The sun began to rise, casting a warm glow over the bustling cityscape of Earth as April 12th, 2401, dawned upon the planet, and the galaxy. On this momentous day, the USS Venture, a sleek starship renowned for its exploration missions, stood proudly among the Frontier Day festivities.

Inside the Venture’s command center, Captain T’Prynn stood at the helm, her steady gaze surveying the scene before her. With her were her trusted senior staff, a group of skilled officers who had weathered countless challenges together. Among them were the tactical genius Oliver Darwin, the resourceful Chief Engineer Zel, and the brilliant science officer Mara Shepard.

Today was no ordinary day for the Venture and her crew. They were about to embark on a historic endeavour, preparing to activate the cutting-edge Fleet Formation automated system for the first time. This advanced technology would revolutionize starship operations, streamlining efficiency and enhancing coordination among fleet vessels. Venture had been chosen to be in squadron one of the formation, alongside greats such as the Jaresh Inyo and the Enterprise herself for this momentous occasion, and the crew felt a mixture of excitement and anticipation.

As the crew prepared the ship for the activation of this technological marvel, a sense of purpose and unity permeated through the Venture. Each officer carried out their duties precisely, knowing that their peers and superiors would closely watch their actions. The ship’s systems hummed with eagerness, the air tinged with a mix of nervous energy and unwavering determination.

“Whilst I do not partake in the celebration of somewhat trivial events from history, it is truly remarkable that Starfleet has managed to muster so many vessels at one location,” the Vulcan captain remarked to no one in particular as she glanced out of the viewscreen at the sea of Starfleet vessels out there, among the home system of the Federation, in orbit of the very planet where the Federation had been born all those centuries ago.

“It’s bloody stupid if you ask me. How in the hell did command approve something like this?” Oliver said out loud, as he looked at the PADD he held in his hand. He looked up to see if anyone was staring at him before he looked back at the PADD. “This fleet formation mode seems too…” he said pausing.

T’Prynn spun in her chair slightly to gaze across at the tactician, raised eyebrow and all.

He looked up to the Vulcan captain before continuing. “Too Borg, Captain.” He said while still holding the PADD he had. “I can’t be the only one who thinks this,” he said looking at the other officers on the bridge. “This is a disaster waiting to happen. Mark my words,” he said as he stood up from his chair and walked over to StratOps carrying the PADD he was just looking at. He knew that it had already been over thirty years since that dreadful day where so many had lost loved ones including him.

Mason, standing in front of his chair with his arms crossed, also looking out at the sea of Starfleet vessels gathered for this prestigious event, chuckled a bit and looked to T’Prynn smiling. “Always the optimist of the group, Oliver.” 

Though if Mason were being truthful to himself, he’d be lying if he didn’t have reservations about this new technology. He has seen and gone over the technical data and specifications several times, but that didn’t stop the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that automating the fleet was somehow a bad idea. Maybe the feeling was because of giving up control, or maybe it was because it may be a precursor towards making crewed ships unnecessary. In either case, Starfleet seemed very invested in this new future and it was his duty to carry the flag, regardless of his personal feelings.

“I am certain the engineers among us would go to great lengths to disagree,” the Captain countered, spinning once more to look towards the Trill at the engineering station for a little clarification on the matter.

Kazjra could feel her captain’s eyes on her, but she didn’t immediately look up from her console. She caught herself shaking her head and turned it into an awkward roll of her neck instead. “The hardware and software they built for this new protocol are really…”

She paused, stuck at the crossroads of admiration and fear.

“Really something else,” she finished. “I wish I had time to pick this code apart line by line. I just don’t–”

Kazjra cut herself off again. The actual optimist of the group was finding it difficult to air her misgivings in a “glass half full” kind of way, so she fell back on an old proverb from her youth that said, “If you can’t be kind, be direct.”

“The safety overrides are essentially nonexistent,” she spat.

“Pfffft!” Ensign Kedam smirked, folding her arms across her chest and swinging on her chair at the auxiliary science station. “Who needs safety overrides? This is Starfleet, nothing ever goes wrong,” she smiled playfully.

Oliver chuckled slightly looking towards the young officer. “She has a lot to learn.” he said before turning his attention back to the display in front of him.

“Commander,” the Vulcan turned to the XO, “report our position and inform Command that Venture stands ready to join the formation.”

Mason looked to the Captain and nodded, “Aye, Captain, transmitting to Command now.”

Watching the momentous occasion on the viewscreen, the Captain and her senior staff marvelled at the sight of the mighty Enterprise-F manoeuvring out of the enormous space doors of Starbase One against a backdrop of joyous explosions of colour. It was a sight to behold, for certain. With the ship moving into formation with the rest of Starfleet’s assembled forces, the flagship moved into position less than a hundred metres from Venture’s dorsal hull.

