Disclaimer: I do not own these universes or series and I make no claim upon them. This tale is meant simply as a bit of fun and a tribute to stories I have very much enjoyed. Please don't sue, I'm poor.

Chapter Nine

Tom Zarek was nowhere near as unhappy with the situation as he looked, but the look was important to keep up. A world! A planet! A place to live that wasn't a stinking, too-crowded ship or half a step up from a swamp! By the gods, he was for it. But that didn't mean he'd give the Schoolteacher an inch. In a place of safety, it would be well and truly time to break her hold on their people and their government, and he meant to do so decisively.

We'll be safe. The fear she likes to prey upon won't be enough to hold the people back. The fear I like to use, too, but I think I can redirect it at Roslin easily enough. It shouldn't be too hard to make it look like the Quorum is the only thing looking out for the interests of the 'little people.'

Adama wouldn't like it, of course, but there were ways around that small-minded, militaristic asshole. Possibly by using another militaristic asshole to dispose of him, at least temporarily. The Bradesons finding them had been a happy accident, after all, not something they were doing on purpose. Though the fact that they'd been able to move Galactica and the entire civilian fleet in one go to their new home – the colony world Masira – suggested that it wasn't exactly a major waste of their time.

He'd had one chat with Hoss, and his frankly unnerving assistant Dolce. He felt that he'd done well, not letting the 'mage's inhuman eyes distract him too badly from getting information. The time was more or less a wash for Hoss' people anyway – they had to track down the source of the Voidspawn anyway, which was, it seemed, a non-trivial pursuit so far as time went.

I bet we could convince them to accept a gesture of gratitude and assistance. Like Galactica. Now, to sell the idea to the Quorum, and let them talk Roslin into it. Her own arguments about our new home being safe might just work to take away her power base, and by not taking the most remote of the settlement sites they showed is, we've made a concession to her. Time to call that favor in. Without Adama and his thugs looming over us, she'll be much easier to deal with.

Joffery Hoss sighed as he sat back from his desk. The logistics of a colony were hardly his area of expertise, but in the end he didn't think they could be that much more complex than the logistics of a ship. He had taken the time to help direct some resources moved to the sight of the Colonial's new settlement and had politely watched the first meeting between President Roslyn, the Quorum, and the administration on Masira. They'd been very pleased at the infusion of fifty-thousand newcomers, and had shared survey information about several areas they'd pegged as possible locations for future cities.

As the ships capable of if began to land, the Colonials had picked a site. Distant from the existent colonists, but not the most distant of the sites. It wouldn't be the easiest life, but given what they'd been through, settling in the foothills of a new world would doubtless be an improvement.

And he'd seen Adama, that hoary old soldier, relax for what looked like the first time in far, far too long. As an old sailor who'd felt too much pain in his time, he was glad to be able to help with that, even if the help was for a relative stranger.

Speaking of... his console was beeping. "Commodore Hoss here."

"Sir, we have a transmission from Galactica. Their commander is asking to speak with you."

"Put him through."

The worn face of William Adama replaced his subordinate. "Good afternoon, Commodore. My political masters-" that was tinged with a measure of distaste, so he probably wasn't talking about his President - "Have instructed me to make myself useful. Our people should be safe enough here, especially since you've got those defense stations in orbit, so we'd like to offer our assistance hunting down those Voidspawn." A pause. "Truth to tell, I wouldn't mind another crack at them. They killed several of my people in that attack."

"It's an interesting offer, Admiral." Tempting, too – for all your ship is oversized and underpowered, your pet scientist is a genius and your people are skilled and motivated. "I'd have to think about it." Well, no point in being so polite about it we don't learn anything. "You mentioned it's an idea of your politicians?"

Adama looked like he'd just taken a bite of something vile. "It's part bribe, part gratitude. Basically, 'make yourself useful so that we're more valued.'"

"Well, the support is absolutely appreciated." A pause, as he pondered the situation. "If you're willing, I wouldn't be opposed to it." If nothing else, they can plink away at the smaller ones. And the perspective might just be helpful. Alloys are stronger.

"In that case, I'll finish sorting out my people. How long until you're ready to sortie?"

"Another six hours, I think, between maintenance and reports."

"We'll be ready."

The Grand Admiral's antechamber was, predictably, darkened. Janos Harbid wondered for a moment why Thrawn let his bodyguard scare half the life out of his officers on a regular basis, and sighed, feeling himself tense up despite his best efforts. "Captain Harbid of Death's Head reporting to the Grand Admiral."

