Ready for War
It was another four months until the fleet was ready for launch. Six thousand ships of various shapes and sizes waited outside of Pasha's orbit, primed, tested, and ready for war. Every ship that wasn't ex-Borg had been equipped with a Srivani cloak and two transwarp coils. Across the Delta Quadrant, fleets like ours had come together to join us in a coordinated attack against the Borg.
Only one crew knew any details about the deeper plan—the crew of USS Voyager-A.
What remained of our crew had been given a brand new ship commissioned by Queen Nilat herself. It was smaller than Voyager had been, designed to be even more nimble than its predecessor. It was sturdier, too—built to withstand brutal Borg attacks and deal out plenty of its own damage. But despite being built halfway across the galaxy from Federation space, Voyager-A could have looked entirely in place within a Federation fleet.
Starfleet engineers would be thrilled to get their hands on this ship if we managed to survive the battle.
Only fifty ships were leaving to go after Loran—ten from Unimatrix Zero and forty representing the Krenim Commonwealth. The rest of Pasha's forces would move deeper into the Beta Quadrant to attack Unimatrix 03.
It would be a slaughter, but it was necessary. Without such a massive diversion, we'd never take the real target.
All our intelligence pointed to Loran's consciousness being transferred into a clone's body in her own unimatrix where she was remotely coordinating a hard push into the Gamma Quadrant. Her ship had not left the unicomplex in a year, and when her collective took Unimatrix 05, our scouts detected signs of their trans-spacial transporter being used. Scouts hiding in Unimatrix 01 got the same readings. She hadn't conquered the opposing queen and unimatrix with a personal visit.
She'd had the queen brought to her for assimilation.
As we neared Borg space, we encountered an old debris field from a battle between 8472 and the Borg. Being in the Delta Quadrant once again felt like moving backwards, undoing all the progress our crew had made over the past six grueling years. Tuvok had nearly died because of 8472, and our whole universe had unknowingly been threatened by beings that made the Borg look like domesticated kittens. Scanning the wreckage made me shudder.
They're gone, I reminded myself. They went back to their realm.
In the end, it hadn't been 8472 who scattered the Borg like Sisko predicted. It was me.
And countless millions had died in the fallout.
After thousands of lightyears of on-and-off transwarp travel, we met up with the bulk of our forces in Krenim space. Fleets in other parts of the galaxy were merely a distraction meant to keep Loran busy while we attacked her on her own turf, and to keep her from calling her more distant forces in to overwhelm us from all sides. A lot of people were about to die.
We had to make their deaths count.
Along with Unimatrix Zero and Krenim Commonwealth forces, we were joined by Turei, B'omar, and other fleets from hundreds of different species. Even the Devore showed up to fight, their desire for survival overshadowing their xenophobic hatred for outsiders. The threat of Borg invasion far outweighed all other conflicts. It seemed the entire Delta Quadrant was united by a single cause.
Maybe it would be enough.
Once everyone arrived, we gathered just outside the blue nebula where we could still communicate and coordinate our attack with the other distant fleets. From his ops station at the back of the bridge, Harry kept an eye on the chatter between other ships. At tactical, Tuvok was doing the same. As for me, I was watching sensors at the science station on the port side of the bridge. Marla Gilmore manned the engineering station opposite me, while Tom, naturally, occupied the cockpit. The bridge of Voyager-A was a near twin of the bridge on its predecessor.
At the center of it all sat Captain Janeway and Captain Sisko, both dressed in crisp, freshly-replicated uniforms.
I reached for my shoulder, fingers grazing the seam where black met blue. I was no longer a pilot by trade. Officially, I was listed in the manifest as Voyager's behavioral specialist and chief science officer. It was the closest I'd come to my old role as counselor in a year, and the proximity made me uneasy.
I looked to Janeway, her shoulders wrapped in bright red, then Sisko with gray shoulders and a dark crimson turtleneck. Each wore four brass pips on their collars.
Would I trade my seat for one of theirs if I could?
"Harry," Janeway said, "any changes yet?"
"No, ma'am, nothing on comms."
"Talia?"
I shook my head. "Not yet."
"Tuvok?"
"There have been no Borg sightings, Captain."
"Nervous?" Sisko asked her.
She eyed him and raised a brow. "Aren't you?"
He stared firmly ahead at the view screen, nothing but a fog of blue gas and dust floating in front of us. "Terrified."
I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to the sensors. Everything inside me felt like leaves on the trees outside the apartment complex on Pasha clinging to the branches with the last of their waning strength despite the inevitability of the autumn wind blowing them away. Our success and survival hinged on my mental strength, and somehow I had to deliver despite succumbing to the forces against me so many times before.
But this time, I wasn't alone.
My pagh reached for Harry like fingers grasping for his hand, and he responded immediately with the reassurance I so desperately needed. I didn't need to hear his voice to understand what he was communicating. It wasn't just me shouldering the weight this time.
We're in this together, for better or worse.
No more leaving him behind in a desperate attempt to keep him safe because I was terrified of what losing him would do to me. He deserved more respect than that, and I needed to have more faith in myself.
A glimmer on the console caught my eye. "Captain, something's emerging from the nebula."
She stood and moved towards the screen. "Magnify."
I transferred my sensor readings to the screen where a row of small Sakari ships came into view.
"They're transmitting the data now," Harry reported, then a moment later added, "Got it. I'm routing their readings to astrometrics for Annika to compile into a chart."
"Very good." Janeway returned to her seat. "Mister Paris, take us in."
"Yes, ma'am," Tom said, and Voyager-A was enveloped in luminescent dust.
When we reached the opposite end of the nebula, Janeway ordered all-stop. "Report."
With the gasses thinning, data poured through the ship's sensors and onto my screen. "Type-G star with nine planets and two asteroid belts. The fourth, fifth, and sixth planets are inhabited, but it looks like the fourth and sixth were terraformed about two thousand years ago. I'm seeing millions of buildings, six space stations, seven hundred Borg ships, and—" My stomach twisted. "—thirteen billion drones."
Janeway's voice was hard. "The hub?"
"It's half a light year past the star system," Harry said. "I'm reading hundreds of transwarp corridors."
There it was—our way home.
If we could survive Loran.
Janeway pushed herself to her feet, turning to Sisko as he did the same. "Well, Captain, it appears the time has come. Computer, transfer command codes to Captain Benjamin Sisko, authorization Janeway-beta-seven-one-three."
"Transfer complete," the computer replied with a chirp that was nearly—though not quite—the same as our lost ship. "USS Voyager-A is now under the command of Captain Benjamin Sisko."
Sisko offered his hand. "I relieve you, Captain."
Janeway accepted the gesture with a firm shake. "I stand relieved. Take care of them."
"I will," Sisko said, then released her hand.
"Alright," she snapped, pivoting towards the turbolift. "Tuvok. Talia. Harry. Let's do it."
With a shaky breath, I logged out of my station and followed her off the bridge.
