Chapter 3: Assimilate this
We are the Borg. The thought was at the center of the group consciousness. Its single unifying concept; we are one, we are the Borg.
Of course the hive mind was, intellectually, aware that it was not one. It was many as one, and right now a part of those many were in trouble.
The two vessels were far from home, over fifty thousand light years – although they did not use that measurement. This far from home, the two parts were alone; the immense distance denied them communication with the whole.
They were still Borg. Each part was still Borg.
The other part was, however, in trouble. The hive mind felt the blazing inferno burst from the wormhole that had suddenly appeared. It engulfed the other part, consumed it until it was no more.
The entire other part of the collective was gone. This part was now alone. We are the Borg.
This new weapon demanded immediate action. Its power was immense. Nothing like it had ever been encountered.
However, this part of the collective was light-years away, under normal power it would take too long to get there. The enemy would have left, regrouped. Resistance might not be futile.
We must act, now! The consensus was a given.
There was only one way, Species 7042 had been working on a superior mode of travel. By using a tachyon pulse they had theorized that it would be possible to open a subspace conduit that would allow for extremely rapid travel. Such a conduit could reduce the days long trip, to mere minutes. If it worked.
There was no choice, no other option; the new weapon must be assimilated!
Home had been working on the technology when this part left. By now it might well be in common usage.
The collective considered the problem for a moment before deciding. It would build the proposed prototype. It would only take minutes with the full resources of the collective working on it. There was a chance that using it would destroy this part of the collective as well. That chance had to be taken.
The work proceeded rapidly. As the collective analyzed the problem, several minor modifications were made to improve the probability of success. Finally, it was ready.
To guard against failure, the collective sent a detailed message back Home. It would take a long time to reach there, but it would at least provide warning if this part was unsuccessful.
The conduit opened. All measurements indicated that it was stable.
The collective could not feel such base emotions as fear, or even trepidation. Nevertheless, as the vessel entered the subspace corridor that it had created, for a bare fraction of a second the collective came closer than it had ever come to those emotions before. Not that it feared for its own part, its loss would, in and of itself, mean nothing. However, never before had such an experiment been so vital to the future of the collective.
The transit took mere minutes.
On emergence, the collective probed outward. It quickly located the Federation starship U.S.S. Enterprise, registry NCC-1701-D. It was damaged, engines inoperative.
Locating the small module that had controlled the Weapon took only moments longer. It was headed for the larger starship at impulse speed. It would be overtaken quickly.
It was a source of amazement (as much amazement as the Borg collective could feel) that such a small, insignificant and, seemingly, primitive vessel could wield such a powerful weapon.
A tractor beam was locked onto the small craft. A call for surrender was sent out on standard frequencies.
"We are the Borg. Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated."
The only reply was a defiant, "Assimilate this!" Sensors indicated that the Weapon was being powered up. This could not be allowed. The pilot, a member of the Federation's primary species, was teleported aboard the Borg vessel.
This seemed to abort the firing sequence; power levels returned to normal. The Borg tractored the vessel aboard. It would need to be studied in detail if the pilot did not possess knowledge of how the Weapon operated.
The pilot was resisting.
"Resistance is futile."
The warning did not stop him from trying. Throwing one drone back and over a railing to plunge to death, the pilot tried to run away from the others.
It was to no avail, he was near the center of the vessel, surrounded by thousands of drones. Resistance was futile.
One drone held him while another injected him with assimilation nanites.
As the newly assimilated drone entered the collective, it gained access to all of the drone's knowledge from his previous life. The collective learned much, the drone had been important, no vital, in the creation of the Weapon. Without him there would not be another.
Yes, very important. He would serve the purpose for which another had been intended, he would be Locutus.
Basic assimilation of the drone complete it was time to proceed to the next step.
The starship was still there, just moments away. Sensor readings indicated that its long range communications were still intact. Time to issue a surrender demand. Time for Locutus to fulfill his role.
Communications were opened, "I am Locutus of Borg. Resistance is futile. Your life as it has been is over. From this time forward ... you will service us." Then something unaccountable happened, the drone added, "Have a nice day."
This was deeply troubling. The words and the thought behind them had not come from the collective. Yet every indication confirmed that the drone had been fully assimilated. His brain tissue was fully permeated with nanites.
