Game Theory

Chapter 7 – Boarding Action

Pandemonium reigned as Voyager's crew fought the Borg tooth and nail for every inch of deck. Sayuri had heard the old saying 'no plan survives contact with the enemy', but she had never realized quite how true it was until now. The Starfleet personnel were trying to mount a coordinated defense, but tactical drones were everywhere, and the battle had quickly degenerated into isolated groups simply doing their best to survive. Hand phasers whined, set to kill, and every now and then, the concentrated blast of a compression rifle could be heard from the few crewmembers that'd been lucky enough to get to a weapons locker before the Borg arrived. Some unfortunate souls had been reduced to fighting with their bare hands, desperately grappling with opponents ten times as strong as themselves. Sayuri swore she could occasionally make out the sound of snapping bone.

The young Ensign couldn't remember being more terrified. They had fought the Borg before, but that had been as a ship; one single unit, which lived or died together. She had never had to go face to face with the enemy, had never had to rely on her own skills as a warrior; skills which, beyond the basic combat training all officers were given, she did not possess. She was a scientist, not a soldier.

Ironically, it was her gut-wrenching fear which kept her going. Every other instinct told her to curl up in a corner and simply pray that this nightmare would end, but her fear told her that such an act would be suicide.

That, and the fact that Mordecai was still with her. After seeing his strength in the mess hall, she could think of no one else she'd rather have at her side in a fight for survival.

"Communications are out," the android muttered, trying his badge. "The Borg might be using some kind of jamming signal. We have to find the Captain."

A cry of pain sounded just around the corner, and suddenly a security officer was hurled against a wall not two feet from where Sayuri stood. His neck twisted at an impossible angle with a sickening, wet crunch, and she had to stifle a scream as he slid to the floor. His lifeless body convulsed for a second, then fell still. Mordecai, ever the pragmatist, snatched the phaser compression rifle from the man's hands before he hit the ground. Holding it up, he quickly scanned the weapon, then tossed it to Sayuri.

"Take this," he called, insistent, but so calm that Sayuri could swear he was oblivious to the chaos around them. "Keep it close and stay behind me."

"I-I-I can't shoot!" Sayuri cried. "You should have it!"

"I have my own," Mordecai replied. The metal plates on the back of one of wrists shifted, rearranging and elongating until a shiny, chrome facsimile of the rifle sprouted from the end of his arm. "Stay with me. I will not let them hurt you."

A promise like that would be meaningless from anyone else, but from Mordecai, Sayuri was able to believe it. Nodding mutely, she clutched the gun to her chest. She had always been a hopeless marksman, and had only barely scraped through that part of her yearly review. Fortunately, the Borg tended to get pretty close, making it almost impossible to miss.

"We must ensure the safety of the command staff," Mordecai stated. "Our destination is the bridge. Follow me."

Sayuri hardly needed to be told. She wouldn't be parted from Mordecai if her life depended on it, which, she supposed, it probably did. She stuck as close as she could without tripping him up. Cautiously, the two of them advanced around the corner.

The hallway was a battlefield. Blast marks adorned the walls, and phaser shots ricocheted in every direction. Crew members shrieked and cursed; some calling out commands, others wailing in fear as drones grabbed them and began the injection of nanoprobes before transporting back to the Cube. Above the din, the constant mantra of the Borg continued, echoing from the mouth of every drone in perfect unison.

"We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile."

"I'm going to move fast," Mordecai said gravely, lowering himself into a combat-ready stance. "As long as you're with me, you'll be safe, I promise, but you have to keep up, and don't stop for anything."

Sayuri just nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.

And for the first time, she saw Mordecai truly let loose.

His in-built phaser blazed, firing round after round with perfect accuracy. He switched targets faster than the human eye could follow, blasting drones away with lethal precision. In less than a second, four Borg were down, collapsing into pools of their black, oily 'blood'. His fifth shot followed just as quickly, but this time it fizzed against an invisible energy field.

"Oh shit!" someone yelled as the rest of the crew's phaser shots also began to deflect harmlessly off the Borg's new shielding.

"They've adapted," Mordecai stated, accelerating into a loping jog. "Switching to close-range engagement."

Sayuri looked at the un-fired gun in her hand, then threw it to the floor. It was all but worthless now, and without it she'd have her hands free. Only dimly aware that she was screaming, she sprinted after Mordecai, directly into the midst of the fray. The android's weapon shifted again, morphing into a 2-foot long sword. An identical blade sprang from his other wrist, and both hummed as a concentrated beam of cutting plasma formed along their edges.

Sayuri didn't even see what happened to the first drone he met. One minute, it was advancing, assimilation tubules outstretched. The next, it was dismembered in a whirlwind of blood; limbs and implants flying in all directions. There wasn't even enough left for the Cube to bother transporting it back for recycling. Mordecai didn't break stride, dive-rolling under another clumsy blow aimed in his direction, and effortlessly severed the offending arm. The drone barely had time to inspect its missing limb before its head had joined it on the deck.

