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Chapter Text

Chakotay pressed the turbolift call and smiled at his companion. It was the end of a very long day. After a full duty shift on the bridge, he and the captain had spent several more hours working on the quarterly personnel reports, and by the time they'd finished, they were both hungry and exhausted. A quiet meal in one or the other's quarters had been all he wanted. Unfortunately, the discovery that they’d both depleted their monthly replicator credits meant adjourning to the Mess Hall instead.

That had actually worked out fine. Privacy hadn't been an issue as the Mess Hall had been nearly empty, and they'd had a better than average dinner in which leola root was conspicuously absent. He also enjoyed the leisurely walk through the ship's corridors with her afterward. The lights were dimmed, in deference to 'ship's night', and Chakotay thought the muted lighting did much to soften the tense lines in Kathryn's face.

As if feeling his scrutiny, she caught his eye and smiled. "Do you hear that?" she asked.

He cocked his head and listened, but didn't anything detect anything beyond the faint ever-present hum of the engines. "Hear what?"

"The silence." Janeway closed her eyes for a moment. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"It has been quiet lately," he agreed. "I could almost forget we're still traveling through Borg space."

She shot him a look. "Granted it's been more than a month since our last encounter, but it wouldn't do to relax just yet."

"True." Chakotay fell silent, thinking of their last contact with a Borg cube--the drones aboard the Trefla who had frantically tried to rid themselves of any last vestiges of the Collective, with nearly catastrophic results. He wondered how they were faring now.

The 'lift arrived and they stepped in. "Deck 3," Janeway said, and leaned back against the wall, an admission of tiredness he knew she wouldn't allow herself if anyone else had been present.

"I was thinking," he said. "Perhaps it's time to think about rescheduling the Olympics again."

Janeway stifled a yawn. "Let's hold off a bit longer on that, Chakotay."

"Why?"

"Well, the crew is still recovering from the after-effects of the Doctor's holoprogram and survival training," she said. She rolled her eyes and muttered, "I'd rather run a marathon than go through that again."

Chakotay grinned. "Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad, was it?" He quickly sobered at the look on her face. After hesitating for a moment, he said, "The idea of colonizing still bothers you, doesn't it, Kathryn?"

The 'lift stopped. He stood aside to let her exit first, hoping she wouldn't just continue on to her cabin without answering his question, that she would finally be willing to discuss the subject with him in-depth.

He needn't have worried. After the 'lift doors closed, she said quietly, "Yes, it does."

He took her arm and drew her over to the wall of the deserted corridor. "As I told you earlier, no one would ever accuse you of giving up. You've said time and time again that we were going to make it back to the Alpha Quadrant, and the crew believes you. Especially now, if B’Elanna’s ideas for transwarp come to fruition, it looks as though we're going to be able to shorten our journey home considerably."

Her shoulders slumped tiredly. "I know. I know, but…"

"But at the same time, home is where you make it. By that token, many of the crew feel they're already home," he reminded her gently.

Just as she opened her mouth to reply, the red alert klaxon sounded.

Janeway immediately went for her comm badge, which activated before she could touch it. "Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, please report to the bridge."

Chapter Text

The turbolift doors opened on the Bridge and the captain and first officer rushed out. As always, Chakotay was surprised at just how quickly Janeway could move when events warranted it.

"Report," snapped Janeway, taking the center seat that Lieutenant Kim had hurriedly vacated.

"We picked up a distress call a few minutes ago," Kim answered, on his way to the Ops station to replace the ensign on duty.

The captain didn't voice the obvious question of why a simple distress call would trigger a red alert. Chakotay reminded himself this wasn't the first time Kim had been in charge of the bridge; the lieutenant wasn't given to overreacting. "Let's hear it," Janeway said.

The crackle of subspace interference distorted the message almost to the point of being unintelligible. The crew listened in silence.

"… hear this, please respond. … under attack…off-line…life support failing…no one in the sector is safe…help us!"

"It's been repeated several times," Kim added.

"Can you clean the transmission up a bit?" Chakotay asked. "Did they identify themselves? Or who's attacking them?"

"Negative," answered Rollins from the tactical station. "There's so much interference, I haven't been able to identify the vessel."

The turbolift opened once more, disgorging Tuvok and Paris, as Rollins continued, "Wait, I'm picking up something now on long range scanners." His eyes widened. "Captain, it's the Borg!"

Janeway's mouth set in a tight line. "On screen."

The visual of a massive cube and a much smaller sphere appeared. Even as they watched, an energy flare lanced out from the cube, struck the sphere, and dislodged a chunk of its armored hull plating.

"What the hell?" muttered Paris.

"There are no other ships in the vicinity," Tuvok said as Rollins turned tactical over to him, "As such, I would surmise that this is an intra-Borg conflict."

"Confirmed," answered Kim. "The distress call came from that sphere."

"Try hailing them," said Janeway. Perhaps feeling his eyes upon her, she turned to Chakotay. "I want to know why the Collective is attacking its own."

Kim said, "Amplifying our signal with the main deflector…Channel open, Captain. Audio only."

Janeway rose. "This is Captain Kathryn Janeway of the--"

A female voice cut in, "Voyager! Please, you've got to help us!"

Janeway's brows rose in puzzlement. "Who are you? Why are you under attack?"

"This is Sarexa, Captain. My companions and I…" Anything further was lost in static, as the sphere shuddered once again under the assault.

"That sphere--it's the one that left the Trefla four weeks ago," Chakotay said in astonishment.

"Shields up," Janeway said crisply. "Mr. Paris, plot an intercept course, maximum warp. We're going in."

***
The battle was still enjoined when Voyager arrived at the coordinates, the sphere looking much worse for wear than it had a short time ago. The aggressors, meanwhile, were seemingly unscathed.

"Hail the cube," Janeway ordered in a tone that brooked no argument.

"No response," Kim replied after a moment.

"They appear to be ignoring us, instead choosing to focus all their efforts on the sphere," Tuvok stated.

"Let's try to attract their attention," Janeway said. "Mr. Tuvok, fire a warning shot across their bow."

The phaser burst shot out in front of the cube. "No response," Tuvok reported.

Chakotay turned to Ops. "Mr. Kim, anything from the sphere?"

"I'm reading numerous hull breaches. Their engines are off-line; they're venting plasma and rapidly losing atmosphere."

"Life signs?"

"I'm reading approximately fifty--but they're very weak."

Janeway briefly considered her options, then said, "Target the cube's weapons system. I don't want to destroy them, just disable them long enough to get in close enough to beam off the people on the sphere. Mr. Paris, Mr. Tuvok, prepare to execute 'Red Right 82' on my mark."

"Aye, Captain," the officers said in unison. The exercise would require pinpoint timing and execution--an opportunity both Paris and Tuvok welcomed, albeit in different ways, to show the captain what they were capable of. They'd practiced it numerous times in simulations--but this was real. More than one person on the bridge held their breath.

"Notify the transporter room to beam the survivors directly to Cargo Bay One," Janeway said softly to Chakotay, her eyes never leaving the main view screen. "Erect a forcefield and have security teams standing by, just in case."

"Understood." Based on their previous contact, Sarexa and her group were not a threat, but the captain clearly preferred to err on the side of caution. Chakotay approved. All too often appearances were deceiving. He rapidly issued the orders, the better part of his attention focused on the unfolding events.

Janeway counted off the necessary seconds. "Now!"

Voyager banked sharply to starboard, sending twin bursts of phaser fire to a specific target on the cube. At the same time, the ship's pass brought them close enough to the sphere to begin transport.

"Direct hit," Tuvok said. A moment later, Voyager shuddered.

"I thought the idea was to disable their weapons first," Chakotay said under his breath, then remembered how acute Vulcan hearing was. He shot an apologetic glance at Tuvok.

Tuvok didn't deign to reply, but fired at the cube once more.

"Mr. Kim--what's the progress on those transports?" Janeway said.

"Nearly completed," Kim answered. He looked up. "Captain--the sphere's warp core is going to breach in less than a minute!"

"Mr. Paris!" snapped Janeway.

"I'm on it," Paris said, his fingers flying over his controls. Voyager came about once more, and then fled in the direction of safety.

Janeway's hand clenched convulsively on the arm of her chair. It would take an additional three seconds till Voyager could be sure of clearing the corona of the breaching core; seconds that they did not necessarily have.

"The cube is in pursuit," announced Tuvok.

"Or else they've also detected the warp core breach," said Chakotay, leaning forward, just as a brilliant explosion lit up nearby space.

Voyager was caught in the leading edge of the shock wave. On the bridge, the crew members were shaken about like dice in a cup. Janeway clung to her seat, trying desperately to remain upright. The lights went down; when they came back up they were only at half-strength.

The captain cast a sharp eye around her. Here and there a console sparked, but there appeared to be no serious damage. Over at Ops, Kim was juggling numerous incoming reports from all decks, which confirmed that the rest of the ship had fared about the same as the bridge. And thankfully, there were no reports of serious injuries.

Chakotay, nursing a twisted ankle, reclaimed his seat. "Tuvok, is that cube still on our tail?"

"Negative. They were caught in the backwash of the explosion."

Janeway breathed a shuddering sigh of relief and turned to her first officer. "Let's go greet our guests and see if they can shed some light on what just happened."

***

Janeway stood outside the perimeter of the force field of the cargo bay, observing the former drones within. They looked, Janeway decided, much better than they did the last time Voyager had encountered the Trefla. Most of their visible implants were gone, as were the majority of the scars inflicted by disease and their own desperate attempts to remove all traces of their cybernetic past. The vaccine developed on board Voyager had evidently worked wonders.

On the other hand, the drones were all very thin, still haggard-looking. They sat in clusters on the floor of the bay, not making any attempt to move, or even converse among themselves. Many shoulders were slumped in defeat; most faces wore expressions of resignation or fear.

Janeway and Chakotay's presence had been noticed. A Talaxian female rose and made her way to where the Starfleet officers stood. Her manner was tentative, as if she wasn't sure what her reception would be. "Captain Janeway?"

"Hello, Sarexa," Janeway said. "You remember Commander Chakotay."

"Of course." Sarexa nodded briefly to the man who was looking at her with undisguised suspicion, then refocused her attention on the captain. "Once again, we owe you our lives."

Janeway studied her for a moment more, then turned to the security officer beside her. "Release the force field."

Chakotay took a step forward. "Do you think that's wise, Captain?"

Janeway held up a hand to cut off his objections. Yes, they'd had their problems with the Trefla, but Sarexa and her group hadn't been a part of it. "Go ahead, Lieutenant." The guard did so, but eyed the former drones warily.

Once the barrier was down, none of the refugees made any moves to rush forward. It was almost as though they didn't even notice that it was gone.

Sarexa gave a shaky smile. "You have nothing to fear from any of us, Captain."

"Why were you under attack?" asked Chakotay. He folded his arms across his chest as he waited for an answer.

A painful smile twisted the Talaxian's face for a moment. "As you recall, my companions and I left the Trefla on a scout sphere. We were too tired, too ill, too dispirited to face the prospect of rebuilding or attempting to form a new society among the different factions aboard our ship. Though he did not like the idea, Sakat gave us permission to go. We called our vessel the Tikvah. Our hope was to find a world that would be willing to take us in, allow us to live in peace. Instead, we have been set upon and victimized at every turn--including by our own people."

Janeway reached out and gently touched Sarexa's arm. "Your people?" she asked. "You mean Talaxians?"

"No, I mean others like ourselves--drones freed from the Collective."

For a moment no one spoke, as the implications became clear.

"The consequences of our introducing the Doctor's virus to the Borg all those months ago obviously are more widespread than we had anticipated," Chakotay said quietly to the captain.

"Exactly," Sarexa said in the same matter-of-fact tone, giving no hint of the anguish that must have been below the surface. "Most of the freed drones are harmless, wanting only to return to their homes, resume the lives that were disrupted. Others, whose homes are too far away or whose planets were devastated by the Borg, are trying to form new societies, build new homes together with their comrades." She shivered involuntarily. "But some are no better than pirates."

"Like the cube that attacked you," Janeway said.

"They prey on the weak. The cube demanded our central processor, and our deflector. We yielded to their threats, though those losses seriously crippled us--there is no fight left in any of us. But once their demands were met, they set about to destroy us anyway."

Janeway nodded sympathetically. "I understand. For the time being, you and your people can remain on Voyager. We'll arrange quarters, and I'm sure the Doctor will want to run some follow-up tests on all of you." She tapped her comm badge. "Janeway to Seven of Nine. Please report to Cargo Bay One."

"Thank you, Captain," said Sarexa. "We are grateful for your assistance and hope we won't present too much of a burden."

Janeway smiled and then signaled Chakotay to follow her. Neither of them spoke until they were in the turbolift.

"Pirates," Janeway said. "Victimizing those weaker than themselves."

Chakotay nodded. "Remember Harry's report about the drones that attacked the Pojzan refugees? I'm thinking this is somehow related."

"You're probably right. Not necessarily the same group, but similar circumstances--I'm afraid we're looking at a new development in the history of the Borg," Janeway said. She passed her hand wearily over her face.

"Not unexpected," Chakotay said somberly. "But still disheartening." He paused for a moment. "No, strike that. 'Ominous' is probably a more accurate description."

"What do you mean?" Janeway said, looking at him in surprise.

"This new breed of drone, freed from the Collective’s will and restraints, may prove to be even more dangerous than anything we've encountered until now."

And for that, the captain had no answer.

***
Captain's log, Stardate 54579.6. It's been more than 24 hours since we rescued the crew of the Tikvah. Since then, we have not encountered any further Borg activity in the vicinity. We are maintaining yellow alert, as long range sensors are picking up remnants of old transwarp trails. Meanwhile, Commander Chakotay is working closely with Mr. Neelix to provide accommodations for our guests.

"So that's it, in terms of quarters," Chakotay said, checking the PADD once more. "Neelix, you're a marvel. I wouldn't have thought we could suddenly house fifty additional people with such ease."

"It really wasn't hard," Neelix said modestly. "Most of the former drones don't mind sharing cabins; in fact, they feel more comfortable that way. As for the rest, some of our people volunteered to double up, thereby freeing even more space."

"It's not as though we had to find room for two hundred Klingon warriors," Chakotay agreed with a smile, "but still, you've done a good job."

Neelix beamed. "Now in terms of food supplies…" His voice trailed off suddenly. Chakotay turned around, and saw the reason for it. Sarexa stood in the doorway.

"You know, I think we're just about finished here, Neelix," Chakotay said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You can check with me later for the rest of the details." He nodded to Sarexa as he passed her on his way out.

Neelix picked up several items laid out on the counter, and retreated to the back of the cooking area, feeling suddenly ill at ease. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he said, "Hello, Sarexa."

She advanced further into the room, cutting the distance between them. "Neelix. I asked Seven where I could find you, and she said at this time of day you were sure to be in here."

"That's right--I've got lots of cooking to do," Neelix said, clanging a saucepan lid, and making a show of checking the height of the flame on the range top. He avoided meeting her gaze.

Sarexa was quiet for a moment. "I was wondering why I didn't see you earlier."

Neelix said hurriedly, "I heard you were on board, of course. But I've been very busy." He stopped abruptly and looked at her for the first time. "I'm sorry. That's not quite true. I, uh, I didn't, that is--"

"You didn't expect to see me again," she said sadly.

"No, I didn't." He added, "Not that I'm not happy to do so now, you understand. I'm glad that you're all right. I was wondering about that, since we left the Trefla."

"I've been thinking about you as well." Sarexa hesitated. "I know you were disappointed when I didn't stay on Voyager with you."

Neelix swallowed and strove to keep his voice level. "You had your reasons."

"Yes, I did," she said softly. She reached out tentatively to him, then pulled back, as if unsure of what his reaction would be.

Neelix cursed himself for his cowardice, and took her hand in his own. "Well, the important thing is that you're here now," he reassured her. Hanging in the air between them was the unspoken thought that this reunion was most likely only temporary. He straightened up. "I was just about to start preparing dinner--would you like to give me a hand?"

She smiled. "I'd love to."

Chapter Text

Alpha shift was winding down. Chakotay sat in the command chair on the bridge. The captain, Seven and Tuvok were in her Ready Room, going over the latest data from Astrometrics.

A class J nebula had been sighted 10 light years away; based on previous experience, they knew that such a celestial phenomenon could conceal a flotilla of ships. It was not the usual Borg modus operendi to lie in ambush, but ever since the encounter with the cube that had attacked the Tikvah, Janeway wasn’t taking any chances.

Chakotay sighed to himself. The last few days had been relatively peaceful. The addition of the Tikvah refugees hadn't impacted too heavily on Voyager's normal operations. The former drones tended to keep to themselves, except for Sarexa, who had been spending the majority of her time in the Mess Hall with Neelix. Chakotay wasn't surprised; he'd often suspected that Neelix, for all his bluster and good cheer, was lonely for others of his kind. Every light year Voyager traveled closer to the Alpha Quadrant was another light year farther from his own home. Neelix had never given any indication that he regretted his decision to join Voyager, even after Kes left them, but sometimes Chakotay wondered.

Seven's behavior, on the other hand, was puzzling. She had reportedly been giving the newest passengers a wide berth. She couldn't avoid them entirely, as she had been assigned to work with them, but Chakotay had the distinct impression that Seven was uncomfortable around the other drones. But maybe it wasn't so surprising after all; she'd had a bad experience on board the Trefla.

He shrugged. No doubt, Kathryn would sit her down for a talk at the earliest opportunity. If there was something bothering Seven, she was sure to confide in her mentor before too long.