This could not be.
A small portion of the collective consciousness continued to work on this anomaly even as the greater whole focused on the next task; assimilation of the Federation's primary world.
---
The familiar starscape replaced the image of Locutus on the main view screen as communications were cut off.
A chill had gone through Picard when he realized what had happened to Crichton. He knew that that should have been him that was assimilated.
"Have a nice day?" Riker sounded puzzled. Come to think of it, that last bit had been a little strange.
"A bit unusual for the Borg," Picard agreed.
"You don't suppose they also assimilated Crichton's flair for theatrics?"
"We've got to go over there and save him." Picard had not gotten to know Chiana much. Now she stood, rather defiantly, in front of him, demanding he do something. And he wanted to; god knew Crichton deserved all the help they could give him.
"They are already gone. We have no engines, we can't follow them." Picard felt sick to his stomach at the admission. They should be able to do something. He deserved better.
I should have been the one taken.
"Mister LaForge," Picard called for his chief engineer.
"Right here, sir," LaForge answered, coming out of one of the turbolifts at that exact moment.
"When can we get the Warp engines online again?"
"Not for several more days, sir."
"We don't have that long, we need them now."
"Sir, I might be able to jury-rig something that gives us warp one, maybe warp two in about twenty hours if I put all my people on it. That's the absolute best I can do. I'm sorry Captain, but she really took a beating. We'll be lucky if we can get to the nearest repair yard without getting a tow."
"I see. Carry on." Turning back to Chiana Picard steeled himself. "I really am sorry. But we can't do anything. I wish it were otherwise."
No sooner had he admitted defeat then Major Carter turned things on their head. "Actually, I may have an idea."
Suddenly all eyes were on Carter.
"You think you can get our engines working?" That didn't sound plausible.
"No, but I have a plan for getting us onboard that Borg ship."
"Explain."
"Wormholes," she said, as if that explained everything. "Look, the device on Crichton's module can work as a stabilizer for an incoming wormhole, it's a part of its basic function. All we have to do is create a wormhole here and target it at roughly where the Borg will be."
"So we'll just step through?"
"Not exactly, we'll have to transport through, using your transporters. That way we can transport almost directly to where John is."
"Sir, sending a team on such a hazardous mission, after one man," Riker began to object. Picard knew that Riker's heart wasn't in it though, he was only doing his job.
"We'll go," O'Neill forestalled the pointless argument.
"Are you sure, Colonel?" Picard asked.
"It's what we do. Besides he's our ticket home," O'Neill explained. O'Neill then turned and quietly asked Carter, "It will work, right?"
"If they haven't destroyed the device. If they have, we aren't going anywhere."
"All right, mister Data will assist you in setting things up. The Borg will reach Earth in," Picard looked to Data for the specific time.
"Approximately eleven hours, twenty-two minutes."
"So you'd better be on your way before then."
"And me," Chiana suddenly spoke up.
Picard briefly thought about arguing the point. SG-1 were a military unit. He trusted O'Neill judgment, if he wanted to do this, then Picard would back him. But Chiana was anything but military. On the other hand, she had as much cause to go as SG-1. Rather than argue Picard looked to O'Neill, let him decide.
All he got in answer was a shrug. Then inspiration seemed to strike the good Colonel.
"Bomb."
"Excuse me," Picard didn't quite follow.
"If we can gate, or whatever you call it, onto the Borg ship... cube... whatever. Why don't we just send a bomb through?"
"We do not have an explosive device capable of destroying an entire Borg cube," Data offered. "Even if we transported all the anti-matter in the ships reactor, it would only destroy about a third of the cube."
"And we can't transport anti-matter. The moment we lower the containment field to initiate transport it would blow up," Picard added.
"What about building an old fashioned nuclear bomb? You got them replicate thingies"
"Interesting," Data considered the possibility. "We cannot directly replicate weapons grade plutonium. However, we could replicate a lesser isotope and purify it. With it we could construct a fusion bomb quite easily. There would of course be a significant radiation hazard."
"Cut to the chase, can you make a bomb big enough in, say, eight hours?"
Data thought it over for a moment. "Assuming the full resources available on the ship are diverted, it might be possible to construct a thermonuclear device capable of destroying a fifth of the Borg cube."
