The battle began as soon as the Ready Room doors had hissed shut.
"What the Hell were you doing?" Janeway barked, turning as soon as they'd entered the Ready Room to confront the Captain of the Enterprise.
"Offering you alternatives," Picard replied tightly, his voice quieter, but hardly submissive.
"Alternatives?" Janeway swept her arm towards the bridge door, "you questioned my orders in front of the bridge crew, when you should know damn well that, as a guest on my ship, any concerns you have should be brought to me in privacy. I expected you to declare mutiny right there and then."
Picard scowled, but finally gave a short, curt nod.
"It was bad form on my part," he admitted, "but Captain, leaving the Sphere's departure point is a mistake, one that will only serve to guarantee the Borg acquire what they're looking for."
"So, what do you suggest?" Janeway asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "That we sit there for a week and wait until the Borg decide to drop a Cube on top of us?"
"The alternative," Picard snapped, "is to do nothing and allow the Borg to assimilate all the knowledge in his possession and use it to vastly increase their power. Whatever the cost, whatever the risk, we must retrieve him before they can complete the assimilation process."
"And how do we do that?" Janeway countered, hands spread wide. "We have no transwarp coil, no way to catch up with that Sphere, and even if we did, his capture was a 'top priority' according to Seven. I wouldn't be surprised if they've surrounded him with an entire fleet. Voyager wouldn't be able to get within a light year of that ship."
Picard's mouth opened to reply, but he finally just shut it, frustrated. Pacing, he scarcely noticed when Janeway settled into her chair, elbows resting on the desk and hands cradling her head for just a moment. Inspiration struck the Enterprise's Captain soon after, though, and when he whirled towards her, it was with fresh purpose.
"His TARDIS," Picard said. "Temporal Prime Directive be damned, I can't imagine the Starfleet of the future would have intended for the Borg to get their hands on all the Doctor's knowledge. If we can gain entry, somehow glean its controls, we could use it to intercept that Sphere. Or, at the very least, sent you a warning a week ago so we'll both know to keep him locked in the brig."
Janeway frowned pensively, fingers drumming on her desk. Trying to break into a highly advanced alien timeship was probably a bad idea. Trying to operate said vessel without any clear indication on how it functioned might well prove disastrous.
But then again, if the Borg managed to tap into the Doctor's mind… could anything else be worse?
"Very well," she agreed. "I'll have B'Elanna and an Engineering team assemble in the shuttle bay; hopefully we can find some way to gain access without resorting to force. In the meantime, I'll need you to remember anything you can about how he controlled the-"
Before she finish her instructions, however, the EMH's voice piped through the comm speakers.
"Doctor to Captain Janeway."
Sighing, Janeway tapped her commbadge. "Janeway here."
"Captain," the EMH said gravely, "I was just informed of the Doctor's captivity by Mister Paris. As I am presuming that a rescue mission is unfeasible, I simply wanted to confirm whether or not I should discontinue my assignment."
"Doctor, now isn't the-" she paused, blinked, then echoed; "-your assignment? What assignment?"
Voyager's Doctor paused as well, speaking a little more carefully. "The construction and calibration request the Doctor had given me to complete by 2100 hours."
Janeway glanced at Picard; "Do you know anything about this?"
Picard only shook his head, shrugging slightly.
"Captain," the Doctor said, sounding more confused by the moment. "I was under the impression that I was working with your express knowledge and permission. I was assured as much by the Doctor before he went to attend yesterday's briefing."
Janeway's fingers drummed on her desk, nails clicking against its surface as she tried to figure out just what the hell was going on. When the answers weren't forthcoming, she decided to chase them down herself.
"Doctor," Voyager's Captain interjected, climbing to her feet. "We're on our way down. Continue whatever you're doing until we get there, Janeway out."
Picard fell into step behind her as they emerged from the bridge and headed straight for the nearest turbolift. Their quarrel was all but forgotten in the wake of this curious new puzzle…
It was cold… dusty. The Doctor coughed as cloying particles filled his lungs, rolled with a groan… dazed, his eyes flickered open, reluctantly.