The expected voice of Rukh didn't come. Harbid blinked, looked around the darkened room again. What in the name of the Sith? Seeing no sign of the Noghri, he took a step deeper into the room, then another, looking around constantly. No sign of the creature. Perhaps he's taking a break. Should I just go in?

He continued to the hatch that lead to the Grand Admiral's main audience chamber, hesitated again. On the one hand, it would be a gross violation of military courtesy to simply go in unannounced. On the other, it seemed that the being who should actually announce him wasn't-

"The Grand Admiral will see you now," mewled a voice just behind his left ear.

Harbid jumped, twisting in midair towards the wiry alien, one hand clawing at where he wore a blaster when planetside. After a few moments, he got his racing heart under control, took a deep breath. "You get some kind of sick enjoyment out of doing that, don't you?"

"My hunting skills might someday save the Admiral's life." Harbid wasn't an expert on alien facial expressions, but he could swear Rukh was grinning. "It is in all our interests to keep him alive, and so I take any opportunity to practice those skills."

Harbid exhaled slowly, smoothed his collar. "Fair enough. Either way, I have a report to make."

The alien was definitely grinning now. "Go ahead." He palmed a control, and the hatch opened.

Harbid proceeded through it, and into a gallery of paintings. He vaguely recognized the stylings of them, but could not place them. If it's important, the Grand Admiral will tell me. "You asked to see me, Sir?" he asked, looking to the Grand Admiral's console.

"Indeed. Have you determined how the Engine functions, yet?"

Harbid swallowed. "We have not yet puzzled out the details, Sir. We've had the Omnisians under full observation for the last several days, and have monitored their quarters extensively as well as as much of the device in operation as possible. My engineers believe they are close to working it out, but as yet, there are several... incidents... in the Engine's operation that defy our study."

Red eyes narrowed. "Oh?"

Don't panic. This isn't Vader. "Ah, the full details are in my report, Admiral. That said, there are a number of points during the operation of the Engine where it seems to draw power from... well, nowhere we can determine. There is simply a surge of additional energy flowing within the device without a concurrent drain on the ship's power systems." He tensed slightly – not a Vader, but no flag officer liked hearing this sort of thing. "My engineers are still trying to figure out where that energy is coming from. They've also tried to politely ask the Omnisians, but they're getting nothing but the usual dogmatic nonsense."

For a long moment, Thrawn simply sat in his command chair, hands folded in front of him, those glowing eyes boring into Harbid's own. To his credit, the Captain managed to hold that gaze without flinching. Then the Grand Admiral broke the silence. "I see. Omnisian Techno-Mystics have a reputation for making technology do the impossible." A brief silence, then, "And the covert probing of their quarters?"

"Ah, well, I've continued under the assumption that you still wanted us to be polite in our... inquiries, Admiral." A pause – the Admiral nodded, and he continued. "We've tried most of our more passive scans and monitoring devices, but they've come up with very little. The Omnisians have ceased talking to each other entirely even in private. From what we can tell, they all seem to have... gained some cybernetics, and might be using those to communicate with each other. But we haven't been able to detect commlink activity, or signs that they're trying to slice the ship's computer. They have destroyed just about every holo- or pic- equipped microdroid we've snuck into their quarters. They just... stand there, in some kind of meditative pose during what would normally be a sleep cycle, and leave to perform maintenance and religious rights around the Engine, as well as coming to the Bridge when we need them to operate it."

"I see." Red eyes glowed. "The Techno-Mystics have a tendency to become very obstinate when asked to explain what they consider to be religious matters to outsiders. Instruct your engineer to continue speaking with them, they may be receptive if they think he is a potential convert."

"Aye, sir."

"For now, please continueyour observations. And prepare for our next operation."

"Understood, Admiral."

"Dismissed."

Well, thought Harbid, This is more... elaborate than normal.

He'd sent word ahead, when he'd boarded his shuttle to return to Death's Head that they should make ready for their next operation. Normally, the Techno-Mystics would be informed, but would not make their appearance until perhaps half a standard hour before it was time to sortie. They still had hours to go, but they were already in position. Half on the Bridge, performing their eerily-silent rites around the Engine's controls, and the rest in Engineering, surrounding the Engine itself. Incense swirled around the bridge, carried by the currents of the ship's air recyclers, thick enough to see and smell it's sharp odor.

