Despite it being tethered to her EVA suit, Sima kept a firm grasp on the large grey case in her hand as she and her small team plodded across the forward hull of Daedalus. With each step her white knuckle grip tightened on the case’s ribbed handle, carving deep indents on her fingers, even through the thick white fabric of the bulky suit. 

“It’s not going to float away Sima. Neither will you.” She could hear the smug voice of her academy tutor Branix in her ear. The extra vehicular classes at Utopia Planitia had been a mandatory part of her training secondment and the instructor had little sympathy for anyone who struggled to excel. His favourite mantra ‘Every Engineer should live and breathe space’, was often announced over the comm channel as the hulking Benzite nimbly skipped across the hulls of docked ships, chiding his students for not keeping up. It had taken several doses of anti-nausea medication combined with some calming techniques learned from a Betazoid roommate to pass the final exam, even then Branix had simply written ‘completed’ on her report card. 

“Everything all right Sima?”

Turning slightly, her stomach trailing behind momentarily, she spied the concerned face of Bib as the Andorian calmly crossed the foredeck towards her. If it weren’t for the EVA suit, highlighted in porcelain white by the nearby sun, you might mistake him for sauntering across the gardens at Starfleet Academy. If he was bothered by the dangers and difficulties of working outside the hull it didn’t show. Raising her hand for a decidedly false thumbs up she smiled, hoping it masked her shaky grimace. 

Reaching for a button on his wrist panel Bib strode quickly to the young woman’s side. A quiet beep indicated a more private comm channel was in effect. 

“Not a fan of the outdoors?” he said, smiling as he reached the Lieutenant Commander, her small form almost comical inside the bulky suit. 

“Me? I’m a huge fan of the empty void that could kill us at any moment.” Bib felt her body slump slightly into the safety of his arms as he grasped her waist. “What’s not to love?” Her own free hand quickly found a hold on the Andorian’s forearm. 

“Ambient radiation, micro meteors… that.” Releasing one arm from the Engineer’s vice like grip he pointed past her helmet to the flaming sphere near the port bow. Despite still being several million miles away from Daedalus the cluster of suns in the distance filled much of Sima’s view out into the Talvath Cluster. 

The jovial Liutenant immediately regretted his joke as a palpable wave of panic rushed over Sima. Her stomach leaden in her boots as she felt the blood race from her head, a wave of nausea threatened to give her unwelcome visitors in the tight enclosed suit. As the great yellow eye stared at her intently she felt her limbs turn to jelly, only a lack of gravity saved her from collapsing completely. Closing her eyes to block out the overwhelming sight she once again flashed back to her academy days, sat in the small shuttle that ferried the cadets across the yards.

“A vital component of warp travel is the use of matter/antimatter reactions in the pursuit of large scale energy production…” she began to recite beneath her ragged, undependable breaths.

“… in this essay we will discuss the benefits of vertical intermix assemblies as opposed to traditional horizontal arrays for high performance starship energy production.” Bib finished, Sima’s lips mouthing the words in confusion as he recited the academic opening perfectly. “You aren’t the only one who learnt to recite Commander Bellamy. Keep going.” Reaching for her other arm he extracted the engineering kit from her curled fingers, slowly peeling back the digits as Sima continued with the dry academic prose. “Why don’t we let Ensign Mayweather finish the modifications?” He offered, deftly unbuckling the kit from her waist. With a nudge he sent the case gliding over the hull towards the waiting ensign, whilst he lifted a finger to his helmet. A conspiratorial nod from the ensign signalled his understanding. 

They stood like that for a full five minutes, Sima regaling Bib with the a fair chunk of Commander Bellamy’s required reading essay for first years, whilst he held her upright on the prow of the ship. She outlined warp drive construction methods, highlighted the improved accuracy of atomic collisions in a vertical chamber, recited his barely hidden comment on Commander Tollen’s hypothesis (of course the tellerite would argue for a diagonal chamber). Eventually Sima’s breathing stilled, her voice trailing off during a particularly boring sentence about Duranium weave. 

