The interior of the massive sphere was dominated by the inky blackness that mirrored the void it occupied. Only a few sources of pale green light peeked out of the hull through small imperfections in the superstructure. The atmosphere within the sphere had long grown stale, a pungent stench clinging to compartments that hadn’t yet depressurized in the long interval since the sphere was last maintained by its inhabitants. Sparks could be seen at odd intervals, random arches of energy flitting about the spaces in the cavernous corridors, casting fleeting shadows against the bulkheads that disappeared just as quickly as they were born.

The piercing sounds of the Federation transporter beam were overwhelmed by the dazzling blue glow which engulfed the room, until it was replaced by three humanoid lifeforms. Standing side by side, phasers in their gloved hands, the humanoids immediately began to survey the room they found themselves in. As their heads turned in all directions, the lighting from the beacons atop their helmets bounced off of walls and consoles alike.

The compartment was very much the picture of chaos, a far cry from the orderly norm that was the usual aesthetic of a Borg vessel. Debris from consoles long ruptured by some surge or another littered the floor, as did conduit pipings, bulkhead paneling, and even ceiling panels. The entire vessel seemed to have long ago fallen into disrepair, as if left to rot ages before the away team had discovered the ship.

“Not what I imagined the insides of a Borg ship to look like,” the team’s Bajoran strategist mused, a look of displeasure on her face as she found herself less than impressed at what she was looking at.

Her comments drew a look of derision from the Cardassian that accompanied her. “I for one am glad this ship isn’t in its normal condition, or we’d be facing hundreds of Borg about now,” Lieutenant Prida grumbled whilst looking around the dimly lit room.

Opting to ignore the juvenile dispute between the subordinates, Commander T’Prynn took several steps forward, tricorder in hand and making her own visual survey of the room. “Lieutenant Prida, locate the command console and see if you can hack into their sensor logs. I want to know what happened to this vessel and its occupants, and what brought it here. Noli, find out how to access the self-destruct,” she instructed as she took some further steps away and began exploring deeper into the room.

Soon enough, the argumentative pair left their mild mannered dispute behind and began the search for their targets. The chamber they had beamed into seemed to be devoid of any real power, the columns and alcoves bereft of the telltale glowing green backlighting that one would normally see being emitted. The only hint that the area had ever been powered at all came from the intermittent crackling of energy deep within the bulkheads, the infrequent popping sounds drawing the ears and eyes of the away team toward them whenever they issued forth.

Along one of the gently curving corridors, an echoing clang reverberated through the air. The sound of metal striking against metal was the likely culprit, though the suddenness of the cacophony of sound was almost a little too convenient given the deafening silence that had dominated the space for so long since their arrival. Deeper still, flashes of deep green light began to twinkle at the far reaches of sight, as if to entice the observers to follow it.

Monitors inside the EVA suits of the Starfleet officers recorded an instantaneous spike in the heart rates and blood pressures of the trio, even in that of the Vulcan team leader. Raising their phasers and pointing them in the direction of the sound, T’Prynn silently gestured with her right hand, waving ever so slightly for the officers to approach the apparent source of the sound, and the green flashes ahead. Acquiescing to the Vulcan’s request, Noli and Prida followed close behind their leader, eyes trained on the intermittent flashing ahead of them.

Strange shadows flitted across the deck as the green blinking grew more regular. Scattered remains of what could only be presumed to be drones were occupying places near the derelict alcoves that had long since been cut off from a power source. The flesh that had once been part of the mechanical remains had long vanished, the ravages of time leaving no clue as to who they might have once been. When a sudden surge of power did manage to escape the bulkhead and strike one of the corpses strewn about the ground, the servos and mechanisms would return to functionality for a split second, causing them to screech or groan in an otherworldly manner.

Taken aback by the sudden movement of the downed drone, the team’s Cardassian Operations officer stumbled backwards and crashed into a computer console, causing it to spark into life for the briefest of moments. Once the shock had subsided, Prida placed her hands either side of the console and dipped her head whilst she took a moment to compose herself again.