"That would certainly give them a bloody nose before they reached Earth," Riker liked the idea. "It would give the fleet a fighting chance."
O'Neill however seemed unimpressed. "Carter?"
"Yes, sir?"
"How much naquadah did we get on PX whatever?"
Carter smiled as she replied, "About nine pounds."
"And that would increase the power of mister Data's bomb how much?" O'Neill seemed to be relishing a private joke.
"About tenfold, sir."
---
"John." The voice came out of the ether. Disembodied. Unrelated to reality. Just like John's consciousness.
"John, wake up." It seemed vaguely familiar.
"John, you must wake up." There were flickering lights all around.
"That's it, focus!" No, the lights were not flickering, they were passing by. John was moving along a corridor of some sort.
"John, we don't have all day, you must wake up!" He was in a wheelchair. Every movement required an extreme act of willpower. Slowly John raised his head up to look at the person driving the chair.
It was Scorpious!
The shock managed to jolt John out of the wheelchair.
"Good, you are almost there, John." That wasn't Scorpious, John realized. It was Harvey. This wasn't real, they were inside his mind.
John forced himself to stand up from where he had fallen out of the, now gone, wheelchair. As he rose, the hospital corridor shifted and became featureless.
"What happened?" John asked groggily.
"You were assimilated by the Borg."
"What?" John demanded. In answer the view around him shifted again. They were inside a Borg cube. In front of them was John Crichton's defiant stand against the Borg. The memory replay froze when the nanite injector tubes locked onto his neck.
"I'm a Borg?" John couldn't believe it.
"Yes, John," Harvey agreed. "Fortunately, you have me."
John looked at him sharply.
"That's right; the nanites did not penetrate the implant in your head. I remain free. It was difficult to free up enough of your mind to be able to communicate in this manner. I may have alerted the Borg to my presence, but there was no choice. We must escape."
Again, they shared a goal.
"How?"
"I'm not sure," Harvey conceded. "I was designed to penetrate hostile minds, gain knowledge and control. You proved a most difficult challenge. Subverting the Borg hive mind is no different. Just more complex. If we work together we may yet survive."
They were in another part of the Borg ship now. In the regeneration alcove directly in front of him is his physical body.
"Wait, why am I still wearing my own clothes?" John was a bit confused. Usually the Borg did not wear snappy Peacekeeper leather outfits.
"I've managed to slow down your assimilation," Harvey explained. "The facial implant is the only significant one that you have."
"I'm not exactly fitting in here, aren't they going to notice?"
"This hive mind is a most curious thing. Details tend to elude it. Unless something draws its attentions to it, your lack of proper attire will go unnoticed."
"Can I move?" John asked nervously. Would he be in any control over his own body? This was an old nightmare, with new players.
"Not yet, soon."
---
"You were where? You did what? You fought the who?" Hammond's expression would have been comical if it hadn't been directed at O'Neill himself.
"Ah, Star Trek and fought the Borg, sir." O'Neill replied levelly. Why wasn't Carter here? She was the one who should be explaining this.
"The Borg?" Hammond exclaimed, "Jack are you absolutely sure that that's what you want to put in your report?"
"It's what happened," O'Neill insisted. When Hammond just stared at him, O'Neill decided to tack on a respectful, "sir," to his reply.
"Jack, you can't expect me to believe that."
"General, it's what happened."
"You were on a TV show, you really believe that?"
"No, not a TV show, a world just like a TV show!" Couldn't Hammond see the difference.
"I'm sorry to have to do this Jack," Hammond said calmly as he give a signal to the people behind O'Neill. Before he knew what was happening they had him in a straightjacket and where hauling him out of Hammond's office.
O'Neill wasn't going quietly. He twisted and turned, trying to free himself, but the straightjacket held him securely. He could not move. And then there was the sound. What was that infernal bleeping sound? It was getting louder and louder and...
The sound of the door chime woke O'Neill up.
"Come in," he said grumpily while untangling himself from the jacket that he'd thrown over himself before dozing off.
It was Picard. O'Neill felt a bit silly having taken a nap at a time like this. However, once everyone got down to doing whatever he or she needed to do, there hadn't been anything much for him to do. A nap had seemed in order.
"Sorry if I woke you up, Colonel."
