Star Trek Magazine presents a fully illustrated deluxe collectors' edition anthology featuring short stories starring your favorite Star Trek crews as they encounter adversaries include Q and the Borg.
Star Trek "Q and False" and Other Stories features the franchise's finest writers including Star Trek: Voyager writer Lisa Klink along with best-selling prose authors James Swallow, Una McCormack, Chris Cooper, and Greg Cox. The collection hits shelves December 13; pre-order now on Amazon, Forbidden Planet, Barnes & Noble, Books-A-Million, or wherever you purchase your books.
These mini-epics include the strange tale of James T. Kirk's encounter with the mysterious, seemingly omnipotent being known as Q, get swept in an adventure with the dashing Captain Proton, join Dr. Beverly Crusher as she battles to save Worf from some ferocious predators, and witness the Borg Collective's dramatic origins.
Adventure to the final frontier...and beyond!
Thanks to our friends at Titan Magazines, we have an exclusive excerpt of the short, Seven>Seven, by Greg Cox!
“Resistance is futile.”
“That remains to be seen.”
Seven of Nine, of late a crew member aboard the U.S.S. Voyager, faced her none-too-distant past amidst a rugged alien landscape. Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One, a fully-assimilated Borg drone, coolly regarded her from several meters away. Mottled gray flesh, darkly veined, attested to the drone’s membership in the Collective, as did her matte-black body armor, protruding optical implant, loops of exterior tubing, and harsh contemptuous tone.
“No uncertainty exists. You have become small, weak, diminished. A mere individual.”
Perhaps, Seven conceded. Staring at the drone was like looking backwards in time at a distorted reflection of herself – or was she the distortion? She was torn between admiration and, curiously, revulsion. “And you are?” she asked, already knowing the answer, but stalling for time.
“We are Borg.”
It advanced towards Seven at a steady, implacable pace. By design, the rocky terrain, situated upon a wide granite ledge partway up a nameless mountain, beneath a clear vermillion sky, was neutral ground, offering no advantage to either combatant, resembling neither the sleek corridors of Voyager nor the austere interior of a Borg Cube. They had the desolate battleground to themselves, with no allies or reinforcements to call upon. The temperature and humidity were an equitable mean between human and Borg preferences. Not unlike Seven herself, now that she thought of it.
This was no time for irrelevant musings, however. Seven warily clocked the drone’s advance, overcoming any instinctive urge to retreat. Although her own strength and endurance exceeded those of purely organic humans, the drone’s full complement of synthetic implants rendered it stronger still. Speed, agility, and surprise were Seven’s only possible advantages against the drone. She needed to strike first – and swiftly.
Her Starfleet-issue phaser set at maximum, she fired at the drone, hoping to kill or at least incapacitate it before it could adapt to this specific attack. The crimson beam scorched the air between them, only to be blocked by the shimmering green radiance of the drone’s personal force field. To Seven’s dismay, the beam failed to damage the drone at all. She suddenly regretted not presetting the phaser to automatically modulate its frequencies, but that had previously struck her as unfairly tipping the contest in her favor; it had felt like “cheating.”
Not that the drone concerned itself with such caveats.
“We are Borg. We have adapted to all known Federation weapons and tactics. You cannot defeat us.”
“I will require proof of that assertion.” Seven backed away from the drone, attempting to recalibrate the phaser’s settings as expeditiously as possible. Despite her brave front, however, she feared the drone was not inaccurate in its assessment. How could a mere individual prevail against the Collective, as embodied by her former self?
“Your thought processes are disorganized. You lack clarity.”
“Possibly, but your conversation leaves much to be desired.”
“Conversation is irrelevant.”
The barren ledge offered little in the way of protection. With no crags, boulders, or ravine to hide behind, Seven could only scramble to keep out of reach of the oncoming drone. Intent on her adversary, she slipped on a patch of loose scree, twisting her ankle. She winced, but managed to avoid falling. The injury slowed her, allowing the drone to gain ground on her. Unlike many Borg, the drone had not had an arm replaced by a multi-purpose prosthetic limb; its specific tasks had required the dexterity of two humanoid hands. Seven found herself grateful that her earlier incarnation was not equipped with rotating saws and high-temperature plasma cutters. Small blessings, as her new Collective aboard Voyager might say.
She used her own hand, reinforced by its exo-scaffolding, to fire again at the drone. Her heart sank as the modulated beam only staggered the drone for a moment.
“We anticipated your tactic, based on past encounters with Starfleet. It is no longer effective against us.
I know, Seven thought, losing hope. The drone closed on her and, limping, Seven found herself backed up against a sheer cliff face. Gravity trapped her on the ledge. Injection tubules extended from the drone’s wrist.
“Retreat is futile. You will be reassimilated.”
Seven conceded defeat.
“Computer. End program.”
The ledge vanished, taking the drone with it. An empty holodeck left her alone with the realization that her past had beaten her… again.