Quiet and unassuming, basking in the glow of the warm, morning rays of the Ziyafa system star, Krystorin lay on her bench, staring into the sky. She’d been there for hours, her arms propped beneath her head as a pillow in an attempt to feel some comfort whilst she whittled away the time until her companion could join her. She’d been unable to sleep thanks to the warmth of the mid-solstice night, so a stroll among the flora and fauna of the residential district’s green sections, had proved a welcome distraction. For hours, she’d been alone, but as the morning shift pattern loomed large, people emerged from their abodes and began to go about their business. Lifting her left wrist, she noted the time on the chronometer and sighed; it would be at least another fifteen minutes until…

Screams pierced the silence out of nowhere, causing the young upstart to spin her head to look across the quad. People, a smattering at first and then a larger gathering, began to converse in hushed tones that grew louder. Arms waved, fingers pointed, all in the same direction – at the morning sun that beat down upon the planet’s surface.

At first, she could see nothing, nothing but the bright lights of the Ziyafa sun threatening to burn her retinas. She lifted a hand just enough to shield her eyes from the glare. It was then that she spotted it; a shadow slowly moving across the sky. It was small at first, unlike anything she had seen before. But as it grew larger and loomed closer, her subconscious took over and saw the youngster climb to her feet in an almost trance-like state. Within mere seconds, there was no need for the protection of her hand, the shadow having engulfed much of the warm, summer sky. A shadow she now recognised. It was large, with sets of parallel and perpendicular lines. She’d never seen one in person, mind, but she’d read the stories. She’d seen the holos. She’d heard the rumours. She’d heard the warnings from those with the deltas upon their bright uniforms.

Warnings of a cybernetic species terrorising the stars, moving from place to place in a ceaseless pursuit of perfection. They’d never ventured this far, to the Ziyafa sector. Until now, anyway. She’d heard words like ruthless, dreaded and terrifying bandied about in reference to these people, but nothing had prepared her, or her people, for the horror of seeing one of their craft moving across their summer sky.

They were no longer coming…

They were here.

“It’s zero-five thirty,” Prida yawned as she strolled along deck three beside her fresh-faced brother from Tactical Operations, “how are you not tired? We went to bed less than an hour ago…” She moaned between sips of her steaming beverage.

“Ungeat do not require the same sleep patterns most humanoids do,” Or’uil advised the Bajassian as they approached the turbo lift at the end of the hall. “In fact, I am able to function on less than four hours of sleep per five rotations,” he told her, almost smirking at the expression of disgust she made.

“Four hours sleep in five days!” She was incredulous at the thought. If she had less than six on any given day she’d be next to useless, but four over five? No, that was not possible. She was about to hurl some ill-timed, but entirely understandable (in her eyes, anyway) abuse at her friend when a sudden change in the corridor startled them.

The low lighting of gamma shift slowly disappeared and was replaced by flashing beacons of red and pulsating strobes beside doors and wall panels, the crimson glows gleaming off of the sterile, metallic surfaces. Then, the accompanying siren echoed down the long corridor, shrill and piercing. It came in waves, a short lull every few seconds as if allowing the computer to catch its breath before emitting the siren call once again.

Glaring at one another for the briefest of seconds, the dread of their situation hit home. The clatter of Prida’s mug and the steam rising from the spilt beverage was all that was left behind in the halls of deck three as the two, yellow-clad officer’s sprinted for the turbo lift less than a hundred feet away. Both had a single question in mind:

How could they be at red alert while in space dock?

By the time the lift doors to turbolift alpha-one-bravo parted and spat the two officers onto the bridge of the Lakota, the room was already a hive of activity. Officers from all departments across the ship were already present, going about their orders. At the heart of the room, in the safety of their command chairs, Commander Onsas D’orr was deep in conversation with the commanding officer, pointing at a data PADD in his hand, whilst the Trill craned her neck to look at its contents.

“Captain?” Prida announced their arrival, marching past the hive of activity, through a small crowd of officer’s walking from side to side, carrying equipment and in conversations of their own. She stopped at the handrail that sat behind the chair often occupied by guests of the Captain, and looked across at the ship’s mistress.