He walked up to Nassistor. "Is there a problem, Techno-Mystic?"

Eerie, no-longer-natural eyes glowed at him, one pale blue, the other amber, as Nassistor turned from his meditation. "Not a problem, Captain. Simply... preparations. Your Grand Admiral would have us move far greater a mass of ships today than we would normally."

Well, yes, thought Harbid. This is going to be a serious assault. "Is that a problem?"

"Not a problem, merely... complicated."

"Can the Engine handle the strain of this fleet?" True, it never seemed to have a problem before, but there was a marked difference between the forces they'd moved around and the one they planned to move today. Over sixty ships, all told, a third of them Imperial Star Destroyers, and another dozen Victory Iis

"The gift of She Who Is As Gold is capable, but we who rendered it are mortal. It cannot encompass the fullness of Her power, and as such, the Engine requires additional preparations. But it will serve Grand Admiral Thrawn's pruposes quite adequately."

"See that it does," said Harbid. He turned towards the crew pit, left the Techno-Mystics to their dogmatic nonsense. And he tried to ignore the sinking feeling that gripped his stomach. I have a bad feeling about this.

Ryoga massaged his temples, trying to kill off the mounting headache before it got too bad. I can't start smashing stuff up. Stupid mages and their stupid magic ship, half the alloys its' built from don't have breaking points, and I don't know how many walls are between me and vacuum. And there's even more high-end mages aboard now so I'd just get slapped down.

He sighed. "I can't believe you had me sitting in this stupid magic thing for five hours yesterday and you didn't even get the destination right." He was back in that same web of spells, surrounded by annoyed techs.

"We're not terribly happy about it either, Hibiki," said the lead tech. "Your energy signature's changed, it's not a proper match anymore, without your family curse."

Ryoga made a rude noise. "So sorry my life suddenly not being totally fucked up messes up your scans. It's nice, actually being there when my parents make it in, being able to go and see my girlfriend, and being reasonably sure I'll have a roof over my head at night." True, his parents were never home long, but even a conversation over breakfast before they went to grab the morning paper and vanished was a major improvement over sticky notes.

The tech held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Whoa, calm down Hibiki. I'm not trying to antagonize you."

"Sorry. Family's a bit of a... sticky subject."

"Understandable. I imagine it wasn't fun growing up with a curse like that. And we should be able to get the source nailed this time." A pause. "Though I doubt the newcomers will be any help."

"Why not?"

"No magic. And while I don't know about this 'Terran Confederation,' we know from your last incident that the United Federation of Planets uses antimatter as a fuel source. That's beyond crazy and into outright stupidity."

"My last- wait, you guys ran into Voyager?"

"Yeah. It might please you to know that you managed to get them home before buggering off."

Ryoga blinked. He hadn't really thought about that. "Oh. That's good to know, I guess. And that's who we've run into?"

"Not Voyager herself, but another ship from the same fleet. The Admiral's going to have a talk with some of their people now."

I wonder who we think we're fooling, thought Tom as he guided USS Fraser from Enterprise's shuttle bay. He put the Runabout in a lazy turn, heading for Claudia, where the three groups would compare notes and track down the source of these damnable squids. "Fraser to Enterprise, we are clear of the bay and proceeding."

"Acknowledged, Fraser, keep us posted."

"Take your time, Lieutenant," said Picard from behind him. "Let's get a look at these ships."

"Aye, sir." Odd. You'ld think he'd want to get there faster, get himself out of arms reach of Seven. The former Borg was along for the trip, representing the Science team, and while Picard wasn't being anything other than professionally polite, it was clear from his manor that he didn't actually want to be anywhere near her. Which I suppose is kinda understandable, given his history.

Picard looked like he was gathering his thoughts for the moment, then he said, "Lieutenant Paris, Seven of Nine... I've read Voyager's reports about this TSAB, of course, but I feel... I do not know as much as I should, here. If I recall correctly, you've met this Admiral Haralowan before, yes?"

"Briefly," said Seven. "He is intelligent and inquisitive. What I observed of his subordinates suggests that he is a fair man."

"He's a family man, too," said Tom. "Most of what I know, I got third-hand. Harry – er, Ensign Kim, played tour guide for a while and talked with his bodyguard. She mentioned that he's got kids at home. He's got a rep as being tough but fair to his people, and he tends to get handed weird assignments because he's good at them." A shrug. "I didn't actually talk with the guy myself."