Over the speakers across the ship, Admiral Shelby’s voice filled the airwaves with her speech reminiscing about the maiden voyage of the first warp-five starship, the Enterprise NX-01, two hundred and fifty years ago. Inspirational quotes about the eighty-three souls on their journey that would lead to the eventual creation of the United Federation of Planets and Starfleet itself. Then came the announcement of the show-stopping piece of technological advancement, Fleet Formation. Synchronistic technology that allowed every ship in the fleet (or at least those assembled) to operate as one, providing a formidable armada of defensive unity. T’Prynn gave Mora the nod, the Bolian informed command that Venture’s systems had been brought online.

Watching the scene unfold before them, the crew were suddenly taken aback by the emergence of the USS Titan on the edge of the system, seemingly late to the party. Within seconds, the fleet communications array chirped to life and the aged voice of one of Starfleet’s most famous faces filled the airwaves. Instead of the message of hope and peace that was expected, the man’s voice came with a stark warning; somehow, somewhere, Changelings had apparently helped the Borg to infiltrate Starfleet. Even the normally stoic and measured Vulcan in command of Venture couldn’t help but show tension lines on her porcelain face as she listened and rose to her feet.

Suddenly, the communications channel cut out and a piercing screech filled the bridge.

“Captain,” the Bolian at Ops called out, “the sensor array is picking up a massive energy spike emanating from Jupiter.

“Commander Zel,” the Vulcan spun on her heels, “can you disconnect us from Fleet Formation?”

If the angry chirps coming from her console were any indication, Kazjra was already trying. And failing. She shook her head in frustration. “Not from here, Captain. Permission to try from Main Engineering?”

T’Prynn nodded, and Kazjra darted for the turbolift and left the bridge.

Seconds later, the LCARS panels across the bridge started to flicker, the red of the alert status replaced with an eerie, all too familiar green.

At the sight of the all too familiar Borg signalling, the Captain was about to look across at Commander Darwin and give her orders when she caught sight of Ensign Kedam. Standing beside Lieutenant Shepard, the young Cardassian was looking very uneasy on her feet, shaking. Her eyes were black and her veins pronounced.

“Lieutenant Shepard, step away from Ensign Kedam calmly and carefully,” the Captain advised her scientist, but in a tone that suggested it was more of an order.

Mara had been quiet until the moment Ensign Kedam began to change. Per the captain’s orders, she backstepped from the ensign, keeping watch as the Cardassian’s eyes and skin turned. The science officer scouted the bridge to find that Kedam wasn’t the only one affected. “What the feck?”

Mason stood and watched as more of the younger bridge officers began to show the same symptoms as Ensign Kedam, their eyes and veins turning black, then said aloud to everyone that was unaffected, “Arm yourselves, set phasers to stun.” He then turned to T’Prynn and said, “Captain, we need to go, we’re out numbered here.”

Only a few seconds went by before all of the affected crew members stood and turned around from their stations to face the unaffected officers, all saying aloud in unison as they grabbed phasers, “Eliminate all unassimilated.” 

Mason ran through the corridor with phaser bolts firing all around him, turning around to fire stun shots into the crowd of assimilated crew members whenever he was presented with an opportunity. He was escorting another crew member, who's name escaped him at the moment, as they were attempting to outrun and lose the Borg before they could head back to their hiding spot in the Jefferies tubes.

After getting off the bridge when the crew turned and being separated from the rest of the senior staff, he initially planned on getting to Engineering to see if there was a way to take back control of the ship and set up a temporary command post there. But, unfortunately, these ‘Borg’ seem to be different than the ones that he's heard and studied. They don't seem interested in assimilation, only extermination of all those that are unassimilated. It was then that he made the call to try and save as many lives as he possibly could and survive this incident while they planned their next move. 

Taking several crew members he met along the way with him into the Jefferies tubes, Mason and one of the science officers that made it in with him rigged the internal sensors to dampen their life signs, effectively making them invisible to both sensor and tricorder scans. Mason organized a few of the survivors to stand watch at the key junctions that would lead the Borg to them, and had the science officer, Lieutenant Sporetti, acting as their field medic until they could find actual help. After finding a survivor, he would go out and look for more before returning back to the hideout. 

But this time, he didn't know if they were going to make it. Phaser bolts continued to rain all around them and the Borg were quickly advancing on their location. They couldn't head straight for the Jefferies tubes, they had to lure the Borg away before entering so they wouldn't draw them right towards the rest of the survivors. As they were rounding the corner into the next hallway, the ship shook violently and threw everyone, including the Borg, to the ground as Spacedock continued to try and defend itself against this attack. Mason slammed into the wall, and felt a tremendous amount of pain in his shoulder while he watched the young crew member hit their head hard against the bulkhead and lose consciousness. 

As the Borg stumbled back to their feet, Mason frantically searched for a pulse with the one arm he had left to see if the crewman was alright, but couldn't find one. With phaser blasts resuming, and with him only having one functioning arm at the moment, he knew there was no way he could carry her. He gritted his teeth and shook his head, fighting back tears, as he left the crew member behind, catching out of the corner of his eye the Borg putting several phaser shots through the young woman's body. 

