Talya was not given to fear. If she was perfectly honest with herself, she hardly knew what fear was. She hardly knew what feelings were, because soldiers were not supposed to have feelings, not the most efficient ones.

How did it go? "Theirs not to make reply, theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die"?

Yes. That was it.

But her current predicament would generally warrant such an emotion, would it not?

She, Vanguard and the Captain had been captured by Starfleet. The Collective's textbooks and tutors alike stressed the danger of the organization.

Starfleet was brutal. Starfleet killed thousands of theirs. Starfleet always, Starfleet did, Starfleet was bad, bad, bad.

Her captain had walked right into their midst.

Jerrick's footsteps rang in Talya's ears. One, two, three, four… and they stopped.

"I'm sure you'd like a perfectly sound reason for our visit, sir," she heard him say. Ever so calm. Ever so diplomatic.

"Put down your weapon, sir."

"Alright. Alright. Look – it's on the ground. Do you have your phasers set to stun or kill?"

Fishing for information, for his crew's sake.

The first voice, that of Captain Kirk, spoke up.

"As long as you mind your manners, I don't think it really matters. Both hurt, though, if that's what you're asking."

"Makes sense."

"Do you want to give us a name?"

A pause. "Call me Ishmael."

"Captain, it seems this man is from Earth or has studied 20th century human authors. That is the first sentence of Melville's Moby Dick."

"Wow. Never would have pegged you for the whaling dictionary type, Spock."

"You are digressing, Captain."

Jerrick was focused on once again.

"So, Ishmael," Kirk said, "are you by yourself in your destruction spree?"

Talya could practically feel Jerrick bristling at the word destruction. This coming from Starfleet of all people…

But he answered.

"If you want honesty…"

And his voice dropped. A subtle nuance in his tone that both she and Van knew. His expectant pitch, the one that said come join the party.

So she braced herself, and gripped Vanni's wrist lightly. Her sub-mac fit naturally into her arms and she calculated. Calculated the number of enemies, the most effective means of incapacitation, potential escape scenarios even though the man beside her had already murmured that they were in Zugzwang right now.

Jerrick let out a small, sardonic huff.

"No."

And the two other Collective soldiers burst out of the Spectre.

Ishmael's quick and candid response gave them virtually no preparation time. In a split second, two more, a young man and a young woman, practically flew out of the damaged ship, guns blazing.

"Get down!" Kirk shouted, barely dodging a spray of bullets.

"Security to Shuttlebay Two," Spock was ordering into his communicator.

Ishmael swung his submachine gun up and caught Kirk in the small of the back, eliciting a grunt of pain from the other man. Within seconds Jim was on his feet.

And, sub-mac to phaser, Captain to Captain, they faced each other, right in the middle of the chaos around them. Dimly Jim registered the doors sliding open and four redshirt security officers storming in.

Ishmael allowed his eyes to sweep once to the left and once to the right, taking into account his team, before zeroing back on Kirk and gripping his gun a bit tighter.

A tense moment crawled past.

And then the two launched themselves at each other, falling into an intense skirmish.

Nyota Uhura ended up pressing her phaser into the collarbone of another woman – go figure. A stark contrast from her, this woman was slighter, less elegant, wirier and less human. That was it – no human would react the way she did to having a weapon pressing into her skin.

The pale woman kept very still, deathly still, even as a shot was fired dangerously close to the Uhura's feet and she flinched.

Reflex, she knew, but she cursed herself bitterly – the pale girl jerked out of her grip and knocked the phaser to the floor.

Uhura cursed in Klingon. Spock would never let this go –

Talya knew a lot of things. Useful, lifesaving things.

Like now, for instance – she knew not to pull her punches.

And so she wasted no time in slamming her fist into the dark-skinned woman's face.

Kirk's eyes widened as Uhura crumpled in his peripherals, right in front of the blur that was the third enemy taking on two redshirts plus Spock.

And right before Ishmael wrapped an arm around his neck, he got a glimpse of the eerily pale woman hefting her gun and making a beeline for McCoy.

"Bones!" he ground out, returning the favor punch for punch on Ishmael.

