VIRTUAL SEASON 7.5

episode 11b

Ragnarok II

RAGNAROK PART II

by Rocky

Author's Note: 'Ragnarok' is a term from Norse mythology which means 'the
day of doom' or alternatively, 'a dusk of the gods.' It refers to the end of
the world as we know it, when the final battle between the forces of good
and evil takes place. Unlike other cultures, the Norsemen believed that Evil
holds the advantage, its triumph assured. The only thing that can possibly
tip the balance is courage and heroism, a willingness to die for what one
believes in.

Acknowledgments: Once again I am deeply grateful to the 7.5 writers, in
particular Christina and Penny, for their assistance. And most of all, to my
wonderful (and fast!) beta reader m.c. moose.

Warning: Some of the events depicted in part 2 may strike a disturbing note
in light of RL current events. It is not my intention to cause any readers
discomfort, but considering the scope of this story, that may be
unavoidable.

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--a fitting color choice to
represent the Borg, Janeway thought--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, a Vulcan called
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 like Cretia Finney, 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 drones were 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, all 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."


Act 2

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 aboard 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, as long as he could have his 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
deassimilation 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-based lifeforms.

The Doctor's hands clenched on the side of the cabinet. "That won't be
possible. We never produced any of that strain once Icheb developed the
newer, more benign form of the virus."

"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, 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
reassimilated 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 harder 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, and 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, I'm still getting
used 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 morak 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."


Act 3

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 hope.

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. 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. For some reason, she
could not get comfortable.

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--his 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. It
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 quarters. She hadn't meant to doze off, but obviously, her tired body had
had other ideas.

She gave a long shuddering sigh. *Only been 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.

Act 4

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. In theory anyway.

"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 deck by
deck tour 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 do not 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 did. She was glad that her words met with his
approval.

"Estimated time of arrival of the fleet in 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. Still, it almost seemed
that neither side wanted to fire the first shot. And then, an emerald-green
beam lanced out from the tip of the pyramid-ship, striking 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, and I always keep my word. Remember that." Her silvery
gaze shifted to Janeway. "That goes for you as well, Captain. Seven months
ago I had you 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 do not 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 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 the Surt's run.
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. On the other hand, they didn't they prevent the cube from
getting off another volley.

"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 500,000
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 behind
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. "We manage to get some good shots off, but aren't 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. "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.

"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 why I'm calling, Captain--we've got a problem," Torres said bluntly.
"Our systems are badly stressed. These hits--they're concentrated at our
most vulnerable areas. 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 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 twisted 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 Queen's 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
4."

"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 be consigning 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 regs, 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 with the words: "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; plus, 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 probably 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.


Act 5

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 that
Vulcan fool 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
thought all of them had been apprehended after the 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--for what you did to me--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."

***

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 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.
Added to 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."

***

"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 to 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 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
not so far gone that he couldn't enter into a healing trance. It's not very
effective against such extensive injuries, but 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 as much 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.

***

"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 it!"

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
shout 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 yet over.

"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 surrender?" A burst of static was the only
response. Janeway turned to Kim. "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 any more," Chakotay
mused.

"The enemy vessels are powering down weapons, Captain," Ayala said.

"Lieutenant Kim, contact the rest of the Alliance fleet," the captain said.
"This fight is over."

Epilogue

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.

"Is this seat taken?"

Janeway looked up from the old-fashioned pen and paper she was using to
record her log and smiled. "Now it is."

"Thanks." Chakotay took a quick look around the room as he seated himself.
"The Mess Hall crowd is starting to thin out--most people seem ready to call
it a night. Except you, of course."

"Except me," she agreed and bent her head over her paper once more. He
didn't seem to think it was strange to find her here, as opposed to her
Ready Room or quarters. She was grateful, not sure she could really explain
what impulse had led her here this evening.

He glanced over at what she'd written so far. "'We won, but I'm not sure
it's not a Pyrrhic victory.'" He sighed softly, and with a hint of reproach
said, "The Borg as we knew them are finished, Captain."

"They haven't been totally destroyed," she countered.

"But they've been so severely weakened they won't present a threat to anyone
for a long time." Chakotay took a sip from his mug. "The last of the
Alliance fleet will be leaving the area in the next six hours. Their next
stop is the Royal Complex. I think it's safe to assume that there won't be
any more Queens."

"Perhaps," she said grudgingly. "But 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..."

A shadow crossed his face. "There's always that possibility, of course, but
I prefer to think that after their recent experiences the drones will value
their freedom too much for that to happen."

She shook her head. "Ever the optimist, Chakotay."

"You might try it sometime," he said with a smile.

She made a face, but gamely lifted her mug to him in a toast. "Here's hoping
the survivors of the recent battle have learned something about cooperation
and will be able to forge a new type of life for themselves that does not
involve preying on those weaker than themselves."

"Hear, hear."

"On the other hand," she said, her frown returning, "they may not. The
Trefla provides a disheartening example."

He gave her an exasperated look. "You call that optimism?"

"Realism." She sighed. "And don't forget there's still another Borg fleet
out there somewhere, although doubtless they've been thrown into chaos with
the outcome of our battle and the demise of the Queen." She got up and went
to the viewport. "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. 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. Unobtrusively, Chakotay moved closer to
her. "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 regen 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 took a deep breath, but didn't say anything further.

Chakotay took her hand and pulled her gently toward the table once more.
"B'Elanna 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," he said
reassuringly. He hadn't relinquished his grip on her hand. "We've been
banged up worse and somehow always come through."

She glanced down at their entwined hands, then back at the endless vista of
stars. "Yes, we've somehow always come through."