The bridge of the Yorktown was bustling with activity as Captain Jerok walked through the turbolift door towards the command chair. Jerok’s eyes scanned the room, taking note of the focused determination on each person’s face as they went about their job. The air throughout the ship was filled with excitement; it was palpable to the Romulan as he made his way to the command chair at the center of the bridge. When he finally reached the command chair, he settled in and took a deep breath, ready to give his crew an order he thought he’d never be forced to. An order he wasn’t sure he could spin in a way that they would unquestionably follow.

“Sir, all stations showing ready to return to Earth for Frontier Day,” Commander Branson reported to the captain as he took his seat. The Romulan nodded, acknowledging the report with his usual casual glance. 

“Unfortunately we’re going to be a bit delayed. I know you are all excited to get to Earth for the festivities, but we have some new orders. It appears that the USS Intrepid has been attacked,” Jerok calmly explained so as not to alarm the bridge crew.

“Attacked? By who?” Lieutenant Zemess nearly snapped his reply back at the end of a concerned breath.

Jerok sighed, “It appears this may have been an attack by another Starfleet vessel. The reports are scarce and it happened on the frontier of Federation space. But the vessel was tracked heading in our direction. We’ve been ordered to meet up with the Trumbull and Mestral to begin search operations.”

The silence on the bridge of the Yorktown was deafening, broken only by the ambient sound of the LCARS interfaces. It wasn’t very often that any member of Starfleet heard of one Starfleet vessel firing on another. Jerok knew that they all had the same question on their mind, but recognized the Romulan in him wouldn’t easily allow him to offer up the information unprompted. The entire bridge had halted its work and turned to him, waiting with bated breath for him to utter what they all wanted to know. Finally, someone asked. 

“What ship are we looking for?” Commander Sul queried.

The captain was slightly relieved someone finally asked, punching through the tension on the bridge, and it allowed him to circumvent years of conformity to Romulan culture. Looking straight towards the view screen Jerok responded, “We are to track the USS Titan.”

A few audible gasps could be heard. Jerok was even certain that he heard one from his own first officer. The Titan was a starship name with a heritage that rivaled that of even the Yorktown. It was a ship known throughout the fleet.

“Captain Shaw?” the Romulan finally heard his first officer ask in both confusion and concern.

The captain attempted to ease some concerns, “Starfleet Command believes that Captain Shaw may have been incapacitated and is no longer in command. There is reason to believe that the Titan has been hijacked by others not in command of the ship, and they’re headed for the core worlds for reasons unknown.”

Jerok knew more than that, he knew who the real perpetrators were suspected to be. But he also knew that he couldn’t and wouldn’t create a problem on his ship, on the Yorktown. The names William T. Riker and Jean-Luc Picard were two of the most well respected names in Starfleet history — hell, they were two of the most well known names among his own people, echoing throughout past Romulan halls of government. He wasn’t going to sully their name based on presumptions by Starfleet Command, nor was he going to potentially turn his own crew against him who may see fellow officers in need. Officers who were heroes to many of them when they were children. Officers who would read stories of their adventures on the Enterprise so many decades ago and inspired them to want to join Starfleet themselves. Jerok knew that this was as much a balancing game as it was anything else; a dangerous one, at that. If something really was wrong, he was more than willing to assist. But if the worst did happen, if a Federation starship was hijacked and is potentially on the loose, it needed to be stopped.

With the end of his curt explanation, the bridge crew seemed satisfied. The answer had worked. They had turned back to their stations and were preparing to chase the Titan. Jerok had assured them that they were chasing some type of terrorists or saboteurs. Not some of the most decorated heroes of the United Federation of Planets.

“All hands, yellow alert,” Commander Branson’s voice echoed throughout the ship. 

Jerok watched as the bridge lights dimmed slightly in the yellow hue. It was certainly odd that this was going on with the Titan meer weeks before Frontier Day. The celebration itself seemed to be amiss. ‘That many ships gathering in one place?’ many people had asked themselves. Not just at Earth, either. Many ships were being recalled to various worlds around the Federation for the celebration. And amidst all of this planning and execution for Frontier Day, the Titan, one of the most famous ship names in all of Starfleet, has been hijacked by two of the most decorated Starfleet officers in history?