Someone, Sayuri wasn't sure who, shouted triumphantly, and it acted as a rallying cry for the beleaguered Federation officers. The ones whose opponents Mordecai had just slain joined him on his charge, wielding their rifles like clubs. Borg shields were designed to adapt to energy weapons, not blunt trauma, and several drones fell beneath the frenzied stampede, beaten into the deck with the righteous fervour of a crew defending the only thing they had; their ship. In the centre of it all, Mordecai conducted the orchestra of carnage with inhuman skill. His blades danced like great, flaming swords, eviscerating any enemy who came within five feet of him. Like a surgeon's scalpel removing a tumour, he cut Borg off of his fallen shipmates, tearing out assimilation tubes and snatching them back from the brink of a cybernetic unlife. Sayuri's stride faltered as she watched, scarcely able to believe what she was seeing. Mordecai wasn't just saving her. He was saving everyone.

A cold hand grabbed her shoulder, clamping on like a vice, and Sayuri's nostrils were filled with the acrid, metallic tang of the Borg as a drone yanked her backwards with brutal strength. Instinctively, she tried to cry for help, but her voice was lost amidst the melee. Eyes wide with panic, Sayuri struggled to turn and face her aggressor. As she did, she saw where it had come from; a room to her left whose door had previously been shut. Inside was the body of a junior science officer; Sayuri thought she recognized her…Ensign Foren, or something. A phaser hung limply in her lifeless grip, and the only mark on her corpse was a deep, fresh burn on her left temple. She had taken her own life, rather than accept assimilation.

The drone tightened its grip, holding Sayuri painfully across the chest with one immovable arm. It extended its other hand, assimilation tubules wriggling from its grey flesh like ugly, blind leeches. Their spiked tips latched onto her neck, and Sayuri whimpered as she felt a twin pair of needles pierce her skin. She kicked and twisted feebly, but the Borg didn't even notice as the weak attacks struck its armoured body.

"Please…" Sayuri whispered, although she was aware that words would have no effect on the mindless automaton which held her. It wasn't the drone she was talking to.

You promised me.

Then, just as an icy, clammy blackness had begun to invade her mind, an intense heat burned just past her left ear, close enough to singe the tips of her hair. The drone reeled, and Sayuri slumped forward, twisting as she fell. The assimilation tubules were still embedded in the soft flesh of her neck, but the arm they sprung from was no longer attached to its owner.

Bellowing an inhuman roar like a thousand grinding gears, Mordecai severed the tubules at their base, hefting the arm like a mace, and smashed it across the stumbling Borg's head. Sticky transmission fluid sprayed in all directions, coating the walls and deck, not to mention himself and Sayuri. Not relenting for a second, he drove one blade deep into the cyborg's chest, before ripping its other arm off with his bare hands, using no more effort than a human might use to snap a twig. Lifting the drone aloft, still impaled, he proceeded to slice it apart, stopping only when it had been reduced to a dozen unrecognizable chunks. When he finally let it fall to the floor, his hands were dripping with sticky black ichor.

Sayuri was agog, her breath ragged and her heartbeat wild from her brush with death. As she stared at Mordecai with uncomprehending eyes, she realized she had no words to describe what she had just seen, or what she was now feeling. Gratitude, definitely, but it was more than just that. It was like adoration and horror all rolled into one. He had saved her life…had saved all their lives, yet the way he had fought…

She only noticed when he turned towards her that his eyes had changed too. They shone a bright crimson, and seemed to recede into his head forever, as if looking into them was a doorway to realms beyond the limit of human understanding. Immediately though, they flickered back to blue; somehow warmer than before despite their remote appearance. As they did, the whole universe seemed to shift with them, and the tendrils of fear raking her stomach receded.

He offered her his hand, before frowning and pausing to wipe the gore off on his trousers.

"Are you injured?" he asked softly.

Shaking, Sayuri hesitantly put her fingers in his, wincing when she remembered how easily he had torn the Borg limb from limb. None of that strength was present now though, and she allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"Allow me," he said, and Sayuri wasn't sure what he meant until she felt him grip the tips of the assimilation tubules which were still lodged in her neck. She steeled herself for a sharp pain, but it didn't come, as he carefully removed the horrifying Borg technology with a gentleness that seemed utterly at odds with what she'd witnessed just moments ago. Suddenly shy, she glanced away from his intense gaze, mumbling an embarrassed 'thank you'.

"This deck has been secured temporarily," Mordecai's voice rose as he turned his attention to the rest of the assembled crew, "but the remainder of this ship is still in danger. The Borg will return soon, and in greater numbers. They have adapted to your phasers, so a different strategy is required. I believe I have a solution. The drones appear to be unable to develop countermeasures against physical attack; however they contain too many redundant systems for ballistic weapons to be an effective substitute for phasers. Severing the link between the cortical node and the rest of the body seems to be the most viable tactic. I would recommend replicating some form of sharp cutting instrument; a katana, or similar bladed weapon. Aim for the weak points in their armour; at the joints between their limbs, and at the neck."

It was unexpected to watch the assembled crew, many of them Lieutenants or higher, hang on Mordecai's every word like fresh cadets straight out of the academy. Sayuri was forced to remember that although he was an Ensign now, he had been a caretaker of an entire galaxy in his previous life. It was times like this when that persona shone though. He was simply so much older and wiser than everyone else present that they would be fools not to listen to him, regardless of rank.

