Chapter XVI
The Borg stared silently at Picard's defeated face. 'At long last, Locutus, you realise that you have lost. I was right, and have been for millennia. Resistance is futile.'
Picard could not do anything other than make a small nod, his spirit crushed. The Borg regarded him. Despite the sweet satisfaction of victory over this spirited but weak individual, she felt disappointed at seeing such a powerful personality broken like this. He would become a drone, she had decided, but he would see his precious Fleet destroyed. He had caused enough devastation to her Collective to earn that.
She remembered the tricorder. The information contained within would be useful in the extreme. A modified version of that information would destroy the Aralla completely. All that was needed was to circumvent their shielding. She summoned two more pipes to enter the tricorder. The tentacle-like appendages of her mind assimilated the information in seconds.
And the voices in her head, always present, all-encompassing, speaking constantly to tell her of the Collective, stopped.
She stared blankly for a moment, alone for the first time in centuries, at the drones suddenly stiff and unmoving, at the pipes, suddenly slack and still. The phaser clattered to the floor.
Picard looked up as he heard the phaser hit the floor, and stared for a brief second at the Borg. The virus had still worked!
He leapt into action, his depression disappearing. He grabbed the phaser, rolled across the floor, and aimed it at the Borg.
She stared at him for the last few seconds, and said, 'Where are they?' For the first time, her voice sounded listless, stripped of all the self-possession it had always possessed. In a few minutes, Picard knew, she would regain control, and, in all probability, destroy first him, and the Fleet. He did not intend to give her that time.
He fired. The killing beam punched right through the Borg's torso, ripping her apart in seconds. She dissolved into nothing without even a scream.
Picard stared at the dark patch that remained on the floor of her, and felt, within, his last connection to the Borg through Locutus, die alongside her. He tapped his commbadge, his face grim. 'Picard to Seven of Nine. Operation Takeover is now begun.'
The only answer was a beam of blue energy on the other side of the chamber, and Seven of Nine materialised. 'Is she dead?' she asked immediately.
'Yes, but I suspect that she will be able to reincarnate herself, given time.'
Seven nodded. 'I will begin immediately.' She strode to a console, ignoring the stricken and unmoving drones, and began working quickly at it.
Picard stared silently around the chamber, feeling his depression, defeat and despair fade away. For a moment, until she had activated the tricorder, he had thought they had been beaten. The Queen had seemed all powerful, totally in control of the situation and of his fate. And then, the virus had worked.
Against all expectation, she had been cut off from her drones. Picard had made a dangerous mistake. He had overestimated the capabilities of his opponent. Indeed, he had been doing so since the first days of the Aralla war. Inwardly, he kicked himself. He had been gifted with a gilt-edged opportunity, and he had nearly missed it because he had overplayed the strengths of the Borg as opposed to their weaknesses.
Now the plan could be carried forward. Picard handed the phaser to Seven, and stepped into the space vacated by the cylinder that had housed the Borg, and turned to face the ex-drone. It was all down to her.
Seven's nervousness at entering the domain of the Queen once again had diminished once she had immersed herself in the work she had to do. Quickly, she had to make the Borg computer realise a new set of brain patterns as the central influence. Those of Picard.
'You cannot succeed!' The voice, emanating from nowhere, made Seven duck involuntarily. 'Locutus will not rule the Collective!' It faded away, as the Borg's mental patterns sought a faster way to restore control to herself.
Seven continued working. As she did so, she glanced at Picard, who gazed back at her with a steadfast expression, almost one of unconcern, and said, 'She can speak, but she has not regained control. We will know that she has when the drones begin to move.'
Picard glanced involuntarily at the still unmoving drones that filled the chamber. 'Hurry it up then,' he said, calmly.
Seven nodded and got on with her job. Long minutes of silence, interrupted by the occasional bleep from a console that Seven was working on, marked the strangest and quietest battle that Picard had ever been involved in. The battle to regain control of the Collective raged in the computers that surrounded them, but made no impact on the real environment.
The voice suddenly roared out, 'I have control!'
Picard stared at the ceiling, but then Seven pressed the final control. Instantly, he was gripped by power. His body stiffened, back arched, and he stared blindly into nothing.
