to throw the ball.
     "Well, people, we've got five hours till Outpost Zeta.  Until then, I want
each of you to review all the data we have on the Borg, and on the Romulans as
well.  And, I also want each of you...to say a prayer.  Dissmissed."
     Silently, the room began to empty.  McCallum walked up to Staams and
asked, "A prayer, Captain?"
     "Art, the only thing I have faith in right now is in the Big Guy
upstairs."

     Captain's Log, Stardate 44440.34.
     About an hour from now, the Lincoln will be undertaking the most dangerous
mission ever attempted by any Federation starship.  We will be docking at
Outpost Zeta in thirty minutes, and there we will meet the Artez, the Romulan
Warbird that will accompany us across the Neutral Zone and toward the Borg. 
     Over the last four-and-a-half hours I've gotten to know Commander Mastech
and Sub-Commander V'Shyareth of the Khareaznor.  Perhaps I should note that
First Officer McCallum has had the most contact with her.  The crew is facing
up to the taks with courage, but the underlying mood is that we might not
return from this mission.  I can only hope that we will survive, but for now,
my mind is set for the meeting at Oupost Zeta...

     Stares were directed at Commander Arthur McCallum as he walked down the
corridor.
     Of course, McCallum knew what they were about.  In step beside him was
Sub-Commander V'Shyareth, whose injuries were almost fully healed.  The ship's
replicators had managed to create fresh versions of the quilted,
broad-shouldered Romulan uniforms for the survivors of the Khareaznor.  The
two reached a door, which opened into McCallum's quarters.
     V'Shyareth looked around.  "Impressive," she said.  "But in the Federation
sense."
     McCallum cocked an eyebrow.  "Well, it just reflects my personality, I
suppose."
     The Romulan Sub-Commander walked over to a group of pictures that adorned
one of the walls.  "What are these?" she asked.
     McCallum walked over and stood beside her.  "These are old pictures from
Earth, late twentieth century.  They're called "comic books", collected by an
ancestor of mine.  It's amazing that they are still preserved.  They were
sealed in these cases around the twenty-first century."
     V'Shyareth read the titles out loud.  "Spider-Man 2099...Superman...Crying
Freeman...interesting."
     "Well, the 'Spider-Man' title deals with the future.  Of course, things
never turned out the way it was portrayed in these books."
     V'Shyareth turned to him.  "You studied at the Vulcan Science Academy,
correct?"
     "Are you gathering information on us?
     She gave him a puzzled look and answered, "No."
     "Well, yes.  I studied there."
     She smiled and sat down in a chair.  "No wonder you seemed so composed
even when I had my disruptor pointed at you."
     McCallum gave a grin and walked over to the food replicator.  He spoke
something, stepped back, then reached in and removed the two glasses which had
appeared.  He brought one over to V'Shyareth and gave it to her.
     A look of surprise appeared on her face.  "Romulan ale?" 
     "I tampered with the food replicators a bit."
     Taking a sip, V'Shyareth said, "It's very good.  But Commander...why did
you feel that I was seeking information?"
     McCallum sipped his ale and looked out the window at the stars.  The ship
was still under impulse, thirty minutes from Outpost Zeta.  He turned to her
and said, "Call it a Cold War mentality."
     "A 'Cold War mentality'?"
     "Back in the twentieth century, there was a time of tension between the
two dominant superpowers, the United States and the Soviet Union.  It was
reffered to as the 'Cold War'.  When it ended in the year 1989 A.D., it took
some time before all the people of both nations could completely trust each
other.  Something like this is still going on between the Federation and the
Klingons."
     "You know your history."
     "I was at the top of my history class at the Academy."
     V'Shyareth put down her glass and stood up, facing McCallum.  "Then I
suppose you've encountered the Borg before."
     McCallum finished the rest of his ale and turned to her.  "Yes.  I was a
lieutenant on the Enterprise when Captain Picard was turned into Locutus.  I
was there when we passed by the wreakage of the ships at Wolf 359.  And I was
there when the ship was destroyed over the Earth.  I transferred to the Lincoln
shortly after that, when Captain Staams took command.  I...lost several good
friends in that battle.  One of them, Ben Sisko, nearly lost his whole family.
 His wife died at Wolf 359."
      "I'm sorry to hear that."
      "The situation can't be helped.  It already happened.  I recently met
Ben--he's a Commander by the way--at the Deep Space Nine space station.  That's
his new command.  He's a few years older than me, but he helped me through some
tough times at the Academy.  I missed the second borg invasion.  Hey--I've told
you a lot.  What about you?"
      The Romulan's eyes grew wide, then she gave a small smile.  It McCallum
feel good; at least she was trying to open up after the destruction she had
been through.  Still, the smile looked hungry, dangerous.
      "I've been stationed aboard the Khareaznor for seven of your Earth years.
 I enjoy working under Commander Mastech.  He's an amazing man.  I don't think
there are many like him in either our navy or yours."
      "He seems like it."

      Commander Mastech, although still confined to his biobed, managed to eat
the food that Staams had brought for him.  When he was finished, he looked up
and said, "A very satisfying meal, Captain, although eating it was chore."
      Staams smiled.  "I suppose chicken alfredo was never a popular Romulan
delicacy, Commander.  But, it's my favorite meal."
      "Oh, yes, the Captain's discretion.  By the way, where is my
Sub-Commander?"
      "She's with my First Officer, who's giving her a tour of the ship.  She's
a very remarkable woman, I must add."
      "Ah, V'Shyareth.  Truly an original, as you humans are fond of saying. 
She literally had to fight for her rank though."
      "Why?"
      "Her father is an assistant to the Preator.  When she joined my crew, she
worked four times as hard just to prove that she wasn't a political brat. 
There were more than a few fights, but she came out on top."
      "No wonder she seems so tough."
      "Indeed.  But she is rather impuslive.  By the way, Captain, I hear
that the ship that will be escorting us will be the Artez?"
      "Yes, it is.  Do you know the Commander?"
      "I do.  He is Commander Desharn.  A very unpredictable Commander."
      "In what way?"
      Mastech drew himself up, and sighed.  "He's completely distrustful of
everyone and anyone besides himself.  He's had several problems with Fleet
Command, but he still has his ship."
      "It seems as if he might be a problem."
      Mastech turned toward Staams.  The look on his face was one of utter
seriousness.  "Captain, if I may say this freely: The Borg might not be as much
of a threat to you as Commander Desharn."

      Across the Neutral Zone and light-years away, Commander Jistred opened
his eyes and found himself looking at a view from hell.
      It was an area of tunnels, walls, portals...but it was all machinery,
designed as if with an organic pupose, and it had a malevolant look to it.  And
in most of the spaces lining the wall were-
      -Borg! Jistred realized with a growing sense of horror.  There were Borg
in several spaces along the walls, standing perfectly still, faces
expressionless.  Jistred found himself on the hard metallic grill-like floor. 
He picked himself up and turned as he heard the sound of footsteps. 
      Approaching him were two Borg.  Before he could move, the two siezed him,
and dragged him toward the edge of a platform. 
      The platform held a view that revealed more of the Borg ship; it seemed
to stretch out forever, showing the struts, girders, wires, and other elements
of the Borg cube.  The view appeared distorted, as if Jistred was looking
through a warped pane of glass.
      Then a voice spoke.  Or rather, _voices_.  "We are the Borg.  You have
been captured as part of our quest to assimilate the civilization of the planet
Romulus."
      Jistred found his voice and yelled back, "How dare you do this?  Where is
my ship?  Where is my crew?"  Deep down, he felt a sickening feeling as he knew
that the threats and questions were useful as a collapsed shield.  What he
didn't expect was the answer.
      "Your crew and ship were irrelevant.  They had no purpose, and were
disposed of.  You, however, are relevant to our plans."
      "I will not cooperate!  I will refuse--"
      "Your refusal is irrelevent.  Your mind irrelevant."
      The two Borg standing beside Jistred turned and grabbed his arms, and
dragged him away, screaming and fighting.  It was no use; he couldn't break
free.  They pushed him into a small nook and held him as a several wires and
metallic waldoes snaked out toward him.  Then another series of wires
surrounded his head and wrapped themselves tightly around this cranium. 
Suddenly, images and voices appeared in Jistred's mind.  They began to
increase rapidly, and then, a low, thudding pain started in his temples and
spread to his entire body. 
      My mind!  Jistred screamed inwardly.  They're converting me into one of
them--!
      Then Jistred, formally the Commander of the Romulan Warbird Superior, and
one of the most powerful Commanders in the Romulan Navy, opened his mouth and
screamed, and began to weep and wimper like a child. 
      The Borg uni-mind had made him one of its own.
============================================================================

And that's all for now.  Stay tuned for Part 5.

M. Mckenzie
St. Peter's College
"I'm a TREKKER, not a TREKKIE!!"

X-NEWS: spcvxb alt.startrek.creative: 5952
Path: spcvxb!4mckenzie_m
From: 4mckenzie_m@spcvxb.spc.edu (Markmeister)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: [Fanfic] STAR TREK: Alliances Part 5
Message-ID: <1993Jun3.150644.6156@spcvxb.spc.edu>
Date: 3 Jun 93 15:06:44 EDT
Organization: St. Peter's College, US
Lines: 237

All right!  Here it is...Part 5 of STAR TREK: Alliances.  I tried to post this
at the same time I reposted parts 1-4, but problems prevented me from doing so.
Well, damn the photon torpedoes, full speed ahead!!





                          STAR TREK: Alliances
                          by M. Mckenzie
                          Based on characters and situations from STAR TREK:
THE NEXT GENERATION.  Copyright (c) 1993, Marc Mckenzie.


