The Hour of the Wolf
Chapter Thirty-Seven

Deep in the heart of the Borg Unicomplex, the massive space based capitol of the Collective, redundant systems received their reactivation command. Control nodes began redirecting data as dormant power cores began charging. Drones unplugged from alcoves as green lights flickered into life. Above them cables snaked out of recesses and plugged into corresponding ports and jets of excess gasses erupted.

Quickly the room was filled with an atmosphere, the drones conducted micro repairs, basic maintenance and cleared the centre of the room. From above the collective spoke with it's many voices as one:- 'Attention:- Probe report incoming. Sub-sector 529, Section 12, Galactic quadrant 3. Anomaly detected. Unidentified technology in use. Priority high, Action unknown.'

The voice paused as more ports opened in the ceiling and floor. Components raised and lowered, interlocking together into the shape of a humanoid female missing their head. 'Activating Queen protocol final stage. Model selected. Updating database. Database Update accepted. Installing unit.' A head, shoulders and section of spine lowered from the ceiling on thick tubes. Once in place the tubes slipped back into their places and the Queen was active.

When the Collective had an issue it could not address alone, one that it could not decide upon and required an individual to moderate a Queen was activated. Similar to a chairman in a committee of billions they had the swing vote. On this occasion the options were vast and, mathematically at least, all options had their own advantages and disadvantages that were more or less equal. Within a given, suitable, margin there was no clear choice. This was her role and as the Collective expanded she was being called more and more to guide.

It took a short while for the Queen to re-establish her systems. As her body completed itself she reviewed the new data and established a priority structure. At the top of that list, a comparison between this anomaly and any other in the vast knowledge of the Collective.

At first there was nothing, then a deep archive retrieval subroutine picked up a few scattered references. A number of races had experimented with similar science, but difficulties in the implementation resulted in failure. Then another report. This one regarding more recent data. It was not an exact match, which has why it wasn't picked up earlier, but within acceptable margins. Reviewing the data the Queen presented the results to the Collective.

Across untold billions of minds a proposal was presented, the probabilities weighed and then decided upon. The Queen turned to one of her attending drones. All drones in Unimatrix 01 were specialised. While the Borg were one there was still diversity. Drones from species with exo-skeletons, for example, were more suited to deep space and harsh environments than those without. The same for internal processes. Those species with higher brain functions were put to more scholarly uses. The Drone the Queen chose had been identified as having an analytical mind with an aptitude for the application of science. The species, 5618, was limited in a number of ways, however they were both highly creative and adaptive. Two traits that would be required.

While still young their time in the maturation chamber had transformed them into a tall, powerfully built, humanoid, noticeably of the female gender. The Queen noted that with work this drone could be added to the number of templates for different Queens. Again each one specialised for a different situation and activated as required.

She stepped up to the Drone. 'Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix zero-one. Attend.' The Drone unplugged and stepped forward and the Queen continued; 'Priority zero-zero-one absolute. Take Tactical Cube TC-Five-Seven-Three- Alpha and corresponding units to Section Twelve, Galactic Quadrant Three. Investigate technological anomaly, report on everything you find. Assimilate this technology and return to the Unicomplex.'

The Drone headed to the transport pad, it's footfalls sharply ringing against the deck. Once it had transported to the Cube on the other side of the complex the Tactical Vessel launched. Escorted by three spheres and two probes.

While on the surface such an expenditure of resources was a gross waste this technology was dangerous. It was near completely alien and it would take time for even the Collective's technology to adapt. A single vessel would not have the resources. A small fleet on the other hand would increase the chances of collecting the required information.

In accordance with the Queen Protocol now that she had made her decision she should return to the archive and await the next time she was needed. However, there was an override. Her priority list had identified a number of other issues that required her attention. With the Collective's approval she turned her attention to the next issue.

The distress call had been a surprise. The Klingon Civil War had been raging for a few cycles now and no one had asked for help yet. There had been a few battles concentrated in this sector, but most had been in orbit over planetary bases, or in space.

Troy had trouble understanding what exactly they were fighting over. As far as he could tell they were only picking sides so they could fight. There were no specific ideological differences between the two sides. Gowron was the legal leader and Duras disagreed the Klingon people using ancient alliances and family ties to decide which one was right. So far the attacks were just between these groups, apparently more interested in settling old feuds than anything else. A few civilians and some traders had gotten caught in the middle and the Astradon had easily escorted them to safety.

The Klingons weren't interested in them, far to busy blasting away at each other to bother with anything else. So naturally no one onboard actually expected to be hailed.