Or’uil, like his colleague, looked to Captain Nazir for guidance, head tilted as he placed two hands on the rail. It concerned him, of course, anytime the ship went to red alert, but even more so when it happened and he wasn’t present to understand the reasoning. He was, after all, the officer in charge of protection for all aboard.

Nazir rose from her command chair, the brute to her right mimicking her stance as she tugged on the hem of her red jacket.

“We’ve got a developing situation…”

“How long until we can be underway?”

Pulling out her chair at the head of the observation lounge table, Captain Nazir glared across at her new flight operations chief as she took her seat. Senior officers from all departments took their own places, hanging on the Captain’s every word as they sought clarification on the reasoning behind the order to move to the highest state of alert; especially given the unusual circumstances of the order being given whilst the ship was still hooked to its moorings in the Avalon Fleet Yard it had been glued to for weeks.

“Engines are fully functioning,” Commander Maddison Burton declared, taking her seat next to the Captain’s right-hand man. “All I need is engineering to give me the power and you can have warp speed whenever you need it,” the woman said, her ponytail swinging freely behind her head as she turned from the Captain, to the Chief Engineer, and back again.

“My people are already running the startup procedures,” Prida confirmed with a nod to the Captain, “they’ll be ready by the time we’re done here.”

“And the squadron?”

“The squadron commander’s have reported in. Buran’s getting underway as we speak. Captain Kauhn has asked for another hour to prepare,” the booming voice of the XO answered, the man’s hulking frame turning ever so slightly from side to side with the movement of his chair. “Even that’s twenty-four hours ahead of their slated departure time,” Onsas concluded his answer.

“Make sure Giarvar receives whatever he needs to get underway,” Keziah nodded to her XO, the look between the two like the look they had shared on the bridge. It was an all knowing look that more than hinted at the fact that they, at least, knew the details of what was going on at present. When the Captain once again made eye contact elsewhere around the table, she could see the sea of diverse faces glaring back at her, waiting anxiously for more information.

Reaching forward, she tapped the controls to the holographic generator in the middle of the table and activated the device. In an instant, a large representation of a familiar Starfleet vessel filled the void above the table. With its distinctive nacelles and the slight chunk missing from the forward section of the hull, it was unmistakably a Nova-class science vessel. It shared many similarities with its Rhode Island cousin that presently sat two berths from them.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Captain spoke, hands clasped together on the work surface, “this is the starship Marlowe. Under the command of Captain Fykis Qadd, Marlowe has been conducting scientific surveys of stellar phenomena beyond Federation space. Their last communiqué reported she had entered the Ziyafa sector of the Beta Quadrant,” a further tap of the controls pulled up a holographic map showing Marlowe’s location compared to their own. It was some distance, several days at high warp.

Nazir’s expression changed in an instant, accompanied by a sigh. “At zero-four-hundred, Marlowe missed its third scheduled check in,” the Captain revealed. Almost as quickly as her expression changed, the mood in the room altered; seats were adjusted, bodies slouched and faces soured. The odd failure to check in wasn’t uncommon, but three times in a row was something to be concerned about.

“And Starfleet wants us to find her?” the green-skinned woman to Nazir’s left vocally surmised, drawing a nod of confirmation from the Trill.

“Captain,” Or’uil sat forward in his chair and drew the gaze of Lakota’s commander, “given that the rest of the squadron is preparing for departure, is it safe to assume Starfleet fears the worst?” the young Ungeat asked before allowing his chair to swallow him whole again.

“Whatever you think the worst to be, Lieutenant…” Nazir shuffled, “multiply it by a factor of ten…”

The warning from Captain Romaes about the presence of a significant threat in the sector where the Marlowe had last been seen drew anxious murmurings from those gathered in stellar cartography. Given everything they had been through in recent times, an even larger threat was hard to believe, but not to be scoffed at. The Bajoran, commander of the Rhode Island-class Buran, felt he had no option but to elaborate. In doing so, he altered the hologram in the space above the sensor platforms, this time to a scale map of Federation space and beyond. On it, several green dots slowly pulsed.