When he was done, they murmured their agreement, immediately enacting his advice. Quarters were opened and the replicators fired up; the red alert overriding the restrictions placed on their use and enabling them to dispense enough swords for every crewmember present. If Sayuri had thought seeing Mordecai lecture Lieutenants on battle tactics was odd, then the image of Starfleet officers hefting weapons which hadn't been used since the middle-ages was completely surreal. Still, there was an elegant logic to the idea. The Borg were on the very frontier of technological advancement, with the combined knowledge of many of the most advanced species in each scientific field. It made sense that they would never expect to be faced with what were essentially sticks of sharpened metal. Any species which still primarily used such tools would be deemed irrelevant by the Collective.

Sayuri accepted the weapon which was offered to her. No doubt she'd be even worse with this than the phaser, but it felt better than having nothing to defend herself with. The sword was surprisingly light, made from a composite alloy which lent it great strength and flexibility. She wondered where the pattern for it had come from; probably some form of sparring program for the holodeck.

"The turbolifts are out; the Borg must have cut the power," a white faced security officer said, jogging back to the group. He didn't need to finish the rest of the sentence; everyone knew that if the Borg had that much access to the ship's system, it meant the fight was going poorly down in engineering.

"Jeffries tubes are locked down as well," a junior officer from exobiology exclaimed, kicking the bulkhead with frustration. "We're trapped on this level!"

"Then I will improvise," Mordecai replied. "Tend to the wounded. I will go and reinforce the bridge."

"How?" someone asked, bewilderment in their tone.

Mordecai looked at the ceiling above his head, pausing for a moment, as if working through something in his mind. Then, quite suddenly, he buried one of his blades deep into it. The plasma cutter slid through the metal like a hot knife through butter, slicing it apart with a screech of protest. Drops of red hot, molten duranium dripped down, a few of them singeing Mordecai's uniform.

"W-What are you doing?" Sayuri cried.

Has he lost his mind?

Drawing his sword around in a large circle, Mordecai cut a neat, round path right through to the deck above. The cross-section of flooring, now completely freed, fell down to their level with a resounding clang, wires sparking and pipes weeping coolant. A drone tumbled through as well, and was quickly dispatched by Mordecai, who decapitated it before it had a chance to react. Overhead, the sounds of fighting were audible once more.

"We are four decks below the bridge. I will proceed upwards, avoiding any critical systems."

Sayuri blanched at the prospect, and Mordecai seemed to notice her sudden pallor, pausing as he prepared to ascend.

"This deck is now the safest place on this ship. I intend to deal with the Borg threat before they have the chance to dispatch more drones," he stopped, looking at her with a curious expression. Sayuri was sure that it meant something, but she wasn't good enough at reading him to determine what it was. "Help your shipmates. I will return."

"What are you going to do?" she asked. Mordecai was good, there was no doubt about that, but how could he possibly promise that he would stop the Borg ship? Even with all of Voyager at his disposal, their weapons weren't nearly enough.

"I will destroy them," he said simply, and if he was the slightest bit unsure, it did not show. Sayuri had to believe he was telling the truth. He was an android, he was logical; surely he wouldn't make such a claim if it was beyond his power to do so?

"I…" she began. There was more she wanted to say…much more. But this was not the time. "Good luck."

You'd better come back.

"To you as well," Mordecai replied, before disappearing up the plasma-cut rabbit hole.

"Weapons are offline. The Borg have restricted access to the tactical station," Tuvok called above the din. "They must have root control at the computer core. I cannot override them from here."

"They also have access to the turbolift controls," Seven added, ceasing her futile efforts to summon a lift.

Janeway was about to reply, when another mechanical whine heralded the arrival of more tactical drones. Bracing the compression rifle against her shoulder, she zeroed in on the noise. The Borg continued to attack the bridge in waves, and so far, the command staff had only just managed to keep them at bay. Now, they were beginning to adapt their tactics. With access to many of Voyager's systems, the Borg had sealed off all entrances to the bridge with force fields, and had begun using the Captain's ready room and the conference suite as staging points in which to transport in more drones. Sure enough, as if on cue, the door to her right opened and a contingent of Borg stepped through, crossing the flickering blue barrier as if it was nothing but air.

"Surrender, and prepare to be assimilated. You must comply."

"I don't think so," Janeway fired, feeling the slight kick of the rifle into the crook of her arm. The leader of the pack fell, dropping stiffly to the deck and dematerializing. Around her, the rest of the bridge survivors followed suit, and soon the confined space was filled with the blasts and whines of phasers. More drones went down, however when only two remained, the sound of mechanical groans was replaced with the fizzing and sparking of shots striking shielding.

"They have adapted," Seven stated, the slightest trace of panic creeping into her voice.

The surviving Borg advanced, one of them grabbing the nearest Starfleet officer; Ensign Shalma. He screamed, firing his hand phaser again and again, but it reflected harmlessly off the drone's defences. He was quickly transported away; assimilation tubules already beginning their grisly work.