Crumbling stone walls surrounded him on all sides. In a flash, he sat up, gasping for breath, eyes wide and flickering from side to side; his memories were a jumble, his mind racing with confusion and panic. Leaping to his feet, he staggered as his legs functioned only reluctantly, slumping against one of the walls. He tried to speak, to make some protesting sound, but the dust filled his lungs again, and he coughed, and coughed…
The memories began to flicker back, slowly, as the coughing subsided. He remembered brutal years of the Time War… the seemingly inexhaustible Dalek fleet, the resurrection of the Master, countless horrors and travesties. And then the worst of it, knowledge of the Time Lords' plan to achieve victory. Their Final Sanction… and his desperate, likely insane plan to stop them.
The Time Lords had learned of his plans, his pilfered weapon, and he had fled to his one remaining refuge. But he had been struck before he could escape, wounded critically before the TARDIS had taken him to the place he had hidden the weapon, an old Gallifreyan ruin on the edge of the Medusa Cascade. But even as he had sought to make the finishing touches, he had slumped to the ground, died…
Regenerated.
His hands lifted to brush across his scalp, and he was only mildly surprised to find that his formerly thick, plentiful hair had been replaced by mere stubble. His ears felt unusually prominent, and when he stood, he felt slightly taller… but any thought to adjusting to his new body, or even getting a look at his new face, faded as he glanced at the device that dominated the center of the ruins.
It was little more than a bundle of wires, cables and components, salvaged from a half dozen different races. It had taken him months to build, and even now a few pieces lay scattered about, needing to be slotted in. Thanking the fates that he wasn't missing anything, the Time Lord began to get to work finishing the machine.
Only a few minutes into the task, he paused as a tingle of static energy buzzed through the air. Knowing what was coming, he turned just in time to see ten thousand glittering particles coalesce, forming a massive, semi-transparent head. The projection of President Rassilon flickered, solidified, then looked down at the younger Time Lord.
Rassilon's translucent face frowned for a moment, confused. "…Doctor?"
"So happens it is," the Doctor replied coldly, and even his voice emerged differently, a Northern Gallifreyan accent. "One of your lads got off a lucky shot. I'd congratulate him with what time he has left."
The President's expression darkened dangerously.
"Surely you cannot blame him," Rassilon scoffed. "Your intentions for mass murder are-"
"My intentions?" the Doctor echoed, actually bursting into disbelieving, bitter laughter. "Don't play the victim, Rassilon, I know all about your Final Sanction, your plans for this universe."
"Then you should also know that the Daleks are spreading our forces too thinly," the President insisted. "With the Skaro Degredations, the Horde of Travesties, we cannot hold back our foes any longer! The Final Sanction is our only option, the only way to see that justice is done and that we preserve what matters!"
The Doctor only snorted, turning his attention back to the device and starting to plug in a pair of cables. A sudden plume of smoke jetted from one of the nozzles, and he waves his arm to dispel it, holding his breath as best he could as Rassilon's face drifted closer.
"We have no choice, Doctor," the President repeated, fury brimming just beneath his voice. "For the greater good!"
"You're insane," the Doctor coughed, even as he renewed his work, making the final few connections, slotting the necessary components. "You and all those who think to follow along with this plan! The universe is not ours to do with as we see fit, there are countless billions of races across all of Time and Space that will cease to exist if you pursue this madness!"
"Countless species," the Prime Minister echoed scornfully. "Little more than flashes in history, brief flickers that could never hope to compare to our eternal flame!"
"They have as much a right to exist as we do, if not more so!" the Doctor snarled, groaning as he turned one last component into place then whirled around to confront his fellow Time Lord. "Rassilon, we did battle with the Daleks so that we might prevent them from destroying all life!"
"You naive fool!" Rassilon boomed, "We fought the Daleks to ensure the stability and authority that our civilization has built for countless eons! I will not allow you to send our cities crashing into the flames for the sake of a savage and primitive collection of infantile species!"
The Doctor's eyes glittered as he leaned forward, hissing; "Fantastic. Stop me if you can."
Spinning back towards the device, the Doctor approached it… but his steps slowed, the hand that reached towards it grew still. Sending perhaps his foe's doubts, the projection's eyes narrowed and its voice grew silky, knowing.
"Can you really do it?" When the younger Time Lord gave no reply, Rassilon continued softly, almost kindly. "Could you perform the one act that will destroy your own kind? Entire worlds, star systems, galaxies, the Medusa Cascade, snuffed out in an instant by that godless weapon you seek to wield, and your people consigned to oblivion for all Time."
"And if I don't," the Doctor snapped back, but something in his voice seemed reluctant. "Everything, everyone will cease to exist. Irrevocably."
