Chapter 8

First officer's log; stardate 58084.5: The Orion's saucer has been abandoned to the Borg. Two Romulans, seventy-four crewman, and one civilian were left on board. And one of those missing in action is the Captain. My job now is to assist Adm. Janeway in the command of the Orion, now less than half its size.

We are currently in orbit around a Romulan colony world awaiting the arrival of the rest of our fleet as well as the military forces of the Romulans and the Remans.

Henry stood in the small engineers' lounge that had been converted into a conference room. From its location near the bottom of the ship, its window provided a great view of the planet over which they were orbiting.

"What is this planet?" asked a woman who walked up beside Henry. Henry turned and saw that it was Capt. Shelby.

"Captain Shelby, welcome. We know this planet only as RSE-35-Gamma. What the Romulans call it, I don't have the faintest idea. We've only seen it with our long range sensors and telescopes. It is a surprisingly hospitable and fertile planet. The Romulans clearly colonized it a while ago. I guess we're the first Federation citizens to learn such tidbits."

"Where no man has gone before," quoted Capt. Shelby.

"Not exactly what I had in mind."

"Nor I." Capt. Shelby looked away from the planet below and directly at Henry. "Commander, how are you holding up?"

"Fine."

"You don't look fine," pressed Shelby. "Don't worry, I am not reporting on you to the Admiral. There is no reason to lie to me."

"I am not fine," admitted Henry. "I'm beginning to wonder if I am cursed. This is the third time I have lost a captain. The second time I was fortunate to get Capt. Lander back, but the first time, Capt. Taylor wasn't so lucky. Can I get Lindsey back a second time?" Henry noticed his slip of the tongue in referring to Lindsey by her first name, but he hoped Shelby wouldn't notice.

"I lost Capt. Picard to the Borg," said Shelby. "But we got him back."

Henry was familiar with the incident to which the female captain was referring. "Captain, the Orion is not the Enterprise."

"True, but don't down play yourselves. The Orion is respected, and you have already led her into battle once before. The details of which are hidden from me, but from all I've heard, you did well, Commander. And mind you, I heard that from Capt. Picard himself. Which brings me to the point I wish to discuss."

"And that is?" Henry suspected that Capt. Shelby had another motive for speaking with him rather than simply cheering him up.

"When the Resistant and the Courageous arrive, I will presumably return to command my ship. Who will that leave to be captain of the Orion?"

"I presumed the Admiral would take that task upon herself," answered Henry.

"That is my assumption, too. But that would leave you as her first officer."

"I suppose that would."

"Which means the Admiral becomes your responsibility."

Henry gave Shelby a strange look. "What do you mean?"

"You know the duty of a first officer to his or her captain," said Shelby. "If Adm. Janeway becomes captain of the Orion, then she is your captain, and you need to act accordingly. Especially at a time like this."

"A time like this?" asked Henry.

Shelby took a look around as if she was worried someone else was in the room. "The Admiral has been in her quarters ever since she left the bridge. Once, when I went in there for a status report, she had her lights down low and was staring out the window."

Henry had noticed the Admiral's solitude. "What am I supposed to do, drag her out kicking and screaming?"

"What would you do if it is was Lander in there?"

Henry knew that his approach to Lindsey, a woman he loved, would not work with anyone else. "With all due respect, Captain, Janeway is not just a captain, she is an admiral."

"Admirals are not supermen, Commander," said Shelby. "Yes, you may need to be a bit more diplomatic, but if she won't listen to you, then she needs to find a first officer to whom she will listen. You cannot do your job if you are too scared to approach the Admiral."

Henry thought about it for a bit. Lindsey had always said that it was his ability to tactfully challenge her orders and decisions that made him a good first officer. "I see your point, Captain. Thank you. It is probably time for me to stop sulking here as well."

"Two birds, one stone, Commander," said Shelby. "I can see why Lander keeps you around, and why Benteen tried to steal you away. Good luck, Commander."

"Thank you, Captain." Henry turned to walk down the hall towards the Admiral's quarters. The whole walk he tried to think of what he would say. But he was even more clueless when he stood before the Admiral's door.

Henry took a deep breath.

The door chimed. Adm. Janeway took her eyes off the Romulan colony planet before her. "Computer, lights." The lighting rose to normal levels. "Enter." The door slid open and reveal Lt. Cmdr. Henry Hickensen. "What can I do for you, Commander?"

The young man entered the room a bit hesitantly. "The Romulan and Reman fleets are about seven hours out. I am told that Cmdr. Donatra's flagship is in the vanguard."

"And our ships?"

"The Resistant and the Courageous are on schedule."

"Is that all?" asked Janeway.

"No, Admiral." The young man seemed to gather his courage and then in a professional voice said, "I also came to check on you."

"To check on me?" asked Janeway. "Why would I need someone to check on me?"

"You haven't left this room in nearly a day. I am not sure why you have locked yourself in here with the lights dimmed, but I want to make sure my commanding officer is okay."

Janeway looked at the young man. He knew that he was crossing a line, but now that he had done so, he stood strong. "How did you know my lights were dimmed?"

"You were still squinting when I walked in." Janeway laughed a bit. "Something funny, Admiral?"

"Just a memory, Commander. Back on Voyager I once withdrew to my quarters for days. Chakotay came in and tried to convince me to come out." Janeway sat down on one of the sitting room's chairs. "What I would do to have him here now, either him or Tuvok."

"Chakotay?" asked Hickensen before a look of recognition came to his face. "Your first on Voyager."

"Yes, Chakotay was my first officer, and Tuvok was my second officer. They were my most trusted advisors, and they became dear friends. They were always there to support me, even if it meant disagreeing with me."

"Permission to speak freely, Admiral."

Janeway turned to Hickensen with interest. She extended her hand in a gesture of permission. "Granted."

"As flag officer of this ship, in the absence of Capt. Lander, you are the acting captain of the Orion. I am the highest ranking officer on this ship, second only to yourself. Unless you decide to name another person captain of this ship or put someone else in my place, then I am your acting first officer. I may not be either Chakotay or Tuvok, but I still have the duty support and advise you as my captain."

"And as first officer, you want to know what I am doing sulking in this room," said Janeway as she nodded her head. "Take a seat, Commander." Hickensen did so, and Janeway continued. "I have been sitting here running in my mind, over and over again, the decisions I made yesterday: to go into battle against the Borg, to try one more attack, to retreat from the saucer, and to leave it and seventy-seven people behind. Would I have ever done that on Voyager? I think not. I wanted to think of this ship, your Orion, as my ship. But Capt. Benteen was right. This is not my ship." Janeway shook her head. "This past few hours, all I can think about is your Capt. Lander and Naomi Wildman."

"Naomi Wildman? I do not know this woman."

"Not a woman, a young girl; although she is growing up fast," said Janeway. "Naomi Wildman was born on Voyager during our second year lost in the Delta Quadrant. She grew up on the ship. As she got older, she requested to become my 'Captain's assistant.' She followed me around when it was safe to do so, and I gave her little tasks that kept her busy and involved.

"She wanted to become a captain herself one day. I told her there were three things to remember about being a captain: 'Keep your shirt tucked in; go down with the ship; and never abandon a member of your crew.'" Janeway lowered her head. "My uniform may be in perfect order, but I failed the other two."

"You think you failed as a captain?" asked Hickensen cautiously.

"I left seventy-seven crewmen behind on that saucer. I cut my losses. If had truly cared about the Orion as I did with Voyager I would have never done that. But then there is your Capt. Lander. She knew what she needed to do. She stayed behind because she knew it was her duty as the captain. But I was unwilling to do the same. How am I ever going to look Naomi in the face again?"