Janeway watched him go numbly. She felt strangely detached, and assumed it was her training kicking in. There simply wasn't time to mourn, or even fully comprehend the fate of Ensign Shalma, and no doubt many others on the lower decks. If she wanted any of them to survive, she had to remain level headed, and that meant distancing herself from any emotional repercussions.

Glancing at Seven, who was staring wide eyed at where their crewmate had stood just a moment before, she realized that such an act was easier said than done.

The last drone continued forward, laser-sight bobbing and weaving across the room as it prioritized its next target. In a split second, it fixed its cold, dead gaze on Seven.

Oh no.

For one horrifying instant, Janeway thought that the Borg woman would simply stay rooted to the spot; frozen in fear while her old nightmare came to reclaim her. Seven didn't move as the drone stalked towards her, arm outstretched. Then, just when it looked like Janeway's own nightmare was about to come true, Seven nimbly sidestepped the Borg's grasp. In one fluid motion, she took its implanted head in her hands, and using every last bit of her enhanced strength, twisted its neck a full 180 degrees. The drone twitched briefly, then melted away, as the Cube transported back another one of its fallen warriors.

Janeway released the breath she had been holding.

"It appears they have yet to fix that inefficiency," Seven noted, turning to face the Captain. Her body was trembling, but there was a fire in her eyes which made Janeway realize that she needn't worry about Seven's ability to fight. The Borg woman was many things, but helpless was definitely not one of them

"Did we lose anyone else?" She called out huskily, immediately returning to full Captain-mode. Ensign Shalma had been a good officer, and he would be sorely missed; assuming any of them came through this desperate situation alive.

"I don't think so," Chakotay replied, eyes scanning the small gaggle of officers, who were doing their best to prepare for the next assault. "Damn, what a mess."

"They will return soon," Tuvok said. "And now that they have adapted, our task becomes considerably more difficult."

"Unfortunately so," the Captain murmured. "Harry, any progress on re-establishing communications?"

The raven-haired operations officer glanced up from the floor-panel he was working on, and shook his head.

"Not so far. I think I can find a path around the Borg block, but it's going to be a little while yet."

Janeway nodded grimly. She didn't need to tell him that time was of the essence; they all knew what was at stake. So long as areas of the ship were cut off and isolated, the Borg could simply overwhelm them one group at a time. She just hoped they'd be able to hold out long enough for Harry to finish his repairs. With communications back, they'd at least have some chance of mounting a coordinated defence.

"Remodulate phasers, everyone. We might be able to get a few more lethal shots out of them."

"Captain!" A junior science officer gestured her over to one of the few remaining terminals which they could still operate. "Look at this. Replicators are one of the few systems the Borg haven't yet compromised and…well…see for yourself, ma'am."

Janeway scanned the display, and immediately spotted what had caught the young Ensign's attention. Several decks down, someone had used the red-alert override to requisition a bulk batch of…

"…katanas?" Janeway spoke the word aloud, but it still didn't make much sense.

Tuvok's eyebrows rose slightly.

"An interesting decision. The drones have adapted to our energy weapons, however it is true that they would be unable to adapt to a physical cutting implement. A sharp enough blade would indeed be a suitable means of dispatching them when other alternatives have been exhausted."

"That's good in theory," Chakotay agreed. "But we don't have access to a replicator."

"Incorrect," Seven cut in. "We have access to the largest replicator on board Voyager; the transporter."

"Yes, but the Borg have our systems in lockdown."

"The Borg override prevents us from uploading any new matter into the transporter buffer; however it should not prevent us from retrieving an existing pattern," Seven's brow furrowed, the way it always did when she was thinking intently. "Captain, what was the last object Voyager transported?"

Janeway thought back. It had been a while since they had been used, but…

"A shipment of duranium bolts, from our trade with Priluvians," she replied, comprehension beginning to dawn.

"Since we still retain control of the replicators, we can upload the katana pattern to the transporter array, and then use the existing image of the duranium shipment as raw materials to fabricate the blades. Then, they can be transported onto the bridge."

"Good thinking," Janeway said, favouring Seven with a brief smile. In fact, she was a lot more proud than she let on, but there was no time to show that now. "Alright, let's make it happen. The sooner the better."

Half of the crew set about uploading the schematic for the weapons, while the rest kept a nervous look-out. It was impossible to know when the next Borg attack would occur, but it was bound to be very soon, and if they didn't have anything new to defend themselves with, they were all as good as dead.

Janeway tried to think back to her days at the academy. Fencing had been a compulsory part of the physical exercise program, but more as a way to improve hand-eye coordination and reflexes than actually learning to swordfight in earnest. She had the feeling that the reality would be very different; not that she could remember anything but the most basic techniques. It seemed laughable that they were even attempting this at all.

Still, if a stupid idea works, then it's not stupid.

"Done!" Chakotay cried triumphantly. As he did, the hum of the transporter sounded, and a small, tightly packed crate of katanas materialized just in front of the command chair.

"Everyone grab a sword!" Janeway ordered. Now there's something I never thought I'd hear myself say. "Keep your phasers ready, though. Only switch to the blades once the Borg have adapted to the new modulation."