     Captain's Log, Stardate 44441.12
     We have finally arrived at Outpost Zeta, and myself, First Officer
McCallum, and Romulan officers Commander Mastech and Sub-commander V'Shyareth
of the Khareaznor have beamed over to meet with Commander Desharn of the Artez.
 The USS Kaplan, commanded by my old Academy friend Craig Holzmann, will arrive
shortly.  Time is of the essence.  We must enter Romulan space as soon as
possible to deal with the Borg invasion....

     The first thing Captain Patrick Staams saw as the transporter room door
opened was a sullen-looking Romulan.  A thick scar covered the left half of his
 face, and his knife-like gaze regarded the new arrivals coldly.  Beside him
was a man of medium height, wearing a Federation uniform.  His hair was a pure,
snow white.
     Staams extended his hand.  "Captain Patrick Staams, USS Lincoln, of the
United Federation of--"
     "I know who you are!" the Romulan spat.  He walked past a surprised (and
confused) Staams and stood in front of Mastech and V'Shyareth.  "Greetings,
Commander.  What is your situation?"
     Mastech gave his fellow Romulan a glaring look.  "I believe that Captain
Staams has as much knowledge of the crisis as myself, Desharn.  You could have
extended him the courtesy of that question."
     Desharn's eyebrows went up, and he turned to Staams.  "Oh, pardon me," he
said sarcastically, "I'm so sorry, Captain.  Allow me to introduce myself.  I'm
Commander Desharn of the Romulan Star Empire, Commander of--"
     "I already know," Staams said.  "Nice meeting you."  Before anyone could
react, he made his way to the transporter pad.
     "Captain?!" McCallum blurted out.
     Staams turned to Desharn, ignoring the shocked stares from those around
them.  "With that attitude of yours, I figure that you can take out the Borg on
your own.  You obviously don't need our help."
     "No!  I'm sorry about my manners, Captain," Desharn sputtered.  "I promise
that I will give you my full cooperation in this matter."
     "Good."
     The man with Desharn spoke up.  "If I may, gentlemen.  I am Ford Gannon,
director of this outpost.  I welcome you here.  The USS Kaplan will be
arriving shortly.  Please come with me."  With that, he turned and led the
group to the main conference room.
     Along the way V'Shyareth whispered to McCallum, "Was your Captain really
serious about leaving us?"
     "No, the Captain isn't that type of person.  He was just using an old
human invention on Desharn."
     "What invention?"
     "The bluff."

     Emerging from warp 7, the USS Kaplan, a Nebula-Class starship, approached
Outpost Zeta.  On the bridge, Captain Craig Holzmann regarded the collection of
spheres, cylinders, and girders that made up the station, catching sight of
three ships moored in the main docking bay: the Lincoln and two Romulan
warbirds.
     "Hell of a sight, isn't it, Paike?"
     "Yes, Captain, I assume it is."  Paike, one of the few Bandi serving in
the Federation, stroked the exotic Bandi sash on his uniform.  It was more than
just a family heirloom; it was a reminder of where he was from, the planet
Deneb IV.
     "Well, let's knock.  It's a party, and we recieved an invitation.  Comm,
open a channel."
     Lt. Austin hailed the station, and on the main viewer appeared Captain
Staams, Commander Mastech, and Director Gannon.  "Hello Kaplan," Gannon said. 
"It's good to see you."
     "The pleasure is ours.  Hey Pat, we literally had to throw that warp coil
out the window!  The thing's a pile a junk, just like that ship you're
commanding!"  Around the Kaplan's bridge came sounds of snickering.
     Staams smiled.  Craig Holzmann had a casual, loose way of commanding, and
his loud humor often caused more than one Fleet Admiral to pull their hair
out.  Still, he was one of the best captains, if not one of the most unusual.
     "Anyway, enough of me.  What's the situation?"
     "We're waiting for you here."
     "Good.  See you in a few.  Kaplan out." 
     After the screen winked out, Holzmann turned to Paike.  "Mr. Paike, come
with me.  Mr. Wiggens, you have the conn.  Tell the station that we are ready
to dock and are standing by."
     "Yessir," Wiggens said.
   
     The conference room of Outpost Zeta was small, but it was still larger
than the one aboard the Lincoln.  At the ebony rectangular table sat Staams,
McCallum, Mastech, V'Shyareth, Desharn, Holzmann, and Paike.  Director Gannon
stood at the head of the table and began to speak.
     "As you know, the Borg have invaded Romulan space.  Because of this, the
Romulan Star Empire has requested that the Federation assist in neutralizing
this threat.
     "The Federation fleet is still trying to recover from the massacre at Wolf
359.  Therefore, the two closest ships, the Lincoln and the Kaplan, were chosen
to represent the Federation.  More ships are on the way, but...they may be
needed in the event that the Lincoln and the Kaplan are destroyed."
     McCallum felt a cold shiver run down his back.  True, the thought had
crossed his mind, but somethings were better left unsaid.
     Gannon continued.  "The Romulan escort shall be the Artez, commanded by
Cammander Desharn.  It should be noted that both Federation vessels have a
carte blanche--you are to use whatever means necessary to neutralize the Borg."
     Paike asked, "Has there been discussion of negotiations with the Borg?"
     "The Borg, Commander Paike," said McCallum, "feel that negotiations are
irrelevant.  The same way they feel about everything in general."
     Mastech spoke up.  "What about my ship, the Khareaznor?"
     Gannon looked down and became silent.  Finally, he said, "An order came in
before you arrived.  The Khareaznor has been decommissioned and will be
destroyed."
     From around the table, Staams, McCallum, and V'Shyareth traded shocked
looks.  "But...why?" asked Mastech.
     From his seat Desharn gave a lopsided grin.  "Why take it with us?  I'ts
deadweight.  In fact, the decommissioning ceremony should be starting...now."
     The room screen switched to an outside view of the station.  Several
workpods were towing the damaged hulk of the Khareaznor to a position far from
the station.  The workpods moved away, and the ship hung in space.  Suddenly,
three photon torpedoes vectored on the ship, and impacted in three strategic
spots.  Without any shields, the hull buckled, then blossomed outward.  The
Khareaznor exploded, parts of the craft tumbling away in various directions. 
Mastech made a low, sighing noise, and his face appeared pale. 
     The screen switched again.  This time, a tall Romulan appeared on the
screen.  "Commander Desharn," he said, "the Khareaznor has been destroyed.  All
those on board were transported to the station before the ship was destroyed."
     "Very good, Trenack," Desharn said.  "You executed it flawlessly."
     "Yessir."  Trenack then said, "Commander Mastech, you must believe me when
I say that I...I did not enjoy what I did.  Artez out."
     Desharn stood up and faced the room.  "And now, if no one has any more
questions...we shall depart immediatly."

     Captain's Log, Supplemental.
     I still cannot get over the sight of the Khareaznor's "decommissioning". 
Commander Mastech lost so much when he was attacked by the Borg; now his own
fleet has taken away even more.  He will be aboard the Artez.  Suprisingly,
(although I should't be too surprised) Sub-commander V'Shyareth has elected to
stay on the Lincoln.  The wounded crew members of the Khareaznor have been left
on Outpost Zeta.  Hopefully, a Romulan ship will arrive to pick them up.
     As of now, we are preparing to depart for Romulan space.  I must admit,
it's quite a feeling knowing that you are the first Federation ship to cross
the Neutral Zone and not starting an intergalactic incident.  Many of us on the
ship are contacting loved ones and family...because this may be the last time
we will ever see the Federation again.  Still, the crew is ready for this
mission, as is the crew of the Kaplan, and the Artez.
   
     The bridge crew of the USS Lincoln prepared to send the vessel on its
historical mission.  Sitting in the command chair, Captain Patrick Staams gave
out orders to all stations.  Commander Arthur McCallum stood at the science
station, talking with Lt. Allarza, the Andorian Science Officer.  Lt. Rilia,
the Deltan Communications Officer, turned to Staams and said, "Captain, message
from the Kaplan."
     "Onscreen."
     The bridge of the Kaplan appeared, and Captain Holzmann spoke.  "Lincoln,
we'll go ahead of you.  The Artez will be our lead.  You have the coordinates?"
     "Yes, Captain.  We have them.  Set your speed for warp 7.5.  The sooner we
can get to the Borg, the better."
     "Understood.  Kaplan out."
     The screen went blank, then came back on.  Against the sea of stars,
Staams saw the Artez, then the Kaplan, move into position.  "Mr. Mressle, move
us into position.  Mr. Peterson, set course for the--" Staams paused briefly,
as if wondering what to say "--Romulan Star Empire.  Make your speed warp 7.5"
     "Aye, sir," came Mressle's gruff response.
     Staams turned on the comm for a ship-wide message when he heard, "Captain?
Permission to come on to the bridge."
     Turning to face the turbolift, Staams saw V'Shyareth standing in the
turbolift car.  "Permission granted," he said.
     V'Shyareth nodded and stepped onto the bridge.  She walked over to
McCallum, and began to talk with Allarza. 
     Staams decided that it was now or never.  "Attention all hands.  This is
the Captain.  As you already know, we are departing on a crucial mission to
Romulan space.  All I ask of each and every one of you...is to give your full
effort into this.  Of course, I know that all of you do the same every day. 
Captain out."
     "Sir, message from Artez.  They are entering warp."  On the screen, the
lethal shape of the Artez seemed to stretch to infinity...then it vanished
among the stars.  The Kaplan soon followed.  Staams said, "Mr. Mressle, engage
warp drive.  Ahead warp 7.5."
     Mressle's furred hands flew across the controls.  The hum of the warp
engines grew louder, then the Lincoln flung itself into warp speed.