And then there was the question of how Starfleet Command knew what it knew about what was going on onboard the Titan. Normally, Jerok wasn’t one to question orders or his superiors; another historically cultural hallmark of the Romulan people. But it was one that weighed on his mind since he had been given his orders. Nonetheless, the Yorktown did have orders…

“Helm set a course for Crepuscula, maximum warp. Hopefully, we can cut them off before they reach the core territories,” the captain sighed lightly. “Before any damage can be done.”

“Course laid in,” Ensign Thomas responded, his body half contorted in its seat back towards the captain waiting for the command. The bridge had fallen silent again. Jerok looked around, knowing his crew was up to the task as long as he kept them in the dark about what exactly was going on.

“Engage.”

The bridge of the Yorktown was dimly lit, contrasting against the brightly illuminated consoles and the faces of the crew staring at them. The occasional hum of the strobing red alert accent lighting broke through the dark room. Lieutenant Zemess finally reported, “No sign of the Titan, sir. It looks like she got away… again.”

“Damn it,” Commander Branson slammed her hands against the console she was hovering over, watching the sensor display in real time. “There is no way they should be able to get away from us like this.”

Largely ignoring the uncharacteristic outburst, Jerok asked Commander Sul, “Any word from the Mestral or Trumbull?”

“Nothing, sir. The last report was two hours ago from both ships and they reported no sightings of the Titan. Just more sensor decoys,” the Betazoid responded directly.

“Sir…” an alarm klaxon went off at the tactical console as Zemess intently scanned across the console. “I’m picking up the Titan’s transponder, again. Half a light year away.”

Jerok let out a sigh. Probably another instance of them catching their own tails, but they had to investigate. “Helm, set an intercept course, maximum warp. Comms, send coordinates and notify the Mestral and Trumbull to rendezvous with us at the location of that signal.”

The bridge was relatively quiet as the crew waited with bated breath. Their short journey felt like an eternity, another expectation that the Titan would be there. But each time their tactics were sound. Jerok knew that they had a lot of experience on that ship, and trying to catch them wouldn’t be easy. 

Finally, the Yorktown dropped out of warp to a familiar sight. Jerok sighed in frustration, again, as in front of the view screen was another decoy transponder beacon. The Mestral and Trumbull dropped out of warp, all three ships encircling the transponder.

Jerok watched as his first officer lost her cool again. “How are we being outsmarted by Shaw, Riker, whoever is on that ship?!” she shouted slamming her fist against a console again. 

But what she said gave Jerok immediate pause. Almost a chilling freeze up his spine. He almost didn’t want to believe it at first. But knowing what he knew about the Titan being taken over by “renegades” made him wonder: ‘If it could happen on the Titan could it happen on the Yorktown?’

But how did she know? How did Commander Branson know Riker was on that ship? That was a piece of information Starfleet Command shared with him when he got his orders, but it was something he went out of his way to keep shielded from his crew. He tapped a few commands into the arm of his command chair. Moments later, four security officers stepped onto the bridge.

Jerok, without hesitation, firmly ordered them, “Security, please take Commander Branson into custody. Hold her in the brig until you receive further orders from me.”

The entire bridge crew turned their heads in confusion. In that confusion, Branson lunged at one of the security officers trying to grab his phaser pistol. Another security officer turned and backhanded the first officer, staggering her back a few steps. Once she regained her footing, Jerok saw her face as it shimmered back to a near perfect complexion. Something he thought he’d never lay eyes on again. Something he hadn’t laid eyes on in 30 years: a Changeling.

Commander Sul, perhaps one of the few officers who was also serving during the Dominion War, immediately slapped a few commands on his console as the ship wide comm system opened, “All hands, intruder on the bridge.”