The Captain took one of the wickedly sharp weapons in her hands, testing its surprisingly light weight. As she gripped it, a new sense of steely resolve infused her wiry frame.

The Borg will pay for what they have done here today.

Seven examined the implement which the Captain had called a 'katana', eyeing it sceptically. It was approximately 1 meter long, with a simple, cloth-bound handle at one end where the weapon was supposed to be held. At the top of this grip was a small disk of metal, and after that, the thin, slightly curved blade. It gleamed in the artificial light of the bridge, sparkles playing off its cutting edge.

Such a…primitive design was somewhat foreign to Seven. She had seen and used knives before, but wielding this archaic piece of technology as a primary weapon seemed insufficient, considering the magnitude of the threat they were facing. Nevertheless, she could see a sort of logic behind it. Certainly, the Borg were not used to engaging species equipped with such devices. Their armour was engineered to deflect bullets, and dissipate energy weapon shots. She wondered which crew member it was on the lower decks had originally devised the idea.

Taking the device in one hand, she hefted a compression rifle in the other. An ordinary human would not be able to fire such a large gun effectively without using both arms to stabilize it, but Seven's superior strength allowed her to do so quite effortlessly. She would not need it for long anyway. By her estimations, they would be able to kill no more than two drones before the rest adapted to the new phaser frequency.

"How are those communications coming Harry?" Janeway called. Seven could detect a definite edge to the Captain's voice that was not usually present; unsurprising, considering their situation. She knew how much Kathryn cared for her crew and her ship, and seeing both be damaged, perhaps irreparably, must be torturous for her. Seven wished there was something she could do to assist the Captain, beyond what was already being done.

"I'm getting there. Just five more minutes or s-"

"Captain, I am detecting beam-in signatures," Tuvok announced, cutting across the end of Harry's sentence. "Too many to track accurately from this console."

"Alright, brace yourselves, everyone! This is it!" Janeway shouted. "Remember, as soon as they adapt, switch to your swords. Time your blows and don't take risks. Aim for any exposed flesh you can see."

A tingle of crackling energy filled the air, and immediately the bridge was awash in tactical drones. They beamed into every available space, and no doubt, more were already arriving in the adjacent rooms.

"Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile."

Seven fired immediately. At this range, it was impossible to miss, and her shot struck one of the lead drones in the chest. It staggered to the floor, collapsing and disappearing, but already two more had advanced to fill the gap. She shot again, and another drone fell.

If she felt any remorse about terminating members of what had once been her Collective, all she had to do was picture Kathryn, her beauty and vitality stifled behind a casing of black metal, and suddenly, she didn't so much want to kill the drones as she did rip them apart with her bare hands.

Her third shot was absorbed harmlessly by an energy shield. In response, Seven slung her rifle as hard as she could at a Borg which was almost on top of Chakotay. The force of the impact was enough to stagger it, but she didn't have time to see if the Commander was able to take advantage of that fact. Switching her attention back to the drone in front of her, she transferred her katana to her stronger, Borg hand, and seized the chance to strike first, before her opponent was ready.

One of her crewmates roared a battle cry; unprofessional, but strangely motivating. Seven twirled the blade, manoeuvring to put the entirety of her considerable body-weight behind the blow. Her katana bit deep into the exposed flesh at the drone's neck, and judging from the upwelling of oily, tar-like substance from its mouth, she had hit something vital for its continued functionality. With a rasping gurgle, the Borg fell back.

From there, Seven found herself simply struggling to survive. She dodged and whirled, drawing on moves she more commonly used when playing Velocity against the Captain. Again and again, her blade slashed into vulnerable grey flesh, but no matter how many drones she felled, she always seemed to be surrounded. The Cube was sending everything it had at them. Over the raucous cries of battle, her acute hearing could pick out the hum of Borg transporters, and of course, their unrelenting chant.

"We are the Borg. You will be assimilated."

The words echoed off every wall, emanating from the mouth of every drone even as they were cut down. It seemed to fill Seven's head, until it sounded like it was coming from within her own skull. Frantically, she fought harder, digging deep for every bit of skill and strength she possessed.

I will not return to them. I will not allow them to take Kathryn or the others.

To her surprise, she found that she too was yelling. It was a primal cry that was neither human nor Borg, but something more animal. Screaming a challenge at her adversaries, she swept her katana in a great, scything arc, cleaving the limbs off multiple drones. One grabbed her from behind, and snarling, she drove the blade through the space between her own torso and arm, skewering her assailant before throwing its corpse off of her back. Another drone stepped up, and this time she didn't even bother with the sword; simply driving her fingertips into its throat and ripping out a vital-looking implant. As it fell away, eyes rolling back in its head, she was met with a sight which made her boiling blood run cold.

Four drones had cornered Kathryn against the tactical console. She lashed out, and her sword hacked into one of their arms, but not deeply enough to sever it completely. Instead, it got stuck, probably in the bone, and the Borg yanked it from her grasp, oblivious to the pain such an act would cause an organic species. The drones advanced, assimilators extended. Kathryn grabbed one of the outstretched arms, holding it away from her neck, but the Borg's strength forced her to the floor.