     Commander McCallum walked down the corridor to his room, feeling tired and
worn out.  The Lincoln had crossed the Neutral Zone, but the Borg were seven
hours away, according to the estimates.  A message had come in over subspace
radio shortly after the three starships entered warp.  At least four Romulan
colonies had ceased communications.  One had sent a panicked message about a
"miles high cube" before the transmission was terminated. 
     McCallum gave a sigh as he reached the door of his room.  It was the Borg,
all right.  Hopefully, they would need time fully assimilate the materials that
they had taken.  Yet there seemed to be a pattern...the colonies were also
important Romulan bases.  Either the Borg were being very selective, or--
     "Commander?"
     McCallum nearly jumped at the sound of V'Shyareth's voice.  Turning, he
say her.  "Hello," he said, stepping into his room as the doors swished open,
"What's the latest news?"
     "Nothing new so far."  She followed him in.  "Are you all right?"
     "I'm just...tired."
     V'Shyareth sat down.  "You said that you faced the Borg before, while you
were on the Enterprise?"
     McCallum ran a hand through his hair.  "Yes, I was there when Captain
Picard was turned into 'Locutus'.  Not on the Borg ship, mind you, but I was
there when we followed them, when we saw the carnage at Wolf 359...and when we
faced them at Earth."
     "And yet you survived."
     "We were lucky, V'Shyareth.  Lt. Commander Data managed to interface with
Locutu--I mean, Captain Picard--and shut the Borg ship down, but there was a
massive feedback in the ship, and it was destroyed.  The thing about the Borg
is that, they just cannot seem to be defeated.  You can throw the entire might
of Starfleet at them, and still..."
     He stood up and walked to the window.  V'Shyareth joined him there. 
Outside, the stars seemed to rush past as the Lincoln moved at over 700 times
the speed of light.  "You know," McCallum finally said, "you never learn to
love life to the fullest until you face death."
     "You didn't learn that at the Vulcan Science Academy, did you?"
     "No, that's a purely human saying.  I'm human, remember?"
     "Yes. I know."
     Before McCallum knew what was happening, V'Shyareth stepped up to him, put
her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him on the mouth.  He responded,
bringing his arms around her and drawing her closer.  It seemed that hours had
passed when their lips parted.  They looked at each other, not knowing to say.
   
     Light years away in Romulan space, the massive, perfect cube that was the
Borg ship hung in space.  The Borg uni-mind was still assimilating the informa-
tion and materials taken from the four Romulan colonies.  The Borg did not care
 about the incoming Federation and Romulan ships.  That was irrelevant.  What
_was_ relevant was the mission to assimilate the planet Romulus.
     After that, the Romulan Star Empire would be irrelevant.  And then, the
Federation and all who were its allies would be irrelevant.  Then, there would
be the perfection of the Borg.  And nothing would stand in their way.
==============================================================================

And that's all for now.  Stay tuned for Part 6.

M. Mckenzie
St. Peter's College
"I'm a TREKKER, not a TREKKIE!"



X-NEWS: spcvxb alt.startrek.creative: 5996
Path: spcvxb!4mckenzie_m
From: 4mckenzie_m@spcvxb.spc.edu (Markmeister)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: [Fanfic] STAR TREK: Alliances Part 6
Message-ID: <1993Jun7.165257.6181@spcvxb.spc.edu>
Date: 7 Jun 93 16:52:57 EDT
Organization: St. Peter's College, US
Lines: 354

It's finally here!  Part 6 of STAR TREK: Alliances.  So, damn the photon
torpedoes and full speed ahead...!



   STAR TREK: Alliances
   by M. Mckenzie
                           Based on characters and situations from STAR TREK:
THE NEXT GENERATION.  Copyright (c) 1993, Marc Mckenzie.



     Captain's Log, Stardate 44442.32.
     Having crossed the Neutral Zone into Romulan space, the USS Lincoln and
the USS Kaplan are now on course to intercept and neutralize the Borg.  Right
now, I am preparing to recieve a message from Admiral Langon from Starfleet
command...
   
     The screen on Patrick Staams' desk lit up, and the face of Admiral Francis
Langon appeared.  The Admiral's silver-blond hair was drawn back in an
attractive bun, and her green eyes still held her fiery personality despite the
fact that she was over seventy years old, Earth standard.  Now that fire was
turned on Captain Patrick Staams.
     "Hello Patrick.  How does it feel to be part of history in the making?" 
Langon always addressed Staams by his first name, rather that his rank.
     "Frankly, Admiral, I'm more worried about the Borg than history.  Of
course, I'm sure my death would make history anyway."
     A thin smile appeared on Langon's face.  "Who said that you won't complete
this mission, Patrick?  Starfleet command has the utmost faith in your
abilities."
     Staams gave a chuckle.  "Well, Admiral, thanks for the vote of confidence.
 Unfortunately, as the Borg would say, that's pretty much 'irrelevant'."
     "So you say.  All right, the true reason for this transmission...you will
be meeting a small detatchment of Romulan ships shortly after you come out of
warp.  There will be three ships in all.  They are the Vengeance, the Star
Hunter, and the Darkflyer.  The first two are of the Warbird class, the third
is of the Nova class."
     "Nova-class?  It's a pretty old ship then.  Still, why are the Romulans
doing this?"
     Langon gave a sigh.  "The Romulans are gathering all of their remaining
ships around the home planet, Romulus.  If you fail..."
     "...then the Romulans will have their own version of the Alamo.  Or better
yet, Wolf 359."
     "Exactly."

     On the bridge of the Lincoln, one of the many Excelsior-class starships
serving in the Federation, First Officer Arthur McCallum sat in the Captain's
chair.  On the viewscreen in front of him, the stars zoomed past as the
starship moved at warp 7.  McCallum's hands were steepled in front of him, and
his chin rested on his fingers.  He was deep in thought.
     The major thing on his mind was the Borg.  In only a short time, the
Lincoln would come out of warp, and, together with the Kaplan and the Artez,
begin the deadly hunt for the cold cybernetic invaders.  But the mission seemed
futile, useless.  What good were their weapons against the Borg?  McCallum
quickly pushed that thought aside as his Vulcan teaching asserted itself. 
The logic behind such doubts was not there.  There were ways a Federation ship
could inflict damage on a Borg ship; one had to hope that the Borg did not
adapt to the attack.  On the other hand, if the Borg did adapt, then all one
could do was try something else, something that the Borg would not expect.
     "Thinking, Commander?"
     McCallum turned to V'Shyareth, the former Sub-commander of the Khareaznor,
the ship that had started it all.  No, they hadn't started anything.  They had
only alerted the Federation to the threat at hand.  "Well, I am."
     "Don't think too hard," she responded, smiling.  She then turned back to
the science station, where she was talking to Lt. Allarza, the ship's Science
Officer. 
     The bridge crew didn't catch the look that passed between the two.
 But if they had, they would have suspected something, possibly of an intimate
nature.  Which was not far off the mark.  Somehow, McCallum had become the
object of V'Shyareth's affections.  And if the kiss that they had shared
earlier wasn't an indication...
   
      On board the Romulan Warbird Artez, Commander Mastech sat in his
quarters, mourning the loss of his vessel, the Khareaznor. 
      He had lost nearly all of his crew when the Borg had attacked the
crusier formation that the Khareaznor was part of.  Mastech had barely
survived, as well as fifty other Romulans, including his Sub-commander.  But
then, Commander Desharn had destroyed the damaged Warbird under the pretext of
an order from Fleet Headquarters on Romulus.  Mastech wished that the crew of
the Lincoln could have done something, but he knew that as members of the
Federation, they could only watch.  If the Romulan Star Empire had not
requested assistance from the Federation the Lincoln and the Kaplan would still
be on the UFP side of the Neutral Zone.  Still, Mastech _trusted_ the crew of
the Lincoln.  He found it amazing that they had agreed to be part of this
mission, to be with the enemy.  To him, it meant quite a great deal when one
was willing to "sleep with the enemy".
      The door suddenly hissed open.  Turning, Mastech saw Commander Desharn
enter the room, an arrogant smile on his face.  The smile matched the thick
scar on that covered the left half of his face. 
      "Commander!  Really, now, are you still angry about your ship?"
      "I'm only angry that I actually believed that lie about your orders
coming from Headquarters."
      "But they did come from Headquarters!"
      "Yes, I suppose they did.  But I'm sure that lying is all part of the
character of the man who was responsible for the massacre at Narendra Three."
      "Are you going to bring that up again?"
      "I should have brought it up over twenty-five years ago.  Imagine...how
can one attack a peaceful Klingon colony and then claim that it was a military
installation?"
      Desharn glared at Mastech for a long time.  Finally, he said, "I suppose
you don't want to know that we will be rendevousing with our sister vessels in
ten minutes."  His voice dripped with menace.
      "I find it good.  Perhaps this mission will succeed.  Or perhaps they're
losing faith in your abilities."
      Snarling, Desharn brought out his disrupter and pointed it Mastech.  "You
will be destroyed!"
      Mastech glanced coolly at the weapon.  "Go ahead, Desharn.  Kill me. 
Know this, however: no one is going to believe your explanation for my
disappearance."
      Desharn snarled again and put it away.  "Perhaps you're right.  But mind
you, Commander...in the midst of a pitched battle, anything is possible."  Then
he turned and left. 
      "I'm sure anything is possible," Mastech called out as the doors closed
behind Desharn.  Then he sat down and stared out the window, watching the
stars streaking away as the Artez moved at warp 7.