"Well. You both have more knowledge than I do, and I would appreciate any speculation you might share."

Ranma hadn't intended to be late to the staff meeting, it had just sort of... happened. Why in the kami's names they had people using mops and buckets to clean the deck on a ship loaded with magic was entirely beyond her. Punishment detail, probably. And she wouldn't have been late if the moron with the mop had kept his trap shut after she got soaked. Baka.

Still, she wasn't that late. Didn't stop Chrono giving her That Look when she popped through the hatch of Claudia's conference room. Sorry boss, got sidetracked. She took her seat, poured a glass of water from one of the pitchers at the table. One of the newcomers, wearing an unfamiliar blue uniform, was talking animatedly, a torrent of technical stuff that the martial artist couldn't quite follow.

What are you doing?

Swappin' back. Ran into some idiot with a mop on my way here. Concentrating, she moved her hands around the glass, a subtle bit of Firebending calling heat between them. She'd not taken as much time as she really wanted to practicing Firebending, but unless and until she figured out how to do Mushi's fire-killing push, it was a tad bit too dangerous to play with in a building she owned. It was tightly keyed to emotional ki, pride and passion worked well and she had a feeling that anger would be even better. But it was dangerous and more than a little tricky to control, so she was not about to start teaching it to her various students, not until she was sure she'd mastered it.

But this? She smiled as steam began to curl from the glass of water. This she could do. This was incredibly useful. Glass upended, the dress uniform's tunic suddenly stopped being tight across her chest and became tight across his shoulders. He shrugged them a few times, getting himself comfortable.

At which point he realized the room had gone dead quiet. "What?"

Everyone who wasn't TSAB was looking at him like he'd just sprouted a second head. Chrono was giving him a look that promised one hell of a bitching-out later, when the need to present a united front was past. The group in blue – Terran Confederation, his memory supplied, placing scuttlebutt to people – looked totally confused. The others, Starfleet if he remembered the descriptions from Ryoga's tales, wore mixed expressions. Some of them, the bald guy in red and black in particular, seemed as confused as the Confeds. The others – the blonde with the messed up ki(he figured she was probably some kind of cyborg- life energy twirling around metal and circuits) was giving him a blank look; the youngish guy next to Baldy was trying not to chuckle.

Tom glanced at Captain Picard again, and found it even harder that it had been not to laugh. He'd read the reports, but he clearly hadn't believed them. Glancing around the table, he could see Haralowan fixing the latecomer with a glare. Magic. And based on what she(he?) just did, I think I know who this is. "Ranma Saotome?"

The stranger blinked. "That's me. How..."

"Ryoga mentioned you."

"You're the guys P-chan ran into? Pleased ta metcha..." An eyebrow quirked, inquisitive.

"Tom Paris. And we should probably let the meeting get going again."

Sounding remarkably dignified, Haralowan said, "Indeed. We may not have as much time as we'd like. Lieutenant Mathews, could you continue?"

Picard's voice was low, pitched to carry no further than the half-dozen Starfleet people seated around him. "I see I did not pay close enough attention to Voyager's reports. You know this... gentleman?"

"Know of him. He's a friend and rival of Ryoga Hibiki, the guy we picked up. Martial artist, and victim of a curse. Couple others in their circle of friends, and they're enemies with more."

"Curses." Picard sounded strained. "I will admit, the reports' mentions of 'magic,' I had put down to Clarke's Law. But that does not explain... what this Ranma just did." A breath. "I shall need more information. Later. For now, we need to listen."

Tom thought he'd followed Haralowan's explanation so far, but he was having trouble getting his head around it. So, he guessed were some of the others. "So this group is, what, knocking big holes in the load-bearing walls of the multiverse?"

The Admiral opened his mouth to reply, then paused a moment in thought. Then, "Actually, that's reasonably accurate. We don't think these breaches will cause the multiverse to collapse in on itself, not unless they get a lot bigger, but they are more or less 'holes in the wall.' They have made it a lot easier for certain things to move around. The dimensional barriers don't just keep the dimensions contained, they keep other things out."

"What sort of... other things?" asked Picard warily.

Haralowan paused for a moment before he continued. "Well, we've already seen the lesser ones; creatures that can exist and fly around in vacuum, and attack ships."

"Things like the squids," said Tolwyn, more a statement than a question.