His mind was cast into the Collective.
There was nothing but energy here. His mind saw patterns of force, energy lines, the matrix of the Borg Collective laid out at his feet in black and green and purple lines. Minds, connected over light-years of distance, right across the galaxy, and beyond, formed this vast expanse of knowledge and power. He sensed it's silent, patient wait for leadership and it's intent and purpose. He looked down at himself, and realised that his mind had anthropomorphosised his mind's view of himself as his corporeal body. Picard knew that his corporeal body was uninhabited now. His mind was totally in the Collective.
At the tips of his fingers, he knew, lay the millions of Borg drones, and ships and materials that lay at the Collective's beck and call. He could reach out and touch anyone, and make them do what he wanted.
He finally knew what it was like to be omnipotent.
'You are in my domain now, Locutus,' said a voice behind him. Picard whirled to see that the Borg stood behind him. She smiled. 'The Collective spreads all around us, to the farthest star that you know of, and beyond.'
'I know,' he whispered.
'Yes, Locutus. Incidentally, that was a clever trick that you performed with the virus.' She held up a fist, and opened it. On the palm of her hand rested a small, spiky black mass. She looked from it to him. 'I tamed it. It is now assimilated into the Collective.'
Picard opened up his fist as well, and the same ball of spikes appeared on it. The Borg stared at him incredulously. 'How did you do that?'
'The virus cannot be tamed, or assimilated,' said Picard quietly. 'You have incorporated it into the very structure of the Collective, yes, but it was designed for that. Even now, it is breaking down your new connection to the Collective.'
'How?' said the Queen, stunned. Her face lost all of the possession and self-control it had possessed.
'It was designed,' said Picard, realising this even without being told, 'to be assimilated by you and incorporated into the Collective central core. Once there, it would block all your attempts to regain control whilst simultaneously reprogramming the Collective to accept me as the new Borg. You took it into yourself. You made it part of yourself. You are being destroyed from within, for it's very structure, that which destroys the Collective, is inside you now. And it will destroy you.' The Queen gasped and stepped backwards, horror and fury breaking across her face, fighting for control. She was powerless in her own domain. The human had beaten her.
Picard advanced on her, forcing her back step by step. 'I rule here. I am Locutus of Borg no longer. I am Jean-Luc Picard, and I will not allow the Borg to terrorise the galaxy any longer.'
'But the energy flows, they still possess my signature!' she screamed at him, desperate for any edge. Picard pitied her, but still advanced slowly, holding out the virus in his hand. 'I will fight you!' she shouted.
And Picard smiled cruelly. 'Resistance is futile.'
He threw the virus at her. It connected and sank into her middle, disappearing without trace into her body.
The Queen screamed, a long, terrified hoarse cry of agony, and her body began to disintegrate. Before his very eyes, Picard watched her sink to her knees, her voice growing quieter and quieter, her body growing more and more transparent until, suddenly, she collapsed into a million glowing shards, which spread out faster than light, as fast as thought.
The dark colours of decay and death that personified the Borg faded underneath the assault of light, and quickly, as quickly as their dead mistress had been destroyed, they disappeared. Orange light encircled Picard and spread out across the distance. Picard watched as the blackness died away and then he smiled.
And stepped out of the Collective.
Seven had watched for a few seconds as Picard's body had stiffened and jerked as the power of the Collective ran through him. Now, his body relaxed and he opened his eyes. The warm gaze of a man no longer possessed by his inner demons looked back at her. 'We won,' he said simply.
Seven smiled and relaxed. Picard stepped forward from the booth that once contained the Queen and looked at the drones surrounding him. One by one, they turned away, and vanished into the darkness of the Unicomplex.
Picard willed the screen to appear before him again.
'Sir,' said Dax suddenly, 'we're receiving a transmission from the Borg. To all ships.'
'On screen,' said Sisko, his blood freezing. Had Picard failed?
Picard appeared, his face calm, but his body radiated power. 'All ships, this is Grand Admiral Picard. Stand down from red alert and power down weapons. The Borg Collective is ours now, and we stand, united, to face the Aralla. Our flight is over. We will face them soon, and we will avenge ourselves upon them. Picard out.'