      Captain Patrick Staams headed toward the turbolift, a score of things on
his mind.  He was feeling odd in the gut--possibly because of the events about
to transpire, and also because of the recent conversation with Admiral Langon. 
He hit his communicator and contacted the bridge. 
      "This is the bridge, Lt. Mressle in command."
      "Mr. Mressle, where is Commander McCallum?"
      "He went to his quarters, sir, then to the mess area.  He'll be returning
shortly."
      "Good.  Prepare to take us out of warp.  We will be encountering some
more Romulan ships, so do no be alarmed.  I'll be up on the bridge shortly."
      "Aye, sir."
      Staams stopped in front of the turbolift and waited.  Soon, the turbolift
doors opened, and he stepped in--
      --and stopped short. 
      Standing in the turbolift were Commander McCallum and Sub-commander
V'Shyareth.  They did not see Staams, due to the fact that they had their arms
around one another and were locked in a passionate kiss.
      "AHEM!"
      The two suddenly separated, eyes wide, looking more like scared children
rather than officers of Starfleet and the Romulan Navy.  "C-Captain?" McCallum
stammered, then, calmly, said, "We were on our way to the bridge, Sir."
      "Yes, Captain," V'Shyareth added.
      A large grin appeared on Staams' face.  "Well, that's where I was going
too!  By the way Arthur, have you given thought to what might happen if her
father found out about you two?"
      "Captain!"
      Staams gave a chuckle.  "Relax, Arthur.  Your secret is safe with me. 
But both of you...really, why?"
      V'Shyareth and McCallum traded looks with one another.  Finally, McCallum
said, "I suppose it defies logic, Captain."
      "I suppose it does," Staams replied as the turbolift conitinued to the
bridge.

      The fabric of space was abruptly twisted and torn as three ships emerged
from warp:  the demonic-looking Artez, the squat form of the Kaplan, and the
long graceful form of the Lincoln. 
      Lt. Rilia, the Lincoln's Communications Officer, said, "Captain, message
from the Kaplan."
      "Put it on audio."
      The voice of Captain Craig Holzmann came over the audio system. "Well,
Pat," Holzmann said, "we're here.  So where's our welcoming committee?"
      Suddenly, Lt. Peterson shouted, "Romulan vessels decloaking off our
starboard and port sides!"
      "There's your answer," Staams said.
      Onscreen, there was the characteristic ripple of decloaking, except that
it was repeated by three ships.  Then the crew of both the Lincoln and the
Kaplan found themselves looking at two more Romulan Warbirds and a Romulan Nova
battleship.  Lt. Rilia then said, "Captain, we are being hailed."
      "Onscreen."
      The image of a Romulan appeared.  He was of medium height, but his dark
hair was beginning to go grey.  "I am Commander Remaar of the Vengeance.  I am
pleased to see you, Federation Captains.  Which of you is Captain Staams?"
      Staams stood up and approached the screen.  "I am.  The pleasure is mine,
Commander."
      "I see, Captain.  I am grateful to meet the man who saved my mentor and
teacher.  Oh...is that V'Shyareth I see on your bridge?"
      "Yes, Remaar," V'Shyareth said, "it is I."
      "Captain, now that the formalities are out of the way, we can proceed."
      "Very well.  Where was the last known position of the Borg ship?" 
      "We are giving you the coordinates right now.  The last position is the
G'Harek system.  Are you prepared to get under way?"
      "Yes."
      "Very well.  Vengeance out."
      Staams turned to Lt. Mressle.  "Mr. Mressle, do you have those
coordinates?"
      "Yes, Captain.  I'm setting the coordinates now."
      "Good.  Make our speed warp eight.  Lt. Rilia, contact the Kaplan and see
if they recieved the information.  If not, send it to them."
      "Captain!" McCallum said, "the Romulan ships are entering warp."
      Staam took his seat, ran a hand through his hair, and said, "Mr. Mressle,
engage."
      The Lincoln shuddered, then flung itself into warp speed.

      "Emerging out of warp, Captain," Lt. Peterson announced.  "We have
entered the G'Harek star system."
      "Very good.  Lt. Allarza, sensor readings, please."
      Bending over her instruments, Lt. Allarza said, "Captain, there is a
large vessel in orbit of the fifth planet.  Configurations match that of the
Borg."
      "Very well.  Shields up, red alert.  Ready phsers, and load torpedoes."
      From his station, McCallum read the information displayed on a small
screen.  "The other ships are doing the same, Captain.  The Vengeance is taking
lead and moving toward the Borg ship at full impulse power."
      "Good.  Mr. Mressle, take us in."  All over the ship, the crew readied
themselves for the encounter.
      The Lincoln, Kaplan, Artez, Star Hunter, and Darkflyer followed the
Vengeance in battle formation, with the Vengeance in front and the other five
starships stretched out behind it in a curve.  Soon, the large cube that was
the Borg ship grew larger.  Staams fought to put down the pins-and-needles
sensation in his belly.  It was the first time he had actually seen a Borg ship
up close.  Turning to McCallum, he saw that his first officer's face was a mask
of hatred.  He stared at the growing shape of the Borg ship with such a fury...
      "Distance to Borg ship, Captain...one-hundred and fifty kilometers." said
Lt. Mressle. 
      "Good.  Hold us here, Mr. Mressle, and await further orders."     
      "The Borg have not responded, Captain.  They are not moving," Lt. Allarza
added.
      From her station, Lt. Rilia spoke.  "The Vengeance is hailing the Borg,
Captain.  The Borg are now responding."
      "Onscreen," Staams responded.  Time to meet the enemy.
      The screen flashed to a different view--and it was one that made Staams
stand straight up, made the rest of the bridge crew gasp, and made V'Shyareth
reach out and clutch McCallum's arm painfully.
      On screen, a Borg faced the crew.  He was tall, and dressed in a black
body armor with various wires and cables running through the armor.  Some
cables were attached to his head.  His left arm was a monstrosity, a steel
gauntlet that looked too heavy.  But his face...
      The top of the head was covered with a skullcap.  But the Borg's face was
that of a Romulan.  It was the face of Commander Jistred.

      "My...God," said Captain Craig Holzmann on the bridge of the Kaplan.  He
turned to his science officer, a Vulcan named Koress, and asked, "Mr. Koress,
is that _thing_ a Romulan?"
      "Logic would suggest that it is, Captain.  He could be a victim from an
earlier Borg assualt."
      The Romulan/Borg spoke.  "We are Lokarek of Borg.  You shal not resist
us.  Disarm your weapons and escort us to the planet Romulus.  Resistance is 
futile.  If you attempt to stop us, we will destroy you."
      On board the Vengeance, Commander Remaar shook off his initial shock and
said, "Lokarek of Borg...that is not your real name.  Who are you?"
      "We are Lokarek of Borg."
      "No you are not!" Remaar shouted.  On board the Lincoln, Staams wanted to
cringe at the fury of Remaar's voice.  Instead, he stared at the screen
impasively, awaiting the outcome.
      "Your demands," Lokarek said, "are irrelevant.  This unit was once
Jistred of Romulus.  He was declared irrelevant and replaced.  He is now the
spokesman for the Borg.  He is replacing the two before him, Locutus and
Vastator.  Now, you will disarm your weapons and escort us to the planet
Romulus."
      On the Lincoln's bridge, Staams turned to V'Shyareth.  "Commander, who
was this...Jistred?"
      Shaken, she answered, "He was one of our best commanders...but look at
what happened to him."
      "Captain!  The Vengeance is opening fire on the Borg ship!"
      All eyes were on the screen as the Warbird opened fire, with a full
photon torpedo spread.  The attack seemed to do nothing, but the Borg ship
responded by firing a blue beam at the Vengeance.  The ship shook, unable to
move because of the tractor beam.
      "Tractor beam!" McCallum shouted.
      Staams made up his mind in a second.  "Mr. Mressle, move us to position
Delta-12.  Engage."
      The Lincoln, with the Kaplan following, charged toward the Borg ship. 
The other Romulan vessels were opening fire, inflicting some damage. but not
much.  The Vengeance was still held in the grip of the Borg tractor beam.
      "Captain, the Vengeance's sheilds are down to 50 percent," Lt. Allarza
said.
      "Fire all phasers at the source of the beam.  Full photon spread!"
      The Lincoln's phasers impacted on the Borg vessel.  The photon torpedoes
hit, but appeared to do no damage. 
      "Tractor beam is still operative.  Vengeance's sheilds at 35 percent."
      "Fire!  This time, modulate frequencies."
      Once again, the Lincoln fired.  This time, however, the Kaplan joined in.
 If the Borg had been dealing with one ship, nothing would have happened.  This
time, though, the ship was dealing with multiple targets at once, and could not
transfer enough power to the tractor beam.  The combined phaser blast from both
the Lincoln and the Kaplan were enough to put it out of commission.  The
Vengeance jerked free and limped away  as the rest of the ragtag fleet moved in.
      "The Vengeance is free," said Mcallum said, "and moving away."
      "Good.  Mr. Mressle, go to position Gamma-5 and prepare to fire again."
      In seconds the Lincoln was in position.  "Fire!" yelled Staams.
      The combined phaser/photon torpedo bursts streaked across space and
impacted on the Borg ship.  The Vengeance fired a volley of her own torpedoes,
and the Kaplan moved ahead of the Lincoln, opening fire along the way.
      "Captain, there is a five percent drop in energy levels in the Borg
ship."
      The Borg ship shuddered under another attack.  Then it began to move
foward, gaining speed. 
      "The Borg ship is retreating, Captain!" Lt. Allarza shouted.
      "Move to intercept!"
      The Lincoln charged at the massive cube, but as it did, the Borg tractor
beam lanced out and caught the starship in its grip.  The bridge shook as the
Staams yelled, "Full reverse!  Reroute auxiliary power!"
      The Lincoln strained at the beam, but it was a fly caught in flypaper. 
The Kaplan moved in, firing all of its weapons.  The Darkflyer also assisted,
trying to free the Lincoln.
      "Sheilds are being drained," McCallum said.  "85 percent...63 percent..."
      "Modulate sheilds.  Fire all weapons at the Borg ship."
      Lt. Peterson's hands flew across the controls.  The Lincoln fired a full
spread of photon torpedoes and phasers.  Suddenly, it jerked free.  Lt. Mressle
began to move the ship to a safe position--
      --when a green beam lanced out from the Borg cube and began to slice into
the Lincoln's sheilds, then its hull.
      The ships shook violently.  The beam traveled across a quarter of the
primary hull, tearing through bulkheads and blowing circuits.  On the bridge,
the engineering section suddenly exploded in a shower of sparks.  The ensign at
the station was hurled away from the explosion, his face and chest charred. 
      "Ensign Freemont!" McCallum yelled.  He ran over to the wounded ensign.
      The Lincoln jerked away from the beam and seemed to fall toward to planet
below as the crew struggled to regain control.  The rest of the small fleet
continued firing at the massive Borg cube, but the ship seemed to shrug off
any attack.  Then the green beam lanced out again, this time at the older
Nova-class Darkflyer.  It laughed through its sheilds and sliced off the port
engine nacelle.  In a soundless flash, the Darkflyer came apart in a million
pieces, its commander and crew a memory.
      The Borg ship then accelerated, and jumped into warp, leaving behind five
ships.  Of those five, only three were intact.  The remaining two were damaged
considerably.
     
