Captain’s Log, Stardate 24014.12.

 

Hathaway remains stranded in space following the sabotage to our warp engines. Repair efforts are underway, but progress has been slow due to the extent of the damage. Commander Nes and his team are working tirelessly to restore our propulsion systems to full functionality, however, it will be some time before we can resume our course to Starbase Bravo.

 

In addition to the engine sabotage, we’ve now learned that our communications array was also targeted, leaving us unable to establish contact with Starfleet Command or any nearby starbases. Ensign Udraa and Commander Noli have been dispatched aboard a shuttle to deliver a report on our situation to Fourth Fleet Command aboard Starbase Bravo. They will attempt to secure assistance and resources to aid in our repairs.

 

It is difficult to deny the connection between these acts of sabotage and the recent presence of changelings aboard our ship. The circumstances strongly suggest their involvement, and while I would like to believe that threat is over, I cannot rule out the presence of another changeling among us, especially given the disturbing findings of Doctor Zinn. The discovery that the deceased sh’Elas was, in fact, a changeling with remarkable biological similarities to her Andorian counterpart raises alarming questions about the depth of this infiltration and the true identities of those involved.

 

As our crew remains resolute in the face of these challenges, we find ourselves unable to participate in the Frontier Day celebrations as originally planned, let alone prevent any possible attack as hinted to by our prisoner. It is a bitter realization, knowing that we must watch from afar while events unfold without our active involvement. Nonetheless, we must remain vigilant and focused on our mission to restore our ship and uncover the truth behind these acts of sabotage…

Before the Frontier Day celebrations had even begun, a sense of foreboding hung in the air. The crew was on high alert, aware of the potential threats that surrounded them. Captain Nazir, resolute in her duty to protect her ship and crew, made a crucial decision to launch the Hathaway Hellhounds starfighter squadron.

In the spacious hangar bay, Lieutenant Commander Orys Ch’tosrik, a determined Andorian with a no-nonsense demeanour, meticulously oversaw the final preparations of the Valkyrie-class starfighters. The sleek and formidable fighters, armed with an array of advanced weaponry, stood ready to take flight. His deputy, Lieutenant Varru, a Bajoran with a calm confidence, double-checked the fighter systems, ensuring they were primed for action.

As the hangar doors opened, revealing the vast expanse of space beyond, the Hellhounds, dressed in their flight suits, filed into the launch area. Each pilot had undergone extensive training, honing their skills to become elite members of the starfighter squadron. They were the guardians of their virtually stranded ship, poised to protect it at all costs.

Orys exchanged glances with Varru before they both climbed into the cockpits of their starfighters. As he settled into the pilot’s seat, the squadron leader checked the systems one last time, ensuring everything was functioning optimally. The Andorian officer’s sharp eyes surveyed the hangar, observing the other pilots preparing for departure.

“Alright Hounds, listen up,” he called into the independent communications systems of the fighters. “We are the wings of protection for Hathaway. She’s pretty much dead in the water until engineering can get the starboard nacelle isolated from the warp systems. Our mission is to secure a defensive perimeter, maintain formation and be prepared for any hostile incursions.”

The squadron acknowledged his command, their voices a chorus of determination and readiness. One by one, the Valkyrie-class fighters engaged their thrusters, lifting off from the hangar bay floor. The nimble craft soared gracefully into the depths of space, forming a protective shield around Hathaway.

From their vantage point on the bridge, and many lightyears away from Starbase Bravo, Captain Nazir and her senior staff could only watch as the momentous Frontier Day celebrations in the Sol system unfolded before their eyes. The grand sight of the majestic Enterprise-F gracefully emerging from the expansive space doors of Starbase One left them in awe, surrounded by a vibrant display of colourful explosions illuminating the backdrop. It was a spectacle that captured their attention, capturing the spirit of the occasion.

Across the ship, the speakers resonated with the voice of Admiral Elizabeth Shelby, resonating with historical significance as she delivered a speech commemorating the inaugural voyage of the Enterprise NX-01, a pivotal moment in Starfleet’s history. Her words evoked the spirit of adventure and the dedication of the eighty-three individuals who paved the way for the United Federation of Planets and the establishment of Starfleet. The atmosphere was charged with inspiration, hope… and dread. All they could do was wait, and hope they would be proved wrong, that there would be no attack during the joyous occasion.

Then came the announcement that captivated the crew’s attention: Fleet Formation. The revolutionary synchronistic technology that allowed the assembled fleet, with ships such as the Gagarin, Reliant and Venture, to operate as a cohesive unit, forming an impregnable defence force. The sight of hundreds of ships harmoniously aligning and creating an impenetrable armada was a testament to the power and unity of Starfleet. To the watching Captain, there was also something… worrying… about it.

As they absorbed the magnificent display of unity, a sudden interruption took them by surprise—the appearance of the USS Titan, seemingly tardy to the gathering. Within moments, the fleet communications array crackled to life, transmitting the voice of the esteemed Admiral Jean-Luc Picard. However, instead of the expected message of hope and harmony, the admiral’s voice carried a grave warning. The Changelings, those elusive and shapeshifting beings, had apparently aided the Borg in infiltrating Starfleet. It was a shocking revelation that sent shockwaves through the listening crew, even stirring the usually composed Captain Nazir to rise from her seat. This revelation seemed to affirm the fears and suspicions that had lingered among her people. They were right; something was going on. But, the Borg and the Changelings working collaboratively? No one could have ever predicted that.

Yet, the transmission abruptly ceased, replaced by an unsettling screech that pierced the air on the bridge.

“Captain,” the Bajassian officer manning Ops called out, her voice tinged with urgency, “the sensor array has detected a massive energy surge originating from Jupiter.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this…” the Betazoid counsellor sat to the Captain’s left whispered as she rose to her feet and stood beside Nazir.

Almost immediately,  LCARS panels began to change, flickering between the red of the alert status to the ever-familiar, always eerie green of their greatest enemy. A scream from Prida drew the Captain’s gaze back to the front of the bridge. Sitting at the CONN, Lieutenant Mitchell’s eyes widened with momentary fear. His face quickly contorted in agony as the nanoprobes infiltrated his veins, altering his physiology and overriding his individuality. The once vibrant and expressive Flyboy become masked by an eerie blend of human and sub-dermal nannies running rampant. Within seconds, Henry’s identity faded away as he succumbed to the collective hive mind, his thoughts and memories assimilated into the vast knowledge of the Borg. His individuality extinguished, he had become one with the hive, a mere drone in the collective’s relentless pursuit of perfection. And he wasn’t alone.

Beside Prida, her dutiful assistant, the Andorian called Ashrin, had suffered in much the same way as the Flight Operations chief. Across the bridge, just inches from Commander Bachmann, the Bolian intelligence officer, Ensign Kiras, had suffered the same fate. Adjacent to her, and perhaps most painfully for Nazir, she could see the assimilation process complete itself upon the face of her trusted tactical officer, Lieutenant Or’uil, leaving behind a transformed being that bore the unmistakable signs of Borg assimilation. His happy, peculiar appearance was now a chilling testament to the loss of self and the cold efficiency of the Borg Collective.

As the bridge officers watched in horror, Prida taking several steps backwards to join the Captain by her chair, their fallen compatriots suddenly spun on their heels and gave their undivided attention to the unaffected senior staff. Lurching forward, the assimilated spoke in unison as they reached for their weapons. A devastating chorus of three words that would haunt everyone for a long time to come.

“Eliminate all unassimilated.”