In the chaos that ensued all four security officers tried to subdue the Changeling pretending to be Commander Branson. Ensign Thomas and Lieutenant Zemess fled their stations to join the brawl. Commander Sul pulled a phaser pistol out of one of the storage lockers on the side of the bridge and fired it at the Changeling on the highest stun setting. 

Jerok and Sul exchanged a look, and Jerok nodded. They both knew – probably better than any of the younger officers on the ship – what had to be done. Sul changed the setting on the phaser as Jerok yelled, “Everyone stand back.”

As the crowd dispersed around the Changeling, who seemed confused, Sul pointed the phaser pistol. The Changeling only had a second to react, but not enough time. The Betazoid squeezed the trigger, vaporizing the Changeling into a pile of ash.

No one said anything as mere seconds seemed like quiet hours had passed. Finally, Commander Sul spoke up, “… are we chasing Changelings on the Titan?”

Jerok responded very matter-of-factly, “I don’t know, but I fear we may have a bigger problem than one stolen ship.” 

Jerok watched from the captain’s chair as the Yorktown streaked through the universe making its way to Earth. The Yorktown had been pulled from its assignment tracking the Titan in order to return to Earth for the Frontier Day celebration. The crew, however, was still on heightened alert. The ship remained on yellow alert, security teams ready, and the bridge crew expecting to divert back to the Titan at a moment’s notice.

Several days had passed since the revelation of his first officer’s status as an apparent Changeling came to light. Much to his dismay, something Jerok presumed would be a fleet-wide red alert turned into something seemingly of insignificant consequences.

“Commander, still nothing from Starfleet Command on Commander Branson or anything about Changelings?” the captain asked, again, almost to the level of annoyance at this point.

Commander Sul checked his console quickly before responding, “No, sir. Nothing since they ordered us to discontinue pursuit of the Titan.” A pause came over the Betzaoid as he carefully chose his next words in front of the rest of the bridge crew, “Captain, the entirety of comms traffic is Frontier Day related. All of it… its somewhat odd and I’m not sure what to make of it. I haven’t tracked a single message or hail regarding our Changeling problem. It’s almost as if someone doesn’t want it getting out.”

“Well, we both know it would likely mean war.” Jerok was solemn in his words. 

“Sir, we are getting an incoming transmission. Fleet Admiral Shelby. Looks like they’re making a fleet-wide announcement,” Zemess interrupted the tense moment. 

“On screen, and play it throughout the ship,” the Romulan ordered.

“250 years ago today, the Enterprise NX-01, the first warp five capable vessel to be constructed by Human hands, made its maiden voyage. With it, a crew of 83 souls embarked on a journey. One of bravery, perseverance, and sacrifice that would lead to the birth of what we know today as Starfleet.”

“Mute on the bridge,” Jerok asked as he looked forward at Ensign Thomas at the helm, his eyes off the view screen as Fleet Admiral Shelby droned on about Starfleet history. “Ensign, are we even going to make it to Earth before the Frontier Day festivities are over?”

No response came.

“Ensign, my readout says we’re approaching Wolf 359. At our current speed, will we make it to Earth in time?” the Captain repeated himself.

Finally, Jerok crawled out of the command chair and walked towards the front of the bridge. Putting a hand on the young ensign, he spun him around to see what was wrong. It was yet another familiar sight of decades past that Jerok had hoped he would never see again. From one traumatic flashback for Jerok to the next, it seemed. The young man’s face was sprawled with nanites and Borg technology. Commander Sul, who was seated next to Ensign Thomas, once he realized what Jerok was seeing, grabbed his phaser from its holster and shot Ensign Thomas, stunning him unconscious in his chair.

Jerok paused, looking around the bridge. It was chaotic around him and he hadn’t realized what was going on until it was too late. Grabbing his own phaser, he was trying to make out what was going on. Some of the crew appeared to be partially assimilated, attacking others who weren’t.

Unsure of what to do, he reverted back to his Starfleet training in a situation just like this.

“Computer, activate Wildfire Protocol. Authorization Jerok-one-pi-seven-omega.”