"You know not what would come after the end," the chiding voice replied. "When the Daleks are no more, when we have once more reclaimed our status and dominance, we can seek to right the unfortunate but necessary wrongs perpetrated for Victory. Join your people, Doctor, come with us into the glow of true enlightenment."
The younger Time Lord gave no answer, as he had none. He had worked so hard, so long to make this happen, to find the one Moment that could end things. But now that he stood here, with everything prepared, he couldn't help but question the path he had chosen. For a long, long moment, there was temptation. Temptation to submit, to return to Rassilon and rejoin his people.
Temptation to stop trying.
All at once, the Doctor whirled around, sonic screwdriver aimed at the projection. "Goodbye."
Rassilon's face swelled in size and flashed as it advanced in a rush, bellowing.
"NO!"
But as the Doctor's screwdriver buzzed, the projection disintegrated into countless particles of light, fading into nothingness.
Even as the projection faded, the Doctor was approaching this technological child of his, and its heart; a small key, slotted into an interface, surrounded by diodes and cables. It had taken him months to construct a cradle that could harness it… and, as it turns out, it had even cost him one of his lives. All that effort, all the preparation, to harness an ancient Gallifreyan artifact.
The Great Key of Rassilon. Ironic, that it would be used to destroy him. The Doctor's hand closed around the small key, such a simple, tiny thing… his tongue flicked across his lips, and his eyes shut.
Finally, decisively, he turned it.
All at once, he could hear the Moment beginning. The Key began to pulse in his hand, and a low hum filled the very air, and every particle in the Time Lord's being. The weapon began to glow, brighter and brighter, and sparks filled the air as countless connections and cables overheated… but they each served their purpose long enough, and the hum began to turn into a high pitched whine.
Stumbling away from the weapon, the Time Lord had no thought of escape. No consideration for finding a way to avoid this fate. Slumping back onto the floor, knees lifted, head pressed between them, he closed his eyes and waited so very patiently to die with his brethren.
But then, even as the whine became an unbearable shriek, another noise cut in. A low, familiar grind…
"No," he mumbled, even as the sparks and flames faded behind walls that shimmered into being around him, "leave me with them…"
If he was heard, the plea was ignored, and the Time Rotor churned, his magic blue box whisking him away, even as the man inside shook and trembled and begged incoherently to be sent back. The interior shook and rocked from side to side, and all the while, beneath the misery, beneath the rambling sobs, some part of him listened to innumerable voices in his mind, crying out in fear, in pain…
And then the TARDIS gave one tremendous shake, and all at once, the voices were silenced.
He lay there, slumped on the deck just below the control column, for what felt like an eternity. But when the TARDIS gave one last, gentle tremble and the cloister bell sounded, he sat up all at once, eyes dry and darting from side to side.
Climbing to his feet, each step uncertain, he slipped over to the door and pulled it open; he was greeted by near darkness, and a sharp, so-very-familiar scent.
He could smell earth. Not just earth. He could smell Earth.
Tongue flicking across his lips, he slipped out of the TARDIS, scarcely noticing as the door slowly shut behind him. All around him were walls, with hard-packed dirt and stone and cement… he was underground, he could feel it.
There were buckets around him, tools, machines… and a single rickety wooden staircase across the chamber, leading up into the light. Legs wooden, steps uneven, the Time Lord climbed them in a daze, eyes squinting as he emerged into the open air; all around him were unfinished walls, the mere skeleton of a building in progress. Nearly tripping on loose bricks and hard packed soil, the Doctor staggered out onto the sidewalk, ignoring the curious stares of pedestrians as he shuffled forward.
"They're all gone," he murmured, wandering aimlessly down Totter's Lane. He didn't know where to go.
He had nowhere to go.
"I'm the only one left."
The dream was broken as the sound of heavy, metal boots approached; groaning, the Doctor's bleary eyes opened for the first time. Across from him, the sprawling expanse of a Borg ship's corridor, where he had been left unconscious… a pair of Borg drones were only now approaching him, and he couldn't hear the background hum of the scout ship's engines, suggesting they had reached their destination.
"Oh, right…" the Doctor coughed, and for a brief moment, he could have sworn he felt dust in his lungs. "…this is still happening."