Hickensen spoke slowly. "Permission to speak freely, Admiral."

"I already gave you that permission, Commander."

"And I am giving you a chance to retract that permission before I speak again."

"Permission was granted and remains granted, Commander." Janeway was now curious what the young man had to say.

"Frankly, Admiral, you were not the captain of the Orion. Officially, yes, you were the Orion's flag officer. But as an admiral your responsibility was not to the Orion but to the fleet. You no longer have the luxury of just one ship and one crew. Your rules for being a good captain no longer apply to you, Admiral." Lt. Cmdr. Hickensen put emphasis on his next words. "You cannot go down with the ship. To do so would be to abandon the Hercules and the Lakota. The responsibility of the Orion was on Lander's shoulders, and now it is on my shoulders."

"Your shoulders?"

"I am the acting first officer of this ship, and you are still in command of a fleet. The Orion is my responsibility. Until, that is, you decide to name another captain or replace me."

Janeway remembered her previous conversation with Capt. Benteen. The other captain had warned her about taking command of the Orion away from Lander. She didn't listen to Benteen then, but perhaps she should listen to Mr. Hickensen now. "What would you have me do, Commander? Transfer my flag to another ship and name you as acting captain of the Orion?"

"I am content with the current arrangement. Whether you transfer your flag or not is your decision. But the Orion offers you a unique perspective as a fleet commander."

"And what is that?"

"We are now half a ship, Admiral. We will not be the vanguard of the fleet in the next engagement. From here you may be better able to see the big picture. And that picture will be bigger with a fleet of Romulan and Reman ships plus the Resistant and the Courageous."

"What if I decide not to take the Orion back into battle?" asked Janeway. "She is, as you said, half a ship."

"I said she might not be in the van, but I didn't say she wouldn't be combat ready." There was a hint of professional pride in the young man's voice.

"Explain," said Janeway.

"We still have our torpedo tubes and two good phaser arrays. We also have one of Starfleet's best warp cores, which is designed to power an entire Galaxy class starship. As the Orion is only half a ship, we will have a power surplus. I have instructed the engineers to improve the power capacity of the impulse engine, thrusters, and phaser arrays. We will be small, but we will be fast, agile, and will still pack a punch."

"Why would you be so eager to return to battle, Commander?"

"It's our duty, if called upon, Admiral," said Hickensen. "But also, if there is a chance of recovering our saucer and the people on board, then I want to be there to take it."

Janeway looked at Hickensen and could feel some of his resolve transferring to her. She also thought about Seven. She had rescued her friend from the Borg once before. Could Janeway do it again? "There is a voice in my head saying that is not possible, Commander. But I've never given that voice much credit. If there is even a chance to recover our people, I also want to be there to take it."

Janeway stood up. "Well, Commander, you have successfully pulled me out of my sulking mood. Tell me, how is the crew adjusting to life on the stardrive?"

"It has been hard. The saucer of a Galaxy class starship was designed to accommodate the crew of the stardrive, in case of a warp core breach. But we are trying the opposite: fitting the crew of the saucer on to the stardrive. Most of the crew are bunked up three or four people to one living quarters."

"Whose quarters are these?" Janeway extended her hands to encompass the room in which she was residing. The VIP quarters where she had been staying was on the saucer.

"These belong to Lt. Cmdr. Alivia O'Hara-Grant, our chief engineer. They are the best quarters on the stardrive, and she immediately offered them to you."

"Well, you can have her move back in. I shouldn't be taking up the best quarters on the ship all by myself. Have her and another female officer stay here. The three of us will bunk together."

"Understood, Admiral, but…"

"But what, Commander?" said Janeway a bit harsh. Even though the young officer had impressed her, Janeway still didn't like her orders questioned.

Hickensen looked around. "These quarters were shared by O'Hara-Grant and her husband, Lt. Cmdr. Grant. He was one of those who remained on the saucer. I don't believe she will want to come back here. It will make her think about things she doesn't want to think about. She's not ready for that."

"Is that healthy?" Janeway remembered seeing the woman openly weeping on the bridge just the day before.

"Not in the long run, but for now…maybe," said Hickensen. "And frankly, Admiral, we need her focused and at her post."

"What if she is not up to the task."

"Then I would recommend Lt. Vladimir Kustov from the Lakota. He was acting chief engineer of the Orion at its launch. He knows the ship and is respected by the crew. In fact, I have already talked to Capt. Benteen about the possibility, and she is willing to spare him, if we need him."

"I see that this is one of those matters you recommend that I allow you to handle." Hickensen nodded. "Very well. Keep me informed. And find two female officers who are willing to bunk with an admiral. Having someone else around might be good for me. Dismissed, Commander."

"Thank you, Admiral," Hickensen gave a slight head bow and turned to leave. Janeway made a mental note to pull up Lt. Cmdr. Henry Hickensen's file and study it. She wanted to see if he was as impressive on paper as in person.

"Mr. Hickensen," said Janeway. "One more question."

"Yes, Admiral." Hickensen stopped next to the door and faced her.

"Capt. Lander, do you believe she is still alive?"

"I hope so, Admiral," said Hickensen with immense sincerity.

"So do I, Commander."

Lindsey banged her head on the bulk head above her. She allowed herself to roll over and lay on her back while the initial pain subsided. In the past day she had crawled through more Jefferies tubes than she had in her entire Starfleet career.

It had been thirty-eight hours since the Orion's stardrive had separated and taken the Admiral and most of the crew to safety. Since then Lindsey had been sneaking around the saucer looking for any of the crew that was still alive and unassimilated. She had yet to see a single one. Nor had she slept in two days.

Lindsey didn't dare let her guard down. She had been told that Borg drones usually ignore anyone who isn't considered by the Collective as a relevant threat or desirous for assimilation. But the drones on the Orion were on the hunt. Whenever she had been spotted drones would converge upon her. Lindsey had been forced to retreat into the Jefferies tubes where the Borg found it more difficult to travel.

Lindsey felt the small lump on the back of her head. It was only slightly tender. She wiped the sweat off her forehead. The temperature in the Jefferies tubes and the corridors was nearly 40°C, and the humidity must have been close to 100%. Lindsey assumed that the Borg had accessed the environmental controls and changed the ship's atmosphere to their liking. Not only did Lindsey find it extremely uncomfortable, it also raised the danger of dehydration. Lindsey had already risked three trips out of the Jefferies tubes just for water. The growling in her stomach told her that she would eventually need to take in some food as well.

"It's a good thing the Borg haven't assimilated the Breen," said Lindsey to herself as she wiped more sweat off her brow. "Those snouts would be the end of me. They could probably smell me two decks away." Lindsey continued crawling through the tubes. She was slightly concerned that she had begun talking to herself less than two days into her isolation. But there was no one else to talk to.

Lindsey reached a hatch. On the other side Lindsey believed was a corridor, only two sections away from sick bay. She had decided to risk another walk in the corridors. She had come to find lost crew members. If she was going to do that, she needed to take a few risks. In particular she hoped to access internal sensors from sick bay. Then she would know where to find any remaining crew members, if any remained.

Lindsey slowly turned the latch. The air tight seal broke with a hiss that sounded unusually loud in the silent hallways. Lindsey poked her head out and looked both ways. She climbed out head first, dropped her arms down half a meter to the deck floor, and summersaulted to her feet. Closing the door as silently as she could, Lindsey walked down the corridor.