Running several more meters down the hallway, he finally came to a junction that was out of sight where he could enter without the Borg noticing. Getting in the Jefferies tube, he closed the hatch behind him and listened to verify they continued on searching for him, refusing to lead the Borg back to the injured crew members he had already saved. 

As he waited, he heard the turbolift doors open and what sounded like two more crew members talking about what they should do and where they should go. Mason was about to open the hatch and tell them to run, when he heard their screams and the sound of more phaser fire. He put his hand to his mouth to try and muffle the sounds of his breathing and closed his eyes, listening as the Borg eliminated more and more Starfleet officers. 

He never felt worse in his life than having to sit and hide while his fellow officers stood in a shooting range to be slaughtered. But if he had opened the Jefferies tube, it would have lead the Borg right inside to search for them, and eventually they would discover the other twenty or so people he had already saved. It was an impossible choice where both options were equally horrifying to choose. 

Making his way through the Jefferies tube after he was satisfied that the Borg had moved on, he finally came up to the junction where they were hiding and was helped off the ladder and onto the ground where Sporetti started tending to his wounds. “Your shoulder is broken.” The Lieutenant said as he continued his scans. Mason was still breathing heavily, exhausted from the run and climb back, and could hardly speak, but he managed, “My… side… it hurts.” 

Sporetti, lower the tricorder and his eyes widened, “You've been shot, Commander, and you're losing a lot of blood.” He looked to one of the other officers and said forcefully, “You, help me get his shirt off, we need to band this wound before he loses any more blood.” 

The officer nodded, then asked, “What are we going to use as a bandage? We don't have any supplies, Lieutenant.”

“Rip apart the dry pieces of his undershirt and uniform jacket, we'll have to improvise until we can find something better.” Sporetti looked at Mason who winced in pain as they began to take off his uniform jacket, then looked back to the other officer and said, “We need to hurry.”

Amidst the chaos that had engulfed the USS Venture, Captain T’Prynn stood resolute in the messhall, surrounded by a small group of survivors. The once bustling and lively room now bore witness to the devastation of a civil war between the assimilated and unassimilated crewmembers. The relentless pursuit of the young, assimilated individuals had left a trail of destruction in their wake, and the surviving crewmembers were now fighting for their lives.

Lieutenant Nikti Keesa, the Bajoran assistant operations officer, stood at T’Prynn’s side, her eyes reflecting a mix of fear and determination. The terror of facing former friends and colleagues, now merciless drones, was palpable, but the need to survive drove them onward.

“We must find a way to regain control of the ship,” T’Prynn said with a stoic determination that was characteristic of her Vulcan heritage. “If we can access the main computer core and disable the automated systems, it may weaken the influence of the Borg hold on the assimilated crew.”

Nikti nodded in agreement, clutching her phaser tightly. “Agreed, Captain. But how do we get there without being detected?”

As the two discussed their strategy, the messhall’s entrance slid open, and a few more survivors stumbled in, their faces etched with terror. Among them were Lieutenant Jackson, an engineering genius, and Ensign Kellis, a young human crewmember who, it transpired, had missed assimilation by a matter of days thanks to a recent birthday.

“We barely made it out of engineering,” Jackson gasped, his eyes darting around the room, searching for any sign of danger. “The assimilated crew is everywhere, and they seem to be getting stronger.”

“We need to stick together,” T’Prynn replied, her gaze shifting from one survivor to another. “Our numbers are dwindling, but if we act as a unit, we stand a better chance of survival.”

Just then, an explosion at one of the upper doors to the mess was met with a surge of assimilated crewmates entering the relaxation spot. Over the weapons fire that ensued, three simple words echoed out.

“Eliminate all unassimilated.”

The words sent shivers down the survivor’s spines, even that of T’Prynn herself, who knew that they could not afford to show any weakness, for it would only embolden their relentless adversaries.

“Ensign Kellis, are you familiar with the ship’s maintenance tunnels?” T’Prynn asked, hoping to find an alternative route to the main computer core.

“The Jeffries tubes? Yes, Captain,” Kellis replied. “I can guide us through the network, avoiding most of the main corridors. It’s risky, but it might be our best chance.”

With a plan in place, and the survivors in the room engaged with the small gang of assimilated youngsters, the group set off through the nearby Jeffries tube hatch, cautiously moving closer to the main computer core a few decks down. The tension was palpable, every sound making their hearts race. At one point, they heard the distant sound of phaser fire, a stark reminder that danger lurked around every corner. T’Prynn swore for a moment that she had heard the voice of Commander Henry, but no such luck.

Whilst descending a ladder to the final three decks, the ship began to shake. It wasn’t a constant rumble, like disrupted warp flight, but more like weapons fire.

“I imagine we are now under attack,” she explained to her people. “We must press on.”