The computer chirped in response for a moment as the Protocol appeared to activate. The Yorktown slammed on its brakes as it dropped from warp. Consoles appeared to be locking up and klaxons were ringing throughout the ship. But moments later, some consoles appeared to come back to life. Jerok looked down at the helm console, which showed that engines were still shut down. It almost seemed like the Protocol was only half effective before something could stop it. But looking down at that helm console, Jerok also saw that Borg programming was beginning to take over the ship. Looking at Commander Sul, the Romulan plainly said, “We need to evacuate.”

Sul activated the ship-wide comm, which seemed to be a system still functioning, “All hands, abandon ship. Repeat: all hands abandon ship.”

Jerok and Sul lifted their phasers and began firing at any of the assimilated crew, staggering them or knocking them down long enough for the others to arm themselves. As the dust settled, Jerok wondered how lucky they were that they were on heightened alert from searching for the Titan. ‘Was this going on anywhere else? Are we the only ones?’

Jerok motioned for the few remaining unassimilated bridge crew to pack into the turbolift, barely a square inch of standing room left over. No one said anything. No one had to. They understood what was happening. Their ship was being assimilated, and they didn’t know how, why, or if they could even stop it.

The Romulan captain broke the silence by ordering the turbolift: “Main Engineering.”

He turned to Zemess and Sul, who both made it off the bridge along with him. Trying to catch his breath and his heart racing, the Captain declared firmly, “We can’t let this ship be assimilated. The Wildfire Protocol was created for exactly these situations, and it looks like the Borg programming stopped it in its tracks. Since Wildfire couldn’t run its course, it is certainly only a matter of time before the Borg can fully take over.”

“I checked before we left the bridge. It looks like the self-destruct mechanism is offline. We would have to do it manually,” Zemess suggested. 

“We could destroy the magnetic constrictors, but that wouldn’t leave much time to get off the ship,” Sul added.

“We have to,” the Captain looked at his two senior officers, “Feeling up to it?” he jokingly asked. They both nodded. He didn’t need to ask. Jerok already knew that his officers were up to the task. And they both understood just as much as he did what needed to be done. “You’ll both be with me. We’ll go into Main Engineering. Everyone else, grab as many unassimilated crew as you can and make your way to escape pods and the shuttlebays. Leave one shuttle for us. It’s an 80-meter straight shot from Engineering to Shuttlebay One.”

Finally, the turbolift came to a halt. Everyone readied their phasers as the doors wooshed open, revealing a chaotic hallway. The turbolift emptied as almost everyone began filing out into the corridor, spreading out into their separate ways. The doors behind them closed as a few remained to go to other decks and look for survivors. Jerok, Sul, and Zemess pressed on to Main Engineering.

The trio burst into Main Engineering, phasers drawn, expecting a sea of Borg drones at the heart of the ship. Instead, they found Commander Groll pounding her fists against a console. “Commander, are you okay?” Jerok asked as they approached deeper into Engineering. “No drones?”

“They don’t seem interested in Engineering. Why would they be? They already control the ship,” Groll sighed in exhaustion as she slapped the console for good measure. “It’s that damned Fleet Formation Mode software Shelby had us install that we’ve been screaming about for months. It had some sort of Borg malware in it. I can’t seem to purge it out.”

“Yeah, the bridge locked out. Looks like the command authorization system is locked out and we have no control over the self-destruct,” Commander Sul placed his phaser down on an adjacent console as he began punching commands in. “Looks like some of the shuttles and escape pods have launched. Thankfully some people are making it off the ship.”

“What about comms? Can we warn anyone else to abandon ship?” Zemess asked.

“Comms are down, but it looks like I can activate the abandon ship alert,” Sul responded.

“Do it,” the Captain directly instructed as he moved towards the ship’s warp core. He began punching some commands into the console seeing the state of the ship’s engines. As expected with Commander Groll’s workmanship they were in perfect working order.

“What are you planning, Captain?” the engineer asked.

