Ensign Jazara Koran sat at her station on the USS Blythe’s bridge, her fingers poised over the controls, awaiting the captain’s orders. The quiet hum of the ship’s operations was broken by Captain Crowe’s friendly yet authoritative voice.

“Ensign Koran, contact Stinsfor base and inform them that we’ll be beaming Ensign Rivers aboard shortly,” Captain Crowe instructed.

In response, Jazara swiftly activated a channel and initiated communication. “Stinsfor base, this is the USS Blythe. Please respond.”

A voice crackled through the comm. “Blythe, this is Stinsfor. Welcome to the wonderful Mellstoxx system.”

“Thank you, Stinsfor. We’re preparing to enter orbit shortly, and we’ll be ready to beam up Ensign Rivers,” Jazara replied.

“I’ll let him know that another starship has arrived to poach our personnel. Stinsfor out,” the voice from Stinsfor’s Communication Officer responded.

Closing the channel, Jazara couldn’t help but think, ‘They really chose the quirkiest communicator in the quadrant.’

Turning her attention to the Captain, she relayed, “Captain, Stinsfor confirms Ensign Rivers is ready for transport. I’ve relayed the message to Transporter Room One.”

“Thank you, Ensign. Good work,” Crowe acknowledged.

‘Good work? I’m just doing my job,’ she thought, though the commendation made her feel a bit special.

As she awaited her next cue, Jazara’s gaze wandered around the bridge. She noticed Lieutenant Drevan had left the bridge, probably to welcome Ensign Rivers. Her gaze absorbed the array of blinking panels and the vast viewscreen presenting the rugged moon Stinsfor, adorned with scattered lights on its surface – likely the facility.

Her attention shifted to the navigation officer, a person she had encountered but not formally met. The pragmatic design of the bridge contributed to the versatility of California-class starships.

However, her focus was abruptly drawn to the helm station, specifically Lieutenant Junior Grade Eileen Piper. Jazara’s throat tightened, and a familiar prickling sensation welled up behind her eyes as memories surged. Uninvited, the memories overwhelmed her, and she struggled to hold them back. A shiver crept down her spine, and her lips pressed together as emotion coursed through her.

She blinked rapidly, brushing away a tear that traced a glistening path down her cheek, her fingers trembling against her blue skin. Suppressing her emotions seemed to intensify them, the sorrow threatening to overflow.

Jazara retained memories of the Borg Collective’s unity – the fusion of thoughts and voices into a seamless whole. These recollections were a double-edged sword – enough to cause pain, not enough to fully understand. The memories had the power to inflict pain and ignite a cascade of recollections, often leading to overwhelming panic.

The memory of the Borg relinquishing a fragment of their own during the Excelsior’s obliteration remained. It resembled losing a part of herself, like losing hundreds of limbs all at once, consumed by the ceaseless chorus of voices chanting, “Eliminate all Unassimilated.”

From her fragmented recollections, Jazara had been involved in exactly that – exterminating those who resisted assimilation. Memories of the USS Tasman’s bridge haunted her, of taking the lives of those wearing her uniform. But their faces remained a blur, deliberately obscured or just beyond her willingness to recall.

Her recent introduction to the crew of the Tasman was tainted by these grim images. The act of ending lives, even indirectly, left a bitter taste in her mind. Officers’ lives had ended by her actions, yet details were elusive. Was it a genuine mental block or reluctance to confront her actions?

“Did I attempt to end your life as well?” The persistent thought invaded her mind whenever Lieutenant Piper entered her field of vision – a thought that pricked at her emotions every time. She fought to regain composure, inhaling a shaky breath as she willed restraint. Her vision cleared, and she focused on her console, seeking solace in her duties. Yet beneath it all, the pain lingered, a tight knot refusing to unravel.

Days after their unexpected reunion, Jazara sensed a shift in Piper’s demeanor. They hadn’t crossed paths except professionally. This wasn’t coincidental. Jazara was avoiding Piper, suspecting Piper was doing the same. Given their shared history, a raw wound, it wasn’t surprising. Piper likely hadn’t fully come to terms either.

Her reverie was interrupted by a beep from her console. She acknowledged the message, turning towards the Captain. “Captain, Transporter Room One confirms Ensign Rivers’s safe boarding.”

“Excellent. Lieutenant Piper, disengage from orbit and set a course to alpha-nine-two-dash-five-zero,” Crowe commanded. Piper executed the order, altering the ship’s trajectory.

“Course plotted, sir,” she affirmed as the ship changed course.

“Prepare for warp and push it! Let’s finally put the Blythe through her paces,” Captain Crowe addressed the bridge, met with laughter.

In an instant, stars elongated into streaks as the ship engaged warp. Jazara looked forward to stepping out, finally having something to anticipate. Her console beeped again.

“Captain, we’re receiving a hail from Starbase Bravo. Commodore Ekwuema,” Jazara reported.

“Thank you, Ensign Koran,” Crowe acknowledged. Jazara picked up on the Captain muttering to himself, “I wonder what they want, we have just left the damn Mellstoxx system.”

Crowe rose from his seat, making his way to his ready room. “Commander Patel, you have the Conn,” he instructed.

As Jazara’s gaze fixated on the viewscreen once more, the streaking stars seemed to blend together. Unwanted memories surged back, starting as faint murmurs but growing louder by the moment, echoing relentlessly within her mind. A rush of images flickered before her, even more vivid than before: phaser fire, ominous assimilation tubes, and the haunting screams of panicked crew members.

She gripped the edge of her console until her knuckles whitened. Fear shot through her, causing her vision to narrow. Piper’s face appeared, superimposed with the menacing stare of a Borg drone. The terror felt all too real and overwhelming.

Jazara’s breaths came in rapid, shallow gasps, and she stumbled backward, saved from falling by her chair. A warm, grounding hand on her shoulder brought her back to the present. 

Commander Arden’s concerned voice reached her ears. “Ensign Koran, are you alright?”

Jazara managed a nod, her heart racing. “I… I need to see a doctor. Something’s not right.”

Genuine worry filled Arden’s eyes. “I know. I sense it. I’ll accompany you to Sickbay.”

As she struggled to her feet, her legs unsteady, Jazara realized that she could no longer delay facing her past. The Borg memories were intensifying, demanding answers. She glanced briefly at Lieutenant Piper, now at the helm, unaware of Jazara’s distress.

She took a few more steps, noticing the puzzled expression on Commander Patel’s face, a mix of curiosity and concern, she saw him rushing towards her.

With each step toward the turbolift, the weight of her actions and the buried pain clawed at her. Suddenly, her legs gave way. Jazara collapsed, with Commanders Arden and Patel by her side, asking if she was alright and how she was feeling, their voices fading by the second. 

Then she heard Arden’s voice again, but it was different.

“Ensign, we’re here to help. But you have to let us,” Arden’s voice said, clearer than ever before.

“I… I don’t want to be reassigned again,” Jazara said, or perhaps she only thought it aloud.

“Nobody is reassigning you, Jazara,” Arden’s voice reassured.

“I… I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Jazara responded, this thought filling her mind. 

Abruptly, all she could discern were countless voices, a united chant: “Eliminate all Unassimilated.”

Her sight faded into darkness, leaving only the persistent voices…Those voices, which had haunted her for weeks… The voices of the Borg…