A clattering sound issued from the Cardassian’s left, and a blur of rapid motion filled her peripheral vision. An arm reached out, covered in metallic ‘flesh’ that generally replaced the limbs of beings who had undergone assimilation, and a hand seized the wrist of the EVA suit in a powerful grip. The glow of the console just barely illuminated the contours of the ‘thing’ that had grabbed hold of the woman, an angry red light suddenly glaring in her direction as if seeking something.

Engulfed in fear, the Cardassian let out a blood curdling scream as she flailed and struggled against the being that had seized her. The fleshless corpse toppled easily under the force of her flailing, a deafening clatter of dead weight issuing from the thing as it collapsed under its own weight after the power faded from it. The metallic half skull stared up at the Cardassian, the crimson light on the side of it blinking a few times before dying out again.

Several other temporarily ‘revived’ bodies jerked and spasmed in their respective alcoves, though none of them made contact with the away team as they lurched about spastically for a brief moment before joining the first body in their collapse to the deck. The entire spectacle lasted less than a minute, but it seemed to change the very air around them. Lights began to shine in earnest just around the bend of the corridor they had been traveling along, faint ripples of sounds that might have been the background noise of a normally powered Borg ship began to drift toward them.

Within seconds, Lieutenant Noli and her Vulcan commander pounced on their Cardassian colleague, all differences put aside as they dragged Prida to her feet and huddled together. In between deep breaths and worried glances, the Away Team held out their weapons in different directions.

“We… should get out of here…” the Cardassian breathed heavily, looking hopefully at the Vulcan.

“We cannot leave yet, Lieutenant. We must ascertain the nature of the mission this vessel was engaged in, and what caused its demise,” T’Prynn countered, “should you wish to return to the runabout, the Ensign Mizak can take your place.”

An uncharacteristic show of support and empathy from the Vulcan, and one which surprisingly gave the Cardassian the courage to go on – for now at least. “Not necessary, ma’am,” Prida shook her head slowly, “but if we are doing this, we do it quickly. I want to get out of here…”

“For once, I agree with you,” Lieutenant Noli nodded, aiming her phaser down the corridor ahead of them, “let’s do this.”

The passageway leading further toward the source of light and sound was no less eerie than the rest of the long walkway. Alcoves flanking either side hosting a number of desiccated corpses of drones that had long since wasted away. Snaps and fizzles could be heard at intervals, giving the corridor a strange background rhythm that seemed to claw at the away team’s sanity as they drew closer to their destination.

As the trio walked with hesitant steps, the odd bit of material that inevitably got kicked aside would cause a chain reaction of echoing clanks and tinkles as they set surrounding items into sudden motion after they had been left in place for countless months or even years. The farther the group advanced, the more frequent the sounds became, though their presence was anything but reassuring in the inky darkness that dominated the passage.

When they at last arrived in the chamber that had beckoned to them upon their arrival, the various consoles in the area were aglow with the pale green light that dominated the Borg’s version of display screens. Orbs of various shades of green were scattered about the screens, tethered together by tendrils of lighter shades of the self-same green hues. Strange ideograms of light and dark blue framed the various displays, offering up no clues as to what the screens might be trying to say to the untrained eye.

Many of the screens seemed to be looping information, their patterns flowing normally for a few moments before glitching violently and rewinding to some unknown part of their scroll before repeating the cycle again. The columns framing the displays held similar patterns of orbs and tendril-like lines, but they were static in nature, much like the input boards of a standard LCARS display. They would, however, dim at irregular intervals and sometimes disappear completely for a heartbeat or two before blinking back to life.

In the center of the room, removed from any of the drone remains that were scattered about the perimeter of the room, sat the body of what could only be described as a mummified corpse, flesh still largely intact but shrivelled to such a degree that recognizing that species of origin was next to impossible. One thing that stood out, upon closer inspection, was the lack of Borg augmentations, and the strange device still clutched in the being’s hand as if it had perished using it, though whether it was a weapon or some other manner of technology was impossible to ascertain simply by looking at it.