A sudden reading on his console drew his attention. Chakotay turned to Ops. "Harry--"

"I'm on it, Commander," the lieutenant replied.

Chakotay nodded. "Bridge to Captain Janeway. Looks like we've got some more company."

The Ready Room doors parted instantly. Janeway settled into her seat. "What have we got?"

"A transwarp conduit dead ahead, Captain, at a distance of 1.4 light years."

Janeway nodded. Chakotay leaned over and said softly, "You don't seem very surprised."

She smiled wryly. "It’s just as we suspected – we said that class J nebula would make a great place to hide." She addressed her next words to Kim." How many ships are there?"

"Four." He answered her unspoken question. "Borg."

Seven checked a readout at the science station, where she'd taken up her position upon leaving the Ready Room. "I just spoke with Icheb. He is not detecting any signals from these vessels that would indicate anything unusual."

"In other words, these are not the specially modified Borg we encountered on Stardate 54414.5," said Chakotay, his tone belying the relief he felt inside. But it would be almost too much to hope that they would never tangle with them again; the Borg Queen undoubtedly would not give up until she had conquered Voyager.

The captain's mind was obviously on more immediate matters. "That still leaves the question if they’re 'standard-issue' Borg, or renegades from the Collective like those that attacked the Tikvah," Janeway said.

"We will know soon enough," Tuvok announced. "The conduit is opening--two ships are emerging."

"Go to red alert," the captain said, studying a tactical display in front of her.

"Captain, picking up readings from the nebula--those other ships are emerging," said Kim.

"Battle stations," said the captain. She rose and went over to helm. "Tom, as soon as we get a trajectory on those ships, I want you to plot a course to get us out of here."

"We can't outrun six cubes," Chakotay said.

"No, we can't," said Janeway grimly, "but we can at least try to get out of the fire zone."

The main viewscreen display shifted from the cubes emerging from the nebula to the ones newly emerged from the conduit. The trailing cubes rushed past the Federation starship, leaving it rocking strongly in their wake. One cube paused, passed a scanner beam over Voyager, and then hastened away.

"Those four cubes are still connected to the Collective," said Tuvok.

"But the others must not be, or else they wouldn't be attacking them," Kim said, relief in his voice.

"That doesn't mean good news for us, Lieutenant," Chakotay said sharply.

Janeway motioned for silence. "Cut the chatter, people, and concentrate on your stations."

"Captain, I'm picking up communications between the vessels leaving the conduit which identify whose command they are under." Tuvok paused, as if to give his words greater impact. "It's Commander Korok."

Janeway drew a quick intake of breath. Korok was the doughty Klingon warrior they'd encountered in Unimatrix Zero. What was he doing in this sector?

The answer became evident when Korok's vessel began firing at the four cubes that had assumed an attack formation. The phasers lanced out, catching the central cube broadside. It disintegrated, but Korok's attempts to follow up on the other cubes were futile; the renewed energy bursts were deflected.

"They've adapted," Chakotay said quietly.

It appeared that Korok wasn't out of options yet; a round of torpedoes eliminated yet another of the cubes. Two cubes still remained, both of whom promptly began pounding Korok's forces. The outlook was not favorable.

"Are we going in?" Paris asked expectantly.

Janeway frowned. It was a reasonable question, considering her earlier actions to rescue the Tikvah. Now her first impulse was to step in and help as well, but her instincts were telling her that this wasn't just an isolated squabble. If she was right, if there was a lot more at stake--could she risk entangling Voyager in a possible Borg Civil War?

For a long moment, the internal debate waged. Then her sense of moral responsibility kicked in. "Yes, Mr. Paris, we're going in. Mr. Tuvok, stand by to fire in a rotating pulse, on my order."

She turned to Chakotay next. "Remember your hare-brained maneuver when we re-entered Borg space a few months ago?" She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "It's time for an encore."

Scant minutes later, a debris field of exploded hulls lay scattered where the flotilla of cubes had been, and Korok was hailing Voyager.

***
The senior staff was already assembled in the briefing room when Korok entered. He walked slowly, with a noticeable limp, likely due to an ill-fitting prosthetic leg. His companion looked as battle-scarred as the old Klingon; Chakotay couldn't identify his species, but thought perhaps he was Brunali.

Torres stood in respect as Korok shuffled past. "nuqneH," she growled, as Tom rose as well to stand at his wife's side.

Korok halted in surprise, and studied the young woman. "tlhIngan!" He immediately switched to Federation Standard. "It has been too long since I have laid eyes on another Klingon. Not many of my people lived to be taken by the Borg at Wolf 359."

Chakotay thought he could detect a note of regret in Korok's voice that left no doubt what he wished his own fate had been. Understandable--most people would probably choose an honored place in Sto-Vo-Kor to assimilation.

Korok continued to eye B'Elanna appraisingly. "You are with child?"

"Yes, I am," she answered patiently, even though at this point her condition had progressed to where it was evident to even a casual observer.

"May he grow to be as fine a warrior as his fathers before him," Korok intoned and gave a fearsome smile.

"I'm sure she will," put in Tom, placing a possessive arm around B'Elanna's shoulders.

Korok laughed and then quickly sobered as he directed his attention to the head of the conference table. "Captain Janeway."

"Commander Korok," Janeway replied, as she made a reasonable facsimile of the Klingon salute. "Please take a seat." She quickly made the introductions. "Commander Chakotay, my first officer, Commander Tuvok, my chief of security, Lieutenant Kim, chief of Ops, our Doctor…and you've already met Lieutenants Torres and Paris, my chief engineer and flight conn officer."

"My lead gunner, Roju," Korok said, clapping his hand on the other man's shoulder as they seated themselves. Korok looked around the room. "I do not see Annika. Does she still live?"

"She'll be joining us shortly," answered Janeway smoothly. "A last minute problem arose in her department."

Korok nodded briskly. "To business then."

"To business," echoed Janeway. "We were surprised to encounter your ship in this sector."

"No more surprised than I was to see you, Captain," he answered. "But very grateful, as once again you have stepped in to aid us in our hour of need."

Janeway inclined her head graciously, but Korok wasn't finished. "And I consider it particularly fortuitous that our paths have intersected at this particular moment in time."

"Why?" asked Chakotay. "Does this have anything to do with your reasons for firing upon those other Borg vessels?"

Janeway shot him an annoyed look, but Chakotay did not feel abashed. He knew from his years of service in Starfleet and exposure to Klingon culture that Korok would respond better to a direct question. Bluntness was cultivated as a Klingon virtue; their people believed in coming straight to the heart of a matter.

Korok smiled. "You have a shrewd second in command, Captain, who serves you well." He leaned his elbows on the table and brought his formidable hands together. "You are correct, Commander. They are related. Seven months ago, by means of your virus, you allowed myself and others like me, those who had shared in the experience of Unimatrix Zero, to remember our former lives and know ourselves once more. You also gave us the means to fight back, to strike a blow against the Collective."

Janeway nodded. "Unfortunately, the end results were not as clearly defined as we would have liked to see. Many drones were able to break their connections to the Borg, but others remain firmly ensconced within the Collective."

"Exactly," said Korok. "And that is what my mission has been, since we parted from you all those months ago. I seek nothing less than to liberate as many of those that remain enslaved as possible."

Janeway drew in a sharp intake of breath. Judging by the looks on their faces, most of the senior staff had a similar reaction.

Tuvok frowned. "That is a massive undertaking, Commander Korok, not to mention one fraught with risk. The Collective comprises well over one and a half billion drones. You are heavily outnumbered in terms of manpower alone, let alone ships and armaments."

"Any enterprise worthy of the name entails some risk," Roku shot back. "And we have other resources and allies besides."

"We have been joined by a number of worlds the Borg raided, who have contributed ships and soldiers for the fight," Korok added. "There is scarcely a world in the quadrant that has not encountered the Borg in the course of their history; many have been completely obliterated, whereas others have been weakened to the point of total collapse. But you would be amazed at how many of the survivors have clamored to join our cause, eager to strike a blow at their most hated enemy."

"I can certainly understand that," Janeway said as the door to the briefing room opened and Seven slipped in quietly and seated herself. "So the two ships you have with you now do not comprise the total of your strength."

"Not at all," Roju said proudly.

Korok glanced sharply at his companion. "But neither are we so strong that we are not still in need of other strong allies." He leaned forward, and fixed his piercing gaze on the captain's face. "Join us, Janeway. Help us in our quest to continue freeing drones from the Collective."

Janeway met his eyes unflinchingly. "I'm sorry, Korok, but I must decline."

"What?" said Korok, clearly taken aback by her response. "How can you refuse? It is but a continuation of what you started when you first came to Unimatrix Zero and urged us to take up arms against the Borg Collective. How can you back away now?"

"I'm sorry," said Janeway in the same steely tone. "I will continue with the policy of helping victims where I can, and will fight to defend our allies should we come across any battles. But my first responsibility is to my ship and crew; I will not commit to any aggressive moves against the Collective itself."

Korok gave a derisive laugh. "You’ve chosen a compromise that will prove to be unworkable. Do you not see that joining us will benefit your crew as well? Do you think Voyager alone and unaided can stand up to the full might of the Borg?" His lip curled. "If I had no prior knowledge of you as a warrior, I might have grounds to doubt your courage. As well as your honor."

Janeway refused to rise to the bait. "I understand that you are disappointed, Korok, but my answer remains the same."

Korok got to his feet. "Then we have nothing further to discuss." He turned to Roju. "Come, it is time we returned to the Taj. Our path is laid in front of us, and we have much to do."

***
Janeway settled back into her desk chair with a sigh. Without asking, Chakotay first went to the replicator and brought her a cup of coffee.

She closed her eyes as she savored the brew. "Thanks. Is it that obvious?"

"How exhausted you are? Yes." He sat down in the chair opposite her and took a drink of his own tea.

"All part of the territory." She checked the chronometer. "Tuvok will be here in a few moments, so we can go over our weapons manifest. The Zornon technology has been a real godsend, and has been working out very well, but it's only a matter of time until the Borg adapt. We need to think ahead to the next step."

"Agreed. But at least when fighting any 'disconnected' drones, we won't have to worry about the Collective as a whole making adaptations to our modified systems."

"Chalk up one for dealing with the pirates, then," she said and put her cup down. She turned to her computer terminal and tapped in a series of commands.

"Before you begin with that, Captain..." he hesitated, not quite sure how to broach the subject.

"Yes? Was there something else you wanted to discuss, before Tuvok arrives?"

He decided to start with the lesser of the two evils he needed to say. "Seven of Nine."

"What about her?" asked Janeway warily.

"I'd like to know what's going on with her lately. Her behavior has been very odd. Coming late to meetings, leaving duty shifts early, avoiding any contact with Sarexa or the other drones from the Tikvah..." He paused for a moment. "Do I need to go on?"

"No," Janeway said quietly. "You've made your point." She picked up her cup again, but put it down almost immediately. "Seven hasn't confided in me, yet, but I get the sense that she is having a hard time coming to terms with herself and where she belongs."

Chakotay raised a brow. "She's been on board this vessel for four years now. What suddenly brought this on?"

"It's not sudden," Janeway said. "I first noticed her uneasiness a few months ago. What was it?" she said, tapping her fingers on the desktop as she concentrated. "Ah, yes. We were talking about writing letters home--she asked why we felt it necessary to write to people we hadn't seen in years, and most likely wouldn't be seeing for another decade or two. I tried to explain, and during the course of the conversation I got the distinct impression that she's rather nervous about returning to the Alpha Quadrant. Despite the fact that she's 'adapted' so well to life on Voyager." Janeway sighed. "I'm guessing that seeing all these former drones now is making her uncomfortable, that they remind her of the two worlds she's straddling, not fully belonging to either one."

Slowly, Chakotay nodded. "That's as good an explanation as any, I suppose." He looked down at his own cup, absently swirling the small amount of liquid at the bottom. "Speaking of straddling, Captain..."

"Yes?"

"I have to tell you I have some doubts whether your policy toward the Borg, as you outlined to Korok, will be viable or not," he said carefully.

Janeway didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "My complacency--or arrogance, if you will--where the Borg are concerned has led me into too many confrontations with them in the past." She stood abruptly, and began pacing. "Raiding a cube for a transwarp coil, taking the Delta Flyer into the heart of the Borg complex, deliberately letting myself and two of my officers be assimilated--"

"You had your reasons for each of those actions," he objected.

She stopped and looked at him. "I always have reasons for everything I do, Chakotay," she said ruefully. "And you know what? That's what scares me the most."

He shook his head impatiently. "Consider what would have happened if you hadn't done any of those things. Seven would have been re-assimilated into the Collective and forced to help them conquer humanity, for starters. That 'assimilation virus' she mentioned the Borg were working on scares the hell out of me."

"Me, too," Janeway said softly, her gaze resting not on him, but on the vista of stars outside the viewport. "Thank God for Icheb's research."

"Getting yourself assimilated was a big gamble," he continued, "But look at what it accomplished. How many former drones owe their freedom to the virus you introduced into the Collective?"

"But that also means I bear responsibility for the other, less desirable consequences of that act," she countered.

"Not ultimate responsibility. You gave the drones the means to achieve their freedom. What they've chosen to do with it is another matter entirely."

"That's what I keep telling myself." She sighed again and sank down upon the couch. "I can't let Voyager get caught up in the war. The risks are just too great. But at the same time, I wonder if I have the right to just walk away."

"It's a fine line," Chakotay agreed. He looked at her more closely, noted the haunted look in her eyes; Korok's words had obviously hit home. "nIteb Qob qaD jup 'e' chaw'be' SuvwI?'" he murmured.

"What?"

"An old Klingon proverb - 'A warrior does not let a friend face danger alone.'"

Her shoulders slumped tiredly. "Exactly."

"Here's another one, though--DujiIIj yIvoq', which means trust your instincts." He moved next to her and carefully, almost tentatively laid his hands on her shoulders. "That's the only thing you can do."

She was silent for a moment, and he wondered what was going through her mind. "I didn't realize you were such a Klingon scholar."

"I have many hidden talents," he said with a smile. He could feel her tension--the muscles were all knotted up. Slowly, he began massaging her shoulders and neck. "It dates back to my early years in service. Remember the officer exchange program the 'Fleet had with the Klingon Empire?"

Her eyes still closed, she said, "Don't tell me you served aboard a Klingon ship?"

She was beginning to relax. Good. "No, but we did have a Klingon officer aboard the Okinawa for a few weeks," he said.

"That must have been an interesting experience," she said, a bit drowsily, as his hands continued to move rhythmically up and down her back. She sighed, and leaned more fully against him. "Oh..."

The door signaled.

Janeway immediately jumped up, and hastily returned to her seat behind the desk. "Come in," she called, sounding a bit flustered.

Chakotay took a deep breath himself, to regain his composure. What had just happened? He had only meant to try and help her relax, but...

Tuvok entered, a PADD under his arm, and any chance to discuss what had just transpired between them was gone. The three officers were soon deeply involved in a discussion of shield capabilities and armaments.

***

The next morning, Janeway stuck her head into the chief engineer's office but there was no one there. Janeway advanced into main engineering, and immediately spotted Torres monitoring the EPS conduits, rapidly barking orders to Vorik and Joe Carey. The half-Klingon stopped when she saw the captain.

"Captain, I'm glad you're here." Torres wheeled away and headed over to another station, the increasing bulk of her advancing pregnancy not seeming to slow her down at all.

"You said it was important." Janeway said, instinctively glancing up at the shimmering blue column of the warp core. "Is there a problem, Lieutenant? Does this concern the transwarp project?"

Torres shook her head. "No, it's the regular drive." She bit her lip in concentration, as she rapidly calibrated the system and took new readings, then compared them with those on the monitor over her left shoulder. "Just a minor problem that's cropped up. Nothing serious, but I'll need to take the warp engines off-line intermittently over the next few days to track it down and correct it."

"Days?" Janeway stepped forward and took a look for herself. "Damn. I see what you mean. This may be just a minor glitch, but on the other hand…"

"It could develop into something major," Torres finished.

"Best to nip in the bud then." Janeway frowned, then gently touched Torres’ arm. "All right, Lieutenant, go ahead. The sooner we correct this, the better."

"I know the timing is less than ideal," Torres said apologetically.

Janeway snorted. "When is it ever ideal? But if we've got to be without warp capability, at least it's at a time when we've got allies in the vicinity."

Chapter Text

"This place," declared Tom Paris dramatically, "is turning into Borg Central!"

Harry Kim didn't even look up from his lunch tray, where he was concentrating on cutting the chunks of basar adom into smaller and smaller pieces. "I suppose you're referring to Axum's ship hailing us this morning?"

"That's right," answered Paris. He took a bite of his replicated grilled cheese sandwich. "You going to eat that?" he asked, jabbing a finger at Kim's plate.

"Eventually," Kim said. "Why?"

"Because it looks as though you're under the impression that if you slice it into enough pieces, it will disappear completely."

A faint grin appeared on Kim's face, which rapidly changed to a grimace when he looked back down at his plate. "I'd forgotten how much I disliked this particular entree, that's all."

"Then why'd you get it?"

"Out of replicator rations," was the succinct reply. Kim speared some of the pieces on his fork and manfully chewed and swallowed. "This almost makes me wish for some leola root."

"Even if Neelix had any, you can be sure he wouldn't waste any of it on you," Paris said with a knowing smirk. He motioned toward the kitchen, where an animated Sarexa could be seen assisting Neelix. "He's finally found someone who appreciates Talaxian cuisine."