For a good while there were no Borg sightings, but Lindsey's luck ran out just outside sick bay. Two drones were standing guard. Lindsey held back a swear word. She resisted the urge to grab her phaser. She had hours ago exhausted her phaser setting, and being neither a security officer nor an engineer Lindsey was unable to modify her phaser further.

Lindsey peered around the corner again, and still the two drones were there. The same thing had happened to her at the astrometrics lab, preventing her entry. She knew that if even one drone saw her, the whole Collective would know. There was no way to take out these guards without alerting the rest. But Lindsey decided that she was not giving up this time. She had to get to those internal sensors.

Lindsey was studying the drones from a distance and evaluating her options when a strong hand grabbed her right shoulder. Her rudimentary combat training kicked in, and Lindsey spun to face her attacker while at the same time extending her left palm into the face of her assailant. Her palm made contact, and her attacker retreated two steps and covered her own face with her hands. It was a woman in a blue science uniform with Borg implants on her face and left arm. However, this drone did not belong to the Collective.

"Seven?" said Lindsey who remember just in time to quiet her voice.

"Commander," replied Janeway's Borg woman. She was holding her hands to her nose, and Lindsey could see blood on her face. "We need to get somewhere safe."

"This way, Ensign," said Lindsey as she led Seven of Nine back into the Jefferies tube. Once inside Lindsey crawled deep enough into the tube so that their voices would not carry out into the corridors. Lindsey then opened an emergency tool box and pulled out a light. "Let me see your nose, Ensign."

Seven of Nine moved her hands out of the way and allowed Lindsey to look. "I am not badly damaged, Commander."

"Your nose is broken, Ensign. You should not have surprised me like that."

"Believe me, I will not make that mistake again," Seven again tried to hold back the blood flowing out of her nose. "You were trying to get into sickbay?"

"Yes, Ensign," said Lindsey. "I was trying to access internal sensors. The computer consoles in there would be able to do that."

"You would need access to the main computer. Adm. Janeway locked the computer."

"This is my ship, Ensign. I have ways of accessing the computer, even if an admiral locks it down. Why were you heading to sick bay?"

"I may have a way to hide us from the searching eyes of the Collective. No doubt you have discovered that they are deliberately searching for survivors."

"I had noticed," said Lindsey. "I thought the Borg would ignore non-threating individuals."

"Normally they would, but I believe your conclusion on the bridge was correct, Commander. The Borg are after Voyager's technology and anyone who might know about it."

"That includes you, Ensign," said Lindsey.

"Yes, I know about the technology that Voyager used against the Borg on its return from the Delta Quadrant. But you are in no less danger, Commander. The Collective does not know who is knowledgeable and who is not. Apparently, they have simply decided to assimilate everyone on board."

"Seems that way. What is your plan to hide from the Collective?"

"It may be better to explain once we are in sick bay. Voyager had a Jefferies tube access hatch in its sickbay. Does the Orion have one as well?"

"I believe so, follow me, Ensign." Lindsey led Seven of Nine through the Jefferies tubes. They dropped down a deck, crossed under sick bay, then climbed back up. Eventually they arrived at a hatch. Lindsey paused before opening it. Seven gave her an encouraging expression, and Lindsey slowly opened the hatch.

There were no drones in sick bay. However, the door was open, and the two guards were still there. Lindsey and Seven silently crept through sick bay. Lindsey reached a computer console and entered her command. The door to sick bay slid closed. The drones apparently didn't care, as Lindsey counted twenty long seconds with no sounds from the other side of the door. "I think that worked."

"I agree," said Seven. "Now I must get working on my plan to hide us from the Borg."

"And I will check…" Lindsey stopped mid-sentence. Her knees became weak and her stomach turned within her. If she had eaten anything in the past thirty hours, Lindsey was sure that it would have come up.

"Commander, are you alright?" asked Seven.

"No, Ensign, I'm not." Lindsey was staring at the blacked remains of six humanoids around a biobed that seemed to have violently combusted.

Seven of Nine walked passed Lindsey with a triquarter. She scanned all six remains. "These five are Borg. This one is human."

"Who is it?" asked Lindsey, simultaneously needing but not wanting to know.

Seven did further scans then lowered her triquarter and looked at Lindsey. "This was Dr. Thomas Randle."

Lindsey's weak knees gave out from under her, and she fell to the floor. Seven of Nine came to help her, but Lindsey waved her off. Tears formed in Lindsey's eyes. "Not Randle. No not him."

"I am sorry, Commander," said Seven in a sympathetic voice. "Were you and he close?"

"He was the last…" Lindsey, choked with emotion, barely prevented full sobs. "He was the last living member of the old Orion's senior staff." Lindsey gathered herself and allowed Seven to help her up. "With him an era has passed. The old Orion is gone. But the fate of the Orion-A depends on us, and there is work to do." Lindsey wiped her eyes. "I believe you have a project to complete, Ensign. And I have some internal sensors to check."

Samae woke up with a start and nearly banged her head on the ceiling of the Jefferies tube. It took her a while to figure out where she was, and even longer to remember why she was there.

Then it hit her all at once. The Borg invasion, the frantic evacuation of the science lab, and worse of all the sight of Nolean assimilated into the Borg Collective. Samae's eyes filled once again with tears. The pain was so raw. It was like nothing Samae had ever experienced. This must have been how her parents felt during the Cardassian Occupation of Bajor when family members would suddenly disappear without warning. Samae grabbed her legs, pulled her knees to her chest, and sat there like a scared little child.

Eventually Samae realized that she couldn't just stay and do nothing. Her stomach growled, and her mouth was parched. How long had she been asleep? In her grief and panic Samae had simply given herself over to her weariness. She had no idea how long it had been since the Orion had been boarded.

Perhaps the whole experienced was over. Perhaps the Admiral had retaken control of the ship, and the Orion was back to normal. Maybe they were looking for her. Perhaps they had found Nolean and rescued her!

Samae knew it was foolish thinking, but even the remotest possibility of a good ending got her moving. "Computer, what is the time and stardate?" Samae's combadge responded with a negative beep. "Computer, what is the time and stardate?" The beep repeated. "Computer, why will you not answer me?"

"The main computer has been locked down. Access is denied."

"Why?"

"Protocol Janeway 001 has been activated."

Samae's hopes crashed like a sensor probe into a singularity. The ship was still under Borg control. The crew was either evacuated or assimilated. Samae was alone, and with no idea what to do next.

As Samae was trying to plan her next move, she heard a noise. It was coming from above and behind her. She turned to face the noise. It sounded like someone was in the Jefferies tubes. Just down the crawlspace was a vertical passage. The sound seemed to come from there.

Then a pair of cybernetic legs landed six meters in front of Samae. She froze. The legs bent down, revealing a torso, arms, and a head. The humanoid cyborg looked directly at Samae, its red laser beam moving across Samae's face. "Starfleet personnel, your distinctiveness will be added to our own. Resistance is futile."

Samae broke out of her frozen state and began crawling in the opposite direction. The Borg drone pursued her. Samae was completely lost in the Jefferies tubes, but she knew that her odds were better in here than out in the main corridors. She crawled around two corners and then found a shaft heading up.

Samae began to climb, but she encountered a sealed hatch. The opening switch did not respond. Samae looked down and saw the Borg drone at the bottom of the shaft. Desperately Samae grabbed the magnetic manual opening device, attached it to the door, and tried to wrestle open the hatch. Samae was never a strong girl, unlike her sister, and since becoming a scientist Samae had not made any particular efforts in strength training. She pulled on the door with all her might, and slowly it began to open.

