Chapter 30: Ride To The Other Side
Borg… hundreds of… too many… Eiffel Tower in pink?
“THEY’RE GONNA GET ME!”
419 sat up. 426 was staring at her like she just escaped from Arkham Asylum.
“Okaaaay…I’m gonna take two steps back… slowly…”
“Okay, okay, got it…”
“I knew I shouldn’t have had that caviar before… wait, where am I?”
She looked around. Metal, metal, consol, metal, Stitch, keyb… Stitch?
“426! Look out, 626’s beh…”
“Yes, I know.”
“And yet, you’re not running.”
“Well, evidently we both heard a dong… gong… thingy… being both naturally suspicious, 626 and me rushed to the scene…”
“You mean, 626 and I…”
“This isn’t about you!”
Stitch smacked himself on the forehead. 419 started to repeatedly bang her head against the wall.
“Oww… oww… oww…”
“What? What did I say?”
“Oww… oww… oww… never mind…”
“If you’re sure… anywho… we ran into each other down the corridor, and after a few misunderstandings – I’m not that fluent in Tantalog – we started searching. We found you beside the hot-water cylinder…”
“Wait… since when does this ship have a hot-water cylinder?”
“I know… anyways, we dragged you back to Engineering, and… um… that’s it.”
“Er… how long since… the gong… thingy?”
Stitch stepped forward.
426 looked confused.
“What does a banana split have to do with…”
“Three DAYS? I’ve been out like a light for three DAYS?”
“Oooo, I think I’m gonna faint…”
“Jookiba Log, GDA, Wednesday 18th of November 2374, 6 rotations, 42 cycles.
They have come. They have seen. They have conquerored.
The Borg have disabiled our ship, destroy-ed our weapons and taken Little Girl, the kitchen sink, and 47 canned raviolis. We can do nothing but hope. If there is an all-powerful, near omnipotent being out there, please to be watching over Little Girl, and protecting from all harm.
We are being lost. We are being all alone. We are being 30 thousand light-years from home. I have estimated that life support will only last for two months, then… well, I am not wanting to be thinking about it.
“Quiet computer, I am trying to finish log! Now, where was I… oh, yes…
We are being far from…”
“Warning: Bajoran Wormhole off port bow, 300 km and closing …”
“Computer, mute. Now…”
“Er… Jumba, you might wanna come look at these…” mumbled Pleakly, pointing at the console.
“Look, I am trying to do logging, will everyone just be being quiet!”
Stunned silence followed this exclamation. (Not so surprising, considering only Pleakly was in the room, and it was rather easy to stun/silence him…)
We are being far from any civilisation…”
BANG. The ship lurched, jiggled and jived to an unknown beat, the beat of the wormhole. Red alerts bleared, windows rattled, and Jumba’s glass of cocoa-moo shattered on the floor.
As suddenly as it had started, it stopped. As the tremors ebbed away, Jumba got to his feet.
“Oww, my back…”
Jumba sighed for the fifth time that day.
The holoscreen materialised; on it appeared the face of a thirty-something year old Black-American, wearing some type of uniform – black, apart from the top third, which had been coloured a deep red.
“This is Benjamin Sisko of the Federation outpost Deep Space Nine. We all hope you enjoy your stay here in the Alpha Quadrant.”