As dusk turned to night, and as the snowstorm became a blizzard, six Starfleet officers emerged from the colonial administration building. Three were security officers, two were diplomats, and one was a scientist. Lieutenant J.G. Adrian Cruz led the way. He was their bloodhound, a survivor of Frontier Day now afflicted with the ability to hear the voice of the Collective. Behind him, the rest of the team followed, their weapons at the ready as they hunted for the Borg vinculum from Wolf 359.

The phaser rifle felt heavy in Lieutenant Syleth Sh’vot’s hands. The hexagenarian held a doctorate in geophysics from the Vulcan Science Academy, but the task at hand felt more imposing than any review board he’d ever faced. He hadn’t wielded a phaser rifle since Officer Candidate School, but now he might need to turn it on real, living people. The fact they were living didn’t bother him, as he understood the biomechanical impact of the low-level stun settings, but the fact they’d be shooting back did. One did not face such high intensity situations in a laboratory, and that’s where he’d spent most of the last four decades. As he thought back, the last time, and only time, he’d actually ever been in a live fire situation was on Ventax II in 2367, and then he’d just been sheltering in place while Starfleet saved the day. This time, he was now one of the Starfleet officers trying to save the day.

“Relax L-T,” came a soft voice from his right. He looked over to see Lieutenant Emilia Balan, the young cultural affairs officer from the Advanced Science, Technology and Research Activity. Her delicate frame and gentle features were juxtaposed by the determination on her face and the phaser rifle shouldered snugly against her body. “Calm and focused. Just like in training.”

“I barely scraped through at OCS,” Lieutenant Sh’vot admitted. In fact, he was pretty certain his range instructor had simply looked the other way, weighing four decades of academic success against the unlikely event where the theoretician might find himself in a firefight. Unfortunately, he was now about to find himself in just such a firefight.

“Me too,” Lieutenant Balan smiled. “Both times.” As a young cadet, Emilia Balan had been completely out of her element in the academy’s security courses. While she’d grown out of her timidity by the time she returned for the intelligence field training program, her peers were seasoned security, tactical, intelligence and strategic operations officers, whereas she was an anthropologist and a cultural affairs analyst. Still, she hadn’t let that stop her, and even after graduating, she’d continued to develop her proficiency with sidearms and rifles for, as much as she wished it wasn’t the case, she recognized that her line of work would sometimes put her in hostile situations.

“I’m not sure if that makes me feel better about our odds,” Lieutenant Sh’vot smiled back. He’d have felt more confident if Lieutenant J.G. Cruz had brought his entire team, but the Ingenuity’s Security Chief elected to leave three of his men behind to support Admiral Reyes as she questioned the colonists. That left him and Lieutenant Balan, along with one of the other diplomats, to reinforce the three security officers as they went hunting for a Borg vinculum.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how come you volunteered to come along?” Lieutenant Balan asked. Whereas it was possible the team back at the admin building might encounter combat, they almost certainly would as they snuck around the colony. She didn’t revel in the fact she’d joined the team most likely to face combat, but as the only member of the team with counseling experience, she felt she needed to go with the man who was hearing voices in his head. Adrian Cruz needed her, and now it was clear Syleth Sh’vot did too.

“This is personal for me,” Lieutenant Sh’vot explained. “Administrator Thoss and I grew up on the same world, and frankly, he started off far better than I did.” Even the poorest residents of Lakarian City had access to far more than he did as the child of krill beast farmers in the Northern Wastes. “It does not make sense that people like Thoss would succumb to this.”

“And so now, we’re going to put an end to their nightmare.”

Lieutenant Sh’vot nodded. He just hoped they were right, that they’d be able to find and destroy the vinculum and that it would break the spell cast over his people. He wasn’t sure though. It all seemed a bit too convenient. Sometimes, when you were desperate to solve a problem, you manifested an answer even if it wasn’t right.

As they drew up along the edge of a large utilitarian structure, Lieutenant J.G. Cruz, their team leader and bloodhound, raised his right arm at a ninety degree angle, silently signaling the group to stop. He and his men dropped to one knee in perfect synchronicity, and the tagalong trio followed along as best they could.

Lieutenant Sh’vot peered down the sights of his rifle. He saw the faint silhouettes of three Andorians walking perpendicular to them across a dimly lit thoroughfare. With the wind blowing fiercely, the snow coming down thick, and the darkness setting in, visibility was so bad you could barely make out your fingers if you fully outstretched your hand, and ultimately, this worked to their advantage. The Andorians didn’t notice them and just passed by like ships in the night.

Lieutenant J.G. Cruz waited an extra moment or two before he got the team moving again. Tactically, the storm worked to their benefit as it reduced the likelihood of being spotted, but it also meant they were on pins and needles as they could walk headlong into the enemy with no notice. When he was satisfied it was safe to do so, he rose, and got the team moving again.

“You are in chaos.”

There was the voice again. It was louder now.

“We bring order to chaos.”

The last time he’d heard that voice, it compelled him to do unspeakable things. It forced him to take up arms against his own men. To kill his own men. To try and destroy the Federation he swore an oath to protect.

“Evolve with us towards perfection.”

Lieutenant J.G. Cruz closed his eyes. He did not want to evolve. Not as that voice urged. He wanted to push it out of his head, to forget that dark chapter of his experience, to just move on.

“You got this,” came the gentle voice of Lieutenant Balan behind him, and then her reassuring hand came to rest on his shoulder. It was as though she could sense the turmoil in his head. Her voice and her touch kept him attached to reality. 

“Your individuality is your weakness. You will be assimilated into our collective consciousness.”

He had his collective. It was Lieutenant Balan, Lieutenant Sh’vot, Admiral Reyes, and the rest of them on the USS Ingenuity and across the Fourth Fleet. They were depending on him. He focused on the voice, not to give in, but to do what needed to be done. He knew where they needed to go. They needed to stop it. They needed to set these colonists free.