After what felt like an eternity of climbing, they reached a maintenance hatch near the computer core. T’Prynn looked at her team, a mixture of determination and anxiety evident on their faces. “Once we disable the automated systems, the Borg influence on the assimilated crew might weaken. We will then try to isolate the signal coming from Jupiter that’s controlling them.”

Nikti nodded, her hand shaking slightly as she reached for the control panel. “We’ll do our best, Captain. For the sake of everyone on this ship.”

As the hatch opened, they were met with the eerie hum of the main computer core. The sight of the massive array of blinking lights and controls was awe-inspiring, but they had no time to dwell on it. Ensign Kellis quickly accessed the system, his fingers flying over the controls as he tried to override the automated processes.

Suddenly, alarms blared throughout the ship, alerting the assimilated crew to their presence. Red lights bathed the room, casting an ominous glow over the faces of the desperate survivors.

“They know we’re here!” Nikti exclaimed, glancing nervously at the entrance.

T’Prynn kept her composure. “Ensign Kellis, work quickly.”

But as Ensign Kellis continued his efforts, a bright flash of light erupted behind them, and a group of assimilated crewmembers emerged from the shadows. Their cold, vacant eyes bore no hint of recognition or mercy.

“Eliminate all unassimilated,” one of them droned.

Venture, once a symbol of exploration and unity, had now become a battleground, its halls echoing with the chaotic sounds of phaser fire and the relentless pursuit of the young assimilated crewmembers. The ship’s corridors were dimly lit, shrouded in shadows that seemed to mirror the darkness that had befallen the once vibrant starship.

T’Prynn, the ship’s Vulcan commanding officer, found herself fleeing for her life after narrowly escaping an attack in the main computer core. The assault had caught her team off guard, coming much quicker than any of them had anticipated, and all were lucky to escape with only minor injuries. Now, she was in a desperate search for survivors, hoping to find some solace and a strategy to fight back against the Borg threat.

Amidst the chaos, Lieutenant Nikti Keesa, stood by T’Prynn’s side, her breaths coming in short gasps as adrenaline coursed through her veins. The two officers had formed an unspoken bond, a shared determination to survive and resist the relentless pursuit of their assimilated former colleagues.

As they rushed through the dimly lit corridors, phaser fire erupted around them, forcing them to take cover behind bulkheads and equipment. The unassimilated crewmembers fought back, setting their phasers to stun in an attempt to incapacitate rather than harm their former friends and colleagues.

However, the young assimilated crewmembers showed no such restraint. Their attacks were swift and deadly as if the Borg’s directive to “Eliminate all unassimilated” had overridden any lingering traces of their former selves.

“Communications appear to still be down,” the Vulcan informed, between taps of her commbadge.

“Captain, we need to find a secure location,” Nikti told, her voice filled with urgency. “Somewhere we can regroup and come up with a plan.”

T’Prynn nodded, her Vulcan calm contrasting with the turmoil around her. “Agreed, Lieutenant. The main computer core has been compromised, but perhaps we can find an auxiliary control room or a safe haven where we can assess the situation.”

Navigating the darkened corridors, T’Prynn’s thoughts turned to the young crewmembers who had been assimilated. She had known many of them personally, and it actually pained her to see their minds and personalities obliterated by the Borg’s influence. Yes, an actual emotional response from the normally stoic Vulcan.

“I might have an idea…” Lieutenant Jackson smiled, nodding down the corridor to their left, and then led the way, phasers drawn.

In their desperate search for safety, the group found themselves at Shuttlebay Two, where a Type 11 shuttle sat quietly. More importantly, the room appeared untouched Nikti’s eyes widened with hope. “Perhaps we can use the shuttle’s advanced systems to our advantage. It might offer us a secure location to work on our strategy.”

A small smattering of additional survivors appeared from behind the safety of some cargo containers and made their presence known to the Vulcan.

T’Prynn nodded, her logical mind acknowledging the potential benefits. “Agreed Lieutenant. We shall take refuge in the shuttle and begin formulating our plan.”

As the group settled into the shuttle, T’Prynn activated the privacy protocols, ensuring that their discussions would remain confidential. The dim lighting inside the shuttlebay provided a semblance of calm in the midst of the turmoil outside. Jackson kept his eye on the doors to the bay from the entrance ramp, ready to close them at a second’s notice.

“We need to access the main computer core’s logs,” Ensign O’Reilly suggested. “There might be data on the origin of the Borg’s signal, and it could help us locate the source.”

Nikti nodded in agreement. “I’ll see if I can establish a secure connection to the core from here. If we can access the logs, we might also find data on the countermeasures used by other ships to disrupt the Borg’s control.”

Lieutenant Jackson, ever the tactical mind, chimed in, looking into the cockpit. “If there are any countermeasures…”

As the group delved into their respective tasks, T’Prynn’s mind was a whirlwind of calculations and possibilities. The fate of the USS Venture and its crew rested on their shoulders, and the burden of command weighed heavily on her.