"So it seems," Kim said. He picked up his glass of agas juice and took a long drink of the pale green liquid. "You were saying, about Axum?"

"Doesn't it strike you as more than just a coincidence that Axum's ship shows up now, out of the blue?"

"It's not entirely unexpected, Tom. Seven made contact with him back when we encountered the Trefla. He told her then that he was headed this way. Remember, the Borg ships can travel a lot faster than we can."

"I know, I know. It just seems strange, first we meet up with the drones who left the Trefla, then in short order, Korok, followed a few days later by Axum. It's almost as if..." Paris' voice trailed off.

"As if what?" asked Kim as he steeled himself for another mouthful of his main course.

"As if all the pieces were being assembled on a chessboard, for a reason."

Kim looked up with a grin that quickly faded when he saw the look on Paris' face. "Meaning what? Come on, Tom, talk to me."

"It's probably nothing." Paris shrugged, then admitted, "I've got a bad feeling about all of this."

"You're just feeling a little jumpy, that's all," Kim said reassuringly. "Being in such close proximity to so many Borg vessels, whether friends or foes, is enough to give anyone a case of nerves." He did not say what was uppermost on both their minds--the fact that the Borg Queen, having failed in her earlier attempt to destroy them, was bound to try again one day. Harry forced a smile. "I know I'll feel a lot better once we get out of this sector."

"B'Elanna's doing her best," Tom said. He sighed. "But now the starboard nacelle has started acting up again. She's been putting in double shifts, trying to correct that, as well as get the warp engines back to optimal performance levels."

"Should she be working such long hours, in her condition?" Kim said, concerned.

Paris smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant expression. "You try telling her that." He rose to his feet. "Speaking of which, I'm going to see if I can get her to take a break for a bit, before the meeting at 1300 hours."

"Good luck," Kim said. "To both of you."

***
The senior staff was assembled in the briefing room. Axum had beamed over a short time ago and was filling them in on his experiences over the last seven months. Janeway found her attention wandering a bit; much of what Axum was saying had already been reported to her by Seven, who'd been in intermittent contact with Axum for the past several weeks.

The captain found it more interesting to observe the others in the room. Despite the fact he didn't resemble him physically, there was something about Axum that reminded her of Chakotay. The calm sense of self, the commanding presence. Janeway also noticed she wasn't the only one studying him carefully. Seven, who hadn't taken her eyes off him once, was obviously overjoyed to see him.

Janeway's ears perked up when Axum brought up the subject of Riley Frazier and her new Cooperative. "They were very helpful in terms of providing supplies, and offered to let us stay and join them. In fact, they seemed quite eager for us to do so."

"I'm sure," Chakotay said, an undercurrent of strong emotion in his voice. Janeway automatically put a reassuring hand on his arm, and he subsided.

"Did you have any indication that Dr. Frazier's group was also engaged in any of the raiding we've seen by other drones?" Janeway asked.

"No," Axum assured them. "They are interested in consolidating their hold on their own planet, and nothing more. It may be that other groups of drones have since joined them, but I do not believe they are interested in making any conquests outside of their own territory." Axum looked grave. "Although that may be subject to change."

"Is there anything else you can tell us about the Collective itself?" asked Tuvok.

Axum shook his head. "It has been many months since we've encountered any cubes that were still connected to the Collective. And we have certainly not come into contact with any modified drones, such as the ones that attacked you a few months ago. Our energies have been directed toward finding a place where we can settle and live in peace. It has proven to be very difficult."

"How so?" said Chakotay.

He sighed. "Surely you are aware, Commander, of the fear and loathing in which the Borg are held. Despite the fact that we are no longer truly Borg, we carry the taint of the Collective. We are a reminder of every atrocity committed, every person lost, every world devastated."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Janeway said. She gave a wry smile. "Unfortunately, that reaction is all too understandable."

"Indeed," Axum replied. "Unfortunately, there are not many unclaimed inhabitable planets, and none of the populated ones we've encountered so far are willing to have former Borg among them."

"I wish there were something we could do," Janeway began.

"Captain," said Kim suddenly. "I think I may have an answer."

***
"Annika."

Seven turned around at the familiar voice. "Axum."

He looked around the aeroponics bay in undisguised appreciation. "This is quite lovely. Do you come here often?"

She hesitated. "Not as often as many others in the crew."

"Well, you should." He breathed in deeply. "Those plants there, they remind me of the vored flowers in Unimatrix Zero. Do you remember? The little pink ones."

"Down by the waterfall." She nodded. "Yes, I remember those as well."

There was silence while Axum bent down to examine the blooms on another bush. He straightened up. "Annika, do you ever think of those days?"

"Very often." Her voice trembled. "I was happy just to make contact with you several weeks ago. Now, to actually see you..."

"I'm glad to have this chance as well." He sat down on one of the benches and looked at her expectantly.

She seated herself at his side, and cast about for a 'safe' topic of conversation. "Tell me about the new society you want to build for yourself and the others with you."

"I'd love to." Seven leaned back and listened as he spoke. She found herself strongly attracted to his vision, and understood all too well the prejudice and resentment he and his people faced from former victims of the Borg. She became aware that Axum had finished, his gaze intent upon her face. Her breath caught at the look in his eyes.

Axum smiled at her and took her hand. "But now, thanks to Voyager, I'm confident that our luck is about to change."
***
"Greetings. This is your old friend Harry Kim aboard Voyager." Kim paused for a moment. He was in Astrometrics, preparing a message to the Pojzan.

"When I said goodbye to you several weeks ago, you made an offer to share your sanctuary with others seeking refuge. I'm sending such a group to you now..."

Axum had been very interested in hearing about Voyager's recent encounters with various groups of former Borg, as well as their victims. Of prime importance however, was the news of the Pojzan world hidden in the nebula. It had immediately occurred to everyone concerned that this represented the best solution for all. Axum and his followers had long been searching for a planet on which they could build a new home, one that would be sheltered from the vicissitudes of life in the sector, far away from the strife they'd encountered so far.

Axum had also agreed to have the drones from the Tikvah join his group. Though she didn't say so in so many words, Captain Janeway had been very relieved by this turn of events. While Voyager had been providing temporary quarters for the former drones, anything permanent would have strained their resources beyond what they could handle.

"Although they are former Borg, you have no reason to fear them. They are no longer members of the Collective, and want only to be left alone in peace. They present no threat to you..."

Harry glanced at the blonde woman working at a nearby console, and remembered the first time he had worked in close quarters with Seven of Nine. Although disconnected from the Collective, she had nonetheless attacked him, seized the opportunity to attempt to contact the Borg.

Harry smiled, thinking what a long way they'd come since that day. He felt more at ease with her now than he ever thought he would. First her 'Borgness' had put him off, then her stunning looks. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what had intimidated him more. Despite all that, he'd developed more than just a slight crush on her. It had taken a long time for him to realize she just needed a friend to help her adjust to her new surroundings and life. Anything else was out of the question--even if she had one time inquired whether he wished to 'copulate' with her. Harry felt the blush rise in his cheeks, even at this late date, and turned his attention back to his task.

"In fact, with their skills and technical knowledge, they will prove to be a very useful addition to your colony. I'm also sending along a few more stories from our database that I think you'll like. They're legends from an ancient people on Earth, the Norsemen, who were brave warriors and explorers.

"I hope that this message finds you all in good health, and that the Shire continues to grow and flourish."

The door to Astrometrics opened, just as Harry was finishing. He looked up and saw Axum standing near the entrance, almost hesitantly.

"Lieutenant Kim, Annika," said Axum, although his attention was focused solely on Seven. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Not at all," Kim said, pocketing the data rod. "I'll just go run this by the captain."

"Lieutenant Kim, there is no need for you to go," began Seven, but Harry had already left.

"Do you need to leave as well, Annika?" said Axum.

Seven was about to answer that there were another 3.4 hours remaining in her duty shift, and barring an emergency, she was not in the habit of leaving Astrometrics until her relief arrived. One look at Axum's expression, however, drove all such thoughts out of her head. He looked tense, yet inexplicably, happy at the same time. "Not if you wish me to stay," she replied with a smile.

He caught her hand in his own and looked deeply into her eyes. "I do want you to stay with me," he said, his voice curiously husky. "Now, and always."

Chapter Text

The door signal to her quarters chimed, startling Janeway from her reverie. Her sleep, she admitted ruefully, glancing at the open book on her lap; she must have dozed off.

She checked the chronometer: 0230. Chakotay had left more than an hour ago, but she'd been too keyed up to go to bed right away, particularly after their discussion of Axum's offer and its implications for Voyager.

The door chimed once more. "Come in," she called, wondering who it could be at this hour, but not really surprised when she saw Seven of Nine enter.

Her automatically thinking of the young woman's Borg designation did surprise her, however. How long had it been since she'd referred to the former Annika Hansen as 'Seven' without consciously remembering what it stood for? Years, most likely. And she'd had less reason to do so now, as the young woman was wearing her blue science uniform, as she did regularly while on duty. Although she hadn't yet accepted the captain's offer of a field commission, Seven had discarded her earlier, more form-fitting outfits in favor of the Starfleet garb several weeks ago.

"That uniform looks good on you," Janeway said with a smile, laying "Beowulf" aside; for some reason, her preference for late-night reading material ran to the ancient Terran classics, the older the better. "Although I'm sure there may be some people who feel it’s not as flattering as what you used to wear."

Seven didn't respond, although on other occasions she had been seen to crack a brief smile, particularly as her understanding of humor and innuendo had increased. "I have a problem I wish to discuss with you, Captain," she said bluntly. There was a time when the former drone would have simply forged ahead and stated her concerns, but Seven paused. "I hope I am not disturbing you. I did not realize the hour was so late."

"It's all right, Seven," Janeway replied in a reassuring voice. "As you can see, I haven't gone to bed yet."

"But you were obviously resting."

"It's all right," Janeway repeated patiently. "What's on your mind?"

Seven hesitated. "It is curious that you mentioned my uniform, Captain, as that is related to what I wished to discuss."

"Have you decided to accept a Starfleet commission?" Janeway asked. Considering the amount of time that had elapsed since the offer had first been made, she wondered why it couldn't wait till morning.

"No. It's about Axum."

Suddenly Janeway knew what Seven was going to say. "Please, Seven, have a seat."

The younger woman sat down stiffly on the edge of the couch, and met the captain's gaze unflinchingly. "In another day or two, Axum and the others will be leaving for the Pojzan colony. He has asked me to accompany them."

"I see," Janeway said. "Are you going to take him up on his offer?"

"I am leaning toward going, however…"

"You feel torn," Janeway finished gently.

"Yes. Establishing a new type of society with other freed drones has a strong allure--" Seven broke off uncomfortably, but then continued. "They have tried and failed to live in peace with other denizens of the quadrant. Despite the fact that they are no longer part of the Collective, they still carry the taint of being Borg, and while some may forgive them their actions, others remember all too well the damage they caused."

"And there are other groups of former drones still wreaking havoc in the sector," Janeway said quietly. "We've come across a few of them ourselves."

"There is no denying that, Captain. But despite Axum's claims of wanting only to be left alone, of not meaning any harm, he is being treated as though he too were raiding helpless civilians."

"You can't honestly blame the other species in this region," Janeway pointed out. "They’ve suffered greatly."

"I do not. Which is why the Pojzan solution is the correct one--for Axum and his followers, as well as the drones from the Tivka." Seven took a deep breath, then looked Janeway in the eye. "And for myself as well."

Janeway leaned forward and lightly touched Seven's arm. "Seven, Voyager is your home. I won't deny that many of the crew eyed you askance at first, but over time they all came to accept you."

"The crew of Voyager has, because they had your example to follow, Captain," Seven said. Was that a trace of bitterness in her voice? "You did not view me as an unspeakable evil, nor a representative of all the loss and death your planet has suffered. You saw me as a human being, and persuaded the rest of the crew to do so as well. But there is no guarantee that the citizens of the Federation will not in fact see me as anything other than a murderous Borg."

Janeway dropped her sympathetic manner. "Is that what this is about?" she asked, her voice sharp. "You want to leave because you're afraid of what kind of reception you'll receive once we return to the Alpha Quadrant? Why are you convinced that you're automatically going to face prejudice and blame?"

"Why are you so convinced that I will not?" countered Seven. "With all due respect, Captain, you have been away from the Federation for seven years. Your only contact is the recently established monthly datastream. Can you be so certain that your interpretation of the moods and intentions of the people, or of Starfleet Command, is correct?"

And so certain that you'd gamble her future on the strength of your convictions, Kathryn? Janeway shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She looked into Seven's uncompromising gaze once more. "Seven, you know that I'll do everything in my power to help you. I’ll try to make sure you're not made into a scapegoat, but accepted on your own merits."

"I don't doubt that," Seven said quietly. "Although you'll be quite busy fighting for the other segments of your crew whose status may be in doubt."

Seven was clearly referring to the Maquis, not to mention the surviving crew from the Equinox. But Janeway did not intend to go into that now, allow Seven to distract her from the issue at hand.

Before she could say anything further, however, Seven went on. "But I am not choosing to go with Axum as a means of running away from or avoiding any ugly confrontations. I'm going because---"

Janeway did not miss the interplay of emotions across Seven's features. "Because it will be with Axum."

"Yes. We will have the opportunity to recreate in reality what we shared in Unimatrix Zero."

The captain's stance softened. "When you put it that way…yes, I can see that is a compelling reason for you to go."

"I didn't say I had reached a final decision."

"You've certainly made quite a case for doing so. What's holding you back?" Janeway asked, curious.

"I will miss the friendships I have forged on board Voyager. Lieutenant Kim, the Doctor, Naomi Wildman…and you, Captain." Seven swallowed, her eyes glistening with sudden tears. "I can never repay you for what you have done for me. Not just for separating me from the Collective, but for your insistence I could not contemplate returning to them until I had learned enough about my own humanity to be able to make an informed decision for myself."

Janeway remembered that conversation very well. She closed her eyes as she was transported back in time to that confrontation in the brig with a strident and aggressive former drone. Seven had been desperate to return to the Collective, unable to bear the silence of only a single voice, a single set of thoughts. "I didn't understand what you went through then, Seven, not entirely, until this year when I too experienced the call of the Collective. For a brief moment, I felt what it was like to exist as a group consciousness, instead of as an individual. The transition back was--jarring. It must have been even harder for you."

Seven nodded. "I know I did not make it easy for you, then or afterwards. My actions aboard Voyager were often the source of many difficulties. Not to mention a cause of conflict between yourself and certain members of the senior staff."

Janeway started. "I won't deny that we had our difficulties in the past"--and she was most definitely not going to get into the areas Seven touched on in the last part of her statement!--"but in the long run it was worth it. To see you as you are today, the woman you've developed into--that makes it all worthwhile."

"Not many would have had the patience that you exhibited, Captain, and for that I am deeply appreciative. I have tried to learn by example, and I have seen you give your all for your crew, even to the extent of sacrificing your own personal happiness for the safety and welfare of the ship. It is that which makes me hesitate now--how can I leave Voyager, if by doing so I am endangering the ship, or at least decreasing its chances of survival, and of returning home?"

Janeway didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "You're not exactly leaving us in the lurch, Seven," she said carefully. "We did manage to survive a number of crises before you joined us, and I imagine we will be able to do so in the future." She leaned forward, and clasped Seven's hand tightly in her own. "We will all miss you, but you need to follow your heart."

Seven gave her a grateful look, and rose. "Thank you, Captain. You have helped me put things in their proper perspective."

"Then you are going?" All at once Janeway had a sense of déjà vu, remembering a conversation very like this, four years earlier, with another young woman whom she'd helped mentor, had grown to feel a special closeness to. She too had made a decision to follow her destiny, one apart from Voyager. Oh, Kes, Janeway thought sadly. I don't know if I have ever gotten used to your not being here, and now I have to say another goodbye… She forced herself to listen to Seven's answer.

"Yes, I am." Seven turned to go, then hesitated by the door. "Captain?"

"Yes?"

"It may be worthwhile for you to follow your own advice." Seven then swept out through the door, leaving a dumbfounded Janeway behind her.
***
Naomi Wildman watched from the shadows of the cargo bay, her presence unnoticed by the two people there. Icheb and Seven were engaged in a tense conversation.

Although she'd come in the middle, Naomi had no trouble guessing what they were talking about. The rumor of Seven's leaving had already swept through the ship, and she guessed Icheb had immediately come to confront Seven with the news, much as she herself had come to the cargo bay now. Naomi crept a little closer, to hear more clearly.

"I can understand why the prospect of going with Axum appeals to you," Icheb said, "But what I cannot understand is how you can just leave everyone here behind!"

It appeared that Seven heard the same entreaty that Naomi did, that what Icheb was really saying was, 'How can you leave me?' "Axum's offer is extended to you as well," Seven said gently, as she continued to pack.

"Why? Because I was once Borg?" Icheb's anger was apparent. "Because it is ludicrous to assume that I could ever belong fully anywhere but with a group of other ex-Borg?"

"I did not say that, and by your doing so, you are exhibiting the same type of prejudice and narrow-mindedness that has driven Axum and his followers halfway across the quadrant seeking sanctuary, a homeworld of their own where they will be undisturbed."