Once the door was open Samae climbed up through it. Just as she had gotten through the hatch, she felt a strong tug on her leg. Looking down she saw that the drone had grabbed her leg above the ankle. Samae tried to shake the drone off, but the grip of the cybernetic arm was too much.

"Resistance is futile." The drone the then pull Samae's leg close its other arm, and nearer to the dangerous assimilation tubules.

Samae fell into to full panic. She started kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs. "Let go! Let go!" She gave a high pitched squeal, but nothing deterred the drone. The droned tried unsuccessfully to stab her with the its tubules, but Samae kicked with her free leg and kept the drone's arm away. The drone then grabbed both of Samae's legs. Samae wiggled her legs as hard as she could.

The drone must have lost its footing in the tube as it suddenly fell. But with its iron grip on Samae's legs, the drone pulled her down with it. Samae had just enough frame of mind to protect her head with her arms as she fell a full deck's height to the bottom of the shaft.

After she hit bottom Samae tried to crawl away, ignoring the pain in her legs. But the drone still held a tight grip. It pulled Samae towards itself, then pinned her under its heavy cybernetic body. Lying on her back, Samae tried to fight the drone with her hands, but drone grabbed her left arm. With her remaining arm Samae pushed against the drone's other hand, but the assimilating tubules came closer and closer to Samae's neck.

Two energy beams hit the drone right at the base of the neck. The drone's face briefly revealed pain, and its cybernetics shook for a bit before falling like dead weight on top of Samae. She struggled without success to get out from underneath the dead drone, until finally someone lifted it off her. Samae looked up at her rescuer, a yellow clad Starfleet officer holding a phaser in one hand and a Romulan disruptor in the other. "Cmdr. Grant?"

The Orion's chief of security and Nolean's boss smiled. "Yes, it's me, Ensign. I'm am glad I found you. But we need to leave now. More drones will be here shortly. This way to deck 14."

"You want to go to the open corridors?" asked Samae as she crawled after the security officer.

"We don't have a choice. We need to get away from here quickly. Then we can find another hiding place." Grant continued to crawl until he came to a hatch. He used the magnetic manual device and opened it like it was nothing. He popped his head out into the corridor and then waved Samae forward. He helped her out, and Samae stretched her legs straight for the first time in a long time. But she had no time to enjoy it, as Lt. Cmdr. Grant began running down the hallway.

After running down five or six corridors Grant went through two double doors and into a large dimly lit room. Samae followed but was startled by a large figure looming over her. His great big shield on his left arm was the most eye-catching feature of the man. Raised above his head in his right hand was a large bronze club. It took Samae a second to identify the man as the statue of Orion, the man of Earth mythology and the namesake of the ship. Grant had led her into Orion's Club, the ship's off duty lounge, and the statue of Orion was the ship's unofficial mascot.

"Ensign," said Grant in a loud whisper. "Over here." Samae followed Grant as he hurdled the bar. Samae scramble over the bar herself and hid behind it with Grant. For many minutes the two of them hid behind the bar. Grant would periodically poke his head above the bar to search for drones. Finally, he let out a sigh of relief. "They don't seem to have followed us," he said.

Samae leaned her head against the bar counter. "I thought I was done for."

"You almost were," said Grant.

"How did you find me?"

Grant smiled. "I followed the screams. I was in the Jefferies tubes when I heard you. You were so loud I could hear you from two decks up. No report I've ever read said that the Borg scream, so I knew it was a crewman."

Grant peaked over the bar another time. Then he lowered himself to a crouch and tugged at his turtleneck collar. Samae noticed that he had taken off his gray-shouldered jacket, leaving only his yellow shirt. Samae felt hot herself, and it wasn't just because of her running. The air temptature and humidity on the Orion had clearly been raised. Samae unzipped her jacket, but she couldn't actually bring herself to take it off when on duty.

Grant sat down and leaned back against a tall shelf. The bottles on it rattled. He looked up at the various drinks on the shelf. "Oh, how much I would love to crack open one of these. I wonder if they have any Kentucky bourbon on hand."

"You would drink at a time like this?"

"No, Ensign, I wouldn't, but that won't stop me from enjoying the thought of it. If we survive this, the next drink is on me."

"I don't drink, Commander" said Samae. "Not real alcohol. It clouds the mind."

"That it does," said Grant.

Samae felt uncomfortable having a causal conversation with an officer who greatly outranked her. As she sat there quietly she noticed Grants face drop a bit. Then his head nodded. He shook himself awake. It was then that she realized that the Commander, unlike her, probably hadn't slept since the boarding. She still didn't know how long she had been asleep.

When Grant's head dropped again, Samae knew that she needed to talk to him. "Commander?"

"Yes," replied Grant a bit eagerly. He wanted her to talk to him, but he had been respecting her silence.

"Umm?" Samae looked around. "I've never been in this room."

"What?!" asked Grant in disbelief. "Never?"

"Well, once…twice, technically. The first was on the orientation tour, and the second was just to remind myself where this place was."

"Why not come down? This is an off-duty lounge. A place to shed the stresses of Starfleet service and recharge the batteries."

"I guess I didn't like the type of fraternizing that took place here. We commissioned officers are professionals."

"Even professionals need a break, Ensign."

"Maybe. My sister…" Samae broke off at the thought of Nolean.

"Your sister spent a good amount of time here…" Grant stopped and looked at Samae. "Ensign, are you alright?"

Samae broke into tears again. All she could see was the image of her sister, the Borg drone. "She's gone, Nolean is gone." Samae's tears turned into loud sobs. She couldn't control herself.

"Ensign Rikka, what do you mean gone?"

Samae tried to speak between sobs. "The Borg…assimilated." Grant reached out and held her. Despite her training and her respect for higher ranks, Samae grabbed ahold of Grant and cried into his shoulder. She couldn't tell how long she had cried. Eventually she ran out of energy and tears. She let go of Grant and sat on the floor.

Grant let her sit there for a bit before he asked. "Are you sure? Did you see her?"

"I saw her, but it wasn't her," said Samae, eyes cast to the ground. "She threatened to assimilate me. It was the Collective speaking, not her. She's gone." Samae looked up at Grant and was surprised to see tears running down his face. "Commander?"

Grant wiped away his tears. "You forget, Rikka Nolean was my officer and my friend. She was my wife's maid of honor at our wedding. She was one of my closest friends on this ship."

"Then you are a better friend than I am a sister," said Samae.

"I don't think that's true," said Grant.

"It is true," said Samae sharply. "The real reason I didn't come down to the Orion's Club was because I was afraid she'd be here! I didn't want to be seen with her. I was afraid that my brash, uncouth sister would embarrass me in front of my new scientific colleagues. I thought myself better than her. But now, all I want is my sister. All I want to say is 'I'm sorry' and to tell her I love her."

Grant rose to a crouch, still not wanting to risk raising his head over the bar. "Nolean knew that you loved her. And she loved you."

"Did she really know? Or did she think that her sister was ashamed of her. Now she's gone, and I can never tell her that. All that's left is for me to die, and the sooner the better." Samae looked away from the Commander, trying to ignore his consoling words.

"Look at me, Ensign!" Samae was startled into looking back at Grant. "If your sister was here right now, she would be scolding you for saying such a thing. And she would be telling me to make sure that I get you out of this alive. If that is in my power, then I will do it." Heedless of the danger Grant rose to his feet. "I need you to help me. You are a member of this crew and a commissioned officer of Starfleet. We have a job to do, and you do not have the option of giving up. It is your duty to Starfleet and to your sister to live. Do I make myself clear, Ensign?"

