What Price Freedom?
by Christina
Inspired by an original story by Yatokahc, Christina and anonymous

Act 1

Season 7.5

The Present

They jumped as a unit, the remnants of their severed link with the Collective still enough to communicate amongst themselves silently. The lone Borg drone fell under the fury of their attack.

There might have been a scream, but silence quickly returned as the first of the attacking ex-drones stood, holding the skin covered remains of an ocular implant. He smiled. Another stood holding yet another implant. Pox covered faces surrounded the ripped apart drone lying below.

Since they'd achieved their independence from the Collective, the freed drones had worked to separate-or destroy-those drones who were still intact. Finesse was not an option. If the drones survived having their implants removed, they were further removed from the Collective-otherwise the dying drone was just one less threat to the freed .

"Take him to the medical bay," a voice called out from behind the group. A woman entered, her body covered with the same sores that infected all the freed drones of the cube. "We must stop this," she said calmly. The younger, one-eyed blonde woman beside her nodded.

"No Yersa, we cannot stop," the tall leader of the group shouted. "They will reassimilate us." He started to cough.

Yersa held up her good hand. "Why are you doing this, Yith? So we can spread this plague to them? Doctor Miller says that ripping out the implants is causing the disease to spread. It must stop, or we will all die."

There was a snort as three of the group members, including Yith, walked away, but the remaining two helped carry the still twitching drone.

The medical bay was not impressive. Three humanoid males and one bald human female worked diligently with what they had to treat the injured. The female ordered two of her helpers to the far corner, before she turned.

"This has got to stop!"

"I know," Yersa said sadly as she looked around the room. They'd lost another hundred drones yesterday-and it looked like a similar number would be lost today. "But try explaining that to *them*." She glanced at the blonde woman beside her and sighed. "Cretia, see if you can arrange another meeting with the others. They have not even been willing to meet."

"Assimilation is better than this." Dr. Miller shook her head as she did a visual examination of her newest patient. "He won't make it. Stick him over there."

"Assimilation is not better. Death while free is better than death as a mindless slave," Yersa retorted.

"Then do something to increase our chances of survival. If we can't save ourselves, what's the point?"

"Freedom, Doctor Miller. It's all about freedom." She started to cough. Doctor Miller led her over to a counter with a makeshift sink. "Spend your time with those patients you can help," Yersa said as the coughing subsided.

"You are the voice of sanity-they listen to you. You are the only one who can make them stop this madness."

Yersa shook her head. "They don't listen like they used to. Perhaps they will listen to the one you can save instead of me."

"Yersa, you are our best hope to convince them that they can't just rip out the implants. Bring the drones here. I can remove the implants aseptically. If they would stop destroying our supplies and equipment, we could survive this." Miller closed her eyes. "We cannot survive like this. Perhaps we could use your skills to convince them?"

Yersa bowed her head sadly. "The Xellam are a telepathic race, but my gifts are only slowly coming back to me." Their eyes met. "If I used telepathic skills to control the others, would I become another Queen?"

"Damned if you do. Damned if you don't." Miller waved a hand to indicate the dying ex-drones surrounding them. "What choice do we have?"

"There is always another choice. We just have to find it." Yersa smiled as she felt a familiar tingle in her head. "Or perhaps help will find us."

Doctor Miller's eyes opened wide. "The ship you dreamed about?"

"Yes." Yersa had tried to use her telepathy skills many times to request help from any passing ships, but had been unsuccessful, until one night just a few days ago when a kindly presence had guided her on her quest.

But to her bitter disappointment, the ship she'd contacted had been in the past.

"Yersa! There's a ship on the scanners!" She glanced across the room, saw one of the crew waving at her. She placed a hand on Dr. Miller's shoulder.

"I'll be fine." She knew better-and she knew Miller knew better. Yet, she felt the spirit's presence and wondered.

"What the...?" Captain Kathryn Janeway's voice trailed off as she stepped onto the bridge and saw the image on the screen.

The giant cube looked dead or dying: large gaping holes covered the surface. She glanced quickly at Harry. "What's the cube's status, Lieutenant?"

"Sensors show fewer than twenty-three-thousand life signs on board. There is too much interference for the sensors to give a precise count."

"Weapon status?"

Harry shook his head as he finished his report. "The cube has minimal weapons-and even those are questionable."

She nodded as she moved to the command chair. "Maintain red alert." She tapped her combadge. "Janeway to Seven of Nine."

"I am studying the sensor scans," Seven's voice said. "There should be over a hundred thousand drones on a vessel that size."

Definitely something wrong, Kathryn decided. Possibly something like what happened to the ship Icheb and the other children had been rescued from-or...