Icheb's gaze dropped. "I am sorry, Seven," he said. "I didn't mean to--"

"It is not unusual for someone who is hurting to strike out," Seven answered. She reached out to him, a little hesitantly. "Icheb, I know you don't want to lose me. I feel the same way about you. When the twins and Mezoti left, I felt bereft although I knew they were going to a better place, where they could truly belong and feel loved. I know it was hard on you then as well." Her gaze locked on his own. "But can't you see that circumstances are the same here? I love Axum, I loved him for years without realizing it, and then I lost him. I can't turn down the opportunity now of being with him."

"What about the people here?"

"Most of the crew has welcomed me and helped me find a place among them," Seven admitted. "But this is not where I was meant to be. And after Voyager's return to the Alpha Quadrant, what then? My 'family' here will scatter, and I don't know the family my parents left behind years ago."

Slowly Icheb shook his head. "No, I don't blame you." Bitterness clouded his features. "I know that my own attempt to leave Voyager to join my 'family' was not successful."

Naomi could hold back no longer, and burst out, "But it's not the same thing! Oh, Icheb, it's not the same thing at all!"

"Naomi," Seven said in surprise. With a pang, Naomi was suddenly reminded how Seven used to refer to her as 'subunit of Ensign Wildman' when they first became friends. "I was not aware that you were here."

"I heard everything you said," Naomi said, blinking back tears, although she couldn't say who they were for. "Icheb, if being with Axum is where Seven feels she belongs, then she should go. Even though," her voice trembled, "even though we're going to miss her terribly."

"Thank you, Naomi." Naomi was surprised, but pleased, when Seven hugged her. Seven had never been one for showing overt affection. Seven quickly straightened up. "I need to take care of a few things, but I will see you both later."

"At Neelix's goodbye party in the Mess Hall?" asked Naomi. "Of course. We wouldn't miss it for anything."

Seven looked at Icheb questioningly. "Icheb..."

"I will be there as well," he promised, his voice heavy with resignation. His eyes never left Seven's retreating figure as she exited the cargo bay.

Naomi moved closer to Icheb, took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "It will be all right, Icheb, it really will."

Icheb turned to her then, a look of overwhelming loss and sorrow in his eyes. A moment later they were in each other's arms. Naomi held him tightly, receiving comfort as well as giving it. Despite her sadness over Seven, the thought uppermost in her mind was that she was glad Icheb was staying. She didn't think she'd be able to bear it if he were leaving, too.

Neither of them noticed when the door to the cargo bay opened once more. Samantha Wildman, who'd come to say her own farewells, stood in the shadows, aghast at the sight before her.

She took a step forward, then thought better of it. Emotions were running high at the moment; later would be a better time to have a talk with her daughter.

***
Torres cursed under her breath, but the hyperspanner was too far away for her to reach. Both Vorik and Nicoletti had offered to recalibrate the isolinear relays, but she had adamantly refused, and insisted on doing it herself. A stance she had regretted almost instantly, when she first got under the console. Her back, which always ached these days, especially when she was tired, felt as if it might break in two at the waistline. Torres swore again and tried once more to grasp the elusive tool.

"Do you require this hyperspanner, Lieutenant?" The object in question suddenly moved much closer. Torres grabbed it gratefully. It wasn't until she had finished her adjustments and began the process of wriggling out from under the work area, that it registered who her benefactor had been.

"Seven, what are you doing here?" grunted Torres.

Seven did not reply immediately, but reached down and grasped B'Elanna's wrist. "Are you in need of any further assistance?"

"No, I can manage--" Torres began answering, then found herself being yanked abruptly to her feet. "Thanks," she said, a little less graciously than she probably should have.

Seven nodded briefly, but made no move to go.

"Did you want something?" Torres asked as she cast a critical eye over the console, to satisfy herself that it was now working properly. She looked up when there was no reply.

"There was some additional information I wished to impart to you about the transwarp drive, as I will no longer be on Voyager when you make use of the new technology," Seven said at last. "When you bring the drive online initially, you must be sure you have reached critical velocity before--"

"Before we cross the threshold to transwarp velocities," finished Torres. "Yes, I know."

"And be sure to compensate for the spatial distortions that accompany the opening of the conduit," Seven went on.

"We will," Torres said patiently. "The transwarp attempt is still some time off, but thanks anyway." She turned and busied herself at another nearby console, and then noticed that Seven was still standing there. "Was there something else?" Torres asked.

Seven looked ill at ease for a moment. "I wished to say that....that I am sorry I will not be here to see the birth of your child."

Torres looked at her in surprise but could think of nothing to say in response. Seven continued, in a rush, "Lieutenant Paris was one of the first people to befriend me on Voyager, other than the Captain. Unlike many others, he never held my past against me."

Torres smiled, despite herself. "Yes, Tom is like that. He certainly understands what it's like to be given a second chance."

Seven said, "And you, too, Lieutenant." At Torres' expression of disbelief--she had certainly never gone out of her way to make any overtures of friendship to the former Borg--Seven added, "The captain gave you a second chance as well."

"I can never repay Janeway for what she's done for me," B'Elanna said slowly, thinking about the course of her life, past and present. With sudden clarity, she recalled the day she was named chief engineer of Voyager, despite her Maquis background. "I owe her so much." She glanced at the other woman. "I guess you and I have a lot more in common than I thought."

"We do indeed."

There was silence for a moment. Torres had no way of knowing what was going through the former drone's mind, but she herself was thinking of her relationship with Seven, or lack thereof, over the past four years. They'd been rivals, both in Engineering matters and, she acknowledged now, for the captain's attention and approval as well. They were also both fiercely independent people, each determined to do things her way, the correct way. All of which probably added up to why they never really got along.

Suddenly, Torres found the words to say. She held her hand out. "I want to wish you the best of luck as you embark on your new life, Seven. I know I haven't always been very nice to you, or even polite, but I just want you to know, I'm glad you've got this chance with Axum. You deserve to be happy."

Seven gripped her hand strongly in return, the external Borg implants oddly at variance with the slender fingers they enclosed. "Thank you--B'Elanna."

***
The EMH picked up the culture dish and ran the scanner over it with a practiced eye. Good; the bacteria were growing nicely and soon would be ready to--

He stopped abruptly when a sound let him know he was no longer alone in Sickbay. He looked up and saw Seven standing there.

"You were not at the farewell party in the Mess Hall this evening," she said, somewhat accusingly.

"Well, yes, I've never been much of one for that sort of thing," the Doctor said somewhat lamely.

"I'm sorry that you weren't there."

"Why?"

"I wished to speak with you."

"About what?" he asked curiously. Seven was leaving in the morning with Axum, embarking on a new life far from Voyager, with others of her own background; he couldn't imagine what she needed to say to him now.

She licked her lips nervously. "I would like to thank you for everything you've done for me, over the years. Your lessons on socialization and behavioral norms..." The ghost of a smile flickered across his features, then faded at her next words, "And of course your friendship. It truly means a great deal to me."

"It’s been one of the more rewarding experiences in my life," he said gruffly. Not for the first time he cursed himself for his weakness at wishing to exceed the limits of his original limited programming. He shook himself mentally--yes, that was it; his emotional algorithms undoubtedly were in need of a major diagnostic.

Her eyes softened, as if she realized what he really meant, as if she'd heard in his voice the declaration of love he'd never admitted aloud. "I'm sorry," she said and he could hear the ring of honesty, and regret in her voice.

He turned away slightly, so she wouldn't see his hands tremble. "I didn't really expect--you deserve much better than a hologram. You deserve to be with someone... real."

"No," she said sternly. "You are mistaken. You should not disparage yourself like that." She came closer, her eyes intent on his. She spoke slowly, as if to give her words more emphasis. "I have never thought of you as anything less than a fellow sentient being. Whether someone is composed of flesh and blood, or photons, does not change the essence of what he is. You are real, as real as I, a human raised as a Borg, of both worlds but truly belonging to neither." Her head was bowed; he thought he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "You gave me what I needed most, a friend, as well as the example of how to be a friend when I didn't know how." Her voice broke for a moment. "I'm only sorry I could never give you what you needed."

For the first and last time he held her in his arms. Then she slipped away, leaving him alone.

Chapter Text

They stood in the transporter room, as the moment of departure was at hand. The drones from the Tikvah had already beamed over to Axum's ship.

In the center of the room, about to step onto the transporter pad, was a tall blonde woman. In contrast to the uniforms worn by most of the others present, she was dressed in a pink tunic and slacks. Her loose hair fell to her shoulders in gentle waves. Seven of Nine, tertiary adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One, had already left. Now, Annika Hansen was going home.

The captain's eyes were suspiciously bright as she hugged her protégée, but she quickly stepped back and allowed others to take her place.

Finally, all of the farewells had been said. Seven took her place on the transporter pad.

"Live long and prosper," Tuvok intoned. He raised his hand in the ritual Vulcan salute.

"Peace and long life," Seven said, giving the correct answer. Her eyes went from Tuvok to Janeway, then to the rest of those assembled: Kim, Paris, Torres, Neelix, Naomi and Sam Wildman, and Icheb. "It is thanks to everyone here that I do indeed have that opportunity."

"Goodbye," Janeway said softly. Then, turning to Torres, who had moved behind the transporter controls, she said, "Energize."

As he watched the sparkles vanish, Neelix felt a hand slip into his own. Sarexa stood next to him.

"Did I tell you how happy I am that you're staying?" he asked quietly, as the rest of the crew filed out of the room.

"I wasn't going to lose you again," Sarexa said emphatically. She laid her head on his shoulder and returned his embrace. "Seven is home now, and so am I."

***
Captain's log, supplemental. Axum and his ships left the vicinity 12 hours ago. Lieutenant Torres assures me that the problem with the engines should be corrected within the next day and we will at last be able to achieve warp. In a way, this forced layover has---

Janeway broke off dictating her log at Kim's hail. "Captain, receiving incoming message from the Taj."

"Just a moment, Lieutenant," Janeway said. She quickly exited her Ready Room, preferring to take it on the bridge with her officers present. As she took her seat, she nodded at Kim. "Let's hear it."

The heavyset Klingon appeared on the main viewscreen. "Voyager, this is Korok."

"Commander, we didn't expect to hear from you again so soon," Janeway began.

Korok shook his head. "Nor did I. Unfortunately, the tidings I bear are not good." He paused, looking at something out of their line of vision, and continued, "I have received a message from the long range scouts I sent out some time ago. They report an armada of vessels is coming our way."

"Borg?" Chakotay asked quietly.

"Yes. They reported the presence of over 40 ships, at a distance of 75 light years away. But that's not all. Scouts even further out indicate this is just the first installment--there have been sightings of additional cubes."

Janeway's mouth tightened almost imperceptibly, but otherwise her expression didn't change. "Thank you for apprising us of the situation, Korok."

Korok nodded, then said bluntly, "I was surprised to find you still at your last coordinates, Captain. If you truly don't wish to be involved in the coming battle, you should have left long ago. Now it may be too late. Korok out."

"The trajectory of Korok's ships suggests that they are planning to rendezvous very near our position, Captain," Tuvok said. "It would appear that he is planning on making his stand here."

"Set a course out of here, Captain?" Paris asked. "We've still got impulse power."

Chakotay shook his head impatiently. "Even if we could go to warp this minute, we would still be overtaken within a short time. We can't outrun vessels traveling at transwarp. Those cubes will be here in less than 16 hours."

"And even if we managed to avoid this confrontation, there is another fleet besides," Janeway said slowly. She stood and walked over to the main viewscreen, then turned so she was facing her crew. "Our worst fears have been realized. This is no longer a petty squabbling with pirates, or other renegade drones. These are the combined forces of the Collective, out to crush any opposition, once and for all."

As if to underscore her words, Tuvok said suddenly, "Captain, a conduit is opening almost immediately off our port bow. I'm picking up multiple signatures."

Almost before it had fully emerged, the lead cube fired on their position. Voyager shuddered under the assault.

Janeway grabbed the railing next to her in an attempt to remain upright. "Battle stations! Return fire!"

End Part 1

Chapter Text

Smoke filled the air of the bridge. Damaged consoles crackled and sparked. Janeway stood amid the turmoil, staring at the heavily armored cube on the main viewscreen. The Borg's message hadn't varied over time; more than once Voyager's captain had stood in this very spot and heard those ominous words.

"We are the Borg. Your vessel will be assimilated, your biological and technological distinctiveness added to our own. Resistance is futile."

Only one of the cubes that had unexpectedly emerged from the conduit had remained to engage them in battle. The others had immediately taken off to God knows where, perhaps to rendezvous with the main fleet that was heading this way, less than 16 hours away from their current position. But even one cube was sufficient to wreak havoc aboard Voyager.

The first shot penetrated their regular shields as if they weren't even there--it was only the secondary Zornon reinforcements that had afforded the Federation vessel any protection whatsoever. The Borg had the upper hand in defensive capabilities as well; despite the modulating frequencies, Voyager's phasers glanced off the cube without having any discernible effect.

"Report!" Janeway ordered without turning around. Behind her she heard the controlled chaos as Kim fought to reroute his board and Tuvok strove to return fire and keep them one step ahead of the onslaught.

"Hull breaches on decks 11, 3 and 14," Kim announced at last. "Emergency forcefields are holding. A conflagration on deck 6 is being brought under control. Reports of injured arriving in Sickbay...13 casualties, status ranging from moderate to critical."

Janeway moved over to the tactical station. She was peripherally aware of Chakotay and Ensign Mulcahey frantically working on one of the sizzling consoles, trying to contain the damage. Onscreen, the cube could be seen firing again. "Helm, evasive maneuvers, pattern 'Sigma One.'"

"Aye, Captain." Paris' hands flew over his controls, but the ship did not respond as expected. "She's sluggish--I need more power."

The captain slapped her comm badge. "Janeway to Engineering." There was no response. Damn. Either communications were going down, or all hell had broken loose down there. "Engineering! Come in, please."

A few heartbeats later there was finally an answer. "Engineering. Lieutenant Nicoletti here."

Nicoletti? Where was Torres? At the helm, Paris stiffened but didn't take his eyes off his station.

"Engineering, reroute more power to helm!" Janeway said, struggling to remain upright, as Voyager rocked once more.

Again there was a delay, but at least his time the chief engineer herself answered. "Sorry, Captain," said Torres. "You can have full impulse power at helm, or you can have weapons. I can't give you both."

"Acknowledged." Janeway's mouth tightened. She looked at Tuvok, and inclined her head toward the grid displayed on his console. "Any success at penetrating their armor?"

"Sensors indicate a slight weakening here--" Tuvok indicated a specific area "--near the central plexus. However, shield integrity at that spot has only dropped 18%. We would need an additional drop of 36% before our weapons could have any noticeable effect."

Not for the first time Janeway wished for one of the tri-cobalt devices Voyager had been equipped with seven years earlier. But they had used up their limited supply almost immediately--in the destruction of the Caretaker's Array, and beating off the early waves of Kazon attacks--and that was that. She might as well wish for some corbomite.

"Too bad we can't just ask them to lower their shields for us," muttered Paris as he continued to struggle with the helm. Although still tense, he'd relaxed visibly when his wife's voice had been heard over the comm. Janeway also noted that despite the adverse conditions, he'd managed to increase the distance between themselves and the attacking vessel.

"Why can't we?" asked Chakotay, returning to his seat. "Get them to lower their shields, I mean."

Janeway's head snapped up. "Why not, indeed." She rushed over to Ops. "Harry, let's try to disrupt their internal communications."

Kim caught on quickly. "I could send a jamming message via the transceiver frequencies we've recorded the Queen using on previous occasions."

"Exactly," said Janeway. "On a cube that size, we're bound to find some faint resonance. We should be able to slow down their response time, at the very least. Even if it's only nanoseconds, that can give us the opportunity we need. Tuvok, stand by to fire on my mark."

"Understood, Captain," the Vulcan replied. "Readying photon torpedoes."

A minute or two later--Janeway no longer trusted her sense of time passage--Kim reported, "It's working, Captain! Their shields are weakening"

The captain didn't hesitate. "Tuvok, now!"

At Tuvok's command, a barrage of photon torpedoes streaked toward the cube. They slammed against the same vulnerable spot in rapid succession. "I'm reading a power surge near the main processor," Tuvok announced.

A reddish glow blossomed in the upper right hand corner of the cube. "It's going to blow!" Chakotay said an instant later.

"Tom, get us--" the rest of Janeway's words were lost as a brilliant explosion lit up the darkness. The bridge rocked as the cube's debris bombarded Voyager. Mercifully, the overstrained shields held.

When the shaking subsided, Janeway glanced at the image of the cube once more. A gaping hole was revealed in the upper corner of the Borg vessel, with smaller craters pitting the surrounding areas. The entire cube was dark and lifeless against the backdrop of stars. Janeway heaved a sigh, but not one of relief.

"You did it again, Captain," Paris said, his voice less steady than usual. "Pulled another rabbit right out of that hat."

Janeway ran a hand through her disheveled hair. "Unfortunately, we're running out of rabbits," she said, more sharply than she intended. "We won't be able to use that trick again."

"Which may have been the aim of this attack," Chakotay said thoughtfully.

Tuvok agreed. "This was most likely a feint on the part of the Collective, to test our ability and weaponry."

Janeway smiled grimly. "Well, gentlemen, if that was a test, the final exam's less than 16 hours away."

Chapter Text

Tuvok stood in front of the main display screen in Astrometrics, preparatory to briefing Voyager's command crew and chief conn officer on the disposition of forces for the upcoming battle. The importance of this briefing was underscored by General Korok's presence; the Klingon leader had just returned to the sector within the past hour.