"Time to get up anyway, Captain." Jack looked at his watch as if to confirm that and realized that the beeping that woke him up had not just been the door. The alarm on his wristwatch had also gone off. It was, in fact, time to get up.
"I wanted to have a word with you before," Picard began.
"Before you beam is over to Borg central," O'Neill quipped. "Never mind, I'm haven't had my coffee yet." It wasn't Picard's fault, O'Neill knew. He'd volunteered. They had to get this Crichton fellow back, or they were screwed. Carter and Jonas might be able to make a life for themselves here, but O'Neill knew that he would never fit in and neither would Teal'c.
"Earl Grey?" O'Neill asked as he went to the replicator to get himself some coffee.
"Yes, thank you," Picard accepted.
"Coffee, black and tea, Earl Grey, hot," O'Neill ordered. "I've always wanted to say that." The last bit was muttered so Picard didn't hear it.
"It's never easy," Picard said as O'Neill handed him his tea.
"Going into a battle you know you probably won't win, or sending people into one?"
"Either," Picard replied somberly as he took a sip of his tea.
"It's what we do."
Picard merely nodded. He understood. Despite the whole Star Trek rhetoric about Starfleet not being a 'military' establishment, Picard was a soldier. They both knew the score. They stood there quietly for a few moments, drinking their coffee and tea. Finally Picard broke the silence.
"Would you like some help?"
O'Neill was not particularly surprised. The crew of the Enterprise was noted for doing the right thing. It was almost inevitable that they would come along.
Doing a fair impression of Teal'c, O'Neill's only response was an eyebrow slightly raised in question.
"Worf has requested the he be allowed to join your team, as has Shelby. Data has also stated his willingness to go. Having someone who is immune from assimilation may prove vital."
"Glad to have them," O'Neill assured Picard. He meant it too. At best any chance of success was slim.
O'Neill finished off his coffee in one last gulp, the caffeine was kicking in.
"Time to go kick some Borg asses."
---
Sam was enjoying herself. Not that she would ever admit that, but finally being in the driver's seat, making the plan work, was more to her liking.
She had done her best, working with Crichton, and she knew that without her help the weapon would never have been completed in time. She was also aware that she had learned more about wormhole physics (or physics in general for that matter) in the few days she had been working with him then in all her years at the SGC. And that was really saying something.
Additionally, the crew of the Enterprise was so much in awe of the revolutionary wormhole tech that they were working on that no one tried to limit their access to any other Federation technology. In short, Sam had acquired knowledge of more 'alien' technology on this mission alone then the entire efforts of the SGC had for the past six years. If they ever got home, it would make all the difference.
If they ever got home. That brought her back down to Earth, so to speak. She had finished making her mini wormhole thingy, as she was sure Colonel O'Neill would call it. Right now she was in Transporter Room 1, doing last minute calibrations while the team assembled.
Making a device that opens wormholes had turned out to be surprisingly easy. Well, at least once you knew how. Much of the Stargate's complexity lay in its matter de- and re-materialization. That and its targeting system.
She had only had to deal with the targeting, and with John Crichton's much more advanced device serving as a homing beacon, it had been a piece of cake. Her wormhole generator would open a very small wormhole, focusing the other end at roughly where the Borg cube should be. If it opened up close enough to the one in Farscape 1, the wormhole terminus would be immediately drawn to a close proximity with it. In other words, the other end would be inside the Borg ship.
More importantly, or at least as importantly, it would be so small that the Borg would likely ignore it.
Of course, all of this would be for nothing if the Borg had dismantled Farscape 1.
"Carter, whenever you're ready," O'Neill prompted her. The team was assembled and ready to go.
"Almost there, sir." Indeed, there it was, just off the Enterprises starboard bow. "Chief," Sam turned to O'Brien, "try to scan through it."
"You did it Major," O'Brien confirmed. "I'm reading the Borg ship. Locking transporter coordinates on the origin of Crichton's last message.
"Are we all ready then?" O'Neill asked rhetorically.
"Today is a good day to die," Worf quickly replied, apparently not getting the rhetorical bit.
"I don't know," O'Neill shot back, "I've seen better."
Behind O'Neill, Sam saw Teal'c whispering something to Data. Data looked confused, but gamely stated, if a little uncertainly, "Lock and load."
"Enough with the clichés already," O'Neill replied as everyone on the away team gathered up on the transporter pad.