"Yes, Commander." Samae wiped the tears from her eyes and stood up. "Do we have a plan?"

"No, but you're the scientist. Help me think of ways to slow these drones down." Grant checked his weapons: a Federation phaser, a Romulan disruptor, a small combat knife, and a Klingdon Mek'leth. Samae had no weapons, so she looked around for a club or heavy blunt object. She looked at the shelf of beverage bottles and spotted something interesting.

"Commander, I may have an idea."

Ta'Sem continued to follow the pair of Borg drones. She had discovered that the Borg were searching the ship in an efficient pattern of perfectly coordinated patrols, and her best tactic to avoid the patrols was to follow one. Having just checked an area, the Borg would not pay attention to it for a while. The trick was to follow closely enough not to lose them, but not so close as to be detected or to be surprised by a crossing patrol.

Ta'Sem had already found her way to the shuttle bay. Unfortunately, there were stationary guard drones posted at all the routes for getting into the bay itself. Ta'Sem had then tried a transporter room, hoping to perform a sight-to-sight transport into the shuttle bay or maybe directly into a shuttle. But the transporter system had been compromised by the Borg.

It appeared that the Borg did not want to let a single person off this ship, and Ta'Sem had a fairly good idea why. The Federation had weapons and technology dangerous to the Borg. This Ta'Sem knew from her earlier research. And based on Lander and Janeway's cryptic conversation on the bridge, they did not bring that technology here. But the Borg did not know that, and they were trying to assimilate anyone or anything that would lead them to that tech.

So Ta'Sem gave up on trying to escape the ship. Instead she decided to focus on survival, hoping that a Romulan or even a Federation attack force would come and rescue her. So, her next attempt was to get to the mess hall and get supplies for the long wait.

Ta'Sem licked her dry lips. She had not had anything to drink in over thirty hours. She cursed the thought that her distant Vulcan cousins could go days without drinking water. The hellish conditions on the Vulcan home world had made the Romulan sister-species hardier in this one aspect. Ta'Sem knew that the Romulan body could also go a long time without water, but she also knew that water was a most important necessity. Without it her physical performance would diminish, and worse her mental proficiency would suffer. And Ta'Sem needed all her wits to survive this. Even her Vulcan cousins would agree to that logic.

Ta'Sem was almost to the mess hall when the pair of drones she was following met another patrol. Ta'Sem quietly turned around, but found another patrol coming down an intersecting corridor. She quickly ran back the way she came, but as she did she passed a drone that looked female. The drone turned its head and looked right at her. "A member of species 5617 located. Prepare for assimilation." The drone turned and started walking towards Ta'Sem. Two more drones were coming from down the hallway.

Ta'Sem took off at a full sprint. She out ran the Borg drones, but the Collective now knew where she was. She had to escape notice and find a hiding spot. After running a long and convoluted pattern, Ta'Sem made for the mess hall.

Once inside, Ta'Sem found the mess hall empty. Unable to find a good hiding place Ta'Sem ran right into the kitchen. Just as she went through the swinging door, she heard the mess hall door open. Unable to find a better place, Ta'Sem hid behind an oven.

The kitchen doors opened to reveal two Borg drones. There was no way Ta'Sem could make it to an exit without being seen. She had to hope they would not find her.

One drone lifted its left arm, and green scanning beam projected out. With a robotic swing of the arm, the drone swept the room in green light. Ta'Sem closed her eyes as the beam went over her.

"Species 5617 has been located. Prepare to assimilate." Ta'Sem jumped out of her hiding and fired her disruptor. The green energy beam hit the lead drone but was harmlessly absorbed by the drone's shielding. The Borg loomed closer. Ta'Sem felt her back hit the walk. She fumbled for a weapon, but only came up with a large wooden spoon. "Resistance is futile."

Just as Ta'Sem was about the make her find stand, a pair of hands appeared around the scanning drone's head. They grabbed the drone by the chin and the back of the head, and in one violent motion, snapped the drone's neck. The drone nearest Ta'Sem turned to face the unexpected attacker only to take a long kitchen knife to the neck. Both drones dropped to the floor.

"The cook?!" Ta'Sem looked upon her rescuer expecting a security officer in Starfleet yellow, only to find a tall, broad shoulder human male wearing an apron.

"Yes, the cook," said the man. "Sub-Lt. Ta'Sem, we've met before, but you likely don't remember. My name is Richard Matthews."

"You know who I am?" Ta'Sem had made a point to memorize every name and face she saw, but she was trained for that kind of work. This man was just a cook.

"Yes, Sub-Lieutenant, I know who you are. Wasn't hard. There were not many Romulans on board this ship. Now if you don't mind, I think we should leave here before more drones arrive."

"Not until I supply myself."

"I have already packed for myself. There is some nonperishable, easy to carry food stuffs in that cupboard. I will get another canteen for water."

Ta'Sem grabbed some food and pull it in the backpack that Matthews had given her. She filled with water the canteen that Matthews gave her, then drank its entire contents. When she finished refilling it, she turned back and saw Matthews wiping the blood off his knife onto his apron before replacing it in a protective sleeve. Ta'Sem watched the human work and recalled the efficiency with which he had killed the two drones. This man clearly had some previous combat experience.

"Ready? Let's go." Matthews led Ta'Sem out of the kitchen's back door, and into the hallway.

Ta'Sem had not bothered to study the details of the civilian population of the Orion. She hadn't considered any of them to be relevant to her mission. But, clearly, she was wrong. As she followed behind Matthews, she took the opportunity to evaluate the human male. He most certainly had combat experience and most likely some formal training. Starfleet training? Possibly. Other possibilities were Maquis, planetary police, or some civilian combat during the Dominion War.

He kept his body in prefect physical fitness. He moved with a certain athletic grace, always ready to take action on a moment's notice. His physique was well maintained: strong broad shoulders; a tall, well balanced frame; thick muscular legs; and what Ta'Sem imagined was a firm core. By all accounts Richard Matthews was a healthy, fit, and even attractive man…for a human.

Ta'Sem shook the thought out of her mind and tried to direct her thoughts elsewhere. "Where are we going?" she asked in a whisper.

"The Orion's Club."

"The off duty lounge?"

"Yes, a superfluous part of the ship that serves no function other than the recreation and ease of the crew," said Matthews. "If there is a place on this ship the Borg will consider irrelevant, that is it."

"Strong, handsome, and clever," said Ta'Sem in a soft voice to herself.

"What was that?"

"Um, Oh, I was just agreeing with your good idea."

As Matthews led, Ta'Sem noticed that he had drawn the kitchen knife out of its sleeve again. It was his only weapon, but ironically it was probably more effective against the Borg than Ta'Sem's disruptor pistol. Ta'Sem wished that she had recovered her combat dagger, but it was too late for that. Ta'Sem noted the way Matthews handled the knife. He held it blade forward to extend his reach, but earlier Ta'Sem had seen him hold it inverted for a stronger downward stab.

"You know what you're doing, don't you?"

"Are you asking if I know the way to the Orion's Club?" asked Matthews.

"No. I am asking if you know combat," replied Ta'Sem.

"Yes, I do," said Matthews. "I was a Starfleet security officer before and during the Dominion War."

Ta'Sem nodded, as her suspicions were proven true. "And now you are a cook?"

"I enjoy cooking."

"But not security duty?" asked Ta'Sem.

"I take no pleasure in killing," replied Matthews as he peered around a corner. "After the Dominion War, I had done enough of it. I needed to step away. Create something good, rather that destroy something."