At Tuvok's nod, Lieutenant Megan Delaney, head of the department now that Seven was gone, keyed in a sequence of commands. A tactical map appeared. Small red icons representing Korok's forces were located in the lower right hand corner, moving slowly and seemingly at random. At a distance from the others, a group of motionless green blips, representing the Borg, formed a cluster shaped vaguely like an arrowhead.

"This display encompasses the entire Vigrid sector," Tuvok said. "General Korok has provided us with the warp signatures of his fleet so we can track the positions of the different ships."

"So we can identify hostile vessels during the actual battle," Chakotay said, and gave a wry smile. "Before they announce their intentions by shooting at us, that is."

"The positions of your allies are also important," Korok interjected, "knowing who is watching your back."

"But we can already detect which vessels are still connected to the Collective," said Paris, studying the display carefully. As he watched, the green cluster moved closer.

"Yes, Tom," answered the captain, "but what about unconnected cubes? Can we automatically assume they're on our side?"

"Of cour--" began Paris, then stopped. "You mean some of the freed drones would actually fight for the Queen?"

"As illogical as that would seem, Lieutenant," said Tuvok, "that is a possibility we must consider."

"The 'pirates' and other renegades will doubtless fight for whichever side they think will net them the most advantages. In other words, pick the winning side," Chakotay said flatly. He didn't voice the obvious conclusion of who the victors were expected to be.

"But their own self-interest is at stake!" Paris protested. Off to one side, ignored for the moment, Delaney gave a quick nod of agreement.

Korok smiled, but it was not a pleasant expression. "In the long term, perhaps, but many of these petaQ are interested only in the short term benefits." A grudging respect entered his voice. "But at least they are willing to fight for what they want. By their presence, they announce that they are not cowards who shy away from battle."

He brought his fist down with sudden force on the console in front of him. Janeway almost expected to literally see sparks fly. She quickly sought to defuse the situation; Korok had already held forth at great length about the cowardly behavior--as he saw it--of Axum, who several months ago had turned down Korok's request to join his venture. Fortunately, Korok did not seem inclined to harp on Janeway's own earlier refusal, apparently 'forgiving' her in light of Voyager's current involvement. "Back to our discussion of tactics and vessel deployment, General," she reminded him.

The Klingon warrior took the hint. He knew as well as she did that time was a precious commodity, and one they did not have in abundance. Four hours had elapsed since Voyager had first received Korok's message about the approach of Collective's fleet, leaving them with at most another 12 until the final battle would begin.

With Delaney's assistance, Korok rapidly indicated and named each of the small red icons that represented the ships of his alliance. "My own ship, the Taj, will be in the vanguard here, flanked by the Ymir and Verandi, there." All of those were Borg cubes. Next were three tactical spheres. "Tyr, Surt and Fenris will make up the inner line of defense. Voyager will be positioned here as well." He then identified a series of alien vessels, from worlds Janeway did not recognize but knew to be natives of the Vigrid sector.

Korok had done a tremendous amount of work toward building a coalition, she realized. It was no accident that he had planned to make his last stand here. Another set of ships were indicated as being held in reserve, with still others taking up positions on the perimeter. Janeway was not paying close attention to the particular names, being more concerned with the overall placements and strategies, but the final name Korok uttered caught her attention.

"Did you say the Trefla?" she asked.

"Yes," said Korok. "A cube of freed drones. Their leader, Sakat, contacted me a few days ago and asked to be part of our effort."

Janeway's eyes met Chakotay's. She knew exactly what he was thinking--about whether or not to tell Korok of Voyager's earlier encounter with the Trefla. Chakotay lifted his brows questioningly. Janeway hesitated a long moment, then shook her head, the movement so slight as to go unnoticed by anyone other than her first officer. He could not fail to understand her meaning.

Yes, the drones on board the Trefla had attempted to take over Voyager and had attacked a number of her officers. But that had been at the instigation of individuals who were now dead. The forces of reason had prevailed, and it was unfair to continue harboring any bad feelings toward the survivors. Besides, with their clearly demonstrated hatred for the Collective, the Trefla was bound to be a valuable addition to the coalition. If things went according to Korok's overall plan, it was highly unlikely Voyager would have any contact with them during the battle itself. Chakotay sighed softly, but did not say anything.

"So there you have it," Korok finished. "Forty two vessels of the Collective, versus 18 of ours. Fine odds, wouldn't you say?"

"No, I would not," Tuvok answered, taking the Klingon bluster at face value. "In terms of sheer numbers of ships, we are outnumbered by 2.3 to 1. In terms of manpower, the odds are even higher---"

Korok waved his hand dismissively. "Numbers are not important. What is important is the size of the heart in each fighter, his willingness to give his all, his very life if need be, to the cause."

"And if we fail?" Delaney said suddenly, speaking for the first time. Janeway shot a warning glance at her, but Korok smiled.

"Then it will be glorious to die in battle," the Klingon general said.

"Thank you, but I plan on living," Janeway said. She turned to her officers. "No, the situation doesn't look good. Aside from the issue of our own survival, and that of the billions who inhabit this sector of space, this battle is going to determine the fate of the Borg once and for all. The Queen has obviously put all her forces in play. We cannot expect to do any less." She looked meaningfully at each of the people in front of her. "And I refuse to accept the notion of 'licked before we even begin.'"

No one, not even Paris, had anything further to say. The meeting was over.

Before accompanying Tuvok and Korok to the transporter room, Janeway spoke in a low voice to Chakotay. "I want all personnel of the Alpha and Beta shifts to get some rest in the hours we have before that fleet is expected to get here. Go to split shifts. Everyone is to have a minimum of four hours off, no exceptions."

"Understood, Captain." He paused for a moment. "That speech of yours--"

"Yes?"

"I hope you plan on repeating it on shipwide speakers before we engage the enemy."

"You honestly think the crew doesn't know what's at stake here?" she asked incredulously.

"No, they know perfectly well what's at stake. Almost as well as they know that their captain isn't willing to concede defeat." He left without waiting for her to respond.

"No, I'm not defeated," she said quietly to herself. "Not yet, anyway."

Janeway was largely silent during the walk through the corridors. At her side, Tuvok and the Klingon general continued to discuss tactics for the upcoming battle. She listened with half an ear, but uppermost in her mind was a feeling of trepidation. She shivered. She didn't believe in premonitions, but the words of the ancient Terran writer, whose name was lost in the mists of antiquity, echoed with sudden urgency through her mind.

And on that day of Ragnarok, the day of the last battle, the forces of evil shall declare war upon the gods, the forces of righteousness, and fight with them to mutual extinction. In this twilight of the gods, the universe itself will fall to ruin, not merely the sun and planets and stars, but at the last, Valhalla itself, and all its warriors and deities. For no one can triumph against Fate--

"'Fate often saves an undoomed man if his courage is good,'" Janeway murmured, scarcely aware she'd spoken aloud.

Korok broke off his conversation with Tuvok in mid-sentence. "Exactly so, Captain. I was not aware that Terran philosophy so closely echoed our own."

Janeway gave him a small smile. "That line was spoken by the old Norsemen, as they prepared to go into battle."

"Then they must have been related to the Klingons," Korok answered. He stepped on the transporter pad. "Remember, bIlujlaHbe'chugh bIQaplaHbe'--if you cannot fail, you cannot succeed." He raised his fist in salute. "Till we meet in battle, or in Sto-Vo-Kor beyond."

After he dematerialized, Janeway stared at the empty platform for a long moment. Tuvok raised a questioning brow, but said nothing.

"I need to go to Engineering," she said at last. "See if we can get the warp engines back online ahead of schedule. But before I do, there is something you and I need to discuss."

"Yes, Captain?"

"It's about the nanoprobes..."

***
Lieutenants Rollins and Ayala stood at attention, waiting for their head of department to continue with the tactical and security briefing. Tuvok paused, aware they were looking at him expectantly. For an instant, instead of the living officers before him, he saw the face of one who was not there and never would be again.

Strange that he should feel Ken Dalby's absence so keenly. The former Maquis had never been easy to get along with--Dalby had in fact seemed to take a perverse delight in trying to arouse the chief of security's ire--and Tuvok would not have automatically considered him when calling a meeting of his most trusted and dependable underlings. And yet, whenever a crisis arose, Dalby had always met it unflinchingly, and usually played a key role in conquering threats or repelling attacks. As he had when the Borg Queen's specially modified drones invaded Voyager two months earlier. Dalby had fallen in the battle to retake Engineering, an early casualty in the current round of hostilities with the Collective.

A most uncharacteristic thought rose in Tuvok's mind as he looked at the men facing him now; he found himself wondering which of them would be next.

"We have discussed distributing sidearms to each crew member," the Vulcan said, his voice carrying no hint of emotion. "A cache of the large compression rifles will be available on each deck near the turbolifts, in addition to the regular weapons lockers, in case of an intruder alert. Mr. Ayala, have you gone over the redundancy plans?"

"Yes, sir," Ayala replied. He held out a PADD. "All the back-up systems are in place, forcefields fully charged and operational in case of hostile boarding parties as well as any hull breaches."

"Very good." Tuvok gave a cursory glance at his checklist. "Mr. Rollins, is the self-destruct sequence functional in the event of a 'worst case scenario'?"

To his credit, Rollins did not flinch as he discussed the current state of the last ditch defense mechanism. He then finished with a report on the most recent inspection of the ship's escape pods.

Of course, Tuvok thought, they are thinking ahead in terms of survival, even beyond the destruction of the ship. Human resiliency, even in the face of almost certain death, never ceased to amaze him.

"The next item on our list: phaser banks and photon torpedo complement."

Chapter Text

The Doctor snapped out commands in a controlled, yet hurried tone.

"Icheb, I want you in the lab replicating as much of your nanovirus vaccine as possible--the same strain that we used on board the Trefla."

Icheb frowned. "We already have a sizable quantity available, Doctor. How much additional material do you require?"

"About triple the volume we currently have in the stasis chambers. The entire crew must receive inoculations," Voyager's chief medical officer said. "Or in the case of individuals such as Ensigns Pierce and Gilmore--who have previously been treated--boosters to stimulate the basal level of nanoprobes present in their systems." Icheb nodded and went off to the labs without another word.

The Doctor looked after him for a moment, weighing having another person working with the young man, but immediately decided against it. There were other pressing issues to be concerned with. Icheb would just have to manage alone until Naomi Wildman reported for duty in another three hours.

He continued, "Ensign Gallagher, take the stocks we already have and begin administering the vaccine to the bridge personnel, then work your way down through as many decks as you can."

"It will be very time-consuming to inoculate the entire crew one at a time," Gallagher objected, her frown matching his. "What about using the ship's ventilation system as a method of dispersal?"

"Not practical," he said tersely, glancing at his PADD. Then, "It would take even longer to first convert the virus into aerosol form. Individual inoculations are the best option. Oh, that reminds me, I need to speak with Lieutenant Torres about the feasibility of administering the nanovirus to the gel packs themselves. Ensign Redman--" he addressed the Life Sciences officer who had been 'drafted' for the current shift. "Ensign Redman, as soon as the next batch is ready, I want you to do the same, but starting from Engineering and covering the lower decks. In the meantime, you can administer neural suppressants--not nearly as effective a protection against assimilation, but it will do in a pinch."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Sam Wildman calmly. "Should I administer inoculations as well? Or assist Icheb?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Neither. I'm counting on you to make sure Sickbay facilities are prepared for large numbers of casualties. You know the drill. Check all equipment, see that it's in a state of readiness, and that trauma teams are standing by on their assigned decks. Do a quick inventory of plasma, stabilizing enzymes, coagulants and neural regenerators, and replicate anything that's in short supply."

He quickly shooed them off to their respective tasks. Trish Gallagher was a regular member of the medical staff; eminently capable, he knew she would work as efficiently as possible. He had his doubts about George Redman; the man had served only a limited number of shifts on medical duty, but he could not spare Sam Wildman from Sickbay. It suddenly occurred to the Doctor that perhaps he couldn't count on Icheb's presence for an extended period of time. Doubtless Engineering would also be clamoring for his services before long.

The Doctor would never admit it out loud, of course, but more than anything he wished Lieutenant Paris was there with him. Insubordinate attitude, inappropriate comments and all, the Doctor would put up with it as long as he could have Paris’ skilled assistance. But the Doctor knew that he wouldn't see Paris cross the threshold of Sickbay anytime soon, unless it was as a patient. Under his breath he muttered imprecations at whoever had thought that the ship's most skilled pilot would make a good Sickbay assistant cum field medic.

The task the Doctor had set himself was inventorying his supplies of de-assimilation drugs, in particular bragrahydrophortizine-L and ryanicdine-6. And zanamivir, he reminded himself; the broad-based antiviral was essential for combating the secondary infections that often set in once the cybernetic neural implants were disconnected. He just hoped he would have a chance to use them--not that he wanted Voyager to be boarded by hostile drones, but there was no denying that was a preferable outcome to the ship being destroyed completely. Surely it wasn't asking too much for him to hope that after the battle was over, he would have the time and facilities to try to correct any damage.

As he worked, the Doctor continued to fret about the conditions in Sickbay. Lack of materials and medications, not enough personnel--there was never enough personnel. "Why is it always my department which gets short-changed each time?" he muttered, a bit louder than he anticipated. "I'm good, but not that good."

Gallagher rolled her eyes. Redman made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter and was rewarded with a holographic glare. Redman hastily grabbed his medikit and hurried toward the door. He nearly bumped into Tuvok on his way out and stammered an apology.

"As you were, Ensign," Tuvok said, stepping to one side. Redman and Gallagher quickly exited.

"Commander," said the Doctor without looking up. "Unless this is a situation that requires emergency medical intervention, I would appreciate it if you would return at a later time. We're rather busy at the moment--"

"I am aware of the time constraints, Doctor, and I assure you I am not here to waste either your time, or my own." Tuvok paused for a moment. "One of the reasons I am here is to check on your department's preparations for the coming battle."

The Doctor stiffened as much as a hologram could. "I assure you, Mr. Tuvok," he said in his iciest tones, "that my staff and I are taking all necessary steps toward that end." He broke off, noticing the expression of weariness that flitted across the Vulcan's face. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I am in no need of any rest at the present," Tuvok said.

"Come, come, Commander," chided the Doctor. "Need I remind you of the captain's directive? Despite your attempts to emulate one, you are not a machine, and unless I miss my guess, you've been on duty for too many consecutive hours already."

The Vulcan shook his head, almost impatiently. "I have too many tasks that must be completed first. Among them is ensuring that the medical replicators are working at full capacity, producing the necessary nanovirus."

"That's already being done, and I have people administering hyposprays to the entire crew." Curious, the Doctor turned to look at him once more, "Tell me, Commander, why are you involving yourself in something that is purely a medical matter?"

"I am not referring to crew inoculations," Tuvok responded. "I require the nanovirus for a different purpose."

"You mean--" the thought was so alarming the Doctor could not bring himself to finish, but Tuvok saved him the trouble.

"Yes. For the preparation of specially equipped warheads for use against the Borg."

"You're talking about bio-weapons!" the Doctor said, aghast. "The Treaty of Dadh'gab, of which the Federation was one of the principal signatory parties, specifically outlaws their use in warfare! Surely you're not serious."

"Our options are limited, Doctor, our arsenal of effective weapons even more so. We must use everything we have at our disposal if we wish to survive."

"Perhaps," the Doctor said grudgingly, but added, "Still, I can't help but feel it's more important to use the limited number of special nanoprobes for use as a preventive medicine and cure instead of as a weapon."

Tuvok pulled himself up to his full height. "Doctor, as Chief Tactical Officer and Head of Security, I could make this an order."

"There's no need to go to extremes, Commander," the EMH said in resignation. He reached out and picked up a case on the table nearby that Redman had forgotten. "These vials were supposed to be used for inoculations on decks 10-15, however..."

Tuvok stopped him. "Not the vaccine, Doctor. I require the earlier form of the nanovirus that Cadet Icheb developed." He didn't call it the 'lethal' variety, but they both knew that was all it was--a genocidal virus specifically designed to murder cybernetic-dependent lifeforms.

The Doctor's hands clenched on the side of the cabinet. "That won't be possible. We never produced any of that strain and Icheb destroyed the research records when he developed the newer, more benign form."

"That statement is incorrect," Tuvok countered. He held out a PADD. "I have the specifications right here. How long will it take to produce the quantity needed to outfit between fifty and 100 medium-range warheads?"

The Doctor made no move to take it. "How did you get that? I personally destroyed all of the records and purged the files from the computer."

Tuvok said quietly, "I obtained a copy of the research some time ago, before your efforts at removal."

The Doctor strove to control himself, though he was beside himself with rage. "Do you realize what it is you're advocating? A truly horrific form of murder. This virus doesn't simply kill drones--it dissolves their implants as well as any internal organs that happen to be nearby! It turns their own nanoprobes into ravening hordes, attacking and devouring every cell within reach!" He was shouting now, not caring if anyone else in Sickbay heard him. "How can you reconcile that with your Vulcan philosophy, Mr. Tuvok? Is torture now part of the Starfleet standard of operations?"

Tuvok listened to the outburst with no change in his expression. When the Doctor at last spluttered to a halt, Tuvok said calmly, "We have no choice. The thought of causing such horrific deaths is not a pleasant one, but we do not have the luxury to consider any other alternatives. There are no other alternatives. It is kill or be killed, Doctor. The lives of Voyager's crew, her allies and the inhabitants of this sector, are balanced against the lives of the Borg Collective. What do you choose?"

"That's not fair," the Doctor whispered.