“Data received from Starfleet Intelligence is few and far between, but what we have received so far indicates that dozens of Borg signals have been picked up across Federation space and beyond, especially in the Beta quadrant,” Romaes told the nervous crowd.

“They aren’t large enough to be starships, and they certainly aren’t giving off the power levels we would attribute to Borg vessels…” Commander Tharia sh’Elas mused, her antennae twitching whilst she folded her arms across her chest and took a step closer to the display.

On the other side of the control console, a Bajoran dressed in the yellow of the operations division echoed her posture. “Simple extrapolation of several locations on the map suggests many of these signals are emanating from a planet or facility,” Lieutenant Commander Peri Anya advised with raised brow.

“Look, that one’s at Daystrom itself,” the ship’s Andorian scientist, Pamao Zh’ito, pointed to an icon within the Sol system itself.

“According to the data we’re privy to, the signals are a sort of homing beacon, originating from hundreds of pieces of Borg technology previously thought deactivated, or not yet recovered,” the Buran’s Bajoran master climbed the stairs to the sensor platform and began to stroll in among the holographic landscape. “There are dozens within our borders alone, and no confirmation of the number of those from beyond…”

“Is there any sign that the Borg are coming for their technology?” Noli queried as she ran a hand through her tired hair on her way to the messhall on Osiris’ deck four, looking between her two male companions.

“According to the data we have received,” the ship’s Vulcan tactical officer responded, walking with hands clasped together behind his back, “the Susan B. Anthony was able to monitor one such vessel on long-range sensors before the homing signal was lost, along with her target.”

“That’s just the start,” Giarvar frowned, marching towards the mess facility with great purpose, “Starfleet have detected a growing number of Borg vessels here, while the DEI is detecting an even larger presence in the Delta,” he winced as he rubbed his spotted temple, clearly feeling anxious after recent days. He slid to a stop just feet from the door to the mess. “Whatever the cause, whatever the reason, we’re seeing a renewed Borg threat, and we’re to respond. We’ve received orders to get underway at the earliest opportunity.”

“I’ve updated the flagship,” Noli nodded, eliciting a smile of appreciation from the Captain. “I let them know we’ll need at least an hour to get out of dock. We’re still awaiting a few requisitions.”

“All tactical systems are functioning within normal parameters,” the Vulcan revealed, “and all supplies are accounted for.”

“We’re not going out there to fight, Voran…” Giarvar reminded the tactical chief, “…but it’s good to know we’ll be ready to defend ourselves if the need arises. Now, both of you get your wakey wakey juice and I’ll see you on the bridge in an hour,” the Trill instructed, slapping Noli gently on the shoulder before marching off in the direction of a turbo lift to the bridge.

Bajoran and Vulcan alike watched their commander leave, sharing the briefest of glances before disappearing inside the officer’s mess. It was going to be a long, busy hour.

Fleet Captain’s log, supplemental.

 

They believed it was over. they believed we wouldn’t see them again. They thought Frontier Day was the Borg’s grand finale. Oh, how they were wrong.

 

Just months after our last encounter with the Borg, new signals are appearing across the quadrant and beyond. Acting as homing beacons, the signals emanating from old, salvaged Borg technology calls to the Borg like sirens to the sea. We’ve received reports of almost a dozen Borg vessels on long-range sensors within the depths of the Beta quadrant.

 

Starfleet tells me they are sending the squadron in force just to be on the safe side; but I’ve been doing this long enough to know when I am being lied to. They know more than they are letting on. Even though we’ve got no evidence that the Borg are responsible for the disappearance of the Marlowe, I, like my tactical officer, fear the worst.

 

Another encounter with the Borg is just over the horizon…

 

…and it’s horrifying to think we’re going to have to deal with all the heartache and emotion of days gone by, all while trying to ascertain the fate of Captain Qadd and his crew.

 

For now, the Borg appear to be here to stay. And that’s enough to terrify even this battle-hardened veteran. Who knows how the young ones around the squadron are going to feel at the thought of having to face their enemy again; the very same enemy who violated and destroyed so many of them in the most brutal of ways…