Across the Fleet, stunned silence greeted Picard's message. Nervous captains, waiting for the worst, saw the Borg ships around them pull away and fall back. The leaders of the Fleet announced Picard's victory, and put into place their plans to turn the tide of war against the Aralla. The Fleet had finally found its resting place, amongst the Borg.
Picard stepped onto the bridge of the Enterprise to be greeted with tumultuous applause from the bridge crew, who cheered and clapped at his victory. Worf and Geordi stepped forward to shake his hand, and Picard stepped forward to take his command chair.
He turned to Geordi first. 'Mr. La Forge, your devious mind has produced an absolute masterpiece in that virus. You cut the Borg Queen totally out of the link.'
'Thank you, sir. I've thought about it, and I think that a combination of that virus and the invasive program would be the key to defeating the Aralla. We need to learn more about them and their computer systems though.'
Picard nodded. 'I authorise you to set to work, Geordi,' he said. 'Use anything you want.'
'Even the Borg?' asked La Forge.
'Even the Borg,' said Picard, smiling. The engineer looked like a child with a new toy.
Picard turned to Seven of Nine. 'Can I see you in my ready room for a moment, Seven?'
'By all means,' she replied gravely, and followed him off the bridge.
Picard turned to her and smiled once they were through the door. 'I just wanted to thank you, Seven. Your assistance and bravery in volunteering for the plan was the decisive factor.'
'Thank you, Admiral,' said Seven modestly, 'but it was only my duty.'
'Nevertheless,' said Picard, stepping behind his desk and sitting down, 'I fully intend to report this to Captain Janeway, and request your reassignment to my side.'
Seven froze. 'I thought you would have no need of me, Admiral.'
Picard shook his head. 'I do control the Collective now, it is true, but I need someone to guide and help me. The Queen was used to controlling them, but I need someone who has experienced the Collective and known the power behind it. You will be my mentor, in a way, to knowing the ways of the Borg and how to best utilise them. If you want, I can always make it an order, but I would prefer you to be willing.'
Seven made up her mind. 'I have no problem in fulfilling the role, sir, but I have little experience of life outside of Voyager. It is unsettling to be so quickly cast into a new environment so suddenly. However, I would be honoured to work with you. I would like leave to report to Voyager, and say my farewells.'
Picard nodded. 'By all means.'
Seven stepped into Janeway's ready room. The captain looked up. 'Ah, Seven, sit down.' The ex-drone did so. 'I understand you've made quite an impression on Admiral Picard,' said Janeway.
'I believe so, Captain,' replied Seven.
Janeway smiled at Seven's anxiety. 'Don't look so worried, I'm pleased for you. Genuinely pleased. When we first brought you on board, I sometimes wondered whether or not you'd prove to be able to interact successfully in human society again. From the evidence of the last few days, I needn't have worried.'
Seven licked her lips. 'Admiral Picard has requested that I be assigned to the Enterprise,' she said quickly, nervous that Janeway might take offence.
'Yes, I know,' said Janeway. 'I was just reading the request. It is a glowing account of your actions onboard the Unicomplex.' She leaned forward and clasped her hands before her. 'However, there is one thing that I would like to know.'
Seven's heart started beating quicker. 'What is it?'
'Do you want to go? I see no reason to turn down the request; indeed I believe it would be a good step forward for you,' she added. 'But I will turn it down if you say to me that you felt that you could not go for a reason.'
Seven thought of many reasons in a few seconds. Her work aboard Voyager, the fact that she was not used to humans outside her own group here on this starship, her sudden recent illness –
She shook her head. Her work aboard Voyager amounted to little more than overseeing Astrometrics, a job that Ensign Kim was capable of doing now. The illness and emotional problems could be dealt with by a visit to the Doctor, and the fact that she was unused to humans was part of the learning process. She would have to do it at sometime, so why not now?
Seven of Nine looked at Captain Janeway steadily. 'Captain, I can see no reason why I should not leave Voyager to go to the Enterprise.'