"No, it is not." Once more Tuvok repeated, "How long will it take to replicate sufficient quantities of the nanovirus?"

Defeated, the Doctor said, "Six hours, plus or minus two. And that's with all the medical replicators working at full capacity."

Tuvok's lips thinned. "By conservative estimate, the Borg armada will arrive in less than 8 hours. That barely leaves us with sufficient time. Replication is not the only issue; the medium must then be converted to a slurry of the proper density with which to equip the warheads." He seemed to come to a decision. "But that part of the operation does not directly concern you. I will dispatch a security detail to pick up the material. They will be the ones responsible for installing the payloads."

"Yet the blood will be on all of our hands." The Doctor grabbed Tuvok's shoulder. "But why the lethal strain?" he protested. "Why not at least use the 'benign' virus? That will still accomplish what you want. It will disconnect the drones from the Collective and prevent them being re-assimilated or susceptible to the Queen's commands." Almost pleadingly, he added, "What difference does it make which strain you use?"

Tuvok remained unmoved. "Unfortunately, the lethal form of the virus is much hardier and works at an appreciably faster rate. We cannot take the chance that the warheads will malfunction. In all likelihood, we will not have more than one chance."

The Doctor suddenly remembered that they were not alone in Sickbay. Sam Wildman was at the far side of the room, and Icheb was in the lab next door. They had probably heard every word of the argument. He remembered what Icheb had gone through during the initial development phase of the nanovirus, and knew the burden would be even heavier on him now. If all went according to plan, he was going to be responsible for the slaughter of millions. Millions of drones just like he himself had once been; but for a twist of fate he would still be numbered among them.

Bitterly, the EMH wondered if Tuvok realized this as well, and if so, did he even care. But there was no fighting that cold and bloodless Vulcan logic. "All right, Commander, you'll have your nanovirus to make your bio-weapons," he said, his tone clipped. "But I plan on registering a formal protest with the captain, once this is all over."

Tuvok gave him a measured look. "I look forward to filing it with the captain personally, Doctor--when this is all over."
***
The Mess Hall was eerily quiet, despite the fact that a good three quarters of the tables were occupied.

Sarexa filled a large teapot from the urn in the cooking area, then proceeded from table to table asking if anyone wanted a cup of marok, a Talaxian herbal tea that had been a favorite of hers as a child. She had vague memories of her mother using the brew to treat a variety of ills, ranging from skinned knees to hurt feelings. She hoped it would have the same soothing effect on the Voyager crew.

Because of the unnatural silence--or the enhanced capabilities of her otic implant--Sarexa couldn't help overhearing snippets of hushed conversation as she made her rounds. The same somber themes came up time and time again. Yes, she decided, a pot of marok was definitely in order.

The Parises were having dinner at a table in the corner. Sarexa listened for a moment, then decided against approaching them just yet.

"Stop patronizing me, Tom! I don't like being treated this way."

"All I said was that you need to try to relax a little, B'Elanna," her husband said. "Here, have something to eat." He scooped up a spoonful of stew and leaned forward. "Just a little taste. Come on--"

She jerked her head away, causing the spoon to splatter onto the table top. "Now look what you've done!"

He took a napkin and calmly wiped up the spill. "Look, I know you're not happy about being dragged away from your engines, B'Elanna, but you need to eat--and get some rest--if you want to be of any use later on."

For a moment B'Elanna appeared to be wavering between further argument, or giving in to the sense of what he was saying. Her shoulders slumped. "You're right. And yes, I know that Engineering is in good hands, even if I'm not there."

"Especially with the captain spending a few hours down there now," Paris said. "Carey and the rest are good, but Janeway's no slouch as an engineer, either. There are times when I'm convinced she's the only person on this ship who actually understands you when you go off on one of your 'technobabble flights of fancy.'"

B'Elanna's lips twitched. "Don't forget it was thanks to that 'technobabble' that we were finally able to get the warp drive back on-line." She quickly sobered. "I just don't like sitting around--I need to be doing something." She picked up her fork, and then put it down again almost immediately. "It helps keep my mind off...things."

"I know what you mean," Paris said with a sigh. "When I'm going over schematics, or tactical maneuvers, I don't have time to think about the future, or dwell on how I wish--no, hope--that our daughter will have a chance to live free."

"Or even to be born at all," Torres said, biting her lip. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so negative..."

"Shh, it's all right." Paris picked up her hand and held it against his cheek for a long moment. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said once again.

The upcoming battle was clearly on the minds of others as well. Sarexa moved on to where the Wildmans were sitting. Mother and daughter were both very quiet, neither one seemingly interested in eating, but just picking at the food in front of them. They refused to try any marok, but Sarexa continued observing them out of the corner of her eye while she poured for the next table.

Suddenly Sam reached out and clasped her daughter's hand. "I'm sorry, Naomi. I wish I had been able to do better by you."

Naomi looked up in surprise. "What's that supposed to mean? Mom, I love you and I know that you love me. You've done the best you could for me--you always have since the day I was born. I'm not blaming you--for anything." She smiled. "It's been wonderful growing up here on Voyager. And as you said yourself, how many other children, either on Terra or Ktaria VII, have had the same kind of opportunities I've had?"

Sam was obviously not in the mood to be comforted. "A starship is no place to raise a child," she said.

Naomi shook her head emphatically. "I wouldn't trade places with anybody--no matter what happens in the future. I want you to know that, Mom." She took one more mouthful of stew, then pushed her tray away. "I've got to get going--my shift in Sickbay starts in 15 minutes."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, but there's been a change in the duty roster," Sam said, her voice almost too casual. "I'll be taking that shift for you."

"What? But you just got off duty, Mom. Aren't you tired?"

"Not really," Sam said. "And anyway, I'm willing to bet you spent at least half your off-time reading instead of sleeping. Despite the fact that you're growing up so quickly, honey, you're still technically a child, and you need more rest than an adult."

Naomi wasn't fooled. "This is about Icheb, isn't it?" she said, her voice rising precipitously. "Once again, you're trying to keep me from spending 'too much time' with him. Why can't you just--"

Sam interrupted. "No, Naomi, believe it or not that has nothing to do with it. Icheb isn't the reason I don't want you in the lab right now."

"Then what is?"

Her mother answered wearily, "Please, honey, just trust me on this."

Harry Kim chose that moment to look up and wave from his table. "Hey, Sarexa, I'd love a cup of coffee."

She set down her pot next to the PADD he was working on. "It's Talaxian tea, not coffee. Do you still want some?"

"I'll try a little bit. At this point, anything hot will feel good going down." Kim took a sip and then his eyes widened. "This is good. I mean, really good."

"You sound surprised," Sarexa said archly.

Kim looked abashed for a moment. "Don't take this the wrong way," he said, "but over the years I've learned to be a bit cautious when it comes to Talaxian cuisine."

Sarexa grinned despite herself. "You mean about Neelix's cooking."

"Uh...yeah. Sorry." He hastily added, "But regardless, Neelix is a great guy--"

"It's all right, Lieutenant," Sarexa cut in. "Actually, it took me some time to adjust to his cooking, myself." At Kim's look of astonishment, she went on, "Most of the dishes I've seen Neelix prepare are native to the southwestern regions of Rinax, whose chefs are noted for their use of robust flavoring. I was born on Talax Prime, and my mother didn't spice her dishes in quite the same way."

"That explains it." Kim smiled appreciatively and held out his cup. "I'll have some more."

As Sarexa leaned forward to give him a refill, she caught a glimpse of what was written on his PADD. Instead of the complex diagrams or equations she was expecting, she saw the words 'and if I don't make it, Marla, I just want you to know--"

Sarexa blushed at her unintended breach of his privacy. She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I'd better get back and see if Neelix has anything else for me to do in the kitchen." She hurried off, grateful that Kim wasn't aware of what had just happened.

At the serving counter, Neelix was ladling more stew into Ensign Baytart's bowl. "There you are, Pablo."

"Thanks, Neelix," Baytart answered. "This is great stuff. I'm glad you had enough for seconds."

Neelix beamed. "You must be very hungry today, Ensign."

"Actually, I was thinking I'm going to need some extra energy to make it through the next few hours. But not because of my regular duties." Baytart's hand hovered over the basket of fruit for a few seconds, before selecting a few purple berries. He popped them into his mouth and said thickly, "Now that Commander Tuvok has nixed the idea of having the Delta Flyer operating independently of Voyager in the battle, I'm going to do a stint in the engineering levels instead."

"Engineering?" Neelix asked. "Those aren't your usual haunts. Isn't there something you could do at conn?"

Baytart shrugged. "Culhane and Jenkins are slotted to back up Paris on the bridge. So I might as well pitch in where it's needed. You know they can always use some extra help in Engineering, especially now when we're going into this at less than optimum strength."

"That's very commendable of you, Ensign."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Everybody's just trying to do the best they can. See you later, Neelix." Baytart snagged a few more berries on his way back to his table.

Neelix noticed her standing there then. "It looks like the marok was a success," he said, eyeing the empty pot.

"Yes. The ones who tried it seemed to like it," Sarexa answered. She hesitated a moment. "I hope it helps."

"You're talking about the overall mood of the crew, aren't you?" he said softly.

Once more she paused, not wanting to give away any details from the conversations she'd overheard. "It seems as though a lot of them are expecting the worst."

Neelix sighed heavily. "I can't say I blame them. And this waiting around is just terrible. I almost wish that the Borg would hurry up and get it over with already. Almost." He tried unsuccessfully to smile. "As morale officer I probably shouldn't say this out loud, but I'm scared, Sarexa."

"I'm not."

He looked at her in surprise. "You're not?"

"Fear isn't the right word for what I'm feeling." She considered for a moment. "I don't know...maybe it's just--I'm resigned. Yes, that's it. There's no escaping the Collective. I knew it all along, but I tried to pretend that I could put the Borg behind me, could go on and have a normal life." She added with sudden bitterness, "But in the end, it was all a pipe dream."

Neelix took her by the shoulders, his eyes intent on hers, no trace of his earlier fear remaining. "Don't say that, Sarexa. Don't even think it. You can't give up hope. You've got to believe that we're going to get through this. I've seen this ship and crew in some tight spots before, and this time is no different. I know Captain Janeway is going to do her absolute best. And I know she will succeed."

Sarexa laid her head against his chest and felt his arms go around her. "I envy you, Neelix. How can you make yourself believe that everything will work out all right?"

He stroked her hair comfortingly. "You just have to have faith."

Chapter Text

Chakotay paused outside the captain's door. He could hear her voice through the thick bulkhead, but it was too muffled to make out any actual words. He sighed in frustration--and not because he wanted to eavesdrop.

He'd been pleased, if slightly disbelieving, when the computer informed him a short while ago that the captain had left engineering and was now in her quarters. Quite honestly, he'd expected her to have gone straight to her Ready Room or the bridge. But with six hours to go before the upcoming battle, he'd dared hope she was finally taking the opportunity to get some rest. So much for that.

He signaled and the door opened immediately. He took a few steps into the room and stopped. Janeway stood with her back to him, gazing out the viewport.

"--that the crew has acted with distinction. I close by respectfully requesting that Starfleet Command consider my recommendations and act on them accordingly. Janeway out." She turned and beckoned him further into the room. "Computer, end recording."

He seated himself on her couch, after first looking around and ascertaining that there was no one else present. "Can I ask what that's all about?"

"Message buoy to Starfleet," Janeway said briefly. She took one last look at the stars before coming to join him on the couch. "The course is preset so it will be in position to broadcast via the next datastream."

So your final report will make it to the Alpha Quadrant even if Voyager perishes, Chakotay thought. Aloud, he said, "Sounds good to me." Something about her expression made him wonder if she'd included a personal message to her family as well, but he couldn't bring himself to ask, just as he couldn't comment on her reasons for launching the buoy in the first place.

Instead, he kept his tone deliberately light. "I should have known you'd be disobeying orders--working when you're supposed to be resting."

Her tone matched his as she said, "Captain's prerogative--surely you won't put me on report for ignoring my own directive."

"Definitely a court-martial offense--" he started, then stopped at the look on her face. "Are you all right?"

"No, I'm not," she snapped, all lightness gone from her manner. "I'm sitting here counting down the hours until that Borg fleet arrives. How do you expect me to feel?" She broke off as if abashed at her spurt of temper. Or perhaps it was regret at letting her mask slip and expressing her true feelings. She ran a weary hand through her hair. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. It was a stupid question."

She didn't respond, but rose to her feet and started pacing. He could feel the tension radiating off her. "I've been racking my brains, trying to remember every inspirational speech I ever heard from my commanding officers."

"Find anything helpful?"

She gave him a rueful smile. "Not really. Nothing that seems relevant, at any rate."

He nodded, trying to think of something to say. He decided silence was the wisest option.

She didn't seem to notice. Suddenly, she began speaking again in a low and rapid voice, her head bowed, her chin barely visible above the collar of her turtleneck. She appeared to be directing her remarks to her own folded arms.

"For the last ten hours, I've either been involved in briefings with various department heads, or else down in Engineering. The whole time, I've tried to downplay the situation, telling everyone--myself included--that this isn't much different from anything we've faced before. But you know what, Chakotay? I don't know who I'm fooling. Certainly not myself. I know what we're facing--and it's nothing like our recent experiences with the Collective. No, this is shaping up to be a lot more like what happened at Wolf 359. I was there, you know. I saw the devastation caused by just one cube. Forty ships--the cream of Starfleet!--wiped out, just like that." She gave a shaky laugh. "And here we are, about to confront odds far worse."

Helpless, he watched her pace back and forth, her voice rising and falling in rhythm with her movements. He still didn't know what to say to her, or if she even expected him to respond. His gaze fell on her uniform jacket draped haphazardly over a chair back, as if carelessly tossed there and forgotten. He looked more closely and spotted her pips lying scattered on the floor, scarcely noticeable in the muted light.

"I know that this is probably--" She took a deep breath, as if trying to compose herself. "We've had a good run, but now it's coming to an end. I don't want to accept that--I can't let myself accept it, because if I do I'm admitting defeat. And I can't do that, Chakotay, I simply can't."

With a start, he recalled another conversation they'd had about an impending confrontation with the Borg. Facing an impossible choice between two dangerous adversaries, he'd presented her with what he considered the safer option. But she'd refused to take it, because to her it smacked of defeat. Of giving up. Many times since that long-ago day, he'd wished he could take back his words, or at least couch them in a way to make them more acceptable to her, to remove the sting. What could he say to her now? That she had made the only choice there was, to stand and fight against the vast power of Collective? That even if Voyager had been able to flee the area, she was honor-bound to remain and see this battle through?

She wasn't looking to him for reassurance. No--what she was doing was steeling herself for what was coming next, rooting out and confronting all her fears, all her demons, in an attempt to exorcise them. Steeling herself. She didn't need him--from all appearances, she probably never had. So why was he here?

The burst of self-pity fell away, as he saw with clarity that he was being given a rare glimpse of her innermost self--a privilege granted to very few. He'd always known that to the captain it was imperative to maintain the illusion of being in control, no matter the cost. His heart clenched. She who always felt she had to be strong for everyone else, who would never allow herself to exhibit any weakness in public, was in fact far more vulnerable than he'd been allowed to know. Or be in a position to do anything about.

Abruptly, he stepped into her path, forcing her to stop midstride. For a long moment they stood staring at each other. There were purple shadows beneath her eyes, and a look of inexpressible weariness and anguish in the blue-gray depths themselves.

"Kathryn..." Instinctively, he held out his arms, and wordlessly she slipped into them.

He held her gently, almost afraid to breathe. The gesture had been born of a sudden impulse; all he'd wanted was to give her a friendly hug, some encouragement. Nothing romantic had been intended. And yet now that she was in his arms, he had trouble separating his concerns for her as a friend--and his captain-- from his innate reaction to her as a woman. The top of her head brushed softly against his cheek, and the scent of her perfume spun dizzily in his brain. Her breasts were pressed tightly against his chest. He had to fight the urge to lift her face to his, capture her mouth with his own.

For a minute or two she relaxed against him, and then in one swift motion, she pulled back.

He offered no resistance and stood frozen in place, his eyes fixed upon her face. Kathryn's eyes which had an instant earlier shone with emotion--gratitude or desire, he could not say--changed infinitesimally, hardened, and then he saw the captain's mask settle into place.

The transformation saddened him, yet he knew it was inevitable. He knew she needed very badly to wrap herself up in her invincible armor, that it wouldn't be a kindness to drag her out now of all times. She needed that strength. As much as he longed to be her source of strength, he knew that it was not possible. As much as it would hurt him--and he could already feel the sharp stab of disappointment--he knew he had to let it be. To let her be the captain.

She must have realized from his expression some of his inner tumult, as well as his decision not to interfere. She said quietly, "I was going to make a deck by deck tour of the ship--you know, check on the preparations."

"I'm sure Tuvok has everything well in hand," he said, his voice almost normal.

"I'm sure he has," she agreed, "but I need to do this. Besides, it's good for the captain to see and be seen at a time like this."

Yes, it would undoubtedly be good for the crew's morale, and a way for her to give strength and encouragement to her people by example. "Then I won't keep you," he said.

She started toward the door and then stopped, extended her hand to him. "Come with me?"

Something tight inside his chest loosened, and he felt inexplicably relieved of a burden. "Of course," he said, his hand grasping hers firmly. "You know I'll always be by your side."

***
Janeway shifted uneasily in her seat on the bridge. She glanced at the viewscreen and froze. Three Borg cubes, not there a second before, were now heading straight at them.