When the call came in the Astradon was holding an extended orbit near the conflict zone. There were a few Klingon Colonies in the area, religious sites and a couple of scientific outposts. It was one of those outposts that broadcasted the cry for help.

Troy's Green Squadron had been assigned, they were still made up of the least experienced Galactica pilots. At least compared to his father's Blue Squadron. Each of them was an ace certified pilot several times over. Green Squadron didn't have half the centares in space, let alone combat, of the other original Squadrons. With most of the others assisting with training, testing of the new Federation hybrid technology and security patrols that left Green to escort.

It didn't take long for the Astradon to arrive in system. Tylium reserves were high, which meant the ship could go at full burn. So could the Vipers. As they got closer he settled in his cockpit. 'Troy to Green Squadron:- Ready.' Unlike a Battlestar with it's catapult launch system the Astradon was built as a hauler. While it had a large hanger only about half the Squadron, eight, could take off at once. That meant co-ordination.

As his pilots reported in Troy straightened his helmet. Switching frequencies he contacted the ship's Captain. 'Lieutenant Troy here, all Vipers ready.'

While technically he, as the Warrior, was in charge, when aboard a transport the ship's Captain was the practical Commander. 'Opening hanger bay, you can launch now.'

The magnetic atmospheric bubble activated as the large door opened. Ahead Troy could see the planet ahead. It was dull looking world, with light green seas and pale skies. He flicked back to his squadron's scramble frequency. 'Green Flight's One and Three, take point. Two and Four protect the Astradon.' A flight was four Vipers, one quarter of the Squadron.

Everyone confirmed his orders and with practiced speed took off. As he lead the way Troy ran a scan, as wide ranging as he could. He could detect the outpost, but not any lifesigns on the planet. 'Flight One, follow me down to the Outpost. Look for survivors. Flight Three standard search pattern across the rest of the planet.'

Troy passed through the upper atmosphere and then the clouds. He looked at the readings. 'Sulphur clouds, high carbon dioxide in the air. Low pressure and temperatures.' He checked his Viper's database, Klingon's were more resilient than Humans, but even they couldn't survive freezing acid rain and toxic air.

As he got closer Troy pulled back on the thrusters. The outpost location was devastated, large craters covered the landscape, with fires desperately flickering against the harsh planet's conditions.

'Kip here Lieutenant.' One of his pilots called. 'I'm picking up underground structures. I think most of the facility was built into the hillside.'

Troy winced. 'Natural deposits could disrupt our sensors. Keep trying, survivors could be hiding out in tiny pockets, trapped waiting for help.'

Going back to Astradon's frequency he told them what he had found. 'Have landing teams ready. We might have to use the transporter.' he finished.

There was a moment's pause before the Captain replied. 'The Federation sensors onboard can map out the tunnel system, but we can't isolate lifeforms. We might need to land rescue teams.'

Troy pulled back around to get another look. Whatever had attacked this place had done so from orbit. 'Let us complete our survey before launching shuttles. Have your communications officer run a check on all local traffic and run a systems test on the Federation defence shields.'

'Lieutenant?' The Captain asked, sounding confused

'This place had the pogees blasted out of it, recently. I want to know what did it before we lower our guard.'

The IKS Chaldaq was Captain K'Hawn's pride and joy. A large K'Vort Class Bird of Prey, older than the smaller B'rel it still had more than twice the firepower. Making it more of a Battle cruiser than a raider. House K'Hawn was not a large house, but the Chaldaq had brought them honour. While he had, at first, been uncomfortable with allying himself with House Duras he had bills to pay. Keeping a ship running was expensive and Duras had lots of money. Something House K'Hawn needed more and more these days.

Word had reached them that a strange group of humans had begun working with Gowron's forces. They were supposedly rescuing people caught in the skirmishes. It was a stupid human concept for protecting the weak. The weak die and the strong, those that deserve to, survive. It was the way of things they just didn't understand.

The Duras sisters had put a bounty on them, to show these fools the price of getting involved in things that don't concern you. He'd been warned that they had a new technology, some sort of armed shuttle pod. While he didn't think much of what he'd seen Duras had, for some reason, offered double for the capture of an attack pod.

It was for this reason he hadn't de-Cloaked and blown the pitiful looking transport out of space the moment it entered orbit.

The research base was old, useless, and the perfect bait. Destroying it had been easy. The most difficult part was letting it survive long enough to call for help. While no true Klingon would the frightened old men that spent all their time in research had no choice.

Once they were dead he, and the two B'rel Class escorts he'd arranged, cloaked and sat in wait. With surprising speed the transport had arrived and launched it's tiny defenders. Sixteen one man attack pods. Half of them headed to the planet while the other half flew close to the transport.