“I think I’m okay now Bib. Thankyou.” she whispered, hoping her false confidence masked her nerves, her stomach still laying against the hull. 

“If going walk-about was such an issue why didn’t you assign it out?” He slowly began releasing the light grasp on her waist. “No-one would have questioned it. Who asks an engineer to leave her engine room.” Seeing Sima now stable in her stance he moved to her side. Her newly revealed face seemed pale and clammy, beads of panicked sweat rolling down her cheeks. 

“Cap’n looked straight at me didn’t he?” she offered a frail smile, revealing her southern belle roots. A closely guarded secret amongst the engineering staff, Sima’s teenage years had seen as many cotillions as it had garages and despite a conscientious effort, a thick drawl often slipped through. “He looked at me at the end of that briefing and said it could be life or death.” A pool of sweat, or tears, began forming at the edge of her eyes. “’We need them sensor modifications to see that Borg signal through the stars’, is what the Cap’n said.” Her pale face rolled with a green tinge as she swallowed. “I need ‘em to be perfect Sima. I won’t lose another soul to the Borg.”

Silence hung between them, filling the space like flood water as a rush of realisation poured over Bib.

“And someone else would do it wrong?” His heart reached out to the woman through the thin fabric armour. He’d known more than one engineer who took the safety of their crew to heart. A slow and slight nod acknowledged her agreement.

“The team are great! I should I know I picked ’em all. But… they’re young and green as unshucked corn.” she looked at Bib, her eyes now filling with tears. “That’s why I was super grateful when you offered to join the team, I know you’ve had your fair share of EVAs.” her voice cracked slightly as she battled again with her stomach to swallow. “Just keep walking I thought. Just keep going. Ships depending on you Sima. Don’t want nobody endin’ up…” Her voice caught in her throat as the dams around her eyes finally broke. “Don’t want nobody endin’ up as a Borg.”

Reaching out with his long arms, Bib grasped Sima’s gloved hand tight. Daedalus had been mysteriously safe from the Frontier Day signal, deep within the Deneb sector they had been fortuitously shielded by the stellar phenomena. Everyone had seen the footage however, despite the best efforts of Starfleet Command and the Federation News Service, they had all seen the security videos, passed around in hushed tones on palmed isolinear chips. Friends, lovers, family; one moment fresh faced, the next pale and sickly. Mindless drones in service of a rabid queen, full of wrack and ruin, fueled by a vengeful spirit. 

“Noone is getting turned into a Borg Sima. I promise.” Bib squeezed her hand tightly. “Command said there might not even be a vessel out here.”

Bib released Sima’s hand automatically as a deepc hill ran up his spine, like the passing ice storms of his youth. Her eyes growing wide, as the warmth of the unfiltered sun was chased away by a creeping shadow across the deck. A freezing fear washed over him. As his antenna writhed within the helmet, beating frantically against the plasteel frame. Slowly, he turned to follow Sima’s gaze. 

Hanging, jellyfish-like against the backdrop of the Talvoth Cluster’s nebula sea was a Borg sphere. It’s patchwork obsidian hull plates sucking in the omnipresent golden light in favour or a sickly green glow whose tendrils creeped around the burned and broken hull segments. At it’s equator a lake of green, barely held back by the twisted metal dock doors oozed out from the cracked seams, dripping across the now dark hull towards the pair of engineers. Rolling, horizonless, silhouetted by the gargantuan sun it floated, silent, cruel and menacing. 

Reaching to his comm panel Bib barely contained his fear. “Bib to Daedalus, emergency recall.”

“Everything okay Bib?”

“Someone needs to look out the front windows. Red Alert.”

As the fireflies began to cloud his vision, he caught sight of the familiar red light beginning to pulse from a nearby porthole. His channel to Sima still open, he heard a quiet prayer. “Noone is getting turned in a Borg.”