Time seemed to slow as Seven stared, transfixed with horror. Through the legs of her aggressors, Kathryn's frantic eyes momentarily darted in her direction, and for what could only have been the briefest of seconds, their gazes met.

It was the first time Seven had seen her Captain show fear. Of course, they had faced many difficult challenges together before now, and there had been times when it seemed that they were not going to survive. In such instances, Seven had known that Kathryn was afraid; she had observed it in the stiffness of her jaw, had heard it in the almost inaudible waver in her voice, and had smelt it in the pheromones which betrayed her body's true feelings. On all those occasions however, the Captain had maintained her composure. She had displayed an outwardly calm façade which Seven suspected only she was able to see through, having memorized the other woman's expressions in such minute detail.

Looking at Kathryn's face now though, Seven could see the desperate fear etched into every muscle. It was the face of someone who was terrified of dying, of having everything that they were stripped away until only a hollow shell remained. She knew that the Captain would only allow her command mask to slip so drastically if she was convinced that it no longer mattered.

If she truly believed that she was about to be terminated.

Staring into those incredible blue eyes, Seven could almost hear Kathryn's voice in her ear.

"Help me."

With that thought, Seven sprang into action. The time dilation effect had not abated, and Seven idly noted that it was probably due to the extreme levels of adrenaline currently coursing through her system. Everything seemed to be moving so slowly around her. Good.

Barely registering the drones closing in from all sides, Seven sprinted across the bridge, her body automatically slicing away any appendages which came too close, while her conscious mind focused on her goal. Assimilation tubules were sprouting from the Borg's hands, closing in on Kathryn like venomous snakes. They were 15 centimetres away from her exposed neck. 11 centimetres. 6 centimetres.

Seven dive-rolled the last couple of meters, snatching Kathryn's sword from her attacker's arm as she rose. Without a moment's hesitation, she drove her own blade up through the skull of one drone; in through its jaw and out through the top of it head, burying it right to the hilt. She then yanked it savagely to one side, snapping vertebrae and splitting the Borg's face wide open. A red mist seemed to have descended over her vision, and she was only dimly aware of her actions. She had just one objective: protect Kathryn.

She slammed the now utterly dead drone into one of its companions, sending them both tumbling to the floor. A quick slash with her other sword spilled the few remaining organs of another. The last one was mere millimetres from Janeway's throat when Seven gripped its hand. Blinded to a near frenzy, she grasped the two writhing tubes it had dared to use on her Kathryn, and tore them from its body with a snarl of satisfaction.

After that, she was not entirely sure what happened. Her eidetic memory seemed to short out momentarily, because the next instant, her internal chronometer claimed that ten seconds had passed without her realizing. Now, where once a Borg drone had stood, there was only an unrecognizable pile of broken implants, shattered bones, and torn flesh, oozing a black tar onto the deck.

She also noticed that she was shaking quite violently.

With a trembling hand, Seven retrieved her katana from the deck. More Borg were already closing in, completely unfazed by her violent dispatching of their comrades. It didn't matter though. They were not getting past her.

Planting her feet either side of Kathryn's prone form, Seven raised her sword.

"If you wish to harm her, you will have to terminate me first!"

"Irrelevant. You will be assimilated."

In the background, Seven saw more drones entering from the conference room. There must have been about 30 of them now, swarming across the bridge like a plague of insects. She heard the cries of Voyager's crew, muffled by the din of battle and her own pounding heartbeat. An Ensign stumbled through her field of vision, screaming as Borg latched onto her from all sides, assimilation tubules plunging into fragile skin with merciless efficiency. By the time she was transported out, implants had already begun to blossom across her limp body.

"We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile."

The Borg pressed in from all sides. Seven's eyes darted from drone to drone, trying to find a weak spot in their formation, but there was none. It would be easy enough for her to evade their grasp, but she could not leave Kathryn, who still seemed dazed and not fully conscious.

Her vision began to swim, and Seven realized that she was crying. Tears of frustrated rage burned hot, salty trails down her cheeks. In seconds, she would be overwhelmed, and no matter how her mind raced, she could see no way out.

It cannot end like this. This is unacceptable. Unacceptable!

A faint rumble rolled through the bridge, detectable more as a tremor in the deck than an actual noise. The Borg which surrounded Seven and the Captain paused momentarily, eye lasers flickering in all directions as they scanned for the source of the disturbance. Then it came again, closer and more violent.

The screech of tortured metal assaulted Seven's hearing, and with it, a blinding shower of white-hot sparks exploded from the floor. Before her disbelieving eyes, the deck in front of her sagged down, collapsing like a sinkhole and swallowing whole the contingent of drones which had been seconds away from assimilating her and the Captain. Acrid smoke obscured the cavity, but Seven could detect flashes of light moving inside the cloud, and suddenly, the groans of dying Borg erupted from within.

Seven did not usually enjoy the act of killing, but in that moment, when she had almost lost hope, the sound was music to her ears.