"Damn it, they're early!" Paris said. His hands flew over the console, sending Voyager on a series of evasive maneuvers.

"Your comment is illogical," chided Tuvok. "There was no fixed arrival time for the Borg fleet; our estimate of their arrival time was only an approximation, based on--"

"Gentlemen, this isn't the time or the place," Janeway cut in.

"One more hour or two wouldn't make a difference," Chakotay added. "We're as ready as we're going to be."

Janeway shot him a grateful look and she began snapping out orders. "Helm, come about, bearing 323 mark 4. Mr. Tuvok, target the lead cube and fire forward phasers!"

No sooner had she spoken than an eerie green light swept across the bridge. The ship's speakers resonated with the enemy's voice. "We are the Borg. You will be destroyed. Resistance is futile."

"We'll see about that," Janeway said. But her words were rendered hollow as the three cubes fired in unison. The ship jolted under the barrage.

"Shields down to 30%, Captain," Kim announced, fear rising in his voice.

"Fire phasers again!" Janeway said, rising from her seat.

"No effect," Tuvok said calmly.

"Then fire photon torpedoes."

"No effect." The ship rocked viciously.

Janeway lurched forward, unable to keep her balance. "Damn it, throw everything we've got at them!"

Her head hit hard against the deck. Dimly, she heard a cacophony of voices.

"No effect."

"Shields failing, Captain."

"They're locking onto us with a tractor beam!"

Janeway cleared her head with a shake, but an annoying hissing sound persisted. Looking up, she saw a pale gray cloud descending from the ceiling vents. "What the hell is that?" she demanded.

"It appears to consist of bio-matter, Captain," Tuvok reported. "A microbe of some sort....no, definitely a virus."

*A Borg virus--where had she heard of that?* She cursed her inability to remember--this was important. Maybe if she got up from the floor she'd be able to think more clearly...

Janeway rolled to her side and attempted to stand. Chakotay extended a hand, and she took it gratefully. But instead of warm flesh, she felt something hard and cold--fingers were encased in fine gray metallic tendrils.

Her startled eyes flew to his face. To her horror, she saw a starburst shaped implant erupt on his cheek. Then another, over his left eye, which obliterated his tattoo. Desperately, she tried to back away from the assimilation tubules extending from his hand, but she was trapped against the base of the command seat. They came closer, ready to plunge into her neck---

"Noooooo!" she screamed, flailing her arms in a desperate last defense. They passed unimpeded through the air, and she was snapped into full wakefulness.

Her heart pounding, she looked around and found herself lying on the couch in her quarters. She hadn't meant to doze off, but obviously, her tired body had had other ideas.

She gave a long shuddering sigh. It was only a dream. But a dream that had far too much potential to come true.

Janeway got up, grimacing at the clamminess of her body. She glanced at the chronometer. She had more than enough time for a shower before she was due to return to the bridge.

Chapter Text

Janeway settled herself into her seat, looking around the bridge as she did so. Although she didn't expect anything less, she was pleased to see that all of her officers were in position. Alert and ready.

"Long-range sensors are detecting the presence of the Borg fleet, Captain," Tuvok said.

Before Janeway could respond, Kim said, "We're being hailed by the Taj, Captain."

Janeway looked over at Ops. "Open the channel, Lieutenant. Yes, General Korok?"

"The enemy is approaching," Korok said. "Stand by. Qapla!"

"Understood. Janeway out." She leaned back, stealing another quick glance at her seat console, which displayed the distribution of the Alliance vessels, as well as the main tactical strategies that Korok planned to employ.

The closest ships positioned closest to Voyager were the Tyr and the Surt, both manned by freed drones, and the Kry'afe, a Haderi armed merchant vessel. Together they made up the inner line of defense. Korok's plan was to attack the Collective fleet at key areas, driving a wedge through the armada on both sides. Once that occurred, the Borg forces would be split into three smaller units which could be dealt with more easily. That was the theory, at any rate.

"Open a shipwide channel," Janeway said. "All hands, this is the captain. We will be engaging the Borg fleet shortly." She thought of her earlier tour of every deck of the ship with Chakotay. The mood of the crew was tense, but there was more than a bit of optimism mixed in. They had faith in each other, their ship and their captain. She couldn't afford to let them down. "I don’t need to remind you what is at stake here. I know you will acquit yourselves well. And I would like to say now, for the record, how very proud I am of all of you, and that I consider myself very fortunate to serve as your captain."

It was silent for a few moments after Janeway finished speaking. At her side, Chakotay nodded. She knew he disliked 'doom and gloom, prepare for the worst' speeches as much as she herself did, and she was glad that her words had met with his approval.

"Estimated time of arrival of the fleet is twelve minutes, Captain," Tuvok reported. "All weapons systems armed. Shields at full strength."

"Twelve minutes? They're early," Paris muttered.

"Your comment is illogical, Lieutenant," chided Tuvok. "There was no fixed arrival time for the Borg fleet; our estimate of their arrival time was only an approximation, based on--"

"Gentlemen, this isn't the time or the place," Janeway cut in, and then stopped short as a sense of deja vu swept over her. Next Chakotay would say...

"One more hour or two wouldn't make a difference. We're as ready as we're going to be." Her first officer turned to her and said in an undertone, "Are you all right, Kathryn? Suddenly you're as white as a ghost."

"It's nothing," she reassured him with all the bravado she could muster.

"Multiple conduits opening directly ahead," Tuvok said, diverting her attention away from her nightmare. Her lips twitched briefly at the irony, but all traces of a smile were wiped away at the sight before her. The Borg armada had arrived.

"All cubes," Janeway murmured, her gaze riveted on the main viewscreen.

"I am also detecting a number of tactical spheres. However, the majority of the fleet does appear to consist of Class 4 battle cubes, with higher than average shielding densities," Tuvok reported. "There are indications that their weaponry and defense capabilities are not of uniform caliber."

"How much of the fleet consists of linked vessels?" Chakotay asked, his interest apparently caught by the statement about inconsistencies among the Borg fleet.

Kim fielded that question. "From the signals I'm picking up, it appears that approximately one third are not linked to the Collective."

"And yet they're fighting for the Queen," Paris said with more than a trace of disgust in his voice.

Janeway heartily concurred with that sentiment, but there was no point in dwelling on it. "Is there any sign of the Queen's specially modified drones?" The captain knew it was unrealistic to hope that the Borg Queen had terminated them after the earlier unsuccessful incursion against Voyager. They were undoubtedly present, somewhere among the enemy fleet. As was the Queen herself.

As if brought on by the thought, Janeway's attention was drawn by a pyramid shaped vessel, staying well back of the rest of the Borg forces. The sight of it inexplicably made her blood run cold.

The two fleets, Collective and Alliance faced each other silently. They were still not quite within weapons range of each other, but it was almost as if neither side wanted to be the one to open the hostilities, fire the first shot. And then an emerald-colored beam lanced out from the tip of the pyramid-ship, and made contact with the vessels that formed the vanguard of the Alliance.

"Is that a weapon?" Chakotay asked sharply.

"It appears to be a probe of some sort," Tuvok said, studying his display intently.

The energy beam reached further, till it approached the inner line of defense, where Voyager was positioned. It came closer and closer to their location, and then all at once, the entire bridge glowed with an unearthly light.

The image on the viewscreen changed. In place of the starfield, the Borg Queen appeared.

A small smile played along her lips. "I've been waiting for you, Harry. I said we'd meet again soon, and I always keep my word. Remember that." Her silvery gaze shifted to Janeway. "That goes for you, too, Captain. Seven months ago, I had you briefly within my grasp, and I shall once again. Only this time you will know what assimilation truly means. In the final seconds of your meager individuality, that is. Afterwards, you will know only the mind of the Collective."

Janeway's jaw clenched, but she kept her voice steady. Deliberately turning her back on the Queen, she said, "Lieutenant, cut off that transmission."

"I'm trying, Captain, but it's not coming through our regular channels," Harry said in dismay.

The Queen laughed, a sound which was even more chilling than her earlier threats. "Yet another futile attempt, Janeway. But don't despair. It won't be long before you and your crew--what's left of them--achieve perfection."

The glow receded, then vanished altogether. Almost as abruptly, the battle ensued. Weapons fire erupted all along the front line, as ships from both sides surged forward to attack.

"Message from the Surt, Captain," Kim said, referring to the Alliance ship positioned just off Voyager's port bow. "They're going in."

"Acknowledged," Janeway said. "Helm, prepare to follow up on Surt's run, and take advantage of any opening they give us." She leaned back in her seat, checking the tactical display once more. She returned her gaze to the screen in time to see a large cube bearing down on them.

"Helm, hard about!" A moment later, the bridge rocked. "Return fire!" She was heartened to see that Voyager's phaser blasts were not deflected harmlessly, but on the other hand, neither did they prevent the cube from firing again.

"Targeting the weapons array," Tuvok said. A moment later, "Their weapons are off-line." Almost immediately, however, another vessel took its place, and Voyager was hit once more.

"Shield status?" Janeway said.

"Down by 8% but still holding," came the answer.

"Mr. Kim, anything further on the ships nearby?" Chakotay asked.

"From the readings I'm getting, the majority of the ships within a 1,000 kilometer radius of our position are not linked," Kim said, his fingers flying rapidly over his console as he sought to correlate the data from the readouts and transfer it over to Tactical.

"I concur," Tuvok said. "However, the Queen's ship is staying well back of the front lines, keeping the linked vessels in her immediate vicinity. It is possible the Taj will be able to cleave a path to get within range, but unlikely."

For several minutes, the same scenario repeated over and over--fire, attempt to evade return shots, alter course, regroup, fire again. Nearby, other ships were engaged in the same macabre dance, with still others permanently sidelined--dead or crippled beyond repair. And yet they were no closer to their goal.

Janeway frowned. "Every time we manage to get some good shots off at the enemy vessels, we're not able to follow up on our success."

"More importantly, our only successes have been against the pirates. We're having no effect against the core of the Borg defense lines," Chakotay added.

Janeway came to a decision. "Janeway to Korok."

"Korok here."

"We seem to have trouble executing our game plan, General."

"So far. But do not give up so easily, Janeway. Our strategy is sound--it is only a matter of time until one of our vessels manages to penetrate their inner line."

"In the meantime, we have lost eight Alliance vessels, and four others have shown a marked drop in performance," Tuvok pointed out.

"We have destroyed twice that many enemy vessels," Korok said, his impatience very near the surface. "We will yet succeed!"

Janeway sought to forestall any further argument. "But time is running out," she said firmly. "We need to implement the second phase. Now."

***
Voyager rocked under the steady barrage of weapons fire.

"Voyager to Kry'afe. Come in please." Kim looked at Janeway. "No response, Captain. For all intents and purposes, they're dead in the water."

Janeway's mouth tightened. The same thing had happened to the Tyr and Surt moments earlier. Voyager was on its own.

"And without our escort, we're being deliberately targeted," Chakotay said grimly. He did not add that with each successive impact, Voyager's shields weakened further.

Another boom. Paris swore under his breath, and slammed his hand into his console. "We just dropped out of warp. The engines are off-line."

Before Janeway could react, the comm sounded. "Torres to bridge."

"B'Elanna, how soon can you restore warp power?"

"That's what I'm calling to tell you, Captain--we've got a problem," Torres said bluntly. "Our systems are being unduly stressed. These hits--they're concentrated at our most vulnerable areas. All over Engineering, conduits and relays are blowing faster than we can repair them."

"Damn it!" Janeway took a deep breath. "Sorry. I know you're doing the best you can, Lieutenant." She refrained from saying that without warp capability, they weren't going to last much longer, let alone achieve their plan. Even if they could get close enough to the pyramid ship... "Janeway out."

***
Torres felt like swearing as well, but that wasn't going to do her any good. She turned to Vorik. "All right," she said more calmly than she felt, "We can't keep everything going, so let's concentrate on priorities."

"Shields," he said at once.

"Yes, as well as weapons, and life support," Torres said, rapidly recalibrating the isolinear nodes.

"What about communications?" asked Carey.

Torres hesitated. "I'd sooner concentrate on getting the warp drive back on line." She turned around. "Ashmore, start rerouting the GS-relays. Baytart, get to the upper level of the main engineering section and monitor the matter/anti-matter mix. We're going to try to hot-wire this thing."

At Vorik's puzzled look, she added, "A twentieth century metaphor. Now get moving!" Torres moved over to a console near the main reactor. "Carey, I want you to call out the variances."

***
Another boom. Another fried console. Both were occurring with increasing frequency.

"Phasers are off-line," Tuvok said.

Not that they had been terribly effective up to that point, Janeway thought. "But we've still got torpedoes, don't we?"

"Yes, Captain," Tuvok answered. "We have 15 regular photon torpedoes remaining. As far as the others are concerned--"

Janeway gave a quick shake of her head. "No, we'll continue holding those in reserve for a while longer."

Chakotay looked at her in surprise. "We're well past the point of 'tipping our hand' too early, Captain."

"I'm aware of that, Commander," she said. "But unlike the photon torpedoes, these modified warheads have a much more limited range. We've got to get closer."

"I don't see how that's going to be possible," Paris objected, "without making ourselves even more of a target."

Janeway bit her lip. "Harry, contact the Taj. Perhaps General Korok can provide us with the cover we need."
***
In the controlled chaos of main Engineering, it was easy to miss any unusual sounds. Possessing hearing far more acute than those of his fellow engineers, Vorik looked up sharply at the unmistakable whine of overstrained metal. But where was it coming from?

Suddenly, the suspension bridge leading to the upper reaches of Engineering shook violently. "Ensign Baytart!" Vorik yelled, just as the catwalk under Baytart began to sway and then, without any further warning, gave way completely.

Instinctively, Vorik threw himself at Torres, knocking her down and shielding her with his body. Shards of metal and other debris rained down. When it subsided, Vorik got to his feet, ignoring the trickle of blood on the side of his head. He held out his hand to Torres.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant?" he asked, helping her up.

Torres nodded shakily. "I think so. I don't think I hurt the baby--" She broke off as she turned around and saw the mound of debris, partially covering Baytart's body. "Kahless, Pablo!"

Carey and Nicoletti were already digging frantically through the rubble, assisted by Ashmore who'd been working very close to where the catwalk had come down. "He's still breathing!" Joe yelled a few seconds later. " Should I--"

"No," Torres said. "Don't touch him. Spinal injuries shouldn't be moved --" She hit her comm badge. "Trauma team alpha, report to Engineering." She looked pointedly at Beth Ashmore. "In the meantime, we don't have any time to lose--back to your stations! We've got to get these systems back up!" The ensign took the hint and got back to work.

George Redman came rushing in, and knelt down next to Baytart, medical tricorder already in his hand. "His lifesigns are very weak--I'll need to stabilize him before calling for a site-to-site transport to Sickbay." He took out a hypospray.

Torres nodded. Her attention was caught by a readout indicating power surge in a nearby system. "Ashmore, that console--"

Anything further was lost in the explosion.

***
"I've located the Queens' ship," Tuvok said. "Relaying the coordinates to the Taj."

Kim interjected, "Captain, reports of an explosion in Engineering!"

"Janeway to Engineering. B'Elanna, what's going on down there?"

"Torres here. The GS-relays--" The rest of her reply was drowned out in static.

Janeway turned to Tuvok. "Any indication of what caused that?"

"Negative, Captain," Tuvok replied. "In addition, the last hit we took caused a hull breach on deck 4. Emergency forcefields appear to be holding so far. However, we have lost all remote computer functions on decks 3 and four."

"The torpedo launching bays are located there." Janeway felt like slamming her head against the nearest bulkhead. So far everything that could go wrong, had. "If we can't launch the warheads--"

"That is not necessarily the case, Captain," Tuvok quickly said. "I believe it can still be accomplished manually."

"Good thinking, Tuvok," Chakotay said, getting to his feet. "I'll get right down there."

Tuvok held up a hand. "As chief Tactical Officer, I am more qualified to perform this task."

"But as first officer--" Chakotay started to say.

"Enough." Janeway considered the two officers standing in front of her. No one knew better than she the precarious position of whoever she would send to the torpedo bays. That man's life would be in jeopardy, but on the other hand, so was the entire ship. If there was a chance that they could still snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, it had to be done.

The only question was which officer would she consign to danger--her oldest friend, or her closest one. Angrily she brushed that thought from her mind. There was no room for sentiment here; she had to select the man most qualified to carry out that duty.

"Chakotay." At the sound of his name, the first officer smiled, confident that he'd been selected. Janeway pressed on doggedly. "Chakotay, I'm sorry, but I need you on the bridge. Tuvok, get down there as quickly as possible and bring those launchers back on line."

***

Neelix looked around the deserted Mess Hall. In the dim light, the freshly scrubbed counter shone, as did the metal saucepans hanging on the wall. There was no real work to be done; in the midst of a battle it was unlikely anyone would drop by for a hot drink or a bite to eat. Afterwards--provided there was an afterward, of course--hordes of crewmen would descend on the place, hungry for company as well as food. But for now, he had the place to himself.

Neelix caught himself on a sigh as the red alert beacons continued to flash. Truth be told, he had always felt superfluous during situations such as these. For all his enthusiastic participation in cross-training and departmental drills, Neelix was very much a civilian at heart.

According to regulations, non-essential personnel were not supposed to be moving through the corridors during an emergency. But unable to continue facing the trepidation in Sarexa's eyes--the same trepidation that he feared was reflected in his own--he'd left her and made his way back to the Mess Hall. Oddly enough, just sitting here made him feel better.