"Why did you become a security officer in the first place if you don't like killing?"

"I wanted to serve; to use my skills and talents for the betterment of the Federation. As a security officer I was tasked with protecting the people I cared about. I was willing to risk my life and even to take life, if it meant I was saving the lives of those who needed me. I joined Starfleet security not to take the lives of my enemies, but to protect the lives of my friends."

"I see," said Ta'Sem. But she thought back on her own reasons for serving. She had signed up to serve the needs of the Romulan Star Empire, but the individual lives of its citizens were not considered valuable. Her job was to promote the Empire even if it was at the expense of her friends. Her training taught her that no life, neither friend nor enemy, was as important as the Empire. However, Ta'Sem pretended to understand Matthews. "I can see why you don't enjoy killing other sentient beings needlessly. But your enemies, I don't imagine you feel any remorse for killing them."

Matthews stopped and looked at Ta'Sem with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. "No, you're wrong. I've killed Klingons, Jem'Hadar, and Romulans. None of whom I've enjoyed killing. Each person I've killed had their own life to live, and I ended it early."

"War is brutal. And only the brutal can survive it," said Ta'Sem. "It doesn't pay to second guess your decisions."

Matthews peered around another corner and waved Ta'Sem on. "I am not seconding guessing anything, and I don't regret killing anyone if it was necessary," said Matthews. "It was my duty; it was what I had to do to protect those who were in my care. And I would do it all over again, if I had to. But I will never enjoy it nor be proud of it."

"What about these mindless drones?" asked Ta'Sem. "Surely you don't feel remorse for them."

"The drones I've killed were people once. Individuals whose lives were ended early."

"But not anymore. They are just part of the hive."

Matthews stopped again. This time he took off his apron and held it in front of Ta'Sem. "Look at this and tell me what you see."

"Blood," said Ta'Sem as she looked at the place where he had wiped off his knife.

"Green blood," corrected Matthews. "There are only two species I know that have green blood: Vulcans and Romulans. We know that members of both species have fallen victim to the Borg. But the drone I killed looked like it was recently assimilated. Perhaps a member of the Terabon's crew. Perhaps he was a lowly uhlan hoping to return to his young wife. Or maybe a centurion with the weight of command on his mind. Or maybe a sub-lieutenant who had dreams of a great career in the Romulan military." Ta'Sem was at a loss for words. Her only thought was how there was no man like Matthews on Romulus.

A sudden change came over the warrior chef. He raised his hand and peered around a corner and indicated two with his fingers and pointed the other way. Ta'Sem nodded and turned away from the danger that Matthews saw, but then she immediately stopped. "Matthews!"

Two drones stood in front of Ta'Sem. "Species 5617 and 5618, you will be assimilated. Resistance is futile."

Matthews grabbed Ta'Sem's arm. "Run!" The two of them sprinted down the corridor, narrowly avoiding the first two drones that Matthews had spotted. Ta'Sem followed Matthews through the twists and turns of the Orion's corridors. Her mental map was barely keeping up with the human cook, who was surprisingly quick on his feet.

More drones attempted to cut them off. Matthews dodged another direction. Ta'Sem began to see a strategy in the Borg drones. "Matthews, they are herding us. We are running into a trap."

"Then we stop running around them." Matthews handed Ta'Sem his knife. Two drones were again in front of them. Matthews, who Ta'Sem had thought was running at full speed, increased his speed, lowered his shoulder, and charged directly into one of them. To Ta'Sem's surprise the drone fell to the group. The second drone turned to attack Matthews, but Ta'Sem used the knife to incapacitate it.

"We've broken out of the net. Now what?" asked Ta'Sem.

"We hide, or we make our stand," said Matthews.

After leading Ta'Sem through a few more cooridors, Matthews ran through a pair of double doors into a large darkly lit room. Before Ta'Sem was a large statue of a man. "Orion's club?" asked Ta'Sem pointing to club in the statue's hand.

"Yes, it's a bad joke. Are they still following?"

Ta'Sem looked out the door. "Six drones coming." She ran to Matthews who was by the statue.

"Get behind Orion here, we will force them to split up around the statue."

Ta'Sem held the knife handle towards Matthews. "You want this back?"

"Keep it. You take the right, I'll take the left." Matthew took an athletic stance with arms out and hands open, really to grapple with any Borg drone that came his way. Ta'Sem held the knife in front of her and prepared for her final stand.

Six drones entered the room. They paused for a bit to take in the situation, and then they split into two groups of three. They circled the large statue on either side.

Ta'Sem was about to lunged forward when a phaser beam came from somewhere within the room and struck the statue at its shoulder. The right arm of the statue broke off, club and all, and fell on top of the three drones in front of Ta'Sem. Without hesitation Ta'Sem ignored them and turned to help Matthews.

Matthews had one hand on the left wrist of a drone, rendering the assimilation tubules useless, and the other hand on the drone's throat. He lifted the drone off the ground and threw it to the floor. A second drone approached him. Ta'Sem was too far away to engage the drone in a knife fight, so she extended her left arm straight in front of her, and with her right hand lifted the knife to her ear. Then, pulling her left arm in and using her entire body, she hurled the knife at the second drone. The knife landed in the drone's unprotected neck. The drone fell to the ground. The third drone was hit with two energy beams: one a Federation phaser, the other a Romulan disruptor. The drone's shields activated, but the beams burned a hole in its chest regardless.

Ta'Sem looked at the source of the beams and was surprise to see they came from a single, yellow-uniformed human male. A blue uniformed woman came around from behind the beverage bar with two bottles of liquor, both with a flaming wad of cloth at the mouth. She threw one and then the other at the entrance of the club. Flames burst out, blocking the entrance.

"Nice throw, Ensign," said the yellow uniform, who was finishing off the drones caught underneath the statue's arm with a Klingon blade. He looked up at Matthews and said, "Chef! Am I glad to see you! I mean…I wish you were safely on the stardrive, but…"

"I get it, Frank," said Matthews. "We should leave now. I don't believe your improvised Molotov cocktails will be that effective against Borg drones. Alcohol doesn't burn that hot."

"Alcohol no. But Benzite cider burns much hotter and for longer," said the blue uniformed woman, whom Ta'Sem had just recognized as one of the Bajoran sisters. She tossed two more bottles on the fire for good measure. "I don't know how they drink that stuff."

"Are you a bartender, Ensign?" asked Ta'Sem.

"A scientist," replied the Bajoran woman.

"And now, officially, a weapons designer," said Ta'Sem with a smile. The Bajoran woman shuttered at the thought, which confirmed Ta'Sem's opinion that the Ensign was not as militant as the Bajorans that had lived through the Cardassian Occupation. "I am Sub-Lt. Ta'Sem."

"Ens. Rikka Samae," replied the Bajoran woman.

"Lt. Cmdr. Grant, chief of security of the Orion," said yellow uniformed man. Ta'Sem pretended to take in the names for the first time, but she already knew who they were.

"Introductions came wait for later," said Matthews. "We need to go."

"How is your progress, Ensign?" asked Lander.

"Not good," replied Seven of Nine. "I am working purely from memory, but I was not able to retain all the necessary information. I need access to my files." Seven wiped her hand below her nose, only for the pain to remind her that it was still broken. "I was trying to get my private data, but the Borg have swarmed my quarters and the science lab."

"The Borg do not have access to your data, do they?" asked Lander with a worried voice.

"No," said Seven trying to reassure the Commander. "I was very clever in my hiding of my information. I know the Collective; I know where they will look and not look. There are other copies of my data in the Orion's main computer."