Janeway smiled, a sad smile. 'I'm glad that you think so too. I will approve the transfer as soon as it's convenient.' She held out a hand, and Seven shook it, a little unsure. 'I'm glad that we've had you onboard, and I'm proud that you've been a member of my crew.'
'I would appreciate the transfer being now, Captain,' said Seven. 'There is no sense in waiting.'
Janeway nodded again, and handed the padd to Seven. Seven electronically signed it by retinal scan, and Janeway took the padd back and did the same. Then, the captain stood, went around the desk, and handed the padd to Seven once again, who stood as she received it. Janeway, unexpectedly, reached out and embraced the other woman gently. Seven, slightly mystified, did the same.
Then Janeway broke the embrace and turned away, making sure that Seven didn't see her wiping a tear from her eye. 'Thank you, Seven, for being with us.'
Seven nodded. 'Permission to disembark?' she asked formally.
Janeway turned, smiled and nodded, her eyes bright. 'Permission granted.'
Seven turned and left the room.
Immediately, Chakotay came in. 'Are you alright, Captain?' he asked.
Janeway sat down at her desk and rubbed her eyes. 'Yes, Commander,' she said.
'With respect,' Chakotay added, 'you don't look it. Was it something to do with Seven?'
'Yes,' said Janeway, sniffing. 'Admiral Picard's requested that she be assigned to the Enterprise.'
Chakotay smiled. 'That's wonderful news. She must have made quite an impression on him.'
'Yes,' said Janeway. 'Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for her. It's just that, this crew's breaking up around me. Tom's dead, Seven's left for the Enterprise, and everything's moving so fast and out of my control.'
Chakotay nodded and sat down. 'I know what you mean. But it's even worse with Seven isn't it?' he prodded gently.
Janeway looked at him. 'I've never had any children, but it was as if she was like a child, my daughter. We saw her grow up like a child and become a human being again. She's come so far, in such a short space of time, that I'm surprised by her progress. She's made quite an impression on this crew.'
'She certainly has. But all children must leave home sometime,' said Chakotay. He himself had never felt as close to Seven as Janeway or the Doctor had. 'That's what's happening to Seven now.'
'I know,' said Janeway wretchedly. 'It's all happening so fast.'
They sat for a short while, thinking. Then Janeway said, 'But that's only a chapter of the story. We'd better see what we're wanted to do.'
Chakotay admired Janeway's ability to put traumatic events behind her and return to business. But, they both knew, the pain would strike anew once she came off duty....
Seven's next visit was to see the EMH in sickbay. She walked briskly into the sickbay to find it unexpectedly empty. The EMH had tended to keep himself activated lately. 'Computer, activate Emergency Holographic Program.'
'Please state the nature of the medical emergency,' said a voice from the far side of the room, and Seven turned to see the Doctor smiling at her. 'Ah, Seven, what a nice surprise. What can I do for you?'
'I think I'm ill, Doctor,' said Seven, her voice worried.
'Ah, self-diagnosis,' said the EMH. 'What would I do without it?' He indicated the bio-bed, and Seven laid herself down on it. 'Symptoms?'
Seven described the symptoms as the EMH began scanning her with the tricorder; the itchy, hot palms, staring blankly into space and giggling to herself, which she believed were the onset of a serious mental illness. As she went through the list, lengthy by any standards, Seven noticed that the Doctor stopped his examination, sighed, and put the tricorder away. He looked down at her and his face grew mischievous.
'Sit up, Seven,' he ordered. She did so, swinging her legs off the side of the bio-bed and looked at him, worried.
'Is it serious?'
'Well, it's a fairly common human disease,' said the Doctor. 'It ranges from trivial cases which only last for a few days, all the way to dangerous cases which can last for a lifetime.'
Seven's breath caught in her throat. 'What are its effects?'
The EMH started to walk around the room, seemingly unconcerned, and Seven trailed him all around sickbay. 'Well, it starts off with the symptoms you described, but if untended can either fade away quite quickly or linger.' Seven frowned. She had never heard of an illness quite like that before. 'If it does linger, then it's a serious case. There have been historical cases of people dying in the most serious extremes, but they're fairly rare.' He looked up at Seven and sighed. Despite her intelligence and abilities as a member of the crew, Seven was still extremely innocent and effectively immune to either hints or sarcasm.
