As soon as Kathryn stepped into the vessel, she knew that this was wrong, that in fact this was not what her instinct had promised. She had meant, in some badly planned way, to seek out the Queen, but this was clearly not the right way at all and she felt a pang of fear overtake her. Never had she been so impulsive, so unabashedly reckless with her own life and the lives of others. But she had come this far, and believed she could not turn away.
The cube was dead in the water, and most of its outer hull had been blown off. As Kathryn stepped gingerly on the cold metallic floor she felt it begin to collapse, and she quickly moved to the wall and clung to it for dear life. Seven had indicated that they should split up, and she had lost sight of her now, the only light being generated from the few empty alcoves that were still functioning. Kathryn fumbled in the pockets of her Apocrypha-issue clothing until she located a flashlight. The thought occurred to her that no matter how free she might fancy herself, she seemed to always be wearing someone's uniform.
This eerie, deserted ship was a fixture from her nightmares, and she half expected an army of drones to punch through the wall and devour her alive, ripping out her humanity and all that made her unique, replacing her soft skin with pieces of machinery, removing her will to fight. Hadn't Seven tried very hard to make her believe that was what she wanted? If somehow, in the dark corners of her mind she sought the blissful relief of assimilation, she attributed this to a general human weakness. And she believed the Borg incapable of existing without this weakness, without the secret desire of individuals to be overtaken by a force stronger than themselves. This was how so many senseless wars were fought, and how humans had for centuries embraced prejudice and intolerance. Kathryn scaled the wall and repeated to herself, "Not today."
She could hear a dull hum that, as she continued to scale the wall of the vessel, partitioned itself into distinct voices, and grew slowly louder. She turned the corner, and shone the pocket lamp on the floor.
Six or seven men in Starfleet uniforms, bent over the bodies of dead drones, extracting pieces of metal from their faces and hands. Kathryn's stomach turned. But they had seen her, it was too late, and her fault for alerting them. One of the men's faces was the very picture of animal rage; if he could have strangled her then and there with his bare hands he surely would have. She turned on her heel and tore out of the room. She made her way in the dark from then on, having learned from her mistake. Apocrypha's weapons were crude and no match for Starfleet phasers. Still she withdrew the small rifle she was packing. Phaser fire struck her shoulder, and she collapsed momentarily. From the ground, she shifted her weight and fired back in the direction of the shot, but she could not tell if her assailant had been hit. She jumped to her feet and continued running. She ran all the way down the corridor until she had no choice but to turn, and then she took a chance and slipped into one of the deserted regeneration alcoves. She could not hear any footsteps or phaser fire behind her, so she took another chance and illuminated the flashlight. There were drones in the individual regeneration chambers, but they were all dead. Catching sight of an empty chamber, she soundlessly lifted herself into it, shut her flashlight, and waited.
She had no plan at all, except to eventually locate Seven and escape. She no longer feared assimilation, as this was not a realistic threat, but she knew that these men, these Starfleet officers, would much rather kill her now than go to the trouble of hunting her down later. Kathryn was painfully aware of the proximity in which she stood to the two decomposing bodies on either side of her chamber. Something struck her then, the idea that she had perhaps been looking at this problem from the wrong angle. How had this ship been damaged, and how had all of these drones died? Were the Borg going so far as to sacrifice their own for the sake of building the Ultimate Stafleet Officer prototype; and if so, to what benefit to the collective? The only thing she could be sure of was that she had to access living representatives of the collective; attempting in any way to get answers out of Starfleet was a death wish worthy of the Cassandras.