It was Noli that spotted the remains of the creature first, and upon removing her tricorder, she began her analysis of the being. Meanwhile, Prida made an instant beeline for one of the seemingly workable consoles. Like her counterpart, Prida retrieved her tricorder from the pouch on her belt and flicked it open. As the tricorder emitted its usual sounds, the Cardassian placed it atop the console and allowed the console to draw power from it.

Commander T’Prynn, after conducting her own visual analysis of the chamber, sidled up to the Bajoran who was crouched beside the corpse. Without a word, the Lieutenant gave her report.

“This is not a species we have encountered before,” the Bajoran grimaced, looking from the deceased entity, to her commander, and back again. “Definitely humanoid, with a remarkable physiology; I’m no scientist, but I’d wager that they are telepaths,” she revealed, turning her tricorder to the Vulcan for confirmation.

After a moment of reviewing the Bajoran’s findings, she nodded in agreement. “I concur with your findings Lieutenant. Are you able to ascertain the cause of death? It is clear that they were not assimilated,” the Vulcan noted, the lack of cybernetic entrails a give away.

Noli shook her head. “I’d recommend we transport the body to the Runabout and have the computer on the ship run a post mortem…” she then reached out a gloved hand to the device in the beings mummified hand, “…and this could do with some analysing also,” she suggested.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” the Cardassian called from behind, causing the two Starfleet officers to rise to their feet once again and look in her direction for clarification.

“Whoever these people are, they are responsible for what happened here,” she revealed, gesturing her colleagues over to the console she was staring at.

Playing on the screen were the last moments of the creature they had discovered laying on the deck plates, and possibly the final moments of the sphere itself. The oddly colored alien seemed to be shouting something, though the images didn’t come accompanied by sound. The degradation of the sphere’s memory core was obvious from the images skipping ahead several frames at times, while stuttering over the same portion of another part of the scene. The imperfections aside, the story the images showed were rather damning.

The drones in the room had tried to fight off whoever the being was, but their attempts to reach them seemed to be rebuked by some unseen hand. The most likely cause was the being’s telepathic abilities having some measure of influence on them, though just to what degree or in what manner remained a mystery. The being held the device it possessed up in the air, and a hateful flash of orange light flooded the room, the effect of the strange object making it instantly clear what had been done. Alcoves exploded, consoles winked out in an instant, and the drones that had been trying in vain to stop the being crumpled to the ground like puppets who had their strings cut. What was even more disturbing was just how quickly the flesh on the drones seemed to rot away, as if the device had unleashed some horrible plague of bacteria that targeted nanite-infused flesh specifically. 

After showing the trio the horrific scene, the screen images spasmed chaotically before reliving the scene once again. Whatever had caused that particular moment in time to occur, it seemed as if the sphere itself had burned that scene into its synthetic consciousness and was replaying the traumatic event in some tragic loop.

Sharing a number of concerned looks, the tension levels began to rise once more. This was a threat to the Borg that was on a par Species 8472 – and that was more than enough reason for the three to be terrified.

“Nothing changes,” the Vulcan instructed, “download as much of the computer logs as you can, Lieutenant Prida; Noli, transport the body onto the ship. We will take it back to New Bajor for further analysis,” she said.

Nodding, both officers went about their task with the diligence their situation required. Despite their combined efforts, the sphere was reluctant to release its grip on the information they had come for. Massive swaths of the data core had been corrupted so completely that finding even small pieces of uninterrupted data strings was proving to be nothing short of a miracle. Every time one of the officers accessed a data node that held the corrupt information, the panels around the room would dim ominously, and at some points disembodied cries could be heard filling the compartment. Flickers, sparks, and clanging echoed in from points unknown as the away team fought against the sheer volume of errors and faults that dominated the Borg craft. It was obvious by just how long it was taking just to pry a tenth of the information that could still be called viable out of the machine that the sphere was in incredibly poor shape.