"Modify the sensors to detect the virus we introduced to the Borg, and scan for other Borg ships. I want continuous monitoring of all known Borg frequencies too." She wondered if the Borg Queen could think in terms of baiting a trap with a severely damaged ship.

"Captain, we're being hailed." She didn't glance behind her as the rest of her command staff arrived. The crippled interior of the cube appeared on the screen. She tried not to stare at the grotesque sores on the woman who appeared.

"I'm Yersa." The woman's eyes focused on Chakotay. "May the ancestors be praised, you've come."

"I'm Captain Janeway. How may we be of assistance?" She couldn't help but wonder how Yersa could be expecting them.

"Now that you are here, we need supplies and medicine. We especially need medical help." Yersa glanced at Janeway, then returned her focus to Chakotay. Janeway wondered at the puzzled look on her First Officer's face. He shrugged when he noticed her scrutiny. Janeway shook her head; somehow Yersa and Chakotay seemed to know each other. She would search for the answer later, but right now she needed to deal with the Trefla. Yersa must have seen the interchange, for she brought her attention back to Janeway. "Captain Janeway, whatever assistance you can offer will be appreciated."

Janeway decided to send the Doctor only. She wasn't sure about sending her crew, until she knew they would be safe. "Our Doctor will beam over to make a medical assessment." And to see what supplies Yersa and company needed. Voyager's own supplies were limited,.

"Thank you." Yersa's smile barely carried through the sores on her face.

Voyager's Emergency Medical Hologram glanced around the Borg ship, amazed at the amount of damage he saw. It looked like the ship was being systematically torn apart. He used the tricorder to analyze the partially destroyed regeneration chambers he passed.

"Hello," a voice said from behind him. "Welcome to the Trefla." He turned to face a young human woman, in her mid twenties. She might have been pretty, except for the sores covering her face, and the fact she was missing her left eye. What was left of her Borg armor was riddled with holes and cracks. "I'm Cretia Finney."

"Hello, Cretia," the doctor responded. He scanned her with his tricorder. A large number of bacteria, other microscopic organisms, and several viruses had infected her. None were the virus he'd created. At least not in her. Those viruses were on the ship-and were somehow responsible for the ship becoming disconnected from the Collective. "Are all the crew members like this?" He continued to analyze the data coming from his tricorder. As a physician, he had to help them.

She nodded. "The deassimilation process is rough." He again wondered at the lack of an eye and the number of inoperative nanoprobes in her system.

"What do they do, rip out all the Borg implants?"

She nodded again. "It is effective. The Medical Bay is this way."

He followed, noting that the tricorder showed she still maintained a few Borg implants. "Yet, you still have..."

She stopped. "Shhh. They are removing the external implants." She indicated her eye. "They will eventually try to remove the internal ones...they will kill us all."

"But even with the implants, you would still be individuals. We have freed several drones and we have met a colony that managed to free themselves before...Well," he decided that this was most not a good place to tell Riley's story. "The implants do not hinder individuality, and they keep you alive and healthy."

"They are Borg." She spread her hands slightly.

"But why? Don't you understand that this could kill you? That your nanoprobes could save you?" He again looked at his tricorder. Most of her nanoprobes were inactive. It was also obvious that she had not regenerated for a long time. Too long, maybe. The nanoprobes were dying.

"They fear reassimilation more than they fear dying." Cretia motioned for him to follow her.

"And how many hours do you spend regenerating?" He expected her answer.

"Doctor, look around. They've taken to destroying the regeneration units. There are less than two-dozen working chambers left."

"They?" The Doctor shook his head in frustration, even as he began to process the data the tricorder gave him. Treating the infection wouldn't be difficult; however, repairing the damage would take a monstrous effort on his part and his able staff.

"Those who want nothing to do with anything Borg." She glanced around. "They've even tried to destroy the ship." She pointed to the armed guard who stood outside the medical bay. "We have to protect vital systems now."

"And what do you want?"

He supposed she smiled sadly, it was hard to tell. "I want to live." They passed another row of destroyed regeneration units.

"How long ago were you freed?"

"How long since we lost our connection to the Borg?" She puzzled over this a second. "A few, like Yersa, found themselves freed from the Collective about six months ago. She and the others freed the rest of us. The disease first appeared soon afterwards."

His eyes opened wide as they stepped into the medical bay. Six months ago was about when they'd introduced the virus into the Collective. It had to be more than a coincidence-someone-Yersa maybe-had been a member of Unimatrix Zero. But this wasn't the end result he'd planned on.

But then, perhaps he should have expected such an outcome. As the former drones had no concept of anything but total control, the sudden freedom would be strange, scary. No wonder anarchy ruled here. He wondered how they'd survived the six months.