Kathryn stiffened her muscles, keeping herself at alert attention. She tried to focus her mind on the task at hand – escape – but the ever-present doubt that she would live past the next few minutes threatened to weaken her mental resolve. She had been so sure of her instincts, yet they had led her here, to this ship of the damned, to be persecuted by her own men. What had Chakotay said to her about her so-called transformation, the increased intuitive abilities she fervently believed she possessed? Chakotay… Her blood ran cold, thinking of the cruel things they had said and done to one another. She could not remember anything else, only that, the echoes of two lives wasted on miscommunication and regret. She had let him down so many times, and now, standing amongst the dead and so close to succumbing to death herself, she was letting him down one final time. Her defences fell, and she began slowly to give in to the atmosphere of decay around her, feeling much a part of it.
She was not sure what force still lay within her that, when the Starfleet man came into the room and stood, momentarily unaware beside her chamber, she charged at him, kicking him down to the ground and rendering him unconscious with her weapon. Knowing that he would have been followed, she immediately pointed her weapon at the entranceway and fired, before the two other men behind had a chance to ready their phasers. She put her weapon away and took both of theirs, feeling immediately calmed by the feel of the familiar Starfleet artillery in her hands. And she resumed her aimless, frantic run through the crumbling corridors of the Borg ship, begging some unseen power to allow her to find a way out. Phaser fire struck the back of her leg, but she did not fall. She fired back, and when she turned her head the next shot grazed the side of her face, and she was thrown against the wall. She used the impact to propel herself forward and continued to run. The shots continued, and she heard the rumbling footsteps coming closer. There were more than six or seven men, she realized, they had been scattered all over the ship. She saw a dim light on the end of the hall and staggered towards it. She was hopeful and desperate, and this desperation turned to sheer horror as she ran into the barrel of a rifle aimed squarely between her eyes.
"Drop your weapon!"
Kathryn's pulse raced, and she felt she could not trust her eyes.
"It's me! I'm alone. "
"I said, drop your weapon Kathryn."
Seven's voice was cold and detached, somewhat reminiscent of her drone days but the tone was lower, and more authoritative. In one hand she held the rifle, which Kathryn recognized as one of Margaret Thorpe's prized possessions, and in the other a small explosive device that had already been armed.
Kathryn did not stop to process this information. She only wondered, with the weapons she had at her disposal, how she could save Seven. Could she, or could she not, fire her phaser fast enough to destroy the explosive device. Seven's eyes were razor-sharp; she would fire as soon as Kathryn raised her arm. There had to be another way.
But Seven was speaking above the noise in Kathryn's mind, oblivious. "This missile, " she said, will detonate and destroy the ship in thirty seconds. If you make a move to fire on me, I will kill you. Please don't think I won't, Kathryn. You have meant the world to me, but I will kill you where you stand if you try to stop me. This is for the greater good. We can't stand by as they destroy us. I am only doing what I know is right. "
Kathryn stared as the seconds on the explosive device counted down. "Seven," she breathed, her voice cracking, "it doesn't have to be this way. Please, let's talk about this. I cannot believe this is what you came here to do. Disarm that device and let's just talk about it. Please, Seven. "
For a moment, Seven's eyes seemed to falter, and one might have suspected that she was reconsidering, but she was only wondering why it was taking Kathryn so long to realize she was in earnest. She raised the arm that held the explosive device, and stared at Kathryn with a look that was at once pleading and full of violent rage.
"Run! " she screamed.
Only minutes earlier, Kathryn would have almost gladly relinquished all hope, but she, too, had felt the power of this greater good and was no longer willing to let it die. For so many years, she had been obsessed with saving Seven, first from the collective, and then from her own agony of being caught between two worlds, unable to be free of the Borg and equally unable to embrace humanity. But in a split second Kathryn understood that she could never save this woman, and so she did run, tears of pure grief streaming down her face and Starfleet officers on her heel, and in a moment she felt the rumble of the explosive device hitting the floor, and she heard the officers fall, and she felt the walls collapsing inward. How, in the midst of this terror, she was able to retrace her steps to the shuttle bay she would never know. But she did reach it, and with shaking hands she started her engines and hurled Iolanthe into space, as the Borg vessel blew to pieces before her eyes.