"Chief, beam us up, or down or whatever," O'Neill ordered. Then just as they were about to dematerialize he added, "Carter, you are sure that this going to work, right?"
---
"Bridge, this is transporter room 1. The away team has successfully transported aboard the Borg ship." O'Brien dutifully reported.
"Understood." Came the curt reply and the communicator clicked off.
"Good luck," O'Brien whispered a belated farewell to the away team. "You'll need it."
---
Today was a glorious day, of that Worf had no doubt. His Klingon blood cried out for battle. The earlier ambush of the first Borg vessel had left a sour taste with his Klingon sense of honor. This was better, a straight fight. They would be outnumbered, yes, if it came to a fight they would most likely not prevail. For all that, this was what a warrior dreamed of, a glorious battle. He almost wished he had brought a Batleth instead of his phaser rifle.
They had materialized in the right place but there was no immediate sign of Crichton. As expected the Borg were ignoring them.
"Enterprise to away team, do you read?" Picard's voice came clearly over the comms.
"Yeah, we're here," O'Neill replied.
"Admiral Hanson has informed us that the Borg vessel will be in range to engage the fleet in twenty-two minutes, at that point we will have no choice but to send through and activate the bomb."
"Understood, SG-1 out."
Worf had quickly realized that Colonel O'Neill was an experienced warrior, as was the Jaffa, Teal'c. He had been a bit skeptical about the other members of SG-1. Major Carter's scientific prowess was of course beyond question, but she had not carried herself much as a warrior. Teal'c had however assured him that she was more than capable, describing her as a formidable warrior also. Worf knew that he should have known better then to judge a human, male or female, so quickly based on appearances. There was no doubt that SG-1 was a well-oiled machine, used to danger.
As for the other two Starfleet officers, Worf had come to respect Data's prowess and resourcefulness. Shelby was more of an unknown; she had little combat experience, especially hand to hand. She was however the Federation's leading expert on the Borg, which counted strongly in her favor.
That left the last, and perhaps most unusual member of the away team. Chiana. Worf didn't quite know what to make of her. On the one had she carried herself with great poise and could be extremely aggressive. While he had been extremely uncomfortable with her advances, the discomfort came, at least partly, from the fact that her bold and very direct manner was so much like that of Klingon women. He had been almost tempted to give in when she had suddenly stopped. Now he was unsure if he should be happy or upset at the development.
In any case, there had been no leaving her behind. The mere suggestion had caused some damage to certain decorative items. Actually trying to bar her from going would almost certainly have resulted in casualties.
Perhaps that was a good enough recommendation. She was both determined and resourceful, after all.
"I am reading a human life sign in this direction," Data reported.
"Crichton?"
"As far as we know, Commander Crichton is the only human to have been assimilated by the Borg. I would say that the probability is very high."
"Teal'c, you take point," O'Neill ordered. "Data you're second, tell Teal'c which way. Worf, bring up the rear. Let's get moving people."
Worf understood the importance of securing their rear and did not mind the duty. The Borg however continued to ignore them as the progressed further into the immense vessel.
"I never realized just how big these things were," Major Carter exclaimed at one point. "It never looked this big on TV."
"I guess real life Borgs aren't limited to a TV budget."
Worf ignored the byplay for the most part. He was still having trouble with the idea that his life over the last three years was the subject of an entertainment program in at least two other realities. On the face of it, it just seemed absurd.
"O'Neill," Teal'c suddenly called. Everyone looked forward, to where he was now pointing.
"John!" Chiana exclaimed.
He was in one of those regeneration alcoves and was still wearing his regular clothes, the only visible Borg implant being the one in his head. Suddenly he woke up, half lurched, half jumped out of the alcove and into the corridor.
"Whoa, I take it this is the cavalry," he greeted them before anyone could say a word.
"John," Chiana brushed her way forward. "They said you'd been assimilated. That you weren't yourself anymore."
John gave fake smile as he replied, "I disagreed with something that ate me."
"You? You are you?" Shelby asked the question everyone was thinking.
"Ain't it a kicker? How's about we get out of here before..." Crichton was cut off by an energy beam of some sort that exploded as it impacted the wall just above their heads.
"Too late, we got company!"