"I'm working on it," said Lander.

"Perhaps I could help," said Seven as she stood behind Lander. "Between my service on Voyager and my time in the Academy, I have accrued considerable knowledge of Starfleet computer programing."

"Thank you, Ensign, but that will not be necessary. I am not trying to hack my way into the computer."

"Then what are you doing?" asked Seven.

"I am trying to activate the captain's override."

Seven found herself confused. "Adm. Janeway included your override codes in her lock out of the computer. Just in case you were assimilated by the Borg."

"True," Lander, with a smile beginning to form on her face. "But I am not the only person to have captained this ship. I am trying to access my predecessor's codes."

"You had no predecessor," said Seven. "You are the first captain of the Orion."

"Of the Orion-A, yes, but not the first captain to access this computer."

Now Seven understood. "This computer was part of the original Orion's refit. It was reused for the Orion-A. Adm. Theresa Taylor was captain of that ship. You did not remove her command codes."

"I didn't see a reason to do so," said Lander. "Capt. Taylor is dead, and the memory of her command codes died with her. Plus, it was like a part of her was still with the ship."

"If knowledge of her codes died with her, how do you plan on accessing them?"

"I knew Capt. Taylor. She was my mentor. She taught me everything I know about commanding a starship. I hope that my familiarity with her will help me crack her codes." Lander tried another combination. "And…got it! We have access. Use this console. I will access another one."

Seven of Nine began her work right away. "I can access all the data I need from here, but I will need medical expertise. Do you have an EMH?"

"Yes, computer activate the Emergency Medical Hologram."

The hologram appeared. "Please state the nature of the medical emergency."

Seven looked back at Lander with surprise. "You have Mark 1 EMH? I thought they were obsolete."

"Obsolete?!" said the EMH "I will have you know that I am programed to perform over five million surgical procedures and my matrix contains the medical knowledge of over three thousand cultures." Seven knew that all Mark 1 EMH's had the same appearance, but she was still amazed at how this EMH seemed just like Voyager's Doctor.

"Like I said," explained Lander. "This computer core belonged to the old Orion. The Mark 1 EMH was already installed, and Dr. Randle decided not to upgrade."

"I am sure that you would not have activated me just to talk about me," said the EMH. "Must I repeat myself? Please state the nature of the medical emergency. And please don't tell me that it is to fix this broken nose."

"No," said Lander. "We did not summon you to fix a broken nose. But now that you mention it, I imagine the Ensign here would appreciate it. Then she will explain why we need you."

"Very well. Hold still." The EMH put his holographic fingers on either side of Seven's nose and straighten it quickly and precisely. "A dermal regenerator, please."

"I am not a nurse, Doctor," replied Lander, not looking up from the console she was working on.

"Fine, I will get it myself." The hologram found the tool in a drawer and came back to Seven. "Why are there no nurses or medical staff in sick bay?"

"They have been evacuated," said Seven as the EMH ran the regenerator over her nose. She could feel the pain residing.

"Evacuated! Why?"

"The ship has been overrun by the Borg," explained Seven. "There are only a few of us left on board. The Commander is trying to locate whoever else is still on the ship. I am working on a way to hid us from the Borg. That is where I need your help."

"I have no expertise on the Borg," said the EMH.

"The help I need is medical in nature," said Seven. The EMH finished his work. "Thank you, Doctor."

"I got internal sensors working," said Lander. "Time to see who else was left behind." Seven stood over Lander's shoulder. "There! I see four non-Borg life signatures: Two men, both human; two women, one Romulan and one Bajoran. They are moving as a group."

"What is that signature?"

"It is a female…" Lander didn't speak for a second. "A Vulcan female."

"Lt. T'Sel," said Seven of Nine. "She is the only Vulcan female serving on board your ship."

"Yes, she is…" It seemed to Seven that there was something Lander was not telling her. "These four are our priority. It looks like the Borg are hunting for them. We need to get to them now."

"It would be wise to attempt my plan for protection first," said Seven.

"Explain it to me, Ensign," requested Lander.

"Of course, Commander. Doctor, please pay attention. Normally the Borg can be avoided by simply remaining irrelevant, by not posing a threat to them. But they seem to be hunting us, which makes that plan ineffective. My plan is to create a disguise so that when the Borg see us, they will think we are drones."

"No matter what fake Borg machinery we put on, the Borg will sense that we are not one of them," argued Lander.

"That is why I plan on putting the disguise on a cellular level. This will make our life signatures read as Borg."

"How are you going to pull that off?"

Seven pulled up an image on the screen of a blood stream. "By modifying some Borg nanoprobes to emit a Borg signature and inserting them into our blood stream. The nanoprobes will bond with our cells. The Borg will not be able to tell one of us from another drone."

"You want to put Borg nanoprobes into my blood?" asked Lander uncomfortably. "Will they not assimilate me, make me part of the Collective?"

"Not if I modify them correctly," answered Seven. "They will assimilate your blood cells and a few other cells, but they will not connect you to the Collective, neither will they change anything essential in your DNA or biology, nor will they create any cybernetic devices. I will also add a kill program that will shut them down after a month. Hopefully we are off this ship by that time."

"What do you need me for?" asked the EMH.

"Besides operating the intravenous apparatus, I need you to double check my work and give me an expert medical opinion. If I make a mistake, this will either not work, or as the Commander said, cause her to be assimilated into the Collective. I wish to take precautions against that possibility."

"I appreciate that," said Lander. "One question: where will you get the nanoprobes?"

"Right here." Seven took a petri dish with saline solution in it and extended her left hand towards it. Her assimilation tubules came out the back of her left hand, and she began to deposit nanoprobes into the dish. "My body still produces a fair amount of Borg nanoprobes."

"I did not know that," said Lander.

"I doubt that I will be useful to you," said the EMH. "I am just a hologram. And I don't have any experience with Borg nanoprobes."

Seven looked at the holographic doctor. "One of the most knowledgeable individuals on Borg medical technology is a hologram, a Mark 1 EMH like yourself. I also count him as a personal friend."

"You know Voyager's Doctor?" asked the EMH with sudden great interest. "What is he like? Can you introduce me to him?"

"Perhaps, after this is over," said Seven.

"And that will only happen, Doctor, if we don't die or get assimilated," added Lander. "Let that be your incentive to help Seven get this right."

Frank led the group into someone's personal quarters. Once inside Frank raised the lights. "Whoa!"

"What?" said Rikka in a startled voice.

"The occupant of these quarters has an interesting taste in art." Frank pointed at the two large posters of physically fit men some of whom had their shirts off. "Late 20th century promotional art. I believe these men are part of a musical group called a 'boy band'."

"Oh," said Rikka.

"This is not your room, Ensign?" asked Frank.

"No! Absolutely not!" said Rikka. Frank took pleasure in the embarrassment on the woman's face.

"This room belongs to a Melinda Vibee," said Ta'Sem as she paged through a hand-written book.

"That does not surprise me at all," said Frank.

Chef took the book from Ta'Sem and closed it. "This is a diary. Lt. Vibee's personal notes are not relevant today." Ta'Sem gave an innocent shrug of her shoulders.

"Here's what is relevant," Frank set his phaser and a disruptor pistol on the coffee table. "We need these weapons to become effective again. It seems that the Borg have a tougher time adapting to the mix of Federation and Romulan weaponry, but they adapt nonetheless. I have used all my preset options. Chef and I might be able to modify the phasers. Sub-Lieutenant, do you think that you can modify your disruptor and mine?"