The hours passed in tense silence as they worked tirelessly, sharing ideas and theories, their minds focused on finding a solution. The dim light of the shuttlebay seemed to grow colder as they confronted the reality of their situation.

Finally, Nikti broke the silence with a hint of hope in her voice. “I’ve managed to establish a secure connection to the main computer core. I’m accessing the logs now.”

As the data flowed in, T’Prynn’s eyes scanned the information, seeking any clues that could lead them to the Borg’s signal’s origin. But all they found was pain. Hundreds of starships, in the Sol system and beyond, had fallen. And there, at Earth, it was nothing short of a disaster. Dozens of ships had been destroyed in a battle with Spacedock, but now they threatened to overwhelm Earth’s final defences with the station all but destroyed. And there wasn’t a mention of any countermeasures anywhere in the logs. Just destruction… and death.

The light from the red alert panels was already flickering when Kazjra bolted through the doors into Main Engineering, and the enormity of the situation weighed on her like a rock in her stomach. Whatever the Changelings and the Borg had planned, Fleet Formation had primed them for it. Overriding it was a top priority.

As she ran towards the main systems display, she saw Lieutenant Jeto already standing there, her brow furrowed above her creased nose.

Kazjra knelt next to her, ignoring the display’s large screen and console entirely and focusing on a covered access panel below. After fumbling with the release tabs for a second, she ripped the panel cover off.

“Jeto!” she said, trying to project her voice over the commotion around her. “We need to disable our comms system if we’re going to regain control of the ship. I’m taking a run at it manually, but if this doesn’t work I’ll need a sonic driver and a second set of hands.”

There was no response from Jeto, though Kazjra was sure she had heard her: the chatter and motion in the room had just quieted down significantly. It was deeply unnerving, but she forced herself to stay focused on the task of disconnecting the necessary relays.

“Jeto! Did you hear me?”

She stilled her hands and tilted her head to listen for a response, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. There was a soft, choking sound coming from behind her.

Kazjra tore herself away from the panel and pulled herself up, only to recoil in shock at the sight of Jeto. The lieutenant’s eyes were turning black as the veins in her face and neck bulged and darkened.

She slapped her commbadge. “Zel to sickbay! Something’s wrong with Jeto!”

It was only then she realized it was more than just Jeto. No response came from sickbay, and Kazjra quickly understood why.

“We are the Borg.” Dozens of voices around her spoke in unison, hundreds more echoing on an unknown frequency.

“Eliminate all unassimilated.”

She flinched as she heard phaser fire elsewhere in the room. Jeto was unarmed but lunged for a nearby hyperspanner, grabbed it, and threw herself full force at Kazjra.

Kazjra jumped out of the way a split second before the hyperspanner came down on the display console and shattered it, and her mind began to race.

She had to get out of the chaos and figure out what was happening. A map of the Jefferies tubes appeared crystal clear in her head, and she darted off to the right, ducking low beneath phaser fire. Ahead was a hatch that would open up to Nacelle Access.

Jeto was on her heels. The second that Kazjra reached the hatch, she spun around and reached for Jeto, feeling their combined momentum travel through her arm to Jeto’s head to the wall, as Jeto’s head connected with a loud thunk. Jeto fell, conscious but stunned just enough that Kazjra had time to key in her access code. The hatch opened.

At the same moment, on the other side of the room, the doors to the corridor slid open. Dozens of black-veined security guards appeared at the threshold and began firing.

Kazjra dove through the hatch. There was a blinding flash of light and heat as it sealed shut.

With a grunt and a loud click, she manually locked the hatch on her side in case they tried to get through with security overrides.

Then she noticed the smell of burning fabric and flesh.

BANG

BANG

BANG

The thunderous pounding on the other side of the hatch rang out only three times. Once it stopped, Kazjra could hear the screams of other officers outside the Jefferies tube in main engineering, sharp and agonized. She’d never been in a war zone in any of her five lifetimes, but in her gut she knew that this must be what they sounded like and that her crewmates weren’t being subdued: they were being slaughtered.

She suddenly and vividly recalled her first death.

She was Janrix Zel, pushing through the underbrush of a deep blue forest on an alien planet. 

He waded through the plants, eyes locked on a specimen just meters away, until three sharp pinpricks stopped him in his tracks.

The immediate emotion had been curiosity, but now the memory was accompanied by dread and the knowledge that it was the beginning of the end.

After locating and containing the insectoid creature that was the likely attacker, Janrix began retracing his steps back toward the shuttle and his crew, but each step felt increasingly heavier until he started feeling pins and needles in his legs.

He pulled out his communicator and reported his condition back to base, sweating and trembling and wondering if he’d make it back on his own. Suddenly his foot caught on a tree root. He pitched forward into the dirt. When he tried to pick himself up again, he found he didn’t have the strength.