Worf whirled around to cover their rear again. The Borg were advancing on them in single file. He shot the first one and as he went down Worf again thought, what a glorious day to die. And there was no way that the Borg would assimilate him.
Behind him the team was taking up defensive positions and returning fire. Chiana throw John, who had been initially unarmed a weapon of some sort.
"Wynona!" John exclaimed, then after letting off a few shots at the Borg drones he added, "You had her fixed."
---
"Hello John," Harvey cordially greeted John.
"Harvey, we don't have time for this!" John replied rather angrily, while taking in the featureless white void the two now inhabited. "What is this place anyway?"
"A refuge if you will. An area where we can prepare without the Borg noticing us."
"Maybe you haven't noticed but we are in the middle of a gun fight. I don't have time for this. I need to be out there!" John emphasized the last bit by angrily pointing out into the distance.
How typical, Harvey mused. Always in a hurry, never paying quite the proper attention to details.
"But you are out there John." That got his attention. "Or rather John Crichton is out there, you are not John Crichton."
That certainly got his attention. Harvey watched on, with some amusement, as John digested this.
"You are no more John Crichton then I am Scorpious." Driving home the point.
"You made a frelling neural clone of me!" John was his usual agitated self. "You can't do that, can you?"
"Not normally. But these aren't normal circumstances John. We have been assimilated by the Borg. The only hope of getting the real John Crichton off this cube," Harvey spat out the word 'cube,' "is to fight them on both fronts!"
Harvey took a moment to let it sink in. "Much as it pains me to admit it John, I can't do it alone. I need your help."
"Hey, you are mister Brain Parasite. What the frell could I do?"
"Don't underestimate yourself John."
"I don't know the first thing about hacking into brains or whatever."
"On the contrary, you know a great deal. Otherwise, I would have completed me work while you still sat in the Aurora chair.
"John, the Borg aren't a computer, the hive mind is exactly that, a mind. It's composed of thousands of soft, organic, corruptible brains."
"What's you point Harvey?"
"It is all a matter of perspective and determination. If you believe you can do something, then you can do it."
"If that's true, how the frell do the assimilate anyone?"
"The nanites. They suppress the conscious mind. Make it want to be a part of the collective. However, they cannot assimilate artificial minds, like my own.
"Do you understand now?"
"So when we go out there..." John trailed off, realizing the nature of the situation.
"Yes, John." Harvey knew that John was finally on board. "The only question now," Harvey continued, changing his usual leather outfit, for one with a more appropriate cut and putting on a pair of shades, "is what do we need?"
John smiled at the obvious pop culture reference. Adjusting his own clothes similarly, he took one step closer to Scorpious as he donned his own sunglasses. "Guns, lots of guns."
---
"Enterprise, now would be a really good time to beam us the hell out of here!" O'Neill shouted into his communicator.
John felt a little dizzy for a moment, almost like when Harvey took him 'inside,' but quickly shrugged it off and kept shooting at the Borg. They hadn't adapted to their weapons, yet.
"Away team," Picard's voice came over the comms, "the Borg have put up transport inhibitors. We are unable to transport you off the ship."
"Let me guess," O'Neill replied. "But, you can still send the bomb through."
"That is correct. Our sensors indicate that you will have to get three hundred meters closer to the wormhole before we can get a lock on you."
"Understood," O'Neill ended the conversation. "Data, how long?"
"The Borg vessel will engage the Federation fleet in eighteen minutes, twenty-three seconds."
"So what's the plan?" Crichton asked.
"We head three hundred meters," O'Neill paused to both fire off a few rounds at the advancing Borg and get the correct direction from Data, "that way."
"So, we're just going to walk out of here!" Crichton had gotten used to bad plans, but this was a bad even by his standard. "Wile E. Coyote could come up with a better plan."
"At least it does not involve dropping anvils from precariously high places," Teal'c replied even has he began backing up with the group headed back the way it had come, preceded by furious phaser fire from Worf.
John was momentarily stunned by the riposte from Teal'c. When Chiana nudged him to keep shooting, he muttered to himself, "I'm just not used to people knowing what the hell I'm talking about anymore."
For several minutes the group fought their way in the general direction they needed to go, while the Borg reluctantly gave way and also pursued them determinately from the rear. Intersections proved to be especially dangerous, as the Borg would get them in a crossfire.