“Destroy the magnetic constrictors by cutting through the casing and cause a matter-antimatter breach. The Borg cannot have this ship.”

“Captain… while that is a noble thing to sacrifice oneself, how about I force them out of alignment until a breach occurs? Should give us at least 5 minutes to get off the ship. By the time the Borg realize what is happening, they won’t be able to get past my lockout before it goes.”

“Do it, and let’s get the hell to the shuttlebay,” Jerok exclaimed. He watched as Commander Groll unhatched the access to the magnetic constrictors and began working on them with her tool kit. 

The remaining trio stood guard, vigilant, and slightly surprised that the Borg were not attempting to take Engineering. ‘Maybe they think the bridge is enough,’ Jerok thought to himself. The entire thing came out of nowhere. Starfleet had barely encountered the Borg in the past 20 years, and certainly no outright aggression. In the fires of chaos, the entire situation seemed like a disjointed mess for the Romulan. First, his first officer was a Changeling, then over half his crew was somehow assimilated during what was supposed to be one of the biggest celebrations in Starfleet history.

“Done,” Groll yelled, breaking the Captain’s focus on the day’s events. “We have about five minutes, maybe six until the warp core begins to breach. After that, it’ll be about sixty seconds until the ship is destroyed.

“Shuttlebay is a straight shot, let’s go,” the Captain ordered as the team picked up their phasers and began the sprint toward the shuttlebay. The corridors were lined with bodies and bloodshed, but no assimilated crew were in sight. It was eerily quiet with the exception of the light hum of the abandon ship klaxon. With every slight curve in the corridor, Jerok expected to run into Borg, but as they entered the shuttlebay there had been none. Jerok scoffed to himself at the arrogance of the Borg. 

“Oh good, someone left the Armstrong,” the Romulan said as the team approached the Delta-class runabout. As the team boarded and took their seats, Jerok took the helm directly. He would be the one responsible for getting them off of the Yorktown alive. “Time?”

“The core had to of breached by now. Could be any second,” Groll shouted.

Without a response, Jerok punched the console to full impulse, blasting out of the shuttlebay at full speed.

“Sir, it looks like thirty five escape pods have cleared the Yorktown as well as multiple shuttles and runabouts. All are clear of the expected blast radius except for one,” Sul reported.

“Are the Yorktown’s shields still down?” Jerok asked.

“Aye sir,” Zemess quickly reported.

‘I guess the Borg were more worried about what was inside the ship not outside,’ the Captain thought to himself. As the Armstrong swooped back around towards the Yorktown, Jerok ordered, “When I make a pass for the escape pod, Zemess lock a tractor beam on it so we can get it out of here. Sul, Groll, I want you to lock onto as many non-Borg life signs as you can and beam them into the aft section. Hell, beam them into the front section, hold them in the pattern buffer. Beam them into escape pods, beam them onto other shuttles. Whatever it takes.”

No one responded verbally. No one had to. The Captain gave an order and they were going to carry it out. As the Armstrong swooped in to grab the escape pods, the cabin of the runabout filled with a blue hue as multiple crew members were being beamed on board. Jerok could hear the sound of Commanders Groll and Sul punching commands into their consoles as they activated the Armstrong’s transporters to their max.

“Reading explosions in the engineering section,” Zemess yelled above the increasingly loud cockpit section of the runabout with all of the cross-talk of the survivors that now occupied the runabout to its maximum capacity and beyond.

“Hold on…” Jerok again pushed the impulse engines to full speed. He activated the Armstrong’s rear visual sensor just in time to watch the Yorktown explode into a fireball before the bright flash of the matter-antimatter detonation filled the screen. Not a sight any starship captain wants to see, but there was a bigger problem… how did this even happen? Changeling infiltrators? Borg malware and assimilation of Starfleet crews without stepping a single drone on board? How was the rest of Starfleet faring?

Jerok pressed a few commands into the helm console before clearing his throat, “This is Captain Jerok of the USS Yorktown calling Starfleet Command…”