He grunted with a mixture of pain and irritation as unyielding, cybernetic arms gripped him under the armpits on either side, the pair of drones hauling him upright. A low hum filled the air, and the disorienting feeling of a transporter swept over the Time Lord for just a moment; his makeshift prison cell soon replaced with yet another unremarkable Borg corridor. Even so, he knew where he had likely been brought.
He was, after all, apparently quite high on their priority list.
"Are we there yet…?" the Time Lord mumbled, slumping between the two drones as they marched him down one corridor after another. "…how 'bout now?"
Sometimes he walked under his own power, but more often than not he was dragged along by the expressionless drones. The nanoprobes burned throughout his body, and the further into the complex he went, the more he could feel them stirring to life, infecting him bit by bit. Before his dazzled eyes, an implant burst through the skin of his left hand, spidery metal limbs stretching out from the puncture.
"Ew…" he murmured, and then, all at once, the cold arms had released him.
Unable to fight gravity, the Doctor plummeted forward with a pained grunt, falling facefirst to the deck. His head was throbbing, his limbs icy and hearts beating frantically, and the Doctor lay there, all but helpless, only able to peer at the bottom of the far wall, eyes dazed.
At least, until a pair of dark boots stepped in front of them.
Panting for breath, sweat beading on his skin, the Time Lord's neck craned as he peered up into the cold, dark eyes of his eager hostess.
"Hello, Doctor," the Queen greeted, serene, powerful… smiling. "So glad you could join me."
Janeway and Picard wasted no time getting down to Sickbay, where the holographic Doctor and Seven had both been toiling on the Time Lord's mystery project. As they entered, the first thing that drew notice was the cobbled-together bundle of components and diodes scattered across the diagnostic bed on the far side, with the Chief Medical Officer and Seven both busily working on it.
"Report, Doctor," Janeway snapped, approaching them.
The Doctor straightened quickly, looking a bit nervous as he gestured to the device. "Well, our guest asked me to get this device running, shortly before the briefing was scheduled. He assured me that he had spoken to you about it, and when I realized I could use some help in integrating and calibrating it, I asked Seven to join me. Didn't he… speak with you about it?"
"No," Janeway muttered, moving around him to get a closer look at the device. "He didn't."
Picard, whose interests in the sciences were decidedly more societal and archeological than purely technical, finally gave up trying to guess at the purpose the gadget served. Reaching out to touch one of the components, a glossy black emitter node, he glanced up at Seven.
"What is it?"
"The device is a multiphasic emitter," Seven informed them solemnly, brow arched as she continued the work, apparently unperturbed that the entire senior staff had been unaware of it. "Once calibrated, it will generate up to fifteen hundred Ci's of omicron radiation."
"And the Doctor requested that this be prepared?" Janeway asked slowly, eyes narrowing. "But he didn't need it to be ready until a few hours after the Away Mission?"
"Yes, Captain," the EMH replied, clearing his throat. "I was under the impression he had cleared everything with you before proceeding, but-"
"He wanted it ready for after the Away Mission?" Janeway pressed, ignoring her Chief Medical Officer's self-defense entirely. "Did he say why?"
The holographic Doctor cleared his throat. "No, Captain."
Janeway's lips thinned as she considered the device. "What could he have been planning to do with it… speculation?"
"The particles can function as an alternative source of power," Seven said slowly. "However, the energy required to generate omicron particles artificially exceeds what they would produce. Generating them as a source of energy would be extremely inefficient."
"Doctor, he wanted it built here," Janeway murmured, glancing about Sickbay and starting to pace as she tried to work out the puzzle. "Are there any medical applications for omicron radiation?"
"Virtually none," the Doctor replied, brow lifting a bit. "Most humanoid species wouldn't be able to survive exposure to even the smallest concentrations of omicron radiation; it's highly toxic."
The room fell silent as they stared at this final, frustrating enigma.
Was it a clue that things weren't as they seemed?
Or some unexplained part of a plan that had already ended in failure?
"How are you feeling?" The Queen asked, the concern in her voice made mockery by the words themselves.
"Oh, you know," the Time Lord murmured, making a brief, futile effort to at least sit up. "Bit warm in here. Terrible décor. Sort of hungry. D'you lot have a washroom?"
The Queen's lips flickered, brief irritation passing her face. "Jokes, Doctor, in this place? Do you not know what you face?"