      Patrick Staams felt the blood on the side of his head.  A piece from the
destroyed engineering section must have nicked me, he thought.  The bridge was
filled with smoke, and the entire ship had the eerie glow of emergency lights. 
      "Damage report!"
      Lt. Mressle gave the damage as Staams walked over to McCallum.  The First
Officer was kneeling beside the wounded Ensign Freemont.  V'Shyareth was also
there, her face blackend by smoke.
      "Damage sir...Decks 4, 5, 7, and 10 and 11 report considerable damage. 
There are also casualties on Deck 4 and 5.  Engineering reports that sheilds
are off line, as well as other systems."
      "Activate auxiliary systems for those affected areas.  Contact Sickbay
and inform them of the casualties."  Staams knelt down beside Freemont and
looked across at McCallum.  "How is he?"
      "He's dead."  McCallum pointed to a thick shard of plastic which
protruded from the Ensign's neck.   
      "Damn!" Staams cursed.
      Lt. Rilia said, "Captain, message from the Kaplan."
      "Put it on audio."
      Over the audio system, Holzmann's voice came on, broken by static. 
"Lincoln, this is Kaplan, come in!  Lincoln, please respond!"
      "Lincoln here.  We've suffered some hull damage and casualties, Kaplan,
but we are now affecting repairs."
      "Thank God you're all right.  The Darkflyer was destroyed.  The Vengeance
also suffered some damage too."
      Another voice abruptly cut off Captain Holzmann.  "Attention Captain
Staams.  This is Commander Desharn.  What is your current situation?"
      "We have taken a lot of damage, and are beginning repairs."
      "Captain, I hope you finish them soon.  Artez out."
      McCallum, eyes wide in fear and anger, turned to Staams.  "Is he out of
his mind?  We nearly got carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey and this is the
attitude we get from him?"
      Staams stood up as the medical team lead by Dr. Nandor came in.  He
started to treat the wound on the Captain's face.  After a moment, Staams
said, "I see his point, Number One.  We have to resume pursuit as soon as
possible.  You see, for all intents and purposes, the Borg could be knocking
on Romulus' front door by now."
============================================================================= 

And that's all for now.  Stay tuned for Part 7!

M. Mckenzie
St. Peter's College
"I'm a TREKKER, not a TREKKIE!"     

X-NEWS: spcvxb alt.startrek.creative: 6018
Path: spcvxb!4mckenzie_m
From: 4mckenzie_m@spcvxb.spc.edu (Markmeister)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: [Fanfic] STAR TREK: Alliances Part 7
Message-ID: <1993Jun10.181406.6224@spcvxb.spc.edu>
Date: 10 Jun 93 18:14:06 EDT
Organization: St. Peter's College, US
Lines: 237

Finally, it's here: Part 7 of STAR TREK: Alliances.  Hopefully, the entire
story should be completed by the week of June 13.  But for now, as usual, damn
the photon torpedoes, and full speed ahead!



                       STAR TREK: Alliances
                       by M. Mckenzie
                       Based on characters and situations from STAR TREK: THE
NEXT GENERATION.  Copyright (c) 1993, Marc Mckenzie.  No part of this work may
be reprinted without the author's permission.



     Captain's Log, Supplemental.
     Our first encounter with the Borg...and already things look bad.
     The Romulan vessel Darkflyer was destroyed by the Borg, with all crew
lost.  A second Romulan vessel, the Vengeance, sustained heavy damage.  The
Lincoln herself suffered damage as well as twenty-nine casualties.  For the
last hour, we have been proceeding with repairs.  The Romulan vessel Star
Hunter has gone ahead of us to keep track of the Borg ship.  I...I don't know
how to say this, but I feel that the only thing capable of stopping the Borg
is a suicide maneuver.  That, however, is an action that I'm not ready to take
as yet.  Unless I can actually bring myself to view the classified information
I recieved from Starfleet Headquarters...

     Patrick Staams gave a heavy sigh as he turned off the recorder and began
massaging his temples.  Being a starship captain was hard enough, but being a
Federation captain in Romulan space in pursuit of the Borg was an even greater
headache.  Maybe I should see the counselor, he thought to himself.
     The sound of the door chime made him look up.  "Enter!"
     The doors swished open, and Commander Arthur McCallum walked in.  As the
Lincoln's First Officer, he had been working non-stop in trying to get the ship
battleworthy again.  The tired look on his face was proof of this.
     "Captain," he said, "the report from all decks.  Engineering's still
trying to repair some of the hull damage, but it shouldn't take much longer." 
He handed over a Personal Access Display Device, otherwise known as a "Padd".
     Staams took it and gave it a once-over.  "Very good, Number One. 
Commander Desharn is already raking me over the coals about our repairs.  In
fact--"
     The small screen on Staams desk made a beeping noise.  He reached over and
turned it on.  "Yes?"
     "Captain, message from the Artez."
     "Thank you, Lt. Rilia.  I'll take it."  Staams turned the screen towards
him, expecting to see Desharn's disfigured face, but instead he found himself
looking at Commander Mastech.
     "Hello, Captain.  Surprised to see me?"
     "Yes, Commander!  Where is Desharn?"
     "He's in his quarters now.  I just wanted to ask about your situation."
     "Repairs are almost finished.  We should be underway in about ten minutes
at the most."
     A brief smile appeared on Mastech's face.  "Very good, Captain.  The Star
Hunter reported that they just picked up the Borg's trail.  Right now, they
are still in pursuit.  Our best guess is this: the Borg will arrive at Romulus
in about fifteen to seventeen hours."
     Staams had been slouched over at the screen, but he quickly sat upright. 
"Are you sure?" he asked.
     "Yes.  We will contact you again, Captain.  Let us know when you've
completed repairs.  Artez out."  With that, the screen went blank.
     Staams turned to McCallum, rubbing his jaw nervously.  "Fifteen hours,
Art!  Fifteen goddamned hours!"  He stood up and began to pace the room, hands
behind his back.  He then faced McCallum again and asked, "Any ideas?"
     McCallum shrugged.  "Not really, except that we get underway as soon as
possible.  But if we can't stop the Borg, well...maybe you were told this, but
the Romulans plan on using all of their remaining starships as part of a
massive defensive ring around Romulus."
     "Yes, I did.  But...they may not need that.  Look at this."  Staams walked
past McCallum and activated the small communications screen again.  "Computer,"
he said, "access Starfleet file Lambda-RX78."
     "Accessing..." the computer replied.  Then it said, "File found.  Access
code needed to view file."
     "Access code is Staams 1-0-1-Victor."
     "Access approved," the computer remarked, and began flashing specs and
pictures. 
     McCallum leaned closer.  As he looked at the information, his eyes
widened.  "Good Lord...Captain, why weren't we informed of this before?"
     "Because," Staams replied, "we are, technically, in enemy territory."

     Ships.  Dozens, no hundreds of them, seemingly crammed together, even in
the vastness of space.
     "And yet, they may do us no good," remarked Commander K'Solok.  He was
staring out of the viewport of the Preator-class warpshuttle that was ferrying
him to his command, the Warbird-class ship Violator.
     The view that K'Solok described was one that the Federation had never
seen, and that few Romulans would ever see: over three hundred Romulan ships
arranged in formation around the homeworld, Romulus.  The old and the new were
there--Warbirds, Graceful Flyers, Gallant Wings, Novas, Whitewings--and even a
few of the very old but venerable Bird of Prey-class ships.  And the ship that
would lead the charge against the Borg, should they enter Romulus' star system,
was K'Solok's own, the Violator.
     "They might, Commander," came the voice of K'Solok's First Officer,
Garvas.  He was a young Romulan, young and inexperienced.  He stared at the
array of ships in wonderment.  To him, such an assembly was a dream come true,
even more than his career in the Romulan Navy.
     "So you say, young one, but you have never faced the Borg.  Then again,
neither have I.  Only the Federation holds that honor."
     "In a way, they are probably responsible for the Borg coming here."
     K'Solok faced his First Officer with a look of fury.  "Nonsense!  The Borg
may have encountered the Federation first, my boy, but that is no reason for
our current predicament!"
     Garvas, suprised by the outburst, turned away and said nothing.
     "Commander," the shuttle pilot called out, "we will dock in approximately
five minutes."
     "Good."
     "And one more thing sir...a message just came in.  The estimate for the
Borg's arrival."
     "How long until they arrive?"
     "Roughly fifteen hours, sir."
     K'Solok turned to look out the viewport again.  "Fifteen hours," he said
quietly, "fifteen hours."