Mordecai leapt from the fissure, trailing tendrils of soot and Borg blood as he arced through the air. He was different from the last time she had seen him; seemingly larger and more feral in his movements. Blades protruded from the backs of his wrists, and glowed with a vibrant turquoise plasma edge.

Unbidden, an image flashed through Seven's mind: an impression of Mordecai, wielding these same weapons, and standing over the butchered corpses of an unknown alien race. It came and went so quickly that Seven could not be sure she had seen it at all. It did not feel like a hallucination or an imagined scene, but more like a memory. As she tried to clear her head, another one appeared: Mordecai, eight crimson eyes fixed on her as ruins crumbled all around him. Then another one. And another one. They flew by at such speed that Seven was left breathless as she struggled to interpret what they meant.

"Get down." Mordecai shouted, snapping her concentration. Seven did not think the directive was addressed at her, since Mordecai now stood with his back to them, but she decided to follow it anyway as a precaution. She huddled over Kathryn shielding the smaller woman's body with her own. All around, the remaining Starfleet officers also threw themselves to the ground.

Mordecai held out his hand, and a great gout of blue-green plasma fire spewed from his palm. He directed the torrent at the closest Borg drones, and within seconds, they had begun to dissolve. Flesh roasted and seared off the bone, while implants glowed and boiled away, dripping into smouldering puddles on the deck. The stench was overwhelming, and was enough to make Seven gag for the first time in her life. Stalking forward, Mordecai directed the flame with lethal precision, immolating every Borg which was foolish enough to get too close. By the time he shut off the valve in his hand, the drones' numbers had been halved.

Switching back to his swords, Mordecai dived into the remaining enemy forces, and it was in that moment that Seven finally placed what she had been feeling. Her sense of unease and the strange images in her mind were suddenly thrown into stark clarity. As she watched Mordecai terminate the Borg drones, single-handedly repelling an invasion which would have successfully assimilated even the most well-armed ship in the Federation, she finally realized.

He was built purely for war.

No, 'war' was insufficient…he was built for slaughter.

This was where he belonged, what he had been made to do. Any pretence he had of being civilized, of being a peaceful explorer or guardian, was a falsehood. He danced from victim to victim with the fluidic grace of a ballerina, and everything he touched died in a whirlwind of blood, fire, and agony.

It terrified her, like nothing ever had before.

She had once been Borg; the same as the drones which she now fought against. It elevated her above her peers, and gave her a resolve which bolstered her confidence. She knew that she could perform feats of strength which would defy most human capabilities, and react with a speed which only a computer could match. Despite her revulsion at what the species represented, Seven took comfort in her Borgness when she did not know what else to do. Yet here was a being that effortlessly exceed her in every capacity. An army of drones, all potential equals to her, were being defeated as if they were mere children.

Mordecai was a threat. Seven knew it with every fibre of her being. She did not always agree with the principles of Starfleet, as Kathryn could attest, but she at least respected the ideals it strove for. Mordecai made a mockery of the uniform he wore, now spattered with the greasy black ichor of his victims. He was on Voyager to enact his own agenda using duplicity and deception, nothing more.

How she could be so sure of these feelings, Seven did not know, but she did know that she was right, beyond all reasonable doubt.

Still, for now, there was little that she could do. If part of Mordecai's plan involved saving them, she was not going to argue; but she did resolve to keep an extremely close eye on him from now on.

An eerie silence fell across the war-torn bridge as the last drone slid slowly from the end of Mordecai's blade. Stock-still, the metal man was coated in black fluid from head to toe.

"Seven?" Janeway stirred, shaking her head slightly. The glazed, unfocused look in her eyes receded as she glanced around. "What happened?"

"Captain!" Seven felt like grabbing Kathryn and holding on for dear life, but she held in the urge, instead gently holding Janeway down when she tried to rise. "You are hurt. Please, remain still. Mordecai has dispatched the immediate threat."

She said his name with more than the slightest trace of bitterness, but fortunately Kathryn did not seem to notice.

"Mordecai?" a look of confusion crossed her features, but quickly vanished. Speaking again, strength returning to her voice, she called out. "Ensign Mordecai, report."

"Captain," the metal man loomed behind Seven. She had not even heard his approach. "The Borg continue their assault on all decks. When communications were cut, I determined that I could be of most service on the bridge. I secured the levels I passed through en-route as best I could, but until the Cube has been dealt with, it is only a temporary respite."

Janeway rose to her feet, still slightly unsteady and leaning on Seven for support. Seven felt oddly warmed by the gesture; the subconscious display of trust from someone she held in high regard was gratifying.

"I'm aware of that, but without weapons or engines, we're sitting ducks," the Captain said wearily. "I don't suppose you have any ideas?"

"Do you wish them destroyed?" Mordecai asked simply.

"Well, yes, but like I said, without weapons we…"

"Consider it done."

"What?" Janeway looked from Mordecai to Seven, as if asking whether she had heard him correctly. The android did not hesitate however, clearly having heard all that he needed to.

"I apologize in advance for the damage, but time is of the essence," he stated, turning to the main viewscreen where the image of the Cube still stared malevolently down at them. "I also suggest you hang onto something."