"Why aren't they adapting to our weapons?" Shelby finally asked what everyone had begun wondering about.
"Perhaps the modifications we made to them were more successful then we had anticipated," Data speculated.
"Or maybe these Borg aren't as good at it as the TV ones," O'Neill offered. "Who cares, as long as they keep on not adapting!"
John heard the words, but didn't really listen. As he fired round after round into the Borgs chasing them, he, at some level, knew why the Borg weren't adapting.
---
"Ready Junior?" They were standing in front of an immense door that was the only feature in the white void. Each carried more hardware than an average Home Depot, much more lethal hardware to boot.
"Junior?" John shot back.
"If I'm Harvey, then you are Junior," Harvey calmly replied.
"Junior!" John wasn't at all happy with it. On the other hand, he wasn't John. This was frustrating as hell.
"Whatever, let's just kick down this door and shoot us some Borg."
"Remember, Junior, you can do anything that you believe you can, but so can the collective. It is a matter of will."
"Will you just get on with it."
John, no scratch that, Junior. drew a matching pair of Uzis as Harvey expertly kicked the door into the collective open.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.
"Tron! What, has the Borg collective been watching Disney?" The angular terrain that spread out before them was like something out of an eighties video game. Grids and lines.
"No Junior, but you have. Your mind is making most of this up. The exact nature of the representation does not matter. Only your influence on it. Stay focused."
Everywhere they looked, drones were hurrying around, exchanging items, fitting them here and there. Seemingly without purpose.
"They are coordinating against the intruders, adapting, making plans. We must stop them."
Rather than reply, Junior. emptied both Uzis at the nearest group of drones.
"You mean like that?"
"Violence always was your strong suit."
"Frell you."
A group of drones was advancing on them, a bit uncertainly. This situation was confusing them.
"Let's do this thing."
The two split, each firing at the advancing Borg. Shaping the environment to their will, they were able to create a corridor with multiple obstacles. This forced the Borg to advance on them from a single direction and provided cover. Anchored to the implant in John's mind, the two neural clones held every advantage, one on one. In a blitz of gunfire, where the two moved with speed that the drones could never hope to match the duo severely disrupted the collectives efforts.
Unbeknownst to them, the collective began to adapt to the intrusion, slowly, but surely, isolating the area of intrusion.
---
In retrospect, O'Neill had always known that it would end like this. That he would die in battle. There was even a time when he would have welcomed it. Of course, not in his wildest dreams or most outrageous fever induced hallucinations had he thought it would be quite like this. Especially not the Borg.
"How much time?" He asked no one in particular as he reloaded his P-90.
"Three minutes," Carter replied as she also stopped to reload.
O'Neill shot the two drones that were the most immediate threat before asking the more critical question. "How far?"
"About fifty meters, Colonel," Data replied. He was the only member of the team that could operate a tricorder and his weapon at the same time. "We are approaching a sizable chamber, we will need to cross it."
That did not sound good. The Borg would be all around them.
"Alright, people. We are running out of time. Move!" He shouted while taking the lead. Running at the drones head on wasn't the best strategy in the world, but it looked good enough. The narrow confines of the corridor made for easy targets and in this instance, if you weren't going to make it in time, you might as well not bother.
They broke into the chamber in under a minute, but there things got difficult. Throwing several grenades into it to give them a chance, he laid out the plan. "Form into a circle, keep advancing and don't worry about the ammo!"
He stayed on point, firing a full clip into the horde of drones in front of them in mere seconds, and then letting Worf hold them off while he reloaded.
This way they made it almost halfway into the chamber when all of a sudden his bullets were harmlessly deflected by the drones' shields. In two seconds they had adapted to all their weapons.
They were stuck. O'Neill gave the signal for ceasefire.
"Enterprise."
"Your status?"
"We're not going to make it."
"You still have a little time."
"Doesn't matter. We're screwed."
"We'll..." Picard began.
"Don't be stupid. Send the bomb through while you can. We're done for."
The comms were silent for what seemed an awful long time.
"Away team. The bomb is through. It will detonate in one minute." Again silence. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be, we knew what we were signing up for."
The comms clicked off. Looking back at his team, O'Neill was about to say a last farewell when he saw someone that he recognized coming through the drone throng.
"Hey, isn't that the Borg Queen?"