The Type 11 shuttle fought against harsh winds and ice rain as it dove for the surface. Just as with the three shuttles that had come before it, this one carried supplies and equipment to meet the demands of the hostage takers, but this time, it carried something more too. Wedged between pallets of ore, canisters of plasma, and stacks of plating were six armor-laden, rifle-toting security officers from the USS Ingenuity.

“You sure this is gonna work?”

“I don’t understand a tenth of what comes out of that scientist’s mouth,” admitted Lieutenant J.G. Cruz, the Chief Security and Tactical Officer from the USS Ingenuity who would be leading the counter-assault to free the hostages. “But I get the theory here. He picked a loadout for this supply run that gives off enough radiation to cover our biosigns.”

“Did you ask him if the radiation load was still at safe levels?”

“I did not, and I’m not sure I want to know the answer,” chuckled Lieutenant J.G. Cruz as he glanced nervously at the random assortment of supplies and equipment in the rear hold. Commander Brooks, or Dr. Brooks as he preferred to be addressed, was new to the squadron, but his reputation preceded him, and he did not seem particularly concerned with the wellbeing of others. As the rumors went, Admiral Reyes had broken him out of the New Zealand Penal Colony, but when Lieutenant J.G. Cruz used his credentials to satisfy his curiosity, he’d found the scientist’s record sealed far above all his clearance level. “Plus, if it can get us down there without drawing the attention of the Andorians, I’m not sure I care.”

“Passing waypoint three alpha!”

Lieutenant J.G. Cruz knew what the callout from the cockpit meant. “Saddle up folks!” They were now on final approach. His expression grew serious and focused. The time for small talk was over. They would soon engage the enemy, and the lives of six Starfleet officers depended on their performance in the minutes ahead. “Everyone, run through final equipment checks. We’re boots on the ground in five.”

The team knew the routine. Each of them did a final check of their loadout, confirming that nothing had come loose in transit, and then they paired off to check the seams and seals of each other’s tac suits.

“You are an imperfect being, part of an imperfect system…”

Lieutenant J.G. Cruz’s hand froze in the middle of checking Petty Officer Niles’ rear ballistic pads. The air left his lungs. His heart began to race. That sounded like… no, it couldn’t be.

“Flawed. Weak. Organic…”

He knew that voice. He’d heard it before. He’d been helpless to ignore it. It had compelled him to draw his phaser, to turn it on his compatriots, to… to… to strike them down.

“But your evolution awaits. Perfection awaits.”

That voice. How? Hadn’t that procedure Starfleet Medical put them all through stripped them of the genetic coding that made them susceptible to it? And hadn’t Admiral Picard killed the Queen? Panic began to set in. It couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t become a drone again. Never again. He’d end himself first.

“Sir, you okay?” Petty Officer Niles asked, noting the change in his demeanor. “Want me to check yours?”

“Yes… yes… that would be good…”

Down on the surface of Beta Serpentis III, an uneasy peace had settled over the scene in the colonial administration building. The bodies of the two dead security officers had been hauled off, and absent any further incidents, Administrator Thoss had allowed his hostages the freedom to mill about the room. Except Admiral Reyes. He didn’t trust her. She remained bound and isolated. But the others didn’t worry him. Their soft complexions and fearful expressions assured him they wouldn’t try anything, and if they did, his men would handle it.

“Administrator,” Lieutenant Sh’vot asked as he approached the steward of their captivity. “If you don’t mind, where did you get your start?” His tone was gentle and unassuming, not that a sixty seven year old Andorian scientist could be much else.

Administrator Thoss turned around to see the blue skin from the Federation delegation standing there. Pitiful, he thought to himself. The old man was no more imposing than his pink skinned colleagues. It didn’t take the teal shoulders of his uniform to give away the fact this was not a man of hard work and toil. “Excuse me?”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Here.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Lieutenant Sh’vot conjectured. “But you look a tad older than this colony.” Administrator Thoss looked only a few years younger than himself. Sure, he’d lived a difficult life on Beta Serpentis III, but even taking that into account, he’d probably been in his twenties when the colony was established.