'Seven, it's not really an illness. You're in love.' The EMH smiled. 'Well done! I didn't realise that you'd finally managed to progress that far.'
Seven stopped dead in her tracks while the Doctor rambled on. That couldn't be right. Certainly she had never thought that way, but now she reviewed the events since Tom Paris' death in that light, they began to make sense. But - She realised that the Doctor had stopped speaking and was looking at her expectantly. 'Sorry?'
'I said, who's the lucky guy? I need to know because he might need counselling.' He beamed at her, but then dropped the smile at Seven's concerned face. 'What's the matter?'
Seven sat down heavily on a bio-bed. The Doctor sat beside her, concerned for his friend. 'Love isn't that bad a thing.'
'It might be,' whispered Seven. 'I think the "lucky person" is B'Elanna Torres.'
The Doctor sat quietly for a moment, and then fell off the edge of the bio-bed.
He picked himself up quickly, and saw that Seven had not moved. 'You're joking!' Her face told him she was not. 'You really pick your moments, Seven,' he said, but his heart was not in it. 'Why B'Elanna?' he asked quietly.
'I don't know,' she admitted. The EMH could see that her face was anguished. 'I first realised after Ensign Paris died that I had feelings for her, but I didn't realise how far they went. I thought I was genuinely ill.'
The Doctor sighed. It was sad that Seven was having to confront this now, and matters were complicated by the effect of her feelings toward someone who was, quite honestly, just about unattainable. 'How do you feel?'
'I feel the way I described to you if I see her,' answered Seven. 'I'm afraid it might affect my competence.'
'Possibly, but it's unlikely that it will–'
'The captain hasn't told you though. I've been reassigned to the Enterprise.'
The Doctor looked at her, stunned again. 'Why?'
'Admiral Picard feels he needs an advisor on the Borg, and he considers me to be the best choice.' Seven glanced up at him.
The Doctor had rarely seen true human emotion in Seven's eyes. For so long, her feelings had been covered by the coolness of the Borg, and it came as a genuine shock to him that now her eyes brimmed with tears and the conflicting emotions of loyalty, love and fear shone through so brightly. The Doctor was unsurprised by her admission to feelings of homosexual love. It was not a taboo subject in the Federation, despite still being uncommon, and Seven's lack of response to male suitors for so long could not simply be put down to lack of understanding of what was needed. What was a surprise was the object of Seven's affections. B'Elanna Torres made no secret about her dislike of the former drone, and coming so soon after Tom's death, those feelings would not be received at all well.
However, the fact that Seven had obviously impressed on her first encounter with human beings outside their own little group, especially the Grand Admiral of Starfleet himself, made the Doctor extremely proud of his protégé, for he had coached her in interaction skills since early in their voyage together.
'How do you feel about leaving Voyager?' asked the EMH gently.
'I'm happy in what I'm being asked to do,' said Seven slowly. 'But I'm scared of leaving, because I don't know what to do –' She broke off and stared at the floor.
The EMH sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. 'Seven, it's part of living.' Fine one he was to talk. 'Leaving your familiar surroundings, going out into the world – it's all part of growing up.' He glanced away at the walls. 'You've handled yourself well so far. Admiral Picard's obviously taken with you. Well done. I'm proud of you. I know you're going to be a success out there.'
'You think so?' asked Seven, her face clearing slightly.
'Absolutely.' The EMH stood and helped her up again. 'Remember, Voyager will be in the Fleet alongside the Enterprise, and I'll always be here for you, and so will Captain Janeway.'
'What about B'Elanna?'
The Doctor paused for a moment. 'We'll... cross that bridge when we come to it.'
Seven of Nine nodded. 'Thank you, Doctor. I'll go to the cargo hold and begin transferring my things to the Enterprise.' She turned and left.