     The Lincoln was back in business again.
     The red glare of the emergency lights was replaced by the soft glow of the
ship's normal lighting as Staams and McCallum arrived on the bridge.  All
damage had been repaired, and the crew was ready to go...or so it seemed,
anyway.  Staams walked to the front of the bridge and prepared to address the
ship.  Giving the signal to Lt. Rilia to send the message through the ship, he
started to speak. 
     "Attention all hands.  This is the Captain.  As all of you know, we are
about to continue our pursuit of the Borg ship.  However, I'm sure that not all
of you would like to continue, after what happened during our first meeting. 
But we must do as ordered.  If we do not survive, I just want all of you to
know that...you have all been a fantastic crew.  That is all."
     Sub-commander V'Shyareth approached Staams.  "That seemed rather, what is
the word, 'pessimistic', Captain."
     "I figured that much, Sub-commander.  By the way, please accompany
Commander McCallum to my quarters immediatly.  I'm going to get in touch with
the rest of the commanders before we depart."
     "Any reason why, Captain?" V'Shyareth said, her brow creasing.
     "Yes.  Let's just say that it is important...extremely important."
     "Captain," Lt. Rilia said, "Commander Remaar, sir.  He said that the Star
Hunter has ceased transmission."
     Staams gave McCallum and V'Shyareth a knowing look.  "Come on," he said,
and headed for the turbolift.

     "I demand to know why we have not departed yet, Captain!" Desharn spat,
"the Vengeance has already completed repairs, but you...you insist on holding
us up!"
     "Enough Desharn!" V'Shyareth shot back.  "The Captain felt that there was
infomation that we should see." 
     Desharn glared at her.  She was standing close to McCallum, a little too
close for Desharn's taste.  But he simply growled and sat down in one of the
chairs near him.
     Captain Craig Holzmann, captain of the USS Kaplan, said, "Pat, time's
a-wasting.  While we're here--"
     "Gentlemen, please.  I'm well aware of what is going on.  However, it is
more important to see what I'm about to show you."  Staams then turned to the
computer screen and gave his access code.  The main screen, stationed on a
nearby wall, lit up, and displayed a large, cylinder-like device.  Around it
appeared numbers and other data.  It was five feet high, and had several
spheres connected to it.  The overall color was a dull steel-grey.
     "What is that?" Holzmann asked.
     "That," Staams said, "is our ace-in-the-hole.  You are looking at mock-up
of an implosion torpedo."
     "A what?" asked Commander Paike, the Kaplan's First Officer.
     "An implosion torpedo," repeated McCallum.  He walked to the screen and
faced the group.  "Possibly one of the most dangerous weapons ever conceived. 
It uses magnets and energy to crush a portion of antimatter, 'imploding' it,
in other words.  In the process, it creates a micro black hole that will draw
in anything in its vicinity."
     The room was silent.  Finally, Desharn said, "This device...when was the
idea brought up?"
     Staams fielded the question.  "The theory is not new.  After Wolf 359,
however, it was given more research.  This is one of the few anti-Borg weapons
that the Federation has been developing so far.  I recieved the specifications
only recently.  It had been...classified."
     "Classified?  CLASSIFIED?  Why?" Desharn roared.
     Sensing trouble, McCallum spoke up quickly.  "This device can be
replicated on a starship, given the right tools and materials...Starfleet felt
that giving the information to every captain would be dangerous--"
     "No!  You wanted to keep the information from us because the Federation
was afraid that the Romulans would use it!" Desharn thundered.  His face was a
mask of barely-contained rage.
     McCallum said, "The belief was that a starship captain would use the
weapon against an enemy without knowing the full effects of it.  But,
Commander, you do have a point.  There was a great deal of arguements at
Starfleet because of the nature of the weapon in light of this crisis...and
this weapon was originally thought of as a Federation 'doomsday device'. 
Still, Starfleet's initial reluctance was due in part to, well, a 'Cold War'
mentality."  He glanced at V'Shyareth briefly.
     Desharn looked around at the room.  "You expect me to believe and be part
of such a bald-faced lie?  Never!"  Before anyone could react he had drawn out
a disrupter, seemingly from out of nowhere, and pointed it at Staams.
     No one moved.  Staams stood still, his face still and impassive. 
Holzmann's hand moved to his phaser, but he did not touch it out of fear for
his friend's life.
     "Now, Captain...in the interests of intergalactic justice, I am placing
you under arrest--"
     Then he was knocked to the ground, violently.  As he struggled to stand,
there was a second howl of a disrupter.  In a brief flash of green fire,
Desharn vanished.  There was no time for him to even cry out.
     "Security!  Captain's quarters!" McCallum shouted into his communicator.
     Commander Mastech slowly brought down the disrupter he held tightly in his
hand.  "I'm sorry Captain.  I did not mean to do this...but your life was at
stake."
     Staams glanced at the charred spot where Desharn used to be.  "It's all
right, Commander.  I just wish it did not have to be that way."
     "Why?" Holzmann demanded.  "He went apeshit over the information about the
torpedo?"
     "No, Captain," V'Shyareth said.  "Commander Desharn was always unstable. 
Unfortunately, he was one of our best commanders, and so--"
     She turned to Mastech.  "What will you do now?" 
     "Resume command of the Artez.  Right now, the crew will be ready for
anyone besides Desharn.  I'll just say that there was...an accident."
     The doors opened, and a security team entered.  They spotted the charred
spot, the disrupter in Mastech's hand--
     "Don't do anything, Lt. Errisson," Staams said, "the situation is in hand.
 Return to your post; we're about to leave."
     Giving the Captain a surprised nod, the Errisson left.
     Staams turned to group.  "Now, gentlemen, shall we get on with the
business at hand?  Craig, get your ship ready for departure.  Commander
Mastech, Commander Remaar--both of you as well.  We will be the lead ship this
time, and follow the coordinates left to us by the Star Hunter.  Art, can you
construct an implosion torpedo according to the specifications given to us?"
     "There shouldn't be a problem, but it could take us a lot of time."
     "Good.  Start on it right now, time be damned.  We have very little of it
anyway."

     "Ready for departure, Captain." Lt. Peterson called out.
     "Good.  Mr. Mressle, set your course and make our speed warp 8."
     "Course set, Captain."
     "Engage."
     The Lincoln entered warp speed again.  Staams sat in his command chair,
replaying the recent events over and over again in his mind.  Somewhere out
there, the Borg were waiting, ignoring nothing else but their single purpose of
assimilating the Romulan Star Empire.  And if the ace Staams had up his sleeve
didn't work...
     He pushed the thought aside and stared at the stars streaking past on the
viewscreen.
============================================================================

And that's all for now...stay tuned for Part 8.

M. Mckenzie
St. Peter's College
"I'm a TREKKER, not a TREKKIE!"

Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!hobbes.physics.uiowa.edu!math.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!spcvxb!4mckenzie_m
From: 4mckenzie_m@spcvxb.spc.edu (Markmeister)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: STAR TREK: Alliances Part 8
Message-ID: <1993Jun18.150411.6357@spcvxb.spc.edu>
Date: 18 Jun 93 15:04:11 EDT
Organization: St. Peter's College, US
Lines: 417

    Finally, here it is...Part 8 of STAR TREK: Alliances.  This is also the
conclusion of the story as well, since I'm going home in a few days.  A sincere
"thank you!" for all of the positive responses I've recieved for the
story...so, as it was said, "Dis is goodbye..."

    See you in the fall!
    M. Mckenzie
================================================================================



                             STAR TREK: Alliances
                             by M. Mckenzie
                             Based on characters and situations from STAR TREK:
THE NEXT GENERATION.  Copyright (c) 1993, Marc Mckenzie.



     Captain's Log, Stardate 44443.12.
     With only twelve hours left before the Borg ship enters the Romulus star
system, the Lincoln, Kaplan, and Artez are pushing it to the limit in order to
intercept them.  As of now, my First Officer and Sub-commander V'Shyareth,
along with the Engineering section, are putting the final touches on the
"implosion torpedo" that could be our only chance against the Borg...
     Somehow, no one has been affected by the death of Commander Desharn. 
Commander Mastech has taken operational command of Desharn's ship, the Artez,
and reports that all is well.  In a short time, however, "all is well" might be
an understatement...

     "All right, Commander.  The magnets and matter injectors are in place. 
You can install the antimatter charge."  With this, Commander Velazquez stepped
away from the five-foot high cylinder that stood upright on a worktable in the
Lincoln's engineering section.  The middle area of the cylinder was open like a
clamshell, revealing a snarl of wires, isolinear chips, and lights.
     "Good.  Loading the charge."  Commander Arthur McCallum picked up a squat
container with a pair of clamps, and walked over to the cylinder.  "V'Shyareth,
get ready."
     With a nod, the Romulan placed her hand on the cylinder's surface.
     McCallum, with great care, placed the container inside a niche in the
cylinder.  The container in place, he said, "Now!"
     V'Shyareth pressed a series of switches, and the cylinder closed with an
audible hiss.  She checked a nearby screen and said, "The antimatter is in
place and holding."  Giving a brief smile, she looked at McCallum.  He gave her
a wink, and hit his communicator. 
     "Engineering to bridge."
     "Bridge here."
     "Captain, the firecracker is ready.  Repeat, the firecracker is ready. 
Spread the word."
     "Very good, Number One.  I'll be down in shortly.  Bridge out."