"Yes."

Silence hung over the conference room for a long minute. "And these are 'lesser' creatures, you say?" asked Picard. At Chrono's nod, he continued. "What are the 'greater' ones like?"

"Beings that have destroyed empires and, according to some of our legends, entire universes, when they run loose. Things that were not meant to interact with what we like to call reality. We need to stop whoever is doing this damage before they get loose."

That pronouncement hung over the conference room for a long moment. Picard broke the silence. "Is it possible that our own drives are exacerbating the problem?"

Chrono had one of those glanced, obvious not-conversationswith one of the technical types on his staff. How they conveyed so much so quickly was something Tom would rather like to know. "From what we can tell, no. Your Dimensional Drive is... inelegant, but it's remarkably clean for a non-magical Drive." He turned to Tolwyn. "From what you've said, this seems to be within the capabilities of your normal faster-than-light drives."

"It requires some adjustments, and it's not exactly a pleasant jump, but yes." A pause. "And if we can use them, so can the Kilrathi. They won't be quite so... eager to talk, as we are."

"Well then. We'll simply have to work together to bring this to a stop, for all our sakes."

"Pyrokinesis, huh?" asked Tom, nodding, as he and Ranma headed for the Bridge. "Wondered how you managed that with cold water, since Ryoga needed warm to switch back."

The meeting and exchange of information had been long and rather dull. Now that it was over, Ranma had offered to give Tom a quick tour of the place – they had some time before he'd need to fly his compatriots back to their ship, while the science types went over the gritty details, and the command types figured out how they were gonna work together for this. Chrono was reasonable, if a bit stiff and formal. From what he could tell, Picard was more or less similar. Tolwyn, however, might make things interesting.

He'd make a point to not get in Chrono's way after this little meeting. It probably wasn't going to do the young Admiral's temper any good, and the aquatransexual knew he brought out the worst in the older man at the best of times.

"Mushi and Lee called it Firebending." A shrug. "I'm not that good. Picked it up sparrin' with Lee, then picked his and Mushi's brains for the rest of the evening."

"So it's another martial arts thing?"

"Yeah." Why does he sound surprised? "Wait... did Ryoga not show you guys what he could do?"

"Not in a fight. We found out about his curse, and he mentioned yours. And his other curse got us most of the way home."

"Sounds like there's a story there."

"A hell of one. But I don't think we've got the time, right now."

"True enough. The bridge is just down here. I'll introduce you to the navigator."

The helmswoman was pleasant and happy to talk shop with the Starfleet Lieutenant, who seemed a lot more fun than his fairly straightlaced companions did. Ranma tuned their conversation out, looked around the bridge some more. Down by the scrying station, he saw Ryoga, still in their spell matrix. The fanged boy hadn't noticed him; it looked like he was brooding. Not surprising, really. Ryoga had not had a good month.

Tom, it seemed, had noticed him too. "Is that Ryoga?"

"Yep. Whoever or whatever is doin' this is copyin' his curse. Or something like that, anyway. They're trying ta track it back usin' him."

"He looks like he could use someone to talk to." Tom started across the bridge, Ranma a step behind.

Ryoga noticed them as they approached. "Tom! Don't tell me you guys are lost again?"

The helmsman smirked, waved the question aside. "Nah, we got ordered to go looking for this stuff. How you keeping?"

Ryoga gestured at the web of spells that swirled around him. "About how you'ld think. Sad part is, this is actually a step up on how I was doing before they caught up to me."

"Oh?"

Ryoga hesitated, then shot Ranma a look that said, very eloquently, if you mention this to anyone you are dead, and turned back to Tom. "Personal stuff. Look, Tom... I don't know the best way to ask this but... you've got some experience dealing with women who're mad at you, right?"

Tom smiled. "You might say that."

"I need some advice..."

Concordia's deck seemed to jerk a few millimeters to port as it followed Marie in the dimensional jump, and for a split second, Tolwyn felt his stomach lurch. Easier on the system than using our Jump Engines with that anomaly was, but still hardly pleasant. "Radar, position check."

"Radar showing allied forces mostly where we expected. We're high above a planet – easy orbit distance. Still inside the gravity well."

"Navigation, put us in orbit. Communications, hail the flag and-"

The radar operator interrupted him. "Sir! I'm reading another fleet, also in orbit. Twenty-five plus ships."

That woke him up. "Any identification?"