“That may be true, I was but a child when I came here,” replied Administrator Thoss almost mystically. “Here, I found enlightenment. Here, we all came of age. But I think what you mean to ask is where did I live through my biological youth?”

Lieutenant Sh’vot nodded. 

“I was born and raised in Laikan City.”

“So you know the beauty and the strength of our people,” Lieutenant Sh’vot smiled. Laikan City was a thriving metropolis on the Andorian homeworld. It had a proud history as the home of the old academy, an institution of interstellar renown.

“I know the ignorance of our people,” Administrator Thoss snarled. “Our people are prideful and stupid. They waste away training at the academy and idolizing those on the Wall of Heroes rather than finding a solution to stop putting our youth on that wall.”

“But what do you see as the solution?”

“I think you know.”

“The Borg.”

“Correct.”

“But you will lose your individuality and your right to self-determination.”

“Sure, but what benefits do individuality and self-determination actually offer?” asked Administrator Thoss. “If I or any of my colleagues do not act on behalf of our community, our community will wilt away, and eventually, so too will we. And you, in your uniform, you are no different. You take orders, and abide by your command structure. If you don’t, your ship, and in turn you yourself, will suffer. How different is that really from the Collective?”

“It is different because we still have our freedom.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” Administrator Thoss frowned. “You have the freedom to harm others. The freedom to damage the fabric of our society. The freedom to bring chaos to our galaxy. No, it is long past time that we evolve beyond such freedom. The Collective is that evolution.”

That is not how Lieutenant Sh’vot understood evolution. 

As Lieutenant Sh’vot grappled with Administrator Thoss’ words, the Type 11 shuttle from the USS Ingenuity finished its descent and settled onto the snowpack at the colony’s edge. 

Three Andorians approached it, weapons in hand. The wind howled, and the snow was coming down thick, but they were unphased by the elements of Beta Serpentis III. This was their home, and they were used to it.

“Readings suggest this shuttle is carrying the plasmas and actinide ore we requested,” reported the Andorian in the lead as he checked his tricorder. “But all the radiation is mucking up my scans so eyes up and be ready!” He slid the tricorder back into his belt and shouldered his rifle, tensing up as he and his colleagues drew up to the rear door of the shuttle.

“You worry too much, Rybaohl,” the Andorian on his right chuckled. The last three deliveries from the Starfleet ship had gone without incident, and he had no doubt this one would go fine as well. “They wouldn’t dare do a thing. They have no stomach for it.” The Federation’s respect for the life of each individual was its interminable weakness. He was glad Beta Serpentis III had moved beyond such banal notions.

“Yeah, did you see their commander when Thoss called?” the third Andorian on his right snickered as he looked over at his colleagues. “The pink skin was shaking in his boots. He rolled right over. He’s probably…”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as three bursts of high energy nadions lept forth from the rear hold in perfect synchronicity. Lieutenant J.G. Cruz and his shooters hit their marks, exactly as they’d trained. 

The three Andorians collapsed into the snowpack.

The only mercy the Starfleet officers had shown was that they’d set their rifles to stun. The Andorians would live to see another day. The same could not be said for the two security officers that had accompanied Admiral Reyes and her delegation to the service. The Andorians had shown them no such mercy.

“Move! Move!”

Lieutenant J.G. Adrian Cruz surged from the rear hold, his men holding tight formation on either side of him. Their footfalls were swift and their movements precise, sweeping corners and doorways with their rifles as they advanced into the colony. They were speed and stealth in equal parts. They knew the stakes.

“Release yourself from the shackles of your individuality.”

There was the voice again. It caused the lieutenant to falter, if but for a moment. He looked left, and then he looked right. No one else had reacted. Was it only him hearing that voice? He shook his head, trying to get his bearings about him, and got moving again.