"Huh?" Janeway started, before an expression of shocked realisation came over her features. "No, wait! Don't…"

She spoke too late. Mordecai raised his arm again, and some sort of energy discharge pulsed from the end, impacting the viewer and blasting it outwards. A great wind suddenly swept through the room, and Seven instinctively gripped Kathryn to her chest, using her other arm to anchor herself to the tactical console. She held the Captain in place until the emergency containment field kicked in a few seconds later and the rush of air died down.

Mordecai strode through the opening, entering the vacuum of space as if it was simply another corridor on Voyager. His feet gripped the hull with ease, using some form of magnetic clamps Seven surmised. She got the impression it was a familiar experience for him. Her feelings of foreboding returned, stronger than ever.

"Seven…" a muffled voice sounded nearby, drawing her attention away from Mordecai. Looking down, she saw with a faint sense of embarrassment that she was still clutching Janeway firmly to her bosom.

"…you can let go of me now."

Sayuri tied off the bandage as best she could, grimacing internally at the blood which was already soaking into the white fabric. Now was no time to be squeamish; the wounded were still coming in, and as one of the still able-bodied crewmembers, she had to do her best to help. She gave the man she was treating a smile which she hoped was reassuring, but probably looked more pained.

The mess hall had been hastily transformed into a sort of triage centre; a relatively secure location where they could bring the injured. Mordecai had dealt with the majority of the Borg on this level, and the few stragglers and newcomers were quickly set upon by those who could still fight. The katanas had proven surprisingly effective, although thankfully, Sayuri had not yet needed to use her own.

"Hey…hey, look out there!" someone shouted, cutting through the tense atmosphere. Sayuri had actually been avoiding doing that; she had little desire to be reminded of the Borg threat which lurked just off their bow. Still, if someone was calling, it must be important. Checking her work one last time, Sayuri left her patient and hurried over to the long row of windows, peering out into space.

A figure was striding across the hull towards the Cube, and there could be no doubt who it was.

"Mordecai," she whispered.

What the hell does he think he's doing? He's…he's going to get himself killed!

The holding beams of the Cube wreathed the android in an ethereal green glow. From here, he was little more than a silhouette; one tiny, defiant speck facing down the great leviathan.

Was this his plan all along? What does he even hope to do? Dammit Mordecai, why did you go? Why didn't I try and stop you? I should have known you'd want to be the hero.

From the sudden rush of excited murmurs around her, Sayuri could tell she was not the only one who was completely confused. She glanced from the onlookers, back to Mordecai, and then to the Cube. A frustration the likes of which she had never known boiled up within her, brought on by her utter helplessness.

Please…please, just give up. Come back, before…

The bottom dropped out of Sayuri's stomach as a tight, concentrated cutting beam shot from the Cube. It traced across Voyagers hull, leaving a trail of twisted metal in its wake, and closed on Mordecai faster than anyone, man or machine, could outrun.

"No!" she cried desperately, pounding her fist of the bulkhead. "No! No! No! Damn you!"

The beam caught up with Mordecai, who had not even tried to dodge. Then…it faltered. Squinting, brushing away a few angry tears with her sleeve, Sayuri could see Mordecai's silhouette standing within it, arm outstretched. Just before the point where cutting beam would strike his hand, it seemed to lose coherency, breaking apart into several fainter, wispier strands which danced harmlessly across the hull around where he stood. After a few seconds like this, the beam cut off.

"Holy shit…did he just…" a nearby crewman trailed off. Sayuri had to agree with that sentiment.

Silence settled once again, as everyone watched with baited breath.

Crimson energy began flowing around Mordecai's body, setting his tattered Starfleet uniform ablaze as it did. Arcs of scarlet light played along his arms, stripping away cloth and caked-on blood as they went, until he was once again shining like an angel of vengeance. Then, reaching out, he directed a beam of his own at the Borg vessel

The red laser struck it dead on and, where Voyager's phasers had left only scratches, his attack tore deep into its hull. Mordecai dragged the beam slowly across the Cube's surface, leaving a trail of explosions as it went. Once he reached the far side from where he began, he started again, unleashing the same red light from his other arm. Debris spurted from the great welts he left in the Cube, choking the space around it with charred metal.

The tractor beam holding Voyager in place faltered, and finally died, as Mordecai struck something vital deep within the Borg ship. Already, it was beginning to break apart, but he kept going, this time hitting it with both lasers simultaneously. Unable to withstand such a devastating onslaught, something gave way, and at last, the Cube detonated, tearing itself apart as its reactor went critical. The resulting gravitational waves sent violent tremors through Voyager's hull.

Although she could not hear the explosion, Sayuri was bowled over by an equally loud noise. A chorus of deafening cheers erupted throughout the mess hall, and was repeated all along the corridors. Above and below, she could hear the same cries of victory on every other deck. Without the Cube for guidance, the Borg remaining on Voyager would be significantly weaker, and easily defeated.

Sayuri did not join in with the triumphant whooping, although her heart swelled with the same hysterical relief which had infected the others. Instead she continued staring out of the window, her eyes fixed on the solitary figure that had saved them all from certain assimilation.

Mordecai: her hero.