"Perhaps," Ta'Sem drew her disruptor from her holster. "I am not a weapons engineer by trade, but I know a thing or two. Perhaps our weapons designer here can help." Ta'Sem pointed towards Rikka.

"Oh no, I don't think I could…"

"Ensign, do you know the science behind phasers and disruptors?" asked Frank.

"Well…yes, I do."

"Good, we need any expertise we can get."

Ta'Sem picked up Frank's disruptor. "Where did you get this? This is a command issued disruptor. It was custom made for a high ranking officer. Only commanders and admirals carry these."

"And colonels," said Frank.

Ta'Sem looked right at Frank. "This is Colonel Gaiath's personal weapon."

"One of them," said Frank. "The other is in the armory with the rest of our confiscated Romulan weaponry." Ta'Sem gave him another puzzled look. "We captured Col. Gaiath twice, don't you remember?"

"I see," said the Romulan woman. Frank eyed her suspiciously. "I am aware that Capt. Lander captured Gaiath herself the second and final time. Were you the one who captured him the first time? Is that why you claimed his weapon?"

"Me, no. You have Chef here to thank for that."

Ta'Sem turned her head to Chef in surprise. "Matthews?"

"Yeah, that was me," was all that Chef said.

Frank decided that Chef's modesty could be set aside for one story. "Capt. Lander ordered Chef to assault Gaiath hand-to-hand so that a transporter operator could lock on to the two of them and pull Gaiath away from his men. Wait, wasn't the transporter operator Vibee?"

Chef nodded yes to Frank's question, but Ta'Sem squared up her body to directly face Chef. "You engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a military trained Romulan?" Frank thought there was something more genuine in the Romulan woman's question than in her previous inquiry about the disruptor.

"Yes, I pinned him and disarmed him."

"You wrestled a stronger Romulan man to the ground?" a note of disbelief was in Ta'Sem's voice.

"It wasn't easy," said Chef modestly.

Ta'Sem nodded her understanding. Frank thought he saw some other expression on the woman's face, but he wasn't sure. "Why don't you two Starfleet security men work on the phasers. The weapons designer and I will try to modify the disruptors."

Frank gave Ta'Sem a nod. Rikka reluctantly began working with the Romulan woman. Frank picked up his phaser and brought it over to Chef.

"Can you get us additional phasers?" asked Chef.

"Yeah. I can access any weapons' storage locker. Whatever modifications we make to this one we can duplicate on others." Frank leaded in closer and lowered his voice. "Better watch out for that one, Chef."

"Ta'Sem? I know," said Chef, also with a lowered voice. "She knows more than she lets on."

"You think she's dangerous?" asked Frank.

"I think she is a deceptive Romulan, but in the circumstances I think we can trust her. She knows her best chance of survival is with us."

"I figured all that," said Frank. "But that is not what I meant when I said you better watch her."

"I don't follow," said Chef.

"She has eyes for you, Chef. She finds you intriguing, and you impress her." Frank noticed Chef begin to look over his should at Ta'Sem but then stop himself. Frank smiled and looked at Chef. "Maybe you ought to watch yourself as well."

"Captain, I am ethically obliged to ask you once again: Are you sure you want me to do this?"

"Yes, I am sure," answered Lindsey to the holographic doctor.

"This is an unnecessary medical procedure with potential consequences I cannot understand," continued the EMH.

"Ensign?" Lindsey turned towards Seven of Nine. "Could there be unforeseen consequences?"

"Unlikely," said the Borg woman. "I am confident in my ability to program Borg technology. The nanoprobes will do exactly what I've programed them to do."

"So, you say there is no chance that they will…misbehave?" asked the EMH.

Seven paused, "The chance of the probes going rogue is minimal."

"Minimal!" The holographic doctor was clearly not liking the situation. "If even one of these probes goes bad it will multiply, and eventually will complete the assimilation process."

"Doctor, there is always risk in medicine," argued Lindsey. "Some treatments are potentially harmful."

"But this is not a medical treatment," countered the EMH.

"No, it's a disguise," said Lindsey. "Starfleet doctors have been known on several occasions to change the appearance of an officer in order to appear to be a different species. This is no different."

"It is different," said the perturbed doctor. "Those are prosthetics to give one…pointy ears. This is much more than that."

"Doctor! I am tired of arguing," Lindsey sat up from the biobed. "I know the risk, but I also know the need. Unless you tell me that you absolutely cannot continue on ethical grounds, I am ordering you to proceed."

"Very well," said the doctor. "Please recline."

Lindsey took a deep breath and rested her head on the reclined biobed. The holographic doctor inserted a solution into the IV port in her arm. "Nanoprobes are now in the blood stream. They will be affixing themselves to your blood cells any moment."

"They already are," said Seven of Nine.

"Do you feel any changes?" asked the doctor.

"No. Should I?"

"You should not," said Seven of Nine. "If the nanoprobes follow my programing, they should not interfere with any of your biological functions."

"Good to know," said Lindsey. Not content to sit, Lindsey rose off the biobed and walked around the room. After a few minutes she asked, "How do we know if this worked?"

"We check the internal sensors," said Seven.

Lindsey walked over the console from where she had been watching the remaining crew. "The Vulcan female is still hiding near the science lab."

"That seems to be a logical place for Lt. T'Sel to be hiding," said Seven.

"Perhaps," Lindsey didn't want her misgivings about the Vulcan female to reach Seven, but Lindsey had seen Lt. T'Sel escape to the stardrive. And if that Vulcan woman wasn't T'Sel, that left only one other person it could be. "It looks like our foursome has taken shelter in someone's quarters."

"You should check sick bay," said Seven who was fiddling with the modified nanoprobes.

"Sick bay?" Lindsey looked at Seven, who merely raised her eyebrow. Lindsey decided to oblige the woman. "In sick bay I am seeing one female with a mixed Borg/human signature. That would be you, Ensign. Our holographic doctor, of course, won't show up on this scan. And I see…" Lindsey stopped and double checked the reading. "I see a Borg drone."

"That would be you, Commander," said Seven. "You are now giving off the life signature of a Borg drone, and so you will be perceived by the Borg."

"Incredible," said Lindsey. "But the Borg can see. Will they not notice my lack of implants?"

"Yes, Borg drones can see," answered Seven. "But the Collective does not pay attention to the appearance of other drones. Aesthetics are irrelevant."

"Good to know. How long will this disguise last?"

"I programmed the nanoprobes to self-terminate after thirty days. It will take a few more days to completely purge them from your body."

"A Borg for a month. That's a thought," said Lindsey. A new concern arose in Lindsey's mind. "Ensign, if the Orion's internal sensors see me as a Borg drone, what about the external sensors of other ships: Starfleet, Romulan, or Reman?"

"They will also see you as a Borg drone."

"Then they won't know that we are on board the ship," said Lindsey. "They may decide to destroy this ship with no attempt at rescue if they do not know we are here."

"A valid concern," said Seven. "I believe that reestablishing a form of communication should be our top priority after we apply our disguise to the rest of the crew on board."

"Agreed," answered Lindsey. "Your turn. We can have you walking around as half a drone."

"It is already done. My body possesses nanoprobes. I merely needed to send a few modified nanoprobes into my blood. The rest will adapt. I will register as full drone in only a few minutes. I suggest one us go and bring the other survivors here for application of their disguise."

"Negative, Ensign. I have a better idea." Lindsey took her combadge off her shirt. "Can you reprogram one of these to communicate with a holographic matrix?" Seven raised her eyebrow, and both women looked at the EMH.