....The events in this ongoing story occur seven years after the Star Trek Voyager novel Homecoming.
Disclaimer: All Star Trek characters are property of Paramount, I am not affiliated with them in any way.....yet
CHAPTER 1
Kata'Clan swept his view across the rocky plateau. White streaks of lightning arced in jagged lines across an obsidian sky as fat drops of rain pelted his dull blue skin. He sniffed the air, his grip tightening on the Klingon bat'leth that he'd pulled from his fallen comrade's chest.
He looked down at Bar'al and watched as the dead Klingon's armor-laden chest resettled into the mud, the limp body flopping like a child's doll. "Victory is life," the Jem'Hadar growled in way of farewell to the fallen warrior. Kata'Clan stepped over the body and headed further into the misty night.
His night vision provided him with a clear path to the mountain a half kilometer to the west. He proceeded, scanning left and right constantly. The bat'leth was a solid weight against his chest, its blades facing outward. He knew that the Hirogen would prefer to take their prey by hand if possible.
The mountain he sought loomed close, and then, all at once, Kata'Clan heard a twig snap behind him. In the same moment he felt his body twisting instinctively, the blade of the bat'leth meeting the Hirogen's metal armor with a resounding clang. For a moment the night was ablaze with sparks, and with them he saw the Hirogen's rough, orange skin wrinkling into a smile. Kata'Clan was first to act; he swung the blade at the Hirogen's temple in a skillful arc, but the Hirogen was faster. It swung down and away, and the Jem'Hadar felt a thick metallic boot in his gut, followed shortly by the alien's blade slashing across his chest. His blood mixed with the rain, precious ketricil white wasting away in the downpour.
A part of him registered the wound; a bigger, more primal part countered the Hirogen as it slashed again with the dagger. Kata'Clan kicked savagely into the alien's side and the blade went wide. The Jem'Hadar's hand moved for his own blade as he threw the bat'leth away, and in the next moment he felt the Hirogen's thick blood spraying on his own rough, reptilian face. The Hirogen fell back, its hand groping at the slash along its thick orange neck. As the large creature hit the ground its hand found the plasma weapon in the mag-lock on its leg, pulled it out, and dropped it again as Kata'Clan's blade found his eye.
Lightning flooded the sky, much closer this time. In the momentary daylight Kata'Clan's eyes scanned the craggy vista. To the left, five Hirogen walked in formation toward Bar'al, the fallen member of the Klingon/Starfleet joint task force. The Hirogen's large plasma rifles swung back and forth in the air, tasting it, scanning it. Kata'Clan knelt down beside the fallen Hirogen and pulled its plasma weapon from the mag-lock plate. The Jem'Hadar ran into the night, toward the mountain. Toward the caves where his superior officer hid, awaiting rescue. The Klingon Special Ops officer dead in the mud was cut into pieces as the Hirogen claimed their trophy in the night.
XXX
The USS Prometheus, flagship of Star Fleet, orbited a small Class M planet on the edge of what had once been Borg space. Captain Geordi La Forge scanned the read-out on the tactical display that sat nestled between his chair and that of his acting first officer, tactical expert on the Borg, Captain Elizabeth Shelby. His light blue cybernetic eyes didn't miss the tension that tightened her body, nor that of his own.
"Engineering, report." The tight fear in his own voice surprised him, embarrassed him. It had been many years since he'd been face to face with the Borg, and many years since Star Fleet had even heard from them. The actions of Admiral Janeway on the fateful day of her return from the Delta Quadrant had been profound. Some of Star Fleet's brightest speculated that the Borg collective might have even been destroyed, but as Star Fleets official probe into that quadrant arrived two days ago, the Prometheus's long-range scanners told them otherwise. The Borg were not only here, judging by the number of transwarp trails in the area, they were thriving. La Forge felt like a man lost at sea, clinging to a plank of balsa wood, with sharks circling. He shook the image off. The Prometheus was far from a sunken dingy; she was the créme de la créme of the fleet, her offensive and defensive prowess far surpassing that of the Enterprise E and even the legendary Defiant class starship.
"Transwarp drive is on standby, sir," Ford from engineering reported as required, and Captain La Forge noted the slight edge of fear in his voice as well. La Forge stood, taking a few steps toward the towering view screen, and turned to tactical.
"Mr. T'val, deploy armor." The tactical officer swiftly complied and La Forge felt the replicated armor sliding into place along the outer hull. The Prometheus was one of the few vessels to be fitted with the futuristic armor. The Galaxy class had proven too large, the Defiant, too small. Very few really understood the exact workings of the armor. It was a matter of luck that it had yielded itself perfectly to the experimental Prometheus as well as the older Intrepid class. La Forge turned back to the view screen, swearing quietly to himself.
"Sir?" T'val from tactical called. La Forge turned, shaking his head. Shelby shared his concern, she stared straight ahead, toward the bleak planet below. Brilliant flashes of lighting whipped along the surface. Dark masses of clouds engulfed the surface obscuring the rocky crust below.
"Activate the cloak, Lieutenant." The Vulcan's head turned less than a quarter of an inch to the left, indicating great confusion, or perhaps, more appropriately for a Vulcan, the reaction to an illogical request. With the Prometheus cloaked, any survivors on the surface who had managed to salvage scanning equipment from the wreckage of the Dominion vessel would not be able to detect them. Regardless, T'val did as he was told.
"Cloak activated, Captain," the Vulcan intoned from tactical. La Forge nodded toward the view screen, and returned to his seat. He noted with concern the tension he saw in his bridge crew. All except for T'val. The Captain assumed that the feeling was there, somewhere, if he ever cared to dig deep enough to find it. Right now, however, he had bigger issues than an uptight tactical officer to deal with.
"Scan for life signs." The words stuck in his throat, now that the time had come to say them. Zero hour.
Admiral Picard was alive, or he wasn't. It was time to find out.