Among the confusion the various sights and sounds made, Noli finally got to the point where she was ready to transport the deceased beings’ remains to the Runabout. Activating the internal communications array of her EVA suit, the Lieutenant called out beyond the horror within the sphere. “=/\=Away team to Perseus. Secure the aft compartment with a forcefield and lock on to my tricorder signal for transport.”

Within a matter of moments, the return signal from the Runabout indicated an acceptance of the Lieutenant’s order. “=/\=Transport underway.”

Once again, the trademark blue hue and audible hum of the Federation transporter beam filled the room, the void engulfed in light until the body successfully dematerialised and vanished from sight.

Rising to her feet, the Bajoran brushed herself down and walked over to her Cardassian colleague who was tapping away furiously at a console.

The file corruption continued to be an impediment, wild errors and a great deal of backtracking through the indexes was required to simply begin to make sense of a good portion of the still intact information that could help the away team solve their quandary about what had taken place aboard the sphere, not to mention the origins of the craft in the first place. The deeper the team tried to dig, the less the sphere seemed agreeable to sharing its collected knowledge.

A particularly violent shuddering rippled through the deck plates as a particularly large file cluster was opened. At first the lurching of the flooring seemed to be the only thing that had happened. Tense seconds slipped by in utter silence before muffled thudding slowly started to echo through the corridors. First, it was only one or two of them, distant heralds of what might have been some collapse or another of an unstable section of the massive neglected structure. A few more heartbeats passed in deafening silence before yet another, far more violent ripple of movement jared the very bones of the away team.

A screeching sound blared from the console, as if the vessel itself was experiencing some unimaginable anguish. As if in time with the scream of the equipment, much more prominent crackling booms issued from sources much closer to their position. The display that had once held only ideograms on its surface suddenly shifted, unbidden, to a diagnostic readout of the interior of the sphere, the central most point highlighted in an angry crimson color that seemed to be universal among all space faring races… The core of the ship had finally succumbed to disrepair and would soon snuff out any evidence the sphere had ever existed.

The floor beneath the away team heaved, bucking them into the air almost a full half meter before rudely depositing them back on the ground. The vessel’s death throws had begun, and the poorly cared for compartments of the ship offered no refuge for anything that occupied them, living or dead. Corpses, conduit remnants, hunks of metal; everything was tossed around violently and without exception. The cacophony of explosions became almost like a heartbeat from a heart that was seeing its final moments. The sphere was at the very end of its life and from the way it was reacting to it, it was not going to go quietly.

Holding on to one another for dear life, the crewmates steadied themselves long enough to be engulfed in the transporter beam of their vessel. With one final look around, each officer felt a profound sense of relief as their molecules were dematerialised and they vanished, albeit temporarily, from existence.

As a former engineer and member of the Advanced Starship Design Bureau, Commander T’Prynn had a vested interest of sorts in matters that arose around the Federation and the latest developments in starship construction were worrying. The Federation’s strained dilithium market had been hit hard by the loss of several key sources of the precious mineral, following core meltdowns at a number of processing centers around the Federation which led to controversial mining strikes and reduced starship construction.

But as the mining strike continued on Verona III, reports had shown that overproduction at a mid-sized production facility on Nagil IV had led to a core meltdown from equipment which had, over several decades, developed tiny microscopic fissures. These fissures had caused the plant’s generator core to fail, leaving a crater where the plant’s power core once stood. The plant manager at the Nagil Processing Center, Ria Fessed, had naturally denied the plant’s equipment had been responsible for the destruction of the facility but had soon transpired that the last inspection of the Nagil facility had noted the worn state of the reactor. The Nagil Controller’s Office subsequently requested maintenance of the plant facility, and the request was filed with the planetary Corps of Engineers, which had the maintenance slated for next month.

The new Vulcan second officer of Starfleet’s only garrison ship in the Gamma Quadrant found the whole story fascinating. She had visited both Verona and Nagil on many an occasion over the years and knew just how antiquated some of the systems were, so it was of no surprise to her that such a disaster had occurred. She, like many, hoped that it was only a case of coincidence that the plant meltdown had occurred at the same time that failed diplomatic talks in a bid to secure mining rights from the Sarshayet had led to the strained dilithium market taking its toll on trade and starship production across the Federation. The inability to produce new starships was never something to be scoffed at.