"They're broadcasting some kind of ID, I'm trying to translate it now."

"Message from the flag, Admiral! Haralowan says they're Bradesons."

The mysterious foe the TSAB has been at war with. Lovely. Like I need another war. "Understood. Battle alert, power up the Phase Shields and all guns; get the fighter wing ready to launch." A pause. "Signal the flag for instructions." Oh, he hated that, but he'd agreed to follow Haralowan's lead, and he knew next to nothing about these Bradesons, save that they didn't use fighters.

"Fleet composition?"

"Mix of what look like either very heavy cruisers or light battleships with escorts in the frigate range. There's also one larger ship that looks almost like an odd man out; but it's got no shields that I can read."

"Reply from the flag, sir. Haralowan wants to try and talk to them."

"This is Admiral Chrono Haralowan of the Time Space Administration Bureau warship Claudia to Bradeson fleet. Please state your intentions."

"Remarkably polite, given we're at war," muttered Dolce.

"Indeed," agreed Hoss. So much for bringing this nonsense to a peaceful end. The gods must have a sense of humor today – we've been here for only a few hours. "Communications, signal Galactica to stand by for the moment, and record the following for transmission to Claudia." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "This is Admiral Joffery Hoss of the Dimensional Republic of Bradeson Naval Vessel Admiral Minsk. We are not currently engaged in operations against the Bureau, but are investigating a series of dimensional anomalies and incursions by Voidspawn into realspace." Another pause. "Transmit that, if you please."

"On the chip and sent, Commodore."

"Do you think they'll buy it, Sir?" Mage-Captain Dolce asked, expression carefully neutral.

"Given that it's true, I'd hope so, but that's neither here nor there. The real question is, are we going to have to fight our way out of this? And for that matter, who're their two friends?"

"Energy readings are decent, but they're pure tech from what I can see. We have a numerical advantage, sir, and we are at war. If it comes down to it, I think we can take them handily."

"The Bradeson fleet is changing course, bearing towards the main body of the TSAB fleet," said Seven from the sensor console. At the helm, Tom tried to stay calm. This could get very ugly, very quickly.

From his station, Data announced, "Admiral Haralowan is hailing us."

"On screen." Even now, Picard sounded calm and collected. How he managed it, Tom had no idea.

It was a conference transmission, the view split between Claudia and Concordia. Admiral Haralowan waited a moment, confirming the connection, then said, "Gentlemen, we have an interesting situation. They claim that they aren't part of the war, and that they are investigating the same thing we are. Opinions?"

"They could be telling the truth," said Picard, "At least in part. Our sensors are not detecting any stations or strategic assets here, and from what you've said, I should think they would have as much reason as your own people to want these creatures stopped."

"I agree," began Tolwyn, "But I'd be wary regardless. They have us outnumbered, and they are at war with you." He shrugged. "If his superiors are anything like mine, they'd probably crucify him if he didn't at least drive us off."

"Probably. The Bradesons are ruthless." A pause. "And my own superiors wouldn't be much happier with me if I left him alone. Form up; and we'll offer battle."

Tom glanced back at Picard, who gave him a slight nod. Enterprise responded to his commands, sliding gracefully into formation, flanking the cruiser Kimberly. Tom felt himself tensing – this could get very ugly, very quickly. I just hope nobody says something like 'it can't get any worse.'

"Any further response from the Bradesons?" asked Picard as he glanced at Data.

"None that I could detect, sir. I suspect they are also-"

On the screen – showing a view of the distant foe – dark energy flared, looking like nothing so much as a massive, mottled bruise on the face of the cosmos. As it cleared, it revealed a fleet of ships. Two dozen large, dagger-shaped ships, and twice as many lesser vessels escorting them. Tom's blood froze as he recognized those capital ships. Imperial Star Destroyers. His mind flashed back to Voyager's encounter with Chimaera, and it's massive Borg-cube-destroying volley of fire and he swallowed hard.

"Sir, the radiation burst released by that fleet's.. appearance appears to be a match to the anomalies we have been tracing," said Data. The android almost sounded concerned.

From the back of the bridge came Seven's voice, sounding half strangled. "Captain..."

Quietly, Picard said, "I know. I hear them, too."

Hear them? What are they- The memory twinged of Chimaera gathering up the wreckage of that Borg cube. Oh. Oh SHIT.

"Red alert," said Picard grimly, "All hands to battlestations."