Periodically, the room would shake; Neelix assumed those times coincided with weapons fire impacting and then being deflected by Voyager's shields. It occurred to him that the shaking was becoming more severe. He didn't know how the battle was progressing, but perhaps this was an indication that things were not going as well as they should.

He shifted uneasily, feeling the unaccustomed weight of the small level-2 phaser he'd been issued pressing against his hip. He envisioned drones invading the Mess Hall, with only this weapon to fend them off. Somehow he didn't think his chances of survival were increased by his being armed.

A pot lid on the counter began trembling. As Neelix watched, it skittered off the edge and fell with a resounding clang on the floor. Just then, a particularly loud bang made him look up. A few seconds later, he found himself face down on the floor.

He picked himself up. "Computer, what was that?"

"Please specify."

"That boom! What caused it?"

The unemotional mechanical voice answered, "A hull breach has occurred on deck 4."

The Mess Hall was on deck 2. The Talaxian frowned. Was that close enough proximity that he would be able to feel the reverberation of the impact through the bulkheads? Neelix knew the ship's layout, could tell without consulting a schematic where everything was located. It was something he prided himself on--and used in his favor to lobby for a posting to the security staff.

Deck 4...his first reaction was that it somehow involved the transporter room. Unbidden, the image of Borg transporting onto Voyager popped into his mind. Almost immediately, he rejected it--the drones would beam directly onto key decks, like the bridge--and they wouldn't need Voyager's transporters to do it.

What else was there? There were the aft torpedo launchers, but those were more properly situated between decks 3 and 4... Of course! That explained why he felt the impact!

"Computer, what is the status of the aft torpedo launchers?'

"Those systems are off-line."

That was all the confirmation he needed. Without stopping to wonder how he knew, Neelix guessed that Captain Janeway would dispatch someone to attempt to correct the problem. "Whoever it is may need some help," he said aloud, and without a backward glance, he left the Mess Hall.

He hesitated in front of the turbo-lift. Probably not a good idea; in case of a power failure, he could be trapped inside. And his destination was only one level down--that shouldn't be too difficult. He unscrewed the hatch of the Jefferies tube, and began his descent.

Billowing smoke greeted him when he exited the tube. Neelix hesitated, unable to see clearly, and unsure of where he should go. The trouble was, he wasn't used to traversing the ship by anything other than the corridors. Where were the launching bays located? *First I'll try to the right*, he said to himself.

He had advanced perhaps twenty meters when he came up against a glowing barrier. A containment field, which meant a hull breach lay beyond that point. He doubled back, stopping only long enough to tear a strip of cloth off the hem of his long overjacket and wind it over the lower part of his face. It was becoming difficult to breathe.

He retraced his steps until he stood beside the Jefferies tube opening once more. He hesitated--what if there was another forcefield in that direction? No sense in worrying about that now, he reminded himself. The thing to do was to go ahead and hope he'd be able to get through.

Ten meters beyond the Jefferies Tube, he reached his destination.

Neelix stopped short once again, appalled by the sight in front of him. The smoke was heavier here, blacker, and he could see leaping flames in the area beyond.

"Hello?" he called. "Is anyone in there? Do you need help?"

There was no answer, but Neelix was sure he'd caught a glimpse of someone moving. He moved forward cautiously and called again. "This is Neelix! Is anyone inside?"

A figure in a black and gold uniform turned toward him.

Neelix felt his stomach lurch. "Tuvok!"

There was no response. Perhaps Tuvok hadn't heard him--the fire was roaring loudly, and the Vulcan appeared to be concentrating on his task.

Throwing caution to the wind, Neelix came closer. "Tuvok! You've got to get out of there!"

At last Tuvok lifted his head. "I must finish what I came here to do."

"This place is a death-trap, Tuvok!"

"I cannot leave--" Neelix watched in horror as a nearby bulkhead collapsed. A large beam fell across Tuvok's back, knocking him to the floor.

Neelix rushed forward. The heat was even more intense, and the flames were rapidly coming closer. He blinked away the sweat rushing down his forehead into his eyes. "Tuvok!"

The Vulcan's eyes opened. He jerked his head weakly toward the console. "Activate..."

"What was that?"

"Activate the main..." Tuvok's eyes rolled up and his head fell backward.

Neelix gave a hasty glance at the console where Tuvok had been working. The screen was lit up: "Manual system armed. Awaiting activation." He pressed the control underneath it, and heard the steady hum of a torpedo casing sliding into position.

"You succeeded in your mission," he said. "Now I need to succeed in mine."

With all his might he shoved at the heavy beam, but it wouldn't budge. He tried again, harder, but for all his effort it moved only a few centimeters. "Come on," he said to himself. "I'm a Talaxian with 'dense musculature' as Seven once said. I've got to be able to do this!"

He fell back, panting from his exertions, and then saw a smaller piece of debris lying nearby. He eased one end under the beam, and pushed down. The lever worked; the beam lifted, and Neelix was able to drag Tuvok out by his boots.

Neelix bent down, draped one of Tuvok's arms around his neck and attempted to pull him to his feet. The Vulcan was still unconscious; too, he was heavier than Neelix had expected. He wasn't able to lift him, but by a combination of pushing and dragging he was able to gradually get him back into the corridor.

Neelix paused, breathing heavily. His throat felt raw, and his eyes were watering. Squinting down at his hands, he saw they were red and shiny-looking. He reached up to tap his communicator. "Neelix to Sickbay!"

There was no response. Communications must be down.

He peered into Tuvok's face, unsure of what to do next. Tuvok was still unconscious, which Neelix reflected, was all for the best considering how extensive his injuries were. Tuvok's uniform was in tatters, parts of it burned away completely. The exposed flesh was an angry-looking dark green. Neelix fought down a wave of nausea.

He tried his comm badge again, and once again, there was no response.

Sickbay was on deck 5. Neelix slumped wearily against the cover of the Jefferies Tube, and wondered how in the world he'd be able to get Tuvok there, alone and unaided.

Chapter Text

Janeway stared at the comm, willing it to come to life. "Tuvok, do you read me?"

"There's too much interference," Kim said. "Communications are still down."

"Status of torpedo launchers?"

"Still inoperative," said Ayala, who had taken over the Tactical station as soon as Tuvok had left the bridge.

"I want to know the instant they're back up," Janeway said. She reminded herself to be patient. One good thing at least--there were no Collective vessels in their immediate vicinity.

Suddenly, the bridge shook again, much harder than it had previously. "What the hell was that?" she said, fighting to maintain her seat.

"We're being fired upon," Ayala said, though that was patently obvious.

"By whom?" Chakotay asked sharply.

"The shot came from right off our port bow....it's one of the Alliance ships," said Ayala, disbelief in his voice. "Whoever they are, they knew the exact frequency of the shield harmonics to hit."

Chakotay called up the sensor data, and stared in disbelief. "Spirits, it's the Trefla."

"Open a channel," Janeway said. She stood up, fists resting on her hips. "Sakat, what in the name of the Great Bird do you think you're doing?"

But the visage that appeared was not the one they had expected to see. "Sorry, Captain," said the tall orange-skinned man facing them, "but Sakat is no longer in command here. I am now the leader."

"Nelem!" said Chakotay, recognizing him as one of Cretia's followers. He'd though all of them had been apprehended after the abortive attempt to take Voyager had failed. "Are you crazy? We're in the middle of a battle!"

"Yes, but not the one you think."

"You're mad," Janeway said. "We're in the midst of a life and death struggle--"

"No, I'm a lot saner than you think," Nelem interrupted, with a malicious smile. "What do I and my followers care about the fate of the Borg Collective? You're a fool, Janeway, for getting involved, but it's fortunate for me that you did. I'm prepared to make you an offer--surrender your ship to me."

"The answer is no."

Nelem's smirk grew more pronounced. "Voyager is more valuable to me whole, but make no mistake, Captain--I won't hesitate to destroy you if need be. Yes, I want your technology, but revenge has its rewards as well."

"The Trefla is powering weapons once again," Ayala said. Voyager rocked under the impact.

No weapons, Janeway thought grimly. No warp drive. Nothing left in the bag of tricks. There was no way in hell they were going to get out of this one.

A sudden flash on the screen made her start in surprise. A phaser blast, fired by a ship newly arrived on the scene, had caught the Trefla broadside. Several more volleys followed, until the Trefla was completely destroyed.

Janeway let out her breath explosively. "Thank you, Korok."

***
"I need some help here!" Neelix yelled, or tried to, as he stumbled through the Sickbay doors. But his voice wasn't working very well; his words came out as a rasp. He couldn't muster up enough breath for a second effort.

The Doctor looked up from the patient he was working on, glancing from Neelix's soot-smeared clothes to Tuvok's badly burned body. "Good heavens, Mr. Neelix, what happened?"

"Fire, torpedo bay," Neelix gasped. "Tuvok--"

Immediately two of the medical staff came rushing forward and moved the Vulcan officer to a biobed. "Ensign Wildman, take over for me," said the Doctor and hurried over to the new patient. The diagnostic arch extended, shielding Tuvok from further view, as the Doctor began snapping out orders. "Mr. Lessing, I need--"

But what it was, Neelix did not hear. The whole room began to spin before his eyes. He lurched forward and would have fallen, but someone caught him and led him over to a vacant biobed. Through a blur, he recognized the features of Trish Gallagher.

"Just try and relax now, Neelix," she said, waving a diagnostic wand over him. She frowned. "You've got some bad burns on your hands and arms, but it's your blood gasses that I'm worried about." He heard the hiss of a hypospray. "I'm giving you something for the pain, as well as a dose of tri-ox. It'll help your breathing."

He resisted her attempts to make him lie back. "Tuvok. How is he?" he whispered, though his throat hurt terribly.

"Shh. Don't try to talk," she said, wiping his face with a damp cloth, and then holding a cup of water to his lips. "Tuvok is in pretty bad shape, but he's not so far gone that he wasn't able to enter into a healing trance. While it's not very effective against such extensive injuries, the plus side of it is that it's preventing further damage from occurring."

Neelix remembered how Tuvok had lost consciousness while he was trapped under the fallen beam. "He's not in a coma, then?"

"No. And after he's stabilized, the Doctor will place him in a regeneration chamber." Gallagher finished running the dermal regenerator over the worst of Neelix's burns. "That's about all I can do. You need to lie still, though. Are you still having trouble breathing?" At his nod, she ran another diagnostic. "Your blood gasses haven't picked up, despite the tri-ox. I'm going to have to put you on artificial respiration until the Doctor has a chance to look at you."

After a few minutes, Neelix began to feel a bit better. Whatever Gallagher had given him seemed to be working. He attempted to sit up, although it made it harder to breathe. Holding the respirator mask tightly to his face, Neelix glanced around the room. His gaze fell on the bed next to him.

"Ensign Baytart?"

Immediately, Gallagher was back at his side. "Neelix, you need to lie down."

"But Pablo...how is he?"

Gallagher shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid the prognosis isn't very good," she said softly.
***
On the bridge of the Taj, Korok sat and considered his options. The battle was not going well. With each passing moment, the chances of success seemed even more remote. The center line was showing signs of caving in. Very soon, the Queen would take advantage of that weakness, and move in for the kill.

"But why hasn't she done so already?" he wondered aloud.

Roju looked up from the gunner's station. "General?"

"The Borg Queen. She has us by the throat--why hasn't she moved in to make the kill yet?"

"Perhaps her grasp is less sure than we have been led to believe."

"Of all the foolish---" suddenly Korok broke off. He remembered the reports from Voyager, about the Borg raid on their ship a few months ago. It had been carried out by specially modified drones, ones with amplified connections to the Queen's consciousness. While providing her with drones rendered incorruptible and more powerful than ever, it had nonetheless overtaxed her resources, and hampered her overall responsiveness. Could the same thing be happening now?

His mind raced further. Why not? The Borg making up the Collective forces were a diverse group, ranging from ordinary drones whose links had not been severed, to renegades who had been freed months earlier and yet by means of bribery or threats, had been persuaded to fight for the their former master. Add the pressure created by the existence of the special drones, and it was entirely possible the Queen's resources were stretched too thin, and hampered her in battle.

"Send a message to Janeway," Korok said to his communications officer. "Tell her to prepare to launch her nanovirus attack on the Queen's ship immediately. We'll be right behind her."

***
"Captain, the torpedo launchers are back on-line!" Ayala reported.

"Janeway to Tuvok. I don't know how you pulled it off, but you did!"

And not a moment too soon. The pyramid ship was in range, but standing between them and the Queen's ship was a large cube.

The captain leaned forward. "Prepare to fire on my order."

"Incoming transmission from the Taj," Kim said.

Janeway nodded and soon Korok's voice was heard. "Janeway, it has been an honor to fight by your side. Go forth now to victory!" There was a muffled boom in the background.

"The Taj is accelerating, Captain," Kim said.

Onscreen, they watched as the Borg cube moved toward them on an intercept course. Korok spoke one last time.

"Today is a good day to die," he said simply. The Taj rammed headlong into the cube. The resulting explosion was so bright, Janeway had to look away from the viewscreen.

No time now to mourn the fallen warrior. Korok's sacrifice had left Voyager with a clear shot at the Queen's vessel.

"Mr. Ayala, fire torpedoes!"

Three specially modified torpedoes, bearing their deadly weapon, slammed into the Queen's vessel.

"Direct hit."

The Queen's ship seemed to shimmer, then imploded on itself. Another brilliant flash lit up the viewscreen.

But even with the Queen destroyed, the battle was not over yet.

"Target another enemy vessel, Mr. Ayala. Fire."

They kept it up till there were no more torpedoes left. Gradually, Janeway became aware that all the shooting around them had stopped.

"We're receiving a transmission from the Borg," Kim said.

"Voyager. ..heavy damages upon our fleet. ..discontinue the hostilities..."

The message was so distorted it was difficult to catch the words, but Janeway had no doubt as to the meaning behind it.

"Are you saying you wish to end the fighting?" Janeway turned to Kim. A burst of static was the only response. "Harry, can you clean up that transmission?"

"I'm trying to, Captain, but it's difficult. Now that the Queen has been destroyed, the connections between the drones appear to have been severed."

"I wonder if they can even be considered a Collective anymore," Chakotay mused.

"Regardless, this battle is over. Lieutenant, let them know that we agree to stand down."

It was not until they saw the surviving members of the fleet begin to leave the area that Janeway permitted herself a sigh of relief.

Chapter Text

Captain's log. Stardate 54606.6 Our 'final' conflict with the Borg is over. Yes, it's over, and unlike many others, we've lived to tell the tale. We won, but I'm not sure it's not a Pyrrhic victory. The Borg as we knew them are finished. They have not been totally destroyed, but left so severely weakened they will not present a threat to anyone for a long time.

The independent drones are still around, but maybe, just maybe, they will have learned something about cooperation from all this and will be able to forge a new type of life that does not involve preying on those weaker than themselves. On the other hand, they may not. The Trefla provides a disheartening example. Korok had warned us about the existence of another Borg fleet, although with the demise of the Queen, it appears they have their hands full just trying to keep what's left of the Collective together. I doubt we'll be hearing from them any time soon.

Going back to the independent drones, survivors of the recent battle--it would be too simplistic to assume that there won't be other attempts to form a group link, a composite mind. Look at Riley's New Cooperative. That type of group consciousness presents an attractive alternative, a safe haven, for drones suddenly left rudderless. And perhaps they will be the seed from which a new Borg Collective will rise once more...I think it's a safe assumption that though our part is finished, the Borg Civil War will continue for some time.

"Sickbay to Janeway."

Janeway looked up, momentarily startled. "Computer, halt log." She turned away from the window. "Go ahead, Doctor."

"I have the final casualty count, Captain. I will have the official report on your desk by 0800 tomorrow morning, but I thought you would like to a verbal report now."

Janeway shuddered involuntarily. "Yes, Doctor. Go ahead."

"Altogether 42 crewmen were recipients of medical attention, 28 in Sickbay itself, and the remainder at the triage stations set up on decks 6, 10 and 13. Injuries ranged from slight--cuts and bruises--to more severe. Five patients currently remain in Sickbay, including Commander Tuvok, who sustained third degree burns over 50% of his body. He is resting comfortably in a regeneration chamber at present and should be released from Sickbay in another 48-72 hours."

Janeway nodded, grateful it wasn't worse. "How is Neelix doing?"

"Mr. Neelix suffered second and third degree burns to his hands and face. A bigger problem was smoke inhalation, as he has only one lung. The other 'guests' are Crewman Morrow, recovering from a crushed clavicle and damaged vertebrae and spinal cord, Ensign Lang, who required surgery to remove a ruptured spleen and repair a perforated gastrointestinal tract, and Ensign Tabor, who sustained a subdural hemotamoa. All are expected to make a complete recovery."

"That's good to hear," the captain said quietly. "Now tell me the bad news, Doctor."

He didn't mince words. "Three deaths: Ensigns Pablo Baytart, Beth Ashmore and George Redman." He didn't wait for a response. "Be sure to get some rest, Captain. Doctor out."

Janeway was silent for a moment and then continued dictating her log.

Voyager is severely battered, but is managing to limp forward. Lieutenant Torres says repairs will be extensive, but compared to what we've been through lately, shouldn't be too bad--the warp drive will be back online again soon and in the meantime we've got impulse power. We've been banged up worse and somehow always come through.

She turned back to the endless vista of stars, and repeated it to herself once more like a mantra. "We've somehow always come through."

The End