K'Hawn waited, impatiently, for more of them to disperse, but they didn't. 'Sensors.' he snarled. 'How many pods are on the planet?'

His cousin on the sensor console muttered under his breath. They hated each other, but he was the best technician on the ship. For now. 'Eight.' He reported, knowing K'Hawn was aware of that. 'They are scouring the planet. It's only a matter of time before they have scanned every kellicam. Once that's done…'

'They'll return to their transport and leave.' K'Hawn snapped back. It was now or never. 'Prepare to de-cloak, aim for the transport's bridge.'

Dillion was tempted to lower his oxygen levels, he was getting nervous. Something felt wrong. He couldn't put his finger on why. The empty planet, the distress call, the un-natural quiet. He glanced at the energiser, the readings were all over the place. 'Dillion to Green Flight Two, check your sensors. Somethings effecting my energiser.'

As the pilots reported Dillion looked out his starboard. The stars seemed to waver in a small patch of space. The best way to describe it would be a shimmer in space. 'Oh frack.' he swore, quickly switching his comms to the basic fleet frequency. 'Something's happening up here. I'm guessing a ship using a camouflage field.'

The shimmer became stronger, from behind the stealth screen a large ship appeared. Thanks to briefings he'd been given before this mission Dillion recognised it as a Bird of Prey. A large one. 'This is Colonial transport Astradon. We are responding to a distress call we are not your enemies.' The Astradon's Captain broadcast in the clear. 'I say a gain we are not your enemies!'

Troy cut in, 'Astradon, raise your defence screen! Now!' He shouted. Dillion knew it was too late. The wings on the large ship lowered menacingly.

At the end of each wing there was a heavy cannon. Easily big enough to be a Turbo-laser battery all on their own. They fired. Spitting pairs of bright green energy at the un-shielded transport. Three volleys in quick succession.

Dillion didn't need his sensors to tell him how powerful the shots were. The first two splashed against the Astradon's unprotected hull, weakening the old plating . The next tore through the exposed bridge with ease, killing the command crew instantly. The final burst struck deeper, causing a massive explosion that ripped through the ship's upper port hull section.

He could imagine fires raging, crew instantly dying in the cold of space. Helpless. The Astradon was already venting atmosphere. Out of control it was only a matter of time before the planet's gravity pulled it down. As the horror of what he was witnessing dawned the comms crackled into life; 'Humans, you are now prisoners of House K'Hawn. Your vessels are now our property. Resist and you all will die!'

Dillion's sensors beeped and two more, smaller, ships also appeared nearby. They were surrounded. The only sensible thing to do was surrender. He switched back to Green Squadron's scramble frequency 'Oh I don't think so. Flight Two and Four, four point peel off on my mark. Take out the smaller ships. Troy?'

'I've got the cruiser. May the Lords protect us.' His friend's voice came back.

Nodding to his wingman Dillion hit the three primer buttons for full turbo. 'Mark.' With that he pulled the paddle up and across his chest. Mashing the control with all his strength.

Roe'met'felcon stood on the Fighter's command deck, the now familiar stabbing pain from the prosthetic leg was keeping him focused. Jem'Hadar were not supposed to require sleep, but he was getting older. Very few Jem'Hadar reached his age, those that did began to become frail. Requiring more and more White to stay active in their final years.

Behind him the Vorta, Vheer, came closer. He was easy to detect, even for Roe'met'felcon's age dulled senses. The Vorta was grossly overweight and breathed like a broken down gallows. He was a mistake, a flawed clone of his previous incarnation, but with the war and resources the way they were it would take too long to re-grow him. 'I am told we are approaching the Tremany homeworld, we should be there soon.'

'I know.' Roe'met'felcon said, refusing to even feign surprise.

Vheer stepped beside him. 'I feel honoured to be a part of this, what may be your last mission. You are a legend after all.'

'I am a servant of the Founders, nothing more.' He reminded the Vorta.

They chuckled, a gurgling sound masked by layers of fat. 'As are we all, but not many are spoken of in awe. Those that have fought side by side with you speak highly of your successes, but few talk of your failures. Why is that I wonder?'

Roe'met'felcon turned to Vheer. There was a sly look in his small piggish eyes. 'Victory is life. I am alive.' He pointed out. 'I have survived.'

'Yet several Vorta have died.' Vheer snapped back, smugly.

Pulling himself up straight Roe'met'felcon's battered body protested, but he pushed through the pain. Now towering over the suddenly cringing Vorta he waited a full second before replying. 'Many more Jem'Hadar have given their lives. Even Founders have died battling the soulless machines of the Cylon.' he snarled. 'Many more must die if we are going to win this war. Do not talk to me about casualties.'