The reclusive Sarshayet in Nebula KR27-B were open to becoming members of the Federation as well as offering rights to mine their nebula for much needed dilithium, but negotiations had fallen apart after Federation representatives missed the summit due to malfunctions aboard the USS Apollo-A, which suffered issues with her warp drive.

With the dilithium shortage no doubt continuing further into the year, its effects were beginning to be felt across the Federation. A noticeable decline in trade among the Federation’s member worlds and between the Federation itself and non-aligned, friendly worlds was reported by the Federation Department of Commerce, with some estimates placing the drop at almost forty percent.

In the meantime, member worlds had opened their own negotiations with non-aligned worlds to secure shareholder rights of dilithium mining directly, bypassing the Federation government entirely, a direction which did not bode well for the Federation President’s call for a renewed focus on Federation unity and equal treatment of all members.

T’Prynn was sat in her usual spot in the Runabout Perseus’ aft compartment, shaking her head as she read the latest updates on the whole situation on a PADD in one hand and the updates she had received from Captain Farrell in the other. The Perseus was on her way back to New Bajor and the Santa Fe, the crew of the runabout having ferried a dignitary back to their homeworld. Sending the strategist, along with three other officers, was perhaps overkill, but that was the Captain’s prerogative, and probably showed the importance of the diplomatic talks that had been underway.

Diplomacy; something the Vulcan was never good at. Especially when it came to talking with junior officers. Especially the one approaching from behind. The breathing, the footsteps, they all gave the visitor away.

“Lieutenant Noli,” she spoke in her usual tone of indifference, her eyes never leaving the PADD she was reading, “is it safe to surmise that your presence suggests a problem?” she mused with a raised eyebrow as a rather irate looking Bajoran plonked herself into a seat opposite the Vulcan.

“Actually Commander… yes,” the Tactical Officer frowned in such a way that the accompanying grunt would have been rendered pointless in any ordinary situation.

“Am I to surmise that this is, again, an issue between yourself and Lieutenant Prida?” the Commander queried, her eyes continuously trained on her data PADD.

Nodding, the Bajoran slouched back into her chair. “I want to run a diagnostic of the tactical grid, but she’s tied the computer up in an endless cycle of sensor upgrades and diagnostics,” Noli fumed, “we’re in an unknown, potentially dangerous area of space, and she has essentially taken our weapons grid offline!”

Finally placing her PADD gently upon the tabletop, the Vulcan clasped her hands together and placed them on the table in front of her. The glare she gave the younger officer forced Noli to sit up in her seat, not to mention the change of pigment in her cheeks.

“You don’t care about our petty arguments,” the Bajoran spoke quietly.

“Correct,” the Vulcan retorted in her matter-of-fact way.

“And you think we need to grow up and get over ourselves,” Noli continued.

“Indeed.”

“And Lieutenant Prida should stop what she is doing and transfer controls to me,” Noli added somewhat cheekily. So cheekily in fact that the Vulcan responded with a customary rise of her left eyebrow. “Worth a try,” Noli huffed as she pushed herself up with the aid of the table and disappeared from the aft compartment, allowing the Vulcan to return to her work.

Picking up the PADD once again, keen to return to the latest updates from the Captain, the Vulcan would have felt dismay at the sounding of the communications array if, well, she had felt anything.

“=/\=Commander T’Prynn, can you come up here, please?” the familiar voice of the Bajoran filled the room.

For the slightest second, almost the blink of an eye, anyone in the room with her would have sworn they had seen a look of irritation on the face of the normally stoic Vulcan, but today the ‘children’ were even pushing her buttons with their bickering.

Leaving the sanctuary of the aft compartment, the Vulcan Commander, in all of her red-uniformed splendour, made her way to the cockpit. Crossing the threshold, she saw a room as quiet as could be, the occupants seemingly staring out into space. As she walked forward, curious about their silence, the Commander finally saw it for herself.