The Doctor looked after her after the doors had closed and then heaved a sigh. She was behaving in exactly the way he had predicted. When Seven had first come aboard, he had drawn up a timetable of her emotional and mental growth. Although her mind and higher reasoning centres were those of an highly intelligent adult, her emotions and feelings when she had first been separated from the Collective had been those of a child. That was what Annika Hansen had been when she had been assimilated into the Collective. Her emotional level now corresponded with that of a fourteen or fifteen year old human. She was discovering love for the first time, although she had obviously settled on her sexual preferences. She was beginning to outgrow the confines of the structures she had lived in for such a long time, and fortunately the advent of the Fleet had enabled her to reach out to other people outside Voyager for the first time in her life. Mentally and physically, she was a woman. Emotionally, she was a teenager.
He would really have to talk to the CMO of the Enterprise about this.
'Who's the CMO now?' asked Picard, confused. 'I thought we'd promoted Lieutenant Ogawa to that position.'
'Yes, sir,' said Worf patiently. 'But she's complained that she is not up to the job because she is not a full doctor yet. In a few years, maybe, she says, but even then she would lack the experience.'
Picard nodded, realising that in his haste to encounter the Borg and his concentration on the matters of the Fleet, he had let standards on the Enterprise slip disturbingly. They had operated without a full CMO for nearly three years now, and almost certainly there were other problems as well. Worf was a good officer, but he didn't have the sort of experience that the job required yet. 'Who is the most experienced CMO in the Fleet?'
'Sisko to Bashir.' Sisko's voice rang out over the comm, and Julian Bashir tapped his badge, looking up from his reading.
'Bashir here.'
'Doctor, can you report to the Enterprise immediately?'
'Sir?' Bashir frowned in bemusement.
'Admiral Picard has requested that you be assigned as CMO on the Enterprise, effective immediate.' Bashir, now listening, detected the displeasure in Sisko's voice.
'Why wasn't I consulted?'
'That's why he's asking you to come to the Enterprise,' explained Sisko. 'He wants to speak to you about it.'
Bashir nodded, some of his indignation draining away. At least he wasn't being reassigned without being asked. 'I'll be there immediately.'
'Thank you, Doctor. Sisko out.'
'Enter,' said Picard's voice, and Bashir entered his ready room.
'You wished to see me, Admiral?' Picard nodded, and set down the padd he was reading.
'I assume Captain Sisko has informed you of what I wish,' he began.
'Yes, sir. I have to say that I am happy aboard the Defiant.'
Picard nodded. 'I would have thought so. Captain Sisko is an excellent officer, and the Defiant herself is an excellent ship. You yourself have been the subject of glowing reports from Captain Sisko to both myself and Starfleet before the war.'
'Thank you, sir,' said Bashir modestly.
'That is why I want you on the Enterprise,' said Picard. 'The flagship needs the best officers. You are the best doctor in the Fleet.'
'Thank you,' said Bashir obstinately, 'but I don't want to move.'
Picard continued blithely as though he had not heard Bashir. 'And, of course, I would want to observe the progress of the next head of Starfleet Medical as closely as possible.'
Bashir stared at Picard for a moment. 'Me?'
'Your name was already mentioned in connection with the job, especially after your submission for the Carrington Award.'
'I – I –' Bashir was struck dumb. 'Have you already decided this?' he finally stuttered.
Picard shook his head. 'Yours is the foremost of four or five names, but you have first refusal. If you turn it down, it might be that I choose someone else. Incidentally, this post carries with it the rank of Commander.' Picard was lying of course; there was no-one else in the Fleet remotely qualified enough to take the post. Bashir was his only option, and Picard was determined to get him aboard the Enterprise. He had lost most of his best officers in the first onslaughts of the war, and he was damned if the crew of the flagship wasn't the best in the Fleet. He had an excellent tactical officer, a superb Ops officer, and a good helmsman, and he needed a new first officer and a new CMO. Sad to say, Worf, for all his qualities, simply wasn't up to the job of first officer.
It was at times like this that he missed Riker.
Bashir looked back at Picard. 'Is this an order?'
'Purely your decision,' said Picard. I can order you later, he added silently.
'Then I accept,' said Bashir unexpectedly. Picard blinked.
'Already?' he asked, surprised. Bashir frowned.
'If that is the way it must be, then I must accept,' said Bashir. 'It is the best decision both for myself and for some of my younger subordinates.'
Picard nodded immediately, not a man to look a gift horse in the mouth. 'When can you transfer across?'