Vheer backed down, 'You're right, of course.' He agreed.

'It will soon be time for the White.' Roe'met'felcon reminded him and turned back to the prow of the ship, dismissing the fool.

With a quick bow the Vorta was about to leave when the Fighter they were on lurched out of warp speed. 'Wait.' Roe'met'felcon told him and picked up the view screen eyepiece. 'Let us see what we are facing first.' There was always a ritual when receiving the White. Roe'met'felcon did not want to be attacked while his men were distracted.

However, instead of a star field his vision was full of static. 'By the Founders.' he cursed under his breath before jumping to action. 'We're being jammed! Communications?' he bellowed quickly.

'Unreliable First.' The Jem'Hadar at the station reported.

This was not good, they were expecting to battle rebels, under equipped and disorganised. Not Cylons. 'Use all available power, contact our ships. Have them redeploy. Scatter. Dispersement pattern four immediately.' The fleet he had been given for this mission consisted of ten Fighters and two Cruisers. All that could be spared from the front lines and barely enough to stand against a Cylon host. Pattern Four spread what ships he had thin and was usually applied for a planetary blockade. This time, however, he had a different plan.

As the Communications officer did his job Roe'met'felcon turned to the sensor operator. His vision was still overlaid with the static from the jamming transmission. 'Apply all filters, I must see what is happening!'

'Attempting to do so now First. It is difficult.'

He pulled out his disruptor pistol and held it by his side. 'Victory is life, our victory depends on you. Your life depends on success. Understood?'

The officer nodded and got to work. Since the war began Dominion technology had struggled to overcome this new disruptive technology. It was not always successful, but it was improving. 'We have to retreat!' Vheer spoke up, getting everyones attention. 'We're no match for a Cylon command ship!'

'We do not have the time.' Roe'met'felcon told him. 'They could already be launching Raiders. Sensors are down, we'd be warping out of here blind. We have to defend ourselves before we can regroup and retreat on impulse!'

There was nothing more dangerous than going to warp speed, inside a solar system no less, blind. Chances were you could ram into a planet, an asteroid, even another ship, at faster than light speeds. There was no possibility of surviving that impact.

Roe'met'felcon lurched over to the Communications station. The Jem'Hadar there stood proud. 'I've relayed your orders First. All ships stand ready.'

He nodded and used what was left of his free hand to open hailing frequencies. 'This is Roe'met'felcon. Reprogram all energy torpedoes for proximity detonation and arm all tubes. Tie all targeting systems to my Fighter. Prepare to fire on my command.'

As the First's on the other ships replied and the communications officer got to work Vheer looked around desperately; 'Proximity detonations? Have you lost your mind? They'll detonate long before they hit the command ship! You'll be wasting our only chance!'

'Be quiet.' Roe'met'felcon snapped. All sense of age and weakness were gone. He was a Jem'Hadar and battle was imminent. He lived in this moment, second to second. Heartbeat to heartbeat this was life. His entire race had been engineered to fight, his decades of experience had honed him to a fine point and there was at least one more fight left in him. He was going to go down fighting and be worthy of the Founders trust.

'No! I'm taking Command!' Vheer disagreed. 'We're getting out of here! Let the Cylons take the rebels…'

Roe'met'felcon didn't let him finish, with one smooth move he aimed and then fired his pistol. The shot blew the Vorta's oversized head clean off his body. 'Mutiny.' he spat as the corpse fell. There was no worse crime in all of the Dominion than to disobey the orders of the Founders. He was in command of this Fleet by Their will, not that of the Vorta. 'Sensors?'

The static field began to clear. 'I've found the correct series of filters. Short range sensors partially back online.' The officer reported.

Putting the Vorta out of his memory Roe'met'felcon looked around. At first nothing, then he picked out one of the Cruisers under his command. Followed quickly by a fighter. They too had overcome the jamming and were moving into position. 'Helm, bring us around to a direct vector on the system's local star. Weapons, zero in dead ahead.'

As the Fighter changed heading Roe'met'felcon continued to look for the Cylon forces. When he saw them it was not what he expected. His attention was attracted by bright blue flashes of weapons fire. The Cylons were in battle, fight against something with more power than a scratch built rebel force. Detecting his change in focus the eyepiece zoomed in and tried to enhance what was happening out there.

Roe'met'felcon recognised the ship they were battling instantly. It's unique six sided hull far too familiar from his now distant youth. 'The Borg?' He gasped, not quite believing what was seeing. 'The Borg are attacking the Cylons?'

End Chapter Thirty-Seven

Authors note:-
Just when you thought it was getting boring…