A large, spherical object, damaged and adrift. A sign of darkness. A sign of destruction. A sign of death.

The Borg were in the Gamma.

They assimilate your technology and use it against you – and they don’t even need to because they’re already more advanced than you.

They have cloaking technology but they don’t need it. When they come for you, you will see them coming.

One learns something, they all learn it. When they take you, they ALL know your secrets.

Each one has their own shielding. You get ONE SHOT to take one out before the others ALREADY adapt, all before the fallen drone even hits the floor. Each one can be equipped with weaponry. But they don’t need to. They can take you without engaging you in infantry combat.

They can lose 150% of their drone population in a planetary assimilation and actually end up with MORE drones than they started out with by using YOUR people to run their ships. They don’t stop.

They are relentless. When one goes after you, they ALL go after you. And they just want YOU. And when the ship comes to get you, ALL on the ship want to get YOU. Then they will take YOU. And use YOU to take someone else. They don’t care about turning you against your own people. Because they assimilate children. And they don’t stop.

They broke the powerful Federation fleet in just one battle. It took two years to rebuild it. They broke Earth’s defenses and entered orbit of the planet. Twice. They attacked both Earth and Romulan outposts along the Neutral Zone border, because they CAN fight wars on two fronts at once. They forced enemies to become allies. Then they killed them. Star system Wolf 359 is now unnavigable because of the Federation debris.

They don’t care about politics, religion or ideals. They just want you. They don’t even have diplomats. They don’t open a dialogue. They just want you. They are an enemy to 100 percent of the universe. They don’t need allies. They just want you. They don’t ask. They assimilate. They don’t enquire. They assimilate. They don’t learn. They assimilate. They just want you. And they don’t stop.

Their technology is as advanced as the most advanced enemy they ever fought. They can lose 80 percent of their vessel and still maintain 100 percent of ship operations. When they find you, they tell you not to resist. They are so powerful, they expect you not to resist. They don’t UNDERSTAND it when you resist. Then they kill you.

And they don’t stop.

They… are the Borg.

A large, spherical object, damaged and adrift. A sign of darkness. A sign of destruction. A sign of death.

After what felt like an eternity of staring at the destructive force sat directly off the port bow, a quiet voice finally penetrated the tense calm of the runabout’s cockpit. “Sensor analysis?” The Vulcan commander asked from her position towering over the three officers who had joined her for the voyage from New Bajor. Oh how they were probably regretting that choice now. For T’Prynn, however, regret was not an option. All that mattered now was an analysis of the Sphere so that they could ascertain what their options, and likely outcomes, would be.

Shaking off the malaise and anxiousness that had threatened to overwhelm them, Lieutenants Prida and Noli set about their task admirably. Even though the two officers had clear differences, and clearly struggled to get along, their professionalism at crunch time was without reproach. The Cardassian used her sensors to get a complete read out of the Borg vessel and its status, whilst Noli used hers to try and work out what had transpired, leaving the vessel in the derelict state that they now found it in.

The only person who seemed to be visibly struggling with their duties at this point was the pilot, sat at the forward most position with his eyes trained on the mighty implement of destruction mere meters away. Ensign Ilia Mizak, a recent graduate from Starfleet Academy, had joined the Commander on her first away mission as a member of the Santa Fe crew. T’Prynn had , reluctantly, taken the youngster under her considerably knowledgeable wing since his arrival and this was supposed to be an opportunity for the Trill to log some minutes as a pilot of the Mustang-class ship. Oh, how he wished he had remained behind this time. One of his previous hosts, by the name of Jeryn, had been subjected to a rather unpleasant experience with the mechanical monsters just thirty years ago, and it brought back terrible memories for the youngster. Memories had the potential to be be disturbing enough at the best of times, but memories of events that one never physically experienced were even worse.