The memories are blurry and disconnected after that: lying on a gurney in the shuttle, hypospray after hypospray being administered as he’s fading in and out of consciousness. His heart feeling like a bird fluttering in his chest. Blinding flashes of pain in his head and his abdomen as Janrix Zel separates, becoming Janrix and Zel. Tingling, confusion, and finally the cold, barren feeling that Zel would come to associate with the loss of a host.

Another scream broke her from the horrible reverie, and she felt bile rise in her throat. She desperately wanted to turn around, open the hatch, and… do what?

What could she do? Going back out would mean certain death.

What about forward? The Jefferies tube she was in led directly to the nacelle access junction and to the nacelle control room. If she could make it to the control room, maybe she could do… something.

Her thoughts whirled, and she recalled her second death. Her worst death. Slow, debilitating, and full of unknowns. Unsure if even the symbiont would survive it.

Yolozha Zel hadn’t known she was doomed when she pierced her faulty protective glove in the lab. The sudden depression and mood swings had been puzzling but were not enough to clue her in. It wasn’t until the shooting pain in her hands every time she gripped something too hard that she realized something was deeply wrong. Only then did she consciously consider the terrible possibility, only then did she ask for the tests to be run.

By the time the muscle spasms started, they’d confirmed prion disease. Then she began to fade more quickly, and Zel’s recollection becomes a tumble of disjointed memories. Trips, falls. Forgetfulness, confusion. The bizarre feeling of disconnect, of being two beings in one body instead of one whole as Yolozha’s mind succumbed to dementia.

Kazjra realized with a jolt that she’d just been lying there for who knows how long. Her brain felt fuzzy. She tried to move, tried to pull herself forward, but there was a jolt of blinding pain.

Pain.

Kayten Zel felt the pain only briefly. His death was sudden and senseless, but quick. Thank goodness, so quick. The crash, the sudden, horrible cacophony of twisting metal, and then seconds later the shock. It overrode all the pain and fear and then everything was over, just like that. Zel’s grief as another host slipped away felt like more than it could contain alone in its tiny form, but the mantra echoed on: it was quick.

Kazjra remembered being Kayten, being in shock. Being Kazjra, being in shock. “I’m in shock right now, aren’t I? That pain–”

She reached for her thigh but didn’t have to touch it to realize that she’d been shot in the leg, that despite the cauterizing heat she was still bleeding profusely.

That she might be dying.

Taner was the first host to die of old age. His death had been a good death. Taner Zel did have some inkling that night as he prepared to go to sleep that he would be doing so for the last time, but there was no fear. There was contentment, there was pride that he’d figured out exactly what he wanted to do in life and done it well. He settled into bed, tired out from a good day. He closed his eyes and dreamed until the dreams scattered and dissolved into a mist that Zel still remembers with awe and wonder.

“What about Kazjra’s death?” she mumbled to herself. “This can’t be it. I don’t want this to be it.”

If the Borg won the day, it would be the Zel symbiont’s death, too. No memory of Kazjra, Taner, Kayten, Yolozha, or Janrix. No memory of Oliver, Mara, or her captain.

She made one more attempt to pull herself forward through the Jefferies tube, and her last thought before fading out was, “Gotta make it to that control room.” 

Inside the dimly lit confines of the Type 11 shuttle, the survivors grappled with the weight of their findings. The chilling truth that their beloved starship, like the rest of the fleet, was about to become an instrument of genocide weighed heavily on each of them, including their Captain. The once proud and noble Venture had become a weapon of destruction, and the survivors knew that they couldn’t stand idly by and let that happen.

Captain T’Prynn’s eyes bore the weight of the decision she had to make. She had always valued logic and reason, but the situation they were facing was far from rational. It was a moral dilemma that threatened to tear her apart.

Lieutenant Nikti Keesa, the Bajoran assistant operations officer, looked to T’Prynn with concern. “Captain, we can’t let this happen. We must find a way to stop the Borg’s control of the ship and prevent the atrocities they plan to commit.”

T’Prynn nodded solemnly, her Vulcan composure wavering under the immense pressure of the situation. “I agree, Lieutenant. We cannot allow Venture or any other ship to become a weapon of devastation. But the Borg’s control seems impenetrable. We may not have the means to stop them.”

Lieutenant Jackson stepped forward with a grim expression. “Captain, I’ve analyzed the data, and I’m afraid there is no way to regain control of the ship at this point. The only surefire way to ensure Venture is not used as a weapon is to destroy her. We can sabotage the ship’s warp core in engineering, causing a catastrophic chain reaction that would destroy her…” he told grimly.

The suggestion hung heavily in the air. Sacrificing everyone on the ship, including themselves, was a daunting proposition, but they knew that it might be the only way to prevent the Borg’s plan from unfolding. T’Prynn looked around at her crew, seeing the mixture of fear, determination, and resignation in their eyes. They had fought bravely, but now they were faced with a seemingly impossible decision.

“We must act quickly if we’re going to carry out this plan,” T’Prynn said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “We need to get to engineering before the Borg can stop us.”