'Give me a week to give my last instructions and transfer my data and experiments across to the Enterprise, and to get settled in here.'
Picard nodded, happy. 'Welcome to the Enterprise,' he said, standing up and shaking Bashir's hand.
'It's an honour,' replied Bashir. 'Do you want me to inform Captain Sisko?'
'If you please, Doctor,' said Picard, taking his seat again and picking up the padd. 'That way, you will be able to say your own goodbyes at your own time.'
'Thank you, Admiral.' Bashir hesitated. 'When will my role as Head of Starfleet Medical become active?'
'When the war is over. There isn't a Starfleet Medical to be head of yet,' said Picard wryly. 'However, I have no objections to your beginning the groundwork for the post.'
Bashir nodded, having already decided to do so anyway. 'Thank you, sir.'
Picard opened his mouth to speak – and froze, the padd in his hand clattering to the desktop. Bashir stared at him, before rushing around the desk to his side, doctor's instincts coming to the fore. 'Admiral!'
Picard stared into space....
'Scanners detect presence of Starfleet runabout Missouri in grid 774 subsection 547. Pursued by Aralla vessels. Time to intercept, twelve hours, nine minutes. Orders?'
Picard realised that he was hearing the voice of the Collective referring back to him for orders. And he realised what it meant. 'Data!'
Data had spotted the Aralla attack planes, thirty of them on advanced patrol, hours before. They had summoned a city destroyer that would intercept him in less than an hour now.
He was dead, unless another miracle like that Borg vessel materialised.
Deep in the Delta Quadrant, the Missouri had had a relatively quiet journey so far after Odo's death and the destruction of the Borg Cube. Data had not deviated from his course or lessened his speed so far, but the Aralla been to all sides of him at all times. Sometimes, they had got in front of him, forcing him to change course, but that was technically impossible. The Aralla ships had not shown that they could top the Missouri's best speed, but they had got past him and ahead of him several times. This presented a worrying possibility, but Data could not confirm this hypothesis without getting closer to the Aralla ships, which was not something he wished to do.
A blast of energy on his port bow shook him from his reverie, and Data stared in incredulous horror at the sight of an Aralla destroyer and a hundred attack planes, forming a wedge that swept before the huge ship, all blazing towards him. Their first salvo had missed, but their second would not.
If he stayed where he was. Data activated the port thrusters and swung onto a new course. The Aralla planes moved to intercept him, and he made another course change. The Aralla moved again, and cut him off. He was outnumbered, outgunned, and outmanoeuvred.
And Data was out of options. He was defeated; the Aralla had finally cornered him, and they would destroy him and the Missouri, and the information that he bore to the Fleet would die along with them.
He activated his weapons. Not without a f-
A huge roar shook the runabout, and Data stared up as a fleet of Borg Cubes swept overhead, firing into the Aralla fleet. The android counted twelve of the Cubes as they opened up their formation and fired again on the Aralla destroyer. He had been concentrating so hard on the Aralla that he hadn't even noticed the transwarp signature behind him.
The blasts of green energy slammed into the Aralla shields and elicited a wash of green protective power. Blue energy spat from the destroyer and blew a Borg Cube apart in the first salvo.
However, the Borg were not there to sacrifice themselves. Whilst they avoided the Aralla firepower, occasionally striking back, one headed for the Missouri and ensnared it in a tractor beam. There wasn't even a hope of resisting, Data knew, and he shut the engines down.
The Cubes turned and fled into transwarp, fleeing from the Aralla.
The commander of the Aralla was pleased. The Borg had again withdrawn from combat against the Aralla. They had ensnared the human vessel, but that did not matter anymore. They would soon catch the human fleet unawares and destroy them, thanks to the innovation of the Borg.
He turned to look at the planet below the Aralla mother ship, and nodded for the attack to commence. The Aralla fleet was currently split, with each mother ship at a different location, all involved in separate attacks, making sure that there would be no alliances for their enemies. One race, calling themselves the Krenim, were using some form of interesting time-based weapon, whilst another, the Kazon had tried suicide attacks at the last.
Both races were now virtually extinct.
The commander nodded again. The war was going well.