Placing a hand on her protégés shoulder, as reassuring a move as the normally emotionless Vulcan could muster, was her attempt at putting the youngster at ease. It worked. The tactile gesture from his superior officer drew the Ensign back into the room, looking up at the woman apologetically.

“Sorry Commander,” he whispered, eyes glistening as he talked and gave his head the proverbial wobble it needed in order to compose himself.

Prida was the first to report in. “All major systems are offline and appear to be in a state of regeneration; the Sphere has suffered significant damage to propulsion and defensive systems in particular. Life support is offline in most areas of the ship. I’m not detecting any life signs of any kind,” the Cardassian reported, her voice very matter of fact and calm. Vulcan-like in fact.

“I’m not detecting any sign of weapons damage,” the Bajoran adjacent to her began her own report, but where as the Cardassian had been very factual, the Bajoran could only offer suggestions. “Residual energy spikes and traces of radiation suggest the vessel was engulfed in some sort of plasma or ion storm, but long range sensors aren’t picking up any nearby,” she mused, glancing back at the Vulcan.

After taking a moment of calm to digest what she had been told, the Vulcan let out a most uncharacteristic sigh. “How long until the vessel has regenerated sufficiently to restore life support? she queried of the Cardassian. A plan was formulating in her head as she looked over the sensor display, but she had to know if she had time to carry it out.

A short time later and Prida had the answer. “Approximately one hour,” she told, spinning in her chair to look at the Vulcan, who had now disappeared to one of the aft stations and had begun tapping away furiously.

Whilst the Vulcan silently went about her business, the three officers turned and exchanged concerned glances. They all seemed to have the same question on their lips; what were their orders going to be.

“Very well,” the Vulcan finally spoke up after an eternity at the aft station. “It would be remiss of us to leave this vessel here and allow it to become a danger once again. We must also ascertain why it is here. There have been no recorded sightings or evidence of Borg incursions in the Gamma quadrant for centuries. Why now? What has changed?” She pondered out loud, turning in her chair to look at the team. “We need those answers.”

“I can try and hack in to their computers from here,” Noli began, spinning back to face the controls again, “shouldn’t take me to…”

She was cut off by the Commander. “We shall transport aboard and gain control of their systems. Upon ascertaining the required information, we shall set the ships auto-destruct sequence and destroy it,” the pointy-eared commander declared.

Noli and Prida looked at each other in astonishment, their junior colleague looking more than a little confused.

“Forgive me Commander,” the Bajoran Lieutenant began, “you mean you want us to beam over to a Borg ship undergoing regeneration. You then want us to try and access their sensor logs before setting the auto-destruct sequence and running like hell?” Upon receipt of a nod of acknowledgement, the flabbergasted blonde let out a gasp. “I mean… don’t get me wrong, I joined Starfleet to see and experience new things, but so much could go wrong here!”

“Are you of the same opinion, Lieutenant Prida?” T’Prynn asked of her Operations officer.

“No way. I say we get over there and destroy that thing as quickly as we can,” the Cardassian shook her head.

A glance from the Vulcan to her protege gave the young one permission to speak at last. “I’ll go wherever you order, ma’am,” he told reluctantly. She had never steered him wrong yet, and he was sure she wouldn’t now, regardless of the misgivings he had.

Noli shook her head as she rose to her feet, before shrugging her shoulders. “We only have three EV suits, so someone is going to have to stay behind,” she told, looking around the gathered crew.

“Lieutenant Prida will remain behind to provide assistance using the ship’s computers,” the Commander directed. “Once we are aboard, move the ship to extreme transporter range and plot the quickest route out of the blast radius. Maintain constant communications,” the Vulcan concluded, immediately heading off to the aft compartment to begin getting suited up.

Folding her arms across her chest, the look on Prida’s face suggested she was more than a little miffed at getting left behind, but at the same time, she was also quite impressed at the bold nature of the pragmatic Vulcan’s orders. Watching as Noli and Mizak followed the Commander to the back, the Cardassian turned in her chair and began tapping away.

This was one Borg ship that would learn that resistance was less futile than they thought.