The survivors reluctantly accepted their fate. The weight of the decision they had made settled on their shoulders, but they knew that it was the only way to ensure that the atrocities the Borg planned would not come to pass. As they prepared to leave the shuttle, Lieutenant Nikti Keesa paused for a moment, her eyes filled with determination. “Let’s do this,” she decreed firmly.

The group nodded in agreement, their resolve strengthened by Nikti’s words. They would carry out their plan, not just for themselves, but for the millions of lives that would be lost if the Borg’s signal reached the fleet.

With their phasers at the ready, the survivors left the shuttle and began making their way towards engineering. They moved with a sense of urgency, knowing that every second counted. Navigating the dimly lit corridors of Venture, the tension in the air was palpable. Each step they took brought them closer to their fate, but each had surprisingly made peace with their decision, knowing full well that there really was no alternative.

When they finally reached engineering, having only encountered sporadic resistance, the group spread out, preparing to make their assault on the engineering bay. But to their surprise, upon entering via the two bay doors, the room was devoid of any activity. And why would there be? All of the ship’s systems were on lockdown, functioning solely under the new Fleet Formation protocol, controlled from somewhere else entirely.

“Alright,” Jackson looked at the team, “lets see what we can…”

Before the man could finish his sentence, a mass of transporter beams activated, signal patterns materialising in engineering and surrounding the team. Whilst the survivors grew distracted, the engineering bay doors slid open with a hiss, and a further group of assimilated drones entered. Their lifeless eyes locked onto the survivors, and their mechanical movements signalled their intent to eliminate the unassimilated.

T’Prynn’s Vulcan heart pounded in her chest as she prepared for the worst. But just as the drones looked like they were about to fire, they froze in their tracks. Their vacant eyes seemed to regain a spark of humanity, and their mechanical movements slowed and faltered. The survivors exchanged bewildered glances, unsure of what was happening. Had their plan failed? Were the drones merely stalling before they carried out their deadly directive? But to their astonishment, the drones began to de-assimilate before their eyes. Borg nanites detached from their bodies, disintegrating into nothingness. The once assimilated drones returned to their pre-assimilation state, well aware of the atrocities they had carried out.

Lieutenant Tempestava th’Zorati, a young Aenar who had transferred from the Ulysses some months earlier as a flight operations officer, approached T’Prynn with tears in her eyes. “We remember,” she said, her voice filled with remorse. “We remember everything.”

T’Prynn’s heart swelled with compassion as she saw the pain and regret in the young Aenar’s eyes. “It is not your fault Lieutenant,” she said gently. “No one blames you,” the Vulcan told the youngster, then looked around the rest of the group, “no one blames any of you.”

The once assimilated drones looked around with dazed expressions, struggling to comprehend what had just happened. The weight of their actions weighed heavily on them, and they grappled with the memories of the atrocities they had carried out under the Borg’s control. In that moment, T’Prynn realized that there was still hope. If these drones were now, apparently, unassimilated, perhaps the rest of the drones on the ship were. If they could break free from the Borg’s influence, maybe their fellow crewmates had.

With renewed determination, T’Prynn turned to her people. “We must split up,” she decreed. “I will take a team to the bridge. Lieutenant Nikti will take a team to sickbay. Lieutenant Jackson, you will remain here with a team and ascertain the status of this vessel.”

The survivors nodded in agreement. All of them were survivors now, especially those who were unassimilated.

Captain’s Log, Stardate 24014.13. Captain T’Prynn commanding.

 

Frontier Day has come to a close, marking a sombre note in Federation history. The loss of life stands in the hundreds of thousands, not confined solely here at Earth but spread across the expanse of the Federation. Fleet Formation mode, initially intended as a strategic measure, has proven to be an unmitigated disaster, granting our most dangerous adversaries an unforeseen opportunity to assimilate numerous starships and their brave crews. The ramifications of this tragedy are severe, with the once-mighty Spacedock now reduced to irreparable ruins, and the loss of the venerable USS Enterprise serves as a heartrending testament to the peril we faced.

 

Were it not for the timely and courageous intervention of the intrepid crew of the Starship Titan, Earth would have inevitably fallen to the encroaching darkness. Their dedication to the principles of the Federation has spared our home world from the brink of oblivion, a debt that can never be fully repaid.

Nonetheless, the USS Venture has not emerged unscathed from the chaos that engulfed the fleet. We bear the burden of significant damage, necessitating extensive repairs. As per orders, we are bound for Avalon Fleet Yards, alongside the rest of the Fourth Fleet, to commence the much-needed restoration. We are fortunate to receive the support and protection of Hathaway squadron, led by the capable and recently appointed Fleet Captain Nazir. Their presence bolsters our resolve as we navigate the challenging journey ahead.

 

The toll of this calamity has been deeply felt aboard the Venture, including for this Vulcan captain. We mourn the loss of many valued crew members, with some 43 souls tragically lost and over two hundred others suffering injuries. While the physical wounds may eventually heal, the emotional and psychological scars shall linger long into the future. Our hearts ache for the families and friends of those we have lost, and our thoughts are with the wounded as they confront the long road to recovery.