     Patrick Staams, hands behind his back, walked around the thing that sat in
Engineering.  Eyes narrowed, he gave the object a thorough examination before
turning to McCallum.  "So it's ready, then."
     "It is.  We had a bit of a problem finding some of the parts, but there it
is."
     "Good.  Now, how do we use it?"
     Surprised, McCallum traded looks with V'Shyareth and Velazquez.  Finally,
he turned to the Captain.  "Uh, Captain, didn't you see the report?..."
     Staams suddenly laughed.  "It's all right Art, I'm only joking.  Which is
something that is unusual under the circumstances.  I understand," he added,
taking another walk around the cylinder, "that we have to _transport_ it to the
vicinity of the object we intend to use it on."  He turned to face McCallum
again.  "Right or wrong?"
     It was V'Shyareth that spoke up.  She had surprised everyone by changing
from her Romulan uniform to the standard Federation jumpsuit.  McCallum was't
complaining, as it displayed her lithe figure.  "It is not that simple,
Captain.  We...cannot transport it."
     Raising an eyebrow, Staams asked why.
     "If we were intending to destroy a rouge asteroid or dead moon, then
arming the torpedo and transporting it to the object would work.  But, in this
instance, we are dealing with the Borg.  They would probably be alerted to it,
and destroy it before it had a chance to work."
     "Yet if they destroy it, won't that set off the antimatter charge?"
     "No," McCallum answered.  "The torpedo has a sensor that detects if the
surface temperature exceeds a certain level.  If a phaser were to hit the
torpedo, it would eject the antimatter charge.  Of course, this is all based on
theory."
     "A theory is better than nothing.  So what do you have in mind?"
     "The same strategy that the Enterprise used to rescue Captain Picard from
the Borg.  We take in a shuttle, under low power, beam the torpedo into the
Borg ship, and get the hell out of there."
     "Why can't we beam the torpedo into the Borg ship using our own
transporter?"
     "The Borg will have their shields up.  Besides, if our shields are up--"
     "Then transport is impossible.  All right, Number One, we'll have to
discuss your plan with--"  Staams did not finish, because the sound of klaxons
echoed through the ship.
     "Red Alert, Captain and First Officer to the bridge.  All crew to
battlestations!  Red Alert!" 
     The Engineering section crew hurried to their assigned locations as
Staams, McCallum, and V'Shyareth headed for the nearest turbolift. 

     "Captain on the bridge," called out Lt. Rilia from the Communications
station.  From the conn, Lt. Mressle stood up and deferred the seat to Staams. 
  All around the bridge, the crew stood ready for battle. 
     "Status," Staams said as he took the conn.
     "The Borg ship is coming out of warp, Captain," Mressle growled over his
shoulder as he assumed his position at the helm.  "It appears to be heading to
a contingent of Romulan scout ships."
     "That is the Gitan deep space group," V'Shyareth said.  "They must have
been waiting here."
     "Lt. Peterson, take us out of warp.  Raise shields and ready weapons.  Lt.
Rilia, contact the Artez and the Kaplan and inform them--"
     "They are coming out of warp, Captain," Rilia spoke.  "The Kaplan is
hailing us."
     "Put it on audio.  Activate main viewer."
     On the screen, the stars ceased to streak by as the Lincoln left warp
speed and switched to full impulse power.  At the same time, the voice of Craig
Holzmann came over the audio system.
     "Kaplan to Lincoln.  Pat, are you there?  Do you see it?"
     "Lincoln here.  Yes, we do.  Assume formation.  You take the lead."
     "Is the surprise package ready?"
     "Yes.  Lincoln out."
     From her position at the Science station, Lt. Allarza said, "distance to
Borg ship...240...225...210...204..."
     The massive form of the USS Kaplan moved to the front of the Lincoln as
the Warbird Artez stationed itself off the Lincoln's starboard side.  The giant
cube that was the Borg ship grew larger by the second.
     "190...178...165..." Lt. Allarza continued, "Captain, the Borg ship is
firing."  On the screen, there was a flash of light, then the blurred form of
an explosion.  Another one followed seconds later.     
     "Two of the vessels have been destroyed," Lt. Allarza said.
     "Mr. Mressle, take this ship to the limit, even if you have to shake her
apart to do so!" Staams turned to McCallum.  "Art, do you suggest an antimatter
spread?"
     Nodding, McCallum answered, "And a shuttle."
     "Get on it.  We're not going to have a second shot at this."
     McCallum headed to the turbolift, V'Shyareth behind him.  Staams watched
them go, then turned to face the main viewer again.  "Status."
     "All of the Romulan ships were destroyed, Captain.  The Borg ship suffered
no damage."
   
     The Borg uni-mind quickly assimilated the information and raw materials
from the ships it had destroyed.  Obviously a stop-gap measure, but an
irrelevant one.  Soon, it would be the planet Romulus...
     Lokarek of Borg, formally Commander Jistred of the Romulan Star Empire,
stared impassively at the area where the group of Romulan scouts had stood. 
His face showed no signs of emotions; besides, the implants which criss-crossed
his face would have made any movements impossible.  The information taken from
the mind of Jistred had been accurate.  The small, pitiful group of vessels was
there; now they were gone.
     Instructions were sent out throug the uni-mind to prepare the ship for
warp.  Suddenly, something was detected...no, three things, in fact. 
Starships, but those matching the configurations of those ships that had
bothering the Borg like troublesome insects.  A new command was sent out.  It
was a command to prepare for battle.
   
     In the cavernous shuttlecraft bay of the Lincoln, McCallum brought an
anti-grav pallet to a stop in front of a Type 16 shuttlepod, the MacNair. 
Resting on th pallet was the implosion torpedo.  Quickly, V'Shyareth opened the
shuttle's rear hatch and entered the vehicle.  McCallum followed, pushing the
pallet in front of him into the craft.  He pressed his communicator pin and
said, "First Officer to bridge.  Ready at our end, Captain."
     "Good.  Stand by."
     McCallum sat at the shuttle's controls, V'Shyareth doing the same.  "All
right, let's power up this thing," he said.

     "Fire photon and anti-matter spread!" yelled Craig Holzmann from the conn
of the Kaplan.  The starship cut loose with a barrage of torpedoes and
anti-matter.  The Borg ship, impossibly huge, was hit hard.
     "Borg shields are dropping, sir," called out Lt. Wiggins. 
     The Lincoln and the Artez joined in.  Both ships opened up with everything
they had.  The Artez swooped in, an ultratech bird of prey, and released a
volley of photon torpedoes and phasers on the Borg cube.  Each time, the ship
shook, taking an increasing amount of damage.
     "Borg shields are down to...seventy-five percent, Captain," Lt. Allarza
reported. 
     "Excellent!  Tell Commander McCallum to get ready to launch."  Please,
Staams thought, please let Murphy's Law not apply right now.

     The Borg uni-mind was puzzled. 
     Somehow, these ships were executing a particularly vicious attack on them.
 It was impossible.  The shields were being depleted, and it could not sustain
them much longer...unless...
     Targeting the closest ship, the Kaplan, the Borg struck back.

     The infamous blue beam lanced out from the Borg ship and struck the Kaplan
dead on.
     Holzmann and most of his crew were thrown out of their seats as the ship
was gripped firmly by the tractor beam.  "Shields collapsing!" shouted Commader
Paike, hanging on for dear life.
     "Modulate frequencies!  Fire at the Borg again!"
     The Lincoln and Artez moved in, firing all weapons, but the Kaplan still
remained like a trapped bug.  Suddenly, it jerked free. 
     "Get us out of here!" Holzmann shouted, just as the Borg fired again.  The
beam sliced through the Kaplan's weakened shields and directly into the hull. 
It sliced through the port warp nacelle, igniting gases and blowing the nacelle
off.  It travelled in a zig-zag pattern around the ship, destroying bulkheads
and decks.  Crewmembers were roasted alive by the fires and explosions or were
killed by the deadly vacuum of space.
     On the ruined bridge, Holzmann struggled to sit up.  His arm was a ruined
mess, and many of the systems were out.  "Damage...report...anyone..."
     Lt. Wiggens stood up, suprisingly not seriously injured.  "Major
casualties, sir...all main systems are out with the exception of Engineering. 
Heavy casualties on all decks, sir."  He turned to Holzmann, a worried look on
his face. 
     "Do we still have impulse power?"
     "Yes sir.  Warp drive is inoperative."
     Holzmann stared at the unmoving body of Commander Paike, and then at the 
flickering main viewer.  He could see the Lincoln and the Artez hammering away
at the Borg ship.  "Mr. Wiggens...do you think a well-placed blow can stop
them?"
     "A suicide run, sir?  It's possible...should I set course for the Borg
ship, sir?"
     Despite the pain he felt, Holzmann smiled.  "Make it so, Mr. Wiggens."
     "It's been a pleasure serving with you, Captain," Wiggens spoke as he
entered the coordinates.  With a low, screeching sound, the Kaplan moved
foward.
   
     "Captain!" Lt. Peterson called out, "the Kaplan is preparing to ram the
Borg ship!"
     Tell me something I don't know, Staams thought.  "Get us out of here! 
Shields at full stregnth!"  On the viewscreen, he watched as the Artez moved
to a safe distance.  The Lincoln swung around and headed away at full speed,
trying to escape the explosive effects of Craig Holzmann's last order.  Like
some kind of metal stake, the dying hulk of the Kaplan struck at the heart of
the Borg ship.  The hull crumpled on impact, but the matter and antimatter in
the ship's engines detonated with the fury and power of a small nova.  In a
burst of blinding light, the two ships vanished.
     The shock waves reached out and battered the Lincoln and the Artez.  The
crews of both ships were shaken, but there was no serious damage.  Staams,
agonizing over what he had seen, ordered the Lincoln to turn around.
     "But, Captain..." Lt. Mressle objected, as McCallum and V'Shyareth entered
the bridge.  McCallum shouted, "Good Lord!"  All eyes followed his shaking hand
as he pointed at the screen.  There were some emotions that the Vulcan Science
Academy could not help a human supress.
     On the screen, there was the expanding cloud of residue from the
explosion.  But then, a shape emerged from the cloud.  There were gasps from
the bridge as the shape became clearer.  It was the Borg ship, but it was
heavily damaged, perhaps, mortally.  The top half of the cube was almost gone,
shredded and charred beyond repair.  There were cracks all over the vessel, and
brief flashes appeared here and there on its surface. 
     "Status of the Borg ship," Staams asked, eyes still on the mangled cube.
     "Energy levels are at fifty percent and dropping, sir.  Nearly one half of
the ship's mass is gone...what the-"  Giving her instruments a second glance,
Lt. Allarza said, "Captain, energy levels are increasing!  Fifty-five
percent...sixty three....seventy one..."
     "Impossible," Staams whispered, but it was all too true.  The truncated
cube turned and leaped ahead into warp speed.

