Star Trek Voyager Mga Nobela at Kwento

"We can't hit it with kinetic force. You can't shoot a hole in 'Nothingness.' We have to fight it with Is-ness." ​The Saturnian Deployment ​The Unified Fleet was a sight that would have made the original Nora Davis weep with pride. The Weaver, the massive emerald-glass flagship of the Earth, had detached from the Pacific floor and now drifted alongside the blackened, predatory Respiration. Surrounding them were hundreds of Outrider "Asteroid-Ships," now pulsing with the green veins of the Father-Root, and the Jovian "Ice-Sloops."

"Ms. Brooks, to what do we owe the honor of your visit to the lower decks?" Gio couldn't help but chuckle; he wondered if she knew that there was an animated Star Trek streaming show by that name. Then he noticed what she and all the techs were wearing and figured she did. Their work uniforms looked just like engineers' uniforms from the next generation tv show. Her security badge was clipped to the uniform where the starfleet insignia badge had been on the show.

"It just doesn't look like much." Ex-fucking-scuse me. I scoffed. I narrowed my eyes, taking offense instantly. I glanced back at my spaceship, rust along the corners of the bay doors. Dust and dirt caked the various panels. Sure, she needed a little sprucing up, but she was still the sexiest spaceship from here to the Nebula 46 on the edge of the Black. "I'll have you know that Peacemaker is an Elysium-7. Best fucking ship of its class."

He explains, “It was really weird, but I owed you, so I got you out of there.” “I was dead?” “Close, I had to pump you with over ten times the legal amount of stabilizers just to keep you breathing.” Terror states “Thanks,” Nya said, then she looked around, “Are we in an escape pod?” “A voyager pod, used to tout guests around areas too small for the ship. We’re in deep space right now. Nearest planet is…” he pauses to look at a screen, “…Marxa, which is about 12 light-years away.”

The needle swung wildly, then locked onto a bearing that pointed not at the refugees but through them, past the ship, past the atmosphere, past the planetary shield, into the dark space where nine hundred and thirty-seven warships had vanished. "Where is your captain?" Jack demanded. "Captain Vex is in the medical bay. She sustained injuries during our transit through the boundary fracture. She asked me to deliver a personal message." The construct's glass eyes dimmed, then brightened with a recording. A woman's voice, hoarse and desperate, filled the observation deck.

​The Choice of the Gatekeeper ​"We can't send a machine, and we can't send a child," I said, looking at the Vane-Thorne ship, which had returned to the Sahara and was now being "Upgraded" by the Xylos-vines. The ship was no longer a teardrop of stone; it was a Living-Eye, its hull covered in a shimmering, ocular-quartz that could "See" the resonance of distant stars.

The sub-orbital transport craft, designated Icarus-7, tore through the stratosphere like a streak of silver fire. The curvature of the planet was visible through the reinforced cockpit glass—a breathtaking arc of blue and white that made the wars of the surface seem insignificant. Scarlett sat in the pilot’s seat, her hands hovering over the holographic controls. The Stellar Navigator was plugged directly into the ship’s nav-computer, guiding them with a precision that no modern technology could match.

The Vortex was a violent whirl of wormhole made of silverstream where a VEIL supposed to come out, but instead a spacecraft came out of it. Tirana couldn't keep her jaw from being closed. The silver, alien spacecraft was a carrier for the unidentified ores. The mountains of it were added more and the Sovereigns people obediently took them by their loading trucks, ready to process. What they took didn't even made a dent on the towering piles of the alien ores.