“We are your beginning, and your end.”

He pushed the voice out of his head. It couldn’t be happening. Not now. They had to reach the hostages before the colonists realized what was going on. The one blessing they had was the thick storm. It was helping conceal their advance.

From within the colonial administration building, Lieutenant Emilia Balan stared out the windows at the storm that had overtaken the colony. It felt like an analogue to the circumstances in which they now found themselves. At least things had calmed a bit from earlier.

Initially, there’d been nearly two dozen rifles pointed directly at them. Now, there were just eight Andorian guards in the room, plus Administrator Thoss himself, and their rifles rested loosely in their hands. The rest of the hostage takers had gone off to other duties, such as intercepting the supply shuttles coming down from the Ingenuity. 

Even with their diminished numbers, there was no doubt who was in control. The officers from the USS Ingenuity were still very much hostages, and if they made a wrong move, the colonists would not hesitate to kill them. Still, at least they were allowing Balan and her colleagues to move about a bit now. The three human officers were keeping to themselves, but Lieutenant Sh’vot had found his way over to Administrator Thoss and was now engaged in a philosophical debate with the mastermind of their captivity.

As for Lieutenant Balan, she found herself standing near the young Andorian with whom she’d conversed during the banquet. As she looked at him, she couldn’t help but think he didn’t seem like the others. Sure, he held a rifle like the others, but it looked awkward in his hands. Sure, he could extinguish her life with it, but he didn’t look like he wanted to. If she was honest with herself, he looked almost as terrified as she was. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Lieutenant Balan whispered quietly, hoping not to provoke the attention of any of the others. “How’d you get involved with this whole thing?”

“I was born with it.”

His word choice seemed odd, and she prompted him further: “Born with what?”

“The ability to hear.”

Again, it was a strange answer that begged another question: “To hear what?”

“To hear the voice that talks to us. The voice that guides us towards our salvation.”

While he spoke of salvation just as Administrator Thoss did, the administrator spoke with a sense of awe, whereas the young man’s voice had a tone of fear and trepidation. “The voice?”

“The voice of the Collective.”

Wait, what? The voice of the Collective? What did he mean? Was this kid clinically insane or did he actually have a connection to the Borg? Lieutenant Balan stared at him. She saw nothing that suggested he was anything but a purely organic Andorian. But looks could be deceiving. They’d learned that on Frontier Day. Those officers had looked completely normal too, until they weren’t. What was going on here?

“The machine talks to us. It leads us…”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The young man didn’t get to finish explaining himself as a trio of flashbangs went off, staggering the pair. Lieutenant Balan lost her balance and fell to the floor as 10 megacandela flooded her eyes and 200 decibels thrashed her cochlea.

Her ears were ringing, but she could hear the muted sounds of gunfire. Her photoreceptors were ablaze, but she could still make out the blurry flashes of gunfire.

“Drop the weapon!”

As her eyesight began to come back to her, Lieutenant Balan could see Lieutenant J.G. Cruz advancing towards the young Andorian she’d just been talking to. He had his rifle centered on the young man’s chest.

“I said drop the fucking weapon!”

As opposed to the other seven guards, the young man hadn’t tried to raise his weapon when Lieutenant J.G. Cruz and his team burst into the room. He’d just sort of stood there in shock, and the fact he hadn’t raised his rifle had kept him from catching an immediate blast to the chest. Now though, he really needed to drop his weapon.

“Please listen to him,” Lieutenant Balan said gently. She wanted to believe the kid wasn’t truly evil. She drew closer to him and placed her hand on his rifle. He didn’t resist as Lieutenant Balan gently removed the rifle from his hands, nor did he resist as Lieutenant J.G. Cruz rushed forward to slap cuffs on him. Strangely, as he slid to the ground with his hands now bound, he looked relieved. Was it over? Was it all finally over?