Chapter 2: All's fare

Darro is reduced to doing cab rides. (Fanfic, Star Trek)

Continued from "Chapter 1: Bitter Pill" 

I unlocked the runabout and activated the hack that let the replicator make coffee without paying Tresk. In case the Ferengi billed me later, I placed my mug in and said, "Coffee, double caf, double hot."

No steam rose from the cold concoction.

The cold coffee was surely burnt— and, knowing Tresk, probably decaf. I took it and sniffed it. "Maybe it's poison." I laughed. I'm sure that's a Rule of Aquisition—dead men offer no bribes. I took a sip of the brew, so foul and bitter. The flavor alone drove the sleep from my sagging bones.

My stomach clenched as I slid into the chair and checked my messages. I begged myself to look at the message regarding Elise, sooner than later. If the engines in my mind had anything to burn I could probably finagle something. The most precious thing they took from us, those undying batteries of hope that kept the Federation in the light for so long.

I just hoped she had been taken to the right place, maybe run by Jellek's people. Or someone soulless and efficient. Under the Founders, Cardassian cruelty evolved to expeditiousness. They would look on her as collateral damage. I sipped the stone-cold coffee and sneered at Tresk's capitalistic mercy. No disrespect—I understood Ferengi as no Starfleet ever could—but I would prefer anything to them. Almost. I sighed.

Still the messages blinked at me.

I set aside the important messages and drudged on. No solicitations—the software didn't offer to take my money when I had none. Several requests for a ride that would leave Molly deserted, and a couple deliveries.

One stood out, too perfect to be believed—round trip.

I accepted the fare and drank Tresk's sludge.

As soon as I did, a Ferengi cartoon appeared to offer me a hot cup of premium espresso.

I clenched my teeth and dismissed him, clicking at the 'do not ask again." I dismissed the offer of a fifty percent discount.

The fare took me across town.

My runabout sat for five minutes before a woman's voice addressed me from behind. "Darro?"

I turned to see a fetching lady—wth nose ridges decidedly not Bajoran—wearing gauzy kerchiefs about her head, feigning an attempt to cloak her cybernetic implants.

I matched her smile, a questioning look–and gestured open handed toward the entrance. "Feles, I presume? Be my guest."

She walked in and took a seat beside mine. "It's all right if you don't want to take me."

"Even if that were true," I said, as I took my seat, "I can hardly be choosy about my work."

Her stiff smile held. "That's very enlightened, these days."

"You don't look ready to assimilate me." I entered the coordinates she had requested. "Are you a rescue, or…?"

"Elective." She cleared her throat. "Prosthetic."

The words for cybernetic enhancements were as crude as those for genetic engineering—for the same reason. These days, the threat of an engineered human warlord faded in the twilight. "If I may ask, why not build something a little less obtrusive?"

She smiled. "They didn't kill our idealism, just our government."

Activist prosthetics? "So you are about assimilating us."

"I can." She smiled kindly. "If you like."

"No, thank you."

"Our technology is not coercive. The motto is, 'Resistance should not be called for.'"

I flinched. It called to mind the march of conquering Borg. "Needs work."

"Our technology counteracts all neurological disease." Her excitement rose. "Natural and artificial."

"I'll prefer to keep my personhood." Although I thought about Molly. She would never be alone, hungry, afraid as a Borg. "Even if it collapses in on itself."

"You misunderstand. We do not sacrifice our individuality."

"It's a nice pitch," I said. Fiendishly nice.

"We are not like the Borg queens of ages past. Our community is open to us, ever present, never oppressive."

It sounded suspiciously like the Federation.

"There is hope." She put her hand on my knee. "I can show you—if you'll consent."

"You're not hooking me up to some bootleg borg wetware."

The hurt in her eyes flickered before understanding. "Darro, we understand consent. What I'm offering is nothing like assimilation—just a touching of minds. Like Vulcans do."

It sounded safer, but hadn't there been abuses of Vulcan sorcery as well? I brushed her beautiful hands away from my knee.

She tilted her head and looked at me. "A tour."

It would be so easy to take her as she offered. My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts. A collective within easy reach—humans weren't meant to be solitary creatures. With the loss of Elise, and Molly's Nati, I needed that more than anything. Forget the beauty of this woman, the kindness in her eyes proved the truth of her words—didn't it?

"We understand you won't be ready immediately. That is why we produced these." She took a wafer the size of a small fingernail out of her ocular implant.And then another. "For you. And one for a friend."

"If you touch Molly…."

Her eyes watered. "We would never be so arrogant. I told you, we are not yesterday's Borg."

"I was taught never to repurpose technology." I shivered. "An assassin robot is not worth keeping, no matter how good they are at cleansing your floor."

"If that is your final answer, then so be it." She closed my fingers about the wafers. "But, in case you change your mind?"

"I never will," I said, pocketing them for further retrieval.

"If you don't want to finish our contract, I won't ask for a refund."

"I said I'd take you and I meant it." I landed the runabout, and stepped out the door. The sky shone yellow and orange in the setting sun, from horizon to horizon. "Do you need an escort?"

"That's not necessary." She smiled. "But your company would be welcome."

A Nausicaan waved his phaser. "Deadbeat Darro! Working for the Borg?" Mist streamed from behind his back as he aimed his phaser at me–or at Feles.

I stepped in front of her, then wondered if the Borg were shielding her. Either way I needed to get away before the chemical weapon washed all of Tresk's medicine out of my system.

Feles grabbed me by the shoulder. "It's all right. Let him have me."

"Yes, Darro," the Nausicaan scoffed. "Impress Mephisto there. Show us the Starfleet warrior code."

"Damn it, Roger," I said, grabbing for the phaser I had rented out last week. "I told you, I'm not Starfleet."

"Neither is Starfleet." The Nausicaan fired at his drone, and it deflected the shot onto Feles. "I'll carve my real name on your bodies."

Roger's shot cut through any defenses she had.

She howled in distress and tumbled.

Someone shot at the Nausicaan from behind a building—one of Feles friends?

I grabbed her up and threw Feles into the runabout, drawing a yelp and spurts of blood from where she had been cut in the fall. The door closed and the Nausicaan resumed fire.

Tresk's voice counted the number of 'free' shots his shields absorbed as I started the engine.

I ran to my supply counter. "I burned through the emergency supplies. Might have a bandage or…"

"Keep it."

Feles spoke suspiciously calm. I looked down to see her wound healing before my eyes.

"An internal dermal regenerator?"

"It's the neural energy?" She gritted her teeth and flexed as it improved. "Our collective may be small, but—we're potent."

"You knew Roger would be there."

She shook her head. "That Nausicaan has been taking bounties. I would never put a businessman in danger. Not without—"

"I know, consent?" Tresk got consent. That Ferengi moral philosopher's stone did set the bar too high for the Borg—at least the old Borg. For all that, I appreciated Roger's toy phaser. I had enough to deal with.

Continued on "Chapter 3 Homecoming"