 

In this solemn moment, the galaxy mourns the passing of its beloved denizens, the innocent victims of an unforeseen menace. Yet, amid the sorrow, there is a sliver of solace. We can take refuge in the knowledge that Starfleet’s finest have once again proven their mettle, standing united to thwart the malevolent schemes of our most treacherous adversaries. The crew of the USS Venture contributed to this valiant defence, their resilience and valour shining through the darkest of hours.

 

The essence of the Federation lies in its unwavering pursuit of peace, exploration, and diplomacy. It is within these values that we find the strength to endure and rebuild in the aftermath of tragedy. Together, we must press forward, drawing on the bonds of unity that tie us as a galactic community.

 

As we undertake the journey to Avalon Fleet Yards, we shall honour the memories of those we have lost by ensuring that their sacrifices remain etched in our hearts. They shall inspire us to overcome the trials ahead and strengthen our determination to confront the challenges that lie on the horizon.

 

For we are the crew of the Federation starship Venture, and we shall continue to boldly go where no one has gone before…

Kazjra drummed on the table in a rhythm completely out of tune with the soft music currently playing in the main lounge, then abruptly gripped the edge in an effort to still her hands.

She had too much pent-up energy, and she’d usually expel it by striking up a conversation with another of the lounge patrons. Tonight, however, she was waiting for someone in particular.

The status of her relationship with Oliver had been somewhat unclear when she’d left the Bonchune back in December, and she’d been more than okay with that. ‘Nice and casual’ was common in the uncertain world of Starfleet, and it appealed to her as a joined Trill as well. But now they were back on the same ship, and it certainly wouldn’t do to pretend they were strangers.

She reached out and took a sip of her Old Fashioned, and was quickly reminded that it was synthehol. Oh well.

Oliver walked down the hallway slowly, as he was trying to calm himself. He felt the sweat fall down his back as he made his way to the lounge. He was meeting with a “friend”.

He was unsure as to what to call her since their last meeting on the Bonchune. He was a little upset about her sudden leave from the ship, but he was excited to see her again. Though he would never admit it to her, he had missed her.

Kazjra had been shamelessly watching the door and saw him the moment it slid open, though she was too far away to see how nervous he was. Her hand darted into the air as high as it would go, and she waved him over to her side of the lounge where she’d managed to procure a booth next to a window. “Oliver! Over here!”

Oliver’s eyes darted over to where the familiar voice called him, and then he saw her. Sitting in a booth near a window, he lost his breath slightly. He had almost forgotten how beautiful she was. He walked over to her his eyes never leaving hers.

Kazjra put all her effort into keeping the smile on her face as he approached. She felt it nearly waver at the sight of him, her instinctive tendency to worry about the man quickly returning. Had he been overworking again? Too focused on the tactical? Humans were so good at forgetting that they had only one life available to them.

“I got you your favorite drink,” she said, pushing the glass towards him when he reached the table. “I made sure to order yours with the real stuff,” she added with a wink.

Oliver sat down at the table and grabbed the glass. ‘Did she really remember my favorite drink?’ He thought to himself before he took a sip from the glass.

‘She did!’ He thought the smirked a little then looked up at her. He was for the first time in months… speechless.

“There we go!” Kazjra said with a laugh. “Almost got a smile out of you already.”

She was relieved, both for her sake and for his.

“I’m glad you accepted my invitation for drinks,” she continued. “I was so surprised when I saw you’d been transferred to the Venture!”

He sat there trying to think of something to say.

“It really is nice to see you Kaz.” He said smiling slightly at her trying to read her face. 

Kazjra took a sip of her drink, then leaned forward and put her chin on her hands. “Do you remember our first date on the Bonchune? When I dragged you to the holodeck to do that obstacle course set up in those ancient ruins?”

Oliver chuckled, “Yes I do remember that.” He said thinking back to that moment. “You forced me to do it against my will and I still beat you.” He said smiling at her.

Kazjra threw her head back and laughed. “It was a test and you passed! I couldn’t go on a second date with someone who let me win out of politeness.”

She leaned forward as if preparing to hear a big secret. “What program would you have chosen? If I had let you.”

Oliver’s smile slowly faded as he thought of what to say next. “I would have shown you a sunset on one of Earth’s beaches.”

Kazjra smiled. Just as she started to reach out for Oliver’s hands, her combadge chimed. “Engineering to Lieutenant Zel! We’ve been ordered to start the final integration of the Fleet Formation protocol early, and you said you wanted to be here for it…”

The ensign on the other end of the line trailed off nervously, and Kazjra sighed. “I did say that, didn’t I? Well…”

She stood up and looked down at Oliver, unsure of what to say. Instead, she bent down, gave him a peck on the cheek, and said “Let’s finish this later!” before making a brisk exit.