The CMO was patching up one of the redshirt ensigns (redshirts, always redshirts) when he heard Kirk's strangled warning. Almost knocking over the kit full of medical supplies, he jerked. His head whipped around, and it was then that he met the bland grey eyes of the woman.

Just my luck.

Cursing, he swung his phaser up with the full intention of stunning her into a coma… when she spoke. Her choice of words was disconcerting, to say the least.

"You are a medical officer, yes?" Without waiting for an answer, she dropped her head a fraction. "I am… very sorry."

Bones wasn't even able to move out of the way. She hit him right in the head with her gun and he practically felt his head break open. "Agh! Son of a –!"

He didn't finish his sentence either; a clatter and another murmured apology, and the soft-spoken woman had knocked him out with his own hypospray.

Vulcan, Vanni thought harshly. The guy's Vulcan. He'd already dispatched the two idiots in red, but this pointy-eared nuisance just wouldn't go down for anything. He threw uppercuts and fired off some ill-intentioned shots and the guy kept going.

Some Vulcan martial arts style, was the closest thing Vanni could get of the way he performed in battle.

"Are you… you tired yet?" he asked, as casually as he could. If they weren't doing their odd combat dance so fast Vanni may have been a bit surer about seeing the Vulcan's eyebrow lift up.

"I will continue for as long as necessary," was the brisk reply.

"Well... ain't that inconvenient," the Collective man muttered.

"I agree."

"Do me a favor and die or something!"

In response he had the breath knocked out of him and was forced to drop into an evasive roll.

Stupid ruffman!

And of course there was another Red. They were like roaches – there was always one more. Van knew something was off when the Vulcan stepped back slightly. And that's when it hit him.

The redshirted kid plowed straight into him, knocking him violently to the ground. There was a sudden agonizing pain in his skull and a sharp crack that sounded like maybe his brain was leaking onto the white ground, and the world spun. It occurred to him that he'd been ganged up on for the second time, only this time the Red was actually competent.

And then he registered a muzzle pressing into his temple. His eyes fluttered vaguely. More snub muzzle than a sub-mac's, and his back-up gun was in its holster – the phaser.

He was being held at phaser point by a kid.

Aw, that hurt his pride. Almost to the point where it physically stung, his reaching surreptitiously into his waistband.

Ensign Ricardo was pretty pleased at the nod Commander Spock gave him. It was what gave him the bravado to raise his voice in a yell.

"Stop fighting or I'll kill 'im dead!"

Spock's eyebrow twitched.

Talya froze, slowly uncurling herself from the uncomfortable position from which she'd been busy putting the three redshirts under a strong sedative.

Van.

From her right, Jerrick, who had Captain Kirk pinned, suddenly sat up, shoving the other man off. His skin blanched.

"Vanni," she heard him choke out. He rushed to stand but was stopped short by Kirk drawing his phaser.

Oh, man, Jerrick mouthed, and put his hands behind his head.

At his defeated glance that quickly became worried as it returned to Vanni, Talya stood. The Vulcan had his phaser pointed at her, anyway, and so she copied Jerrick's gesture.

"Security," Kirk said into his comm. His voice broke slightly. He cleared his throat. "Security, prepare the brig. Med bay, we're bringing you six…nine wounded." He shot a sharp glance at the three, then back at Jerrick.

"Ishmael," he muttered. "I hope you know that you caused a hell of a lot of trouble."

"Right. Noted."

Jerrick was obviously not focused on his reply. His eyes darted between Talya and Vanni, his forehead creasing slightly.

One wouldn't know it, but his heart was pounding hysterically. He and his friends were Starfleet prisoners now – the Collective's greatest threat. He might as well have shot all of them dead from the get-go. They would have been safer then.

Talya stifled her rising anxiety. Or, well, no – more like… acute discomfort and vague apprehension. Her only focus from here on out was maintaining integrity and making sure her comrade and her Captain were alive.

As for Vanni, hanging on to clear consciousness, the only thing running through his mind was the fact that, when asked once, he had replied that one of his least favorite things ever was a traitor.

He grinned crookedly at the irony as he quite literally stabbed Ensign Ricardo in the back.

Thanks so much to Cat4444! I was thinking the phrase looked wrong somehow - really appreciate you pointing it out. Ironic considering I'm Prolix Descartes, huh? Hope this one was alright, schatzi!