"Well, I heard you were bald," came the breezy reply, slightly offset by the fact that he couldn't quite lift his head. "I have to say… if this sort of humidity does that to my skin… then I'd be much appreciative if someone could open a window…"
"Funny," she hissed.
"….why does everyone keep saying that…?"
"Your tricks won't work, Doctor," the Queen informed him pleasantly, the ire fading from her face as she regained control. "If you think you can court your own death by provoking me, you don't understand my dedication to the Collective. Your assimilation will be our crowning addition, your knowledge will bring us all the closer to perfection."
The Doctor gave a dry chuckle, managing to lift his head slightly, a brow raised.
"You want my voice nattering in your head for all eternity?" he croaked. "Have you thought this entirely through?"
The Queen only smiled at that, and at her silent command, the pair of drones reached down to haul him upright once more, drawing a startled grunt from the Time Lord's lips.
"Why, yes, I have," she murmured. "And once every drop of information has been drawn from your mind, I intend to secure your vessel and acquire its secrets… assimilating Voyager will be a happy side benefit. With your knowledge, and your technology, the Collective will spread throughout Time and Space, bringing perfection to every civilization in existence."
The Doctor's eyes flickered, mingled with anger… and fear.
"Well," he said, "sounds like somebody has a busy day planned."
The Queen's lips stretched in a wide, predatory smile as she leaned in, just inches from the Doctor's ear. He could smell her decaying, coppery breath as she whispered to him, and the prick in his skin as her own assimilation tubules buried themselves into his neck.
"I do. So let's begin."
And as she leaned away, the Time Lord felt her will focus upon the fresh dose of nanoprobes multiplying within his blood… and as the fire spread throughout every limb, he could only groan and slump forward in the drones' grasp, weak, vulnerable...
Finally, it was Picard who spoke up.
"Doctor," he murmured, "you said most humanoid species would be unable to endure exposure at any level. Would a Time Lord be as vulnerable to omicron radiation?"
The hologram considered it. "Well, I don't have enough information on his biology-" a rather pointed glance at Janeway was made as he said this, one greeted by rolled eyes, "-but if I were to hazard a guess, based on what we have on record, he may be able to tolerate higher levels than most humanoids, perhaps considerably so. A small number of species possess some resistance, such as the Maltarans, the Denobulans, Species 847-"
"Yes, yes," Picard interjected, lifting both hands. "But if one possessed the necessary resilience, what purpose could the radiation then serve to their biology?"
"I couldn't start to guess!" the Doctor replied irritably, scowling. "Even the species that have resistance don't expose their people to it for no reason, I don't see why any sane biological organism would willingly blast itself with-"
"Nanoprobes."
This was from Seven, head tilting as her eyes flickered back to the emitters. "The intra-molecular processors possess a vulnerability to omicron radiation that the Borg have thus far been unable to adapt to. As the radiation is fatal to most species, it has not proven a deterrent to assimilation, but at sufficient concentrations, it could eradicate them and Borg components quite efficiently."
It took a moment or two for this to sink in, but when it did, the implications struck everyone at once.
"It's almost time," the Queen breathed between the Time Lord's screams, "your cells are remarkably resistant to the assimilation process… it will take days to add your biological distinctiveness to our own… but the cortical implant is nearly complete. Your mind shall become one with the Collective. You will share with us all your secrets, and all your power will belong to us."
The Doctor's head had slumped forward, and his struggles had slowly faded throughout the process, his limbs twitching sporadically. Still, at her mocking words, his head lolled, shifting from side to side in a weak denial.
"You think you can overcome?" she marveled, reaching out to almost tenderly stroke his hair. "You have lost. There is nothing more you can do, Doctor, submit to the inevitable. Resistance is futile."
"Yes," the Doctor mumbled, head hanging lower; his shoulders heaved and shook, silently and rhythmically. The Queen's smile, so wide, so confident, seemed to shrink just a little as the silence turned into small, whimpering sounds, sounds so unlike what she expected to hear.
The Doctor was softly, delightedly laughing.
And when he looked up, the implants sprawled across his face seemed, even to Her, unsettling and alien, emphasizing his thin features. And his eyes sparkled like little gems as his teeth flashed in a small, knowing little grin, head tilting ever so slightly to one side.
The Queen look puzzled, then shocked… and then, backing away, her hands slipped up to her head, and she began to look truly frightened. Even as she retreated, the Time Lord's lips curled in all the more delight, his voice little more than a rasp.
"It will be."