I have become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds

[will_marx 0]

Marx sat at his desk in his quarters. The children were bedded down, the wives as well. R4 sat in the corner of the room, hooked into the ship’s computer, apparently discussing something, or deciding to take a crack at the encryption on the logs recovered from the Newton, he couldn’t be sure. “Computer, open personal log, this star date, and encrypt.”

 

“Log open and encrypting. Shall I allow command level access?”

 

“Yes, and begin recording.” Marx steepled his hand in front of him. “The Borg are a threat, and have always been one, ever since the Enterprise-D brought back information on their existence. I don’t know why Starfleet hadn’t correlated their existence with data from NX-01, when if could have saved millions of lives. I do know one thing; R&D was working on a practical graviton bomb at the time of Wolf 359. Although, as recently as my time in Rhydin Sector hunting the Dread Pirate Roberts, they still hadn’t gotten it working. Containment seems to be the issue, and I can see how trying to contain a quantum singularity within an easily deployable package could be an issue.

 

“But there is also an ethical issue. What if some of the more hawkish elements of Starfleet got a hold of a few of them? Say good bye to Romulus, Remus, the Founders’ home world, the Breen home world, and anyone else who pissed off the Federation. And that many singularities forming would tear at the very fabric of space-time.

 

“If this Borg threat is as great as Miranda said it was, then ethics need to take a backseat to realities of war. It occurred during Earth’s Second World War, when Albert Einstein practically begged Roosevelt to fund work on the atomic bomb. Even Oppenheimer remarked that he had ‘become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds.’ But military necessity comes first.

 

“I was able to access Fleet R&D’s graviton bomb database, and forwarded that information to Aaron. If anyone can come up with a practical graviton bomb or mine, it’ll be him. I just hope he’s able to do it in time; I’d much rather not become a member of any collective, and lose my personality.

 

“Personal note: Send “Enigma” a bottle of hundred year old Romulan Ale for his troubles.

 

“Computer, end log.”

 

Marx stood, turned the light off, and went into his bedroom. Ranko and Xian Pu were snuggled up together. Climbing into bed, he kissed both his wives gently on the lips and went to sleep, his mind awhirl with thoughts.