     Captain's Log, Supplemental.
     With only nine hours left until the Borg reach Romulus, the Lincoln is
attempting to "head them off at the pass."  Readings indicated that the ship
was only travelling at Warp 4.  Still, the fact that it took the full blast of
a matter-antimatter explosion is nothing more than incredible. 
     I am faced now with the loss of a good friend and fellow Captain.  Craig
Holzmann may have lost his life, but he gave us valuable time to plan another
counterattack.  We still plan on using the implosion torpedo.  Commander
Mastech has sent his condolances, but the mood of the crew is one of
hopelessness and futility.  I think that this will be the Lincoln's last stand.
     I refuse to go out without a fight.

     Staams looked out of the windows of his quarters.  The stars were
streaking by as the Lincoln pushed on at warp 8, but they seemed empty,
useless. 
     Craig Holzmann was dead.  Staams was grieving silently, remembering the
times the two had at the Academy.  Staams, Holzmann, Breknarrek, Moodey...the
"Gang of Four", was the nickname given to them, one of the rowdiest groups in
the Academy's history.  The jokes, the pranks, the usual riff-raff...
     Staams hung his head, but he held the tears in and regained his composure.
 The worst thing a Starfleet captain could have on his mind was revenge, but
Patrick Staams could think of nothing else.

     In his room, McCallum sat on the wide couch,  V'Shyareth sitting next to
him.  His eyes were downcast, and he did not speak. 
     "I can't believe it," he said finally.  "An anti-matter blast...and it
took the full force of it.  Even with all of that damage, it still survived..."
     Reaching out with her hand, V'Shyareth touched his shoulder.  "Don't
torture youself..."
     He turned to look at her.  "Can't anything stop them, though?  What does
it take to do that?  How many ships are going to be destroyed before they
can--"  He stopped as V'Shyareth kissed him.  It wasn't the appropriate time,
but he held her until she pulled away. 
     "The torpedo can do the job," she said finally.
     "I hope so."
 
     The Lincoln and the Artez sat side by side in space, like two gunslingers
about to meet the main villian in an Old-West duel.
     On the bridge, Staams tapped the arm of his chair.  "Lt. Allarza?"
     "Distubance ahead.  Ship emerging from warp."
     "Battle stations."
     On the screen, the mangled form of the Borg ship appeared.  It drove on,
approaching the two ships that stood in its way.  "Now!" Staams shouted.
     The Artez and the Lincoln shot foward, opening fire with phasers, photon
torpedoes, and anti-matter spreads.  The Borg ship shuddered again, but
continued on its way.  The Lincoln fired again, going at close range.  Staams
hid his satisfaction as explosions flashed around the cube. 
     "Borg ship has taken heavy damage, Captain," Lt. Mressle spoke.  Lt.
Allarza added, "Their shields are down to sixty-nine percent."
     "Good.  Mr. Peterson, take us in again.  Number One, get ready to deliver
the present to our friends."

     McCallum and V'Shyareth headed for the shuttlecraft bay at a quick run. 
As they reached the door, McCallum turned around.  "Looks like it's my turn
now.  Get to the bridge and contact Artez."  As he turned around, V'Shyareth
pulled his phaser from his jumpsuit and fired.  McCallum fell to the deck,
stunned.  V'Shyareth got down and pulled him away from the shuttlecraft door.
  Pushing him up against the wall so that he was sitting down, she kissed him
quickly.  "I'm sorry, my love...but you are needed here."
     Without another word she removed his communicator pin and entered the bay,
heading for the MacNair.  Once aboard, she began to activate the crafts's main
systems.
   
     The Lincoln fired another round of photon torpedoes.  More explosions
appeared on the surface of the Borg cube as each torpedo found their mark.
     "The Borg shields are down to twenty-eight percent," reported Lt. Allarza.
     "Tell Commander McCallum to get ready," Staams put out just as the borg
fired at the Lincoln.
     -Impossible!-Staams thought, but the Lincoln was gripped firmly by the
beam.  The ship's shields began to give way, even as the crew struggled to
modulate them.  "Shields have failed!" reported Lt. Peterson.
     "Launch the shuttle!" Staams shouted, when he saw a ship materialize in
front of the Lincoln. 
     It was a Romulan Warbird.  Several more decloaked around the Borg ship and
opened fire.  The Lincoln jerked free, escaping the tractor beam.  On the
screen, a Romulan's face appeared.  "I am Commander K'Solok of the Violator. 
We are here to assist you, Captain Staams."
     The rest of K'Solok's fleet moved in inflicting more damage on the Borg
cube.  The remainder of the ship was tattered and fired feebly at the Romulan
craft. 
     "Commander K'Solok, thank you for your assistance, but you must leave this
area at once.  I can't explain right now, but go to warp speed immediatly!" 
     At that moment, the turbolift opened, and McCallum stumbled out.  Staams
turned and saw him, a surprised expression on his face.  "Art!  What the--I
thought that you were in the shuttle!"
     "No..." McCallum said weakly.  "It's V'Shyareth...she's going to set it
off..."

     The MacNair was lucky.  With the Borg ship facing off against nearly ten
ships, and in its seriuosly damaged state, it ignored the small craft as it
slipped through the weakened shields.  On board, V'Shyareth armed the implosion
 torpedo and readied the shuttle's emergency transporter.  Selecting the
coordinates, she watched as the weapon disappeared in a twinkling, blue haze.

     The uni-mind was damaged severely.  The collision with the Federation
starship had caused untold damage to the cube's structure, and hundreds of
units were destroyed.  Now, more ships had arrived, and there was not enough
power to fight them...
     The uni-mind detected something else.  A massive buildup of power,
originating within the cube itself!  Yet it was inconcievable!  Impossible!  It
was--
   
     Staams saw the Borg ship shudder.  As it did, it appeared to fall in on
itself, as if being drawn into a straw--
     "Mr. Mressle!  WARP SPEED!" 
     The Lincoln tilted crazily as the ship turned and shot into warp.  They
rode ahead of the effects of the implosion of the Borg cube, but the ship shook
as the massive amount of gravity generated by the creation of the micro-black
hole threatened to draw them in.  An eternity seeme
     "Status report!"
     Lt. Allarza looked at her instruments.  "The Borg ship is...gone, sir. 
And so is the micro-black hole.  There is no sign of the shuttle, sir."
     Staams watched McCallum.  The Commander looked off to one side, but said
nothing.  Reports came in from over the ship; no damage was found.  "Art,"
Staams began, "I'm sorry--"
     "Don't be Captain," came V'Shyareth's voice from the turbolift.  She stood
there, a little shaken, but fine.  Seeing the shocked look on McCallum's face,
she said, "I used the emergency transporter at the last minute."  She handed
him his communicator pin and his phaser.  "I'm sorry for what I did."
     McCallum smiled as Staams ordered Mressle to set a course for Romulus. 
Following the group of ships led by the Violator, the Lincoln and the Artez
entered warp.
                         ********************

     Patrick Staams and Arthur McCallum stood at attention as V'Shyareth--now a
full Commander--and Commander Mastech presented them with Order of the Great
Wing, one of the highest honors given by the Romulan Command. 
     "For the deed of saving our homeworld, at the possible cost of your lives,
people of the Romulan Star Empire salute you."  All around them, in the great
hall that served as the place of the ceremony, applause came.  Both men looked
around, still not believing that they were on the homeworld of one of their
greatest enemies.  V'Shyareth stepped foward and placed the medals on each
man's breast, smiling at McCallum as she did so.

     "Captain, it is a sham that you have to return."
     "I think you mean, a 'shame', Mastech."
     "Oh, yes, I did."  The Commander faced Staams for the last time.  "I
cannot thank you enough, Captain.  I owe you my life.  Unfortunately, the next
time we meet, we will be enemies once more.  Even after all of the sacrifices
that were made by our friends."
     "I understand.  I have my regrets as well."
     "One can only hope that this alliance will lead to a more permanent bond
between our two sides.  By the way, a frieghter is bringing in the remaining
survivors of the Khareaznor from Outpost Zeta."
      Staams gave a nod, then said, "Where is my First Officer?"
      "Saying goodbye, I presume."
 
      McCallum and V'Shyareth held each other firmly as they shared a final
kiss.  It did not last long, but for both of them, it seemed like an eternity. 
They parted and walked together to where Mastech and Staams waited.
      "I wish I could go with you, Arthur, but my place is here...I am sorry."
      "I'm sorry that you might try and destroy me the next time we meet
again."
      She smiled at him.  "Perhaps it doesn't have to come down to that, you
know." 
      Staams and Mastech were expecting them.  Last words were exchanged, then
Staams pressed his communicator.  "Captain to Lincoln...two to beam up."
      The two men disappeared, only to reappear on the transporter pad of the
Lincoln.  Immediatly they made their way to the bridge, where the crew was
preparing to get the Lincoln underway.
      Staams took his seat at the conn.  "Mr. Peterson, take us out of orbit."
      The Lincoln moved away from the orbit of Romulus, two Warbirds following
as escorts.  Finally, Lt. Mressle said, "Course, Captain?"
      "Set a course for Outpost Zeta, best possible speed.  Take us home...and
to tommorrow, and tommorrow, and all the others after that."
      McCallum cocked an eyebrow at Staams, then gave a laugh. 
      Travelling at full impulse, the Lincoln seemed to stretch out into
infinity, then it shot away at warp eight, leaving the Warbirds behind.  It
headed back towards Federation space, back towards home.

                     
                                THE END
 

M. Mckenzie
St. Peter's College
"I'm a TREKKER, not a TREKKIE!"