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Stardate: 95803.02

U.S.S. Sobek, NCC-80048

Returning to Starbase Phoenix

Nadaar kept his light dim when he got out of his bunk. This very cramped bunk seemed to squeeze the life from him the entire trip. He tapped an order of sazsora tea from the replicator and sat at the couch, cup in one hand. He took his journal out of his locker in the seat beside him. His first sip made him feel so much better and freed his ever so cramped brain.

After another sip, he pulled out his pen and flicked on the reading lamp over the couch. He opened up to a fresh page in his journal. He tapped the end of the stylus against the paper for a few minutes. Finally, his muse struck and he began marking the page with the elaborately curved forms of Gorn script. Juar-Faer-Xeo-Rin sat down beside him.

"Trouble sleeping?"

"Did I disturb you, Juar?" he asked, his voice was a bit raspier than usual.

"Not at all. Erin and I are accustomed to it. Seems technical caste Gorn tend to be severely affected by insomnia."

He laughed in a way that would make the hairs on a human's neck stand on end. "I would imagine so. They tend to overthink everything." He took another sip and grimaced.

"We've never been able to get that replicator to get sazsora tea right," Juar said, sympathetically.

"It's still better than what I had on the ta' lung. But not by much." He started up on another page, but the klaxon broke his concentration.

"Commander Nadaar and Commander Rin," Lieutenant S'aren's voice said over the comm, "We need you in the cockpit, right away."

Nadaar got up immediately and ran to the door of the aft compartment, Juar close behind him. Klastel started to get out of his bunk but Juar simply gestured for him to stay where he was. He got back in, sighing slightly and pulled out a PADD to try to occupy himself. No way he was going to get any more sleep for a while.

"Report," Nadaar said.

S'aren stood up, his ears flattened against his skull. "We've picked up a distress call from the Pegasus, sir."

Juar sat down at one of the side stations, calling up known ship locations. "Well, we are not the only ship in range, but we are the closest. The Anubis will need eighteen more hours, even at maximum warp."

"Then we have no choice." Nadaar took the tactical station. S'aren sat down next to him. "Set course for the Pegasus, maximum warp. And contact the Anubis, let them know about the distress call."

=/=

Stardate: 95810.67

Last known position of U.S.S. Pegasus

It had been two hours since they arrived. Nadaar snarled with frustration. S'aren's ears flicked; he looked nervously at Commander Nadaar. "Still nothing, sir."

"Not even debris. What about weapons signatures?"

Juar shook her head. "Negative." She checked on the Anubis's position. Still another four hours out.

Nadaar swore under his breath, hoping Juar didn't hear. "Set course back to the starbase."

The Sobek rocked, nearly throwing everyone out of their seats. The klaxon sounded. S'aren's ears went back and his eyes widened.

The speaker came to life, almost of its own accord.

"We are the Borg. Surrender and await assimilation. Resistance is futile."

"Evasive maneuvers!" Nadaar said. S'aren's furry hands flew across the helm panel in what seemed a blur even to Nadaar's eyes. There was another hit. Klastel and Doctor Srihzaraas rushed into the cabin.

"The aft compartment's been hit!" Srihzaraas hissed.

"It's a Centaur-class, sir," S'aren said. "Looks like the Borg have captured it."

"Well, now we know what happened to the Pegasus. Can you get me an ID on that ship?"

"U.S.S. Huxley. Reported missing just before the Vaadwaur War."

"Thank S'Yahazah for that! Bring us about, Lieutenant."

Juar turned to Nadaar. "What are you doing?"

"Exploiting an old weakness. It would not be the first time I have tangled with that ship."

The Sobek's phasers struck the hull of the Huxley. A glorious explosion followed. At first, it seemed to work. Until Nadaar saw the telemetry on his console. "Damn." He fired another burst, this one at the spiked extension on the deflector dish, which sent the chaotic-looking device tumbling through space. Nadaar turned around and got out of his chair. He knelt down by the floor hatch.

"What are you doing?"

"I have an idea. S'aren, get us close to the sensor array and keep us in relative position. Every move that monstrosity makes, match it! Juar, take over fire control and target the weapons nodes."

"Aye, sir," S'aren replied. Juar transferred the weapons controls to her console.

He opened up the magazine. "Srihzaraas, get an empty equipment case, on the double!"

He nodded his cobra-like head and went to fetch it from one of the cargo modules. The ship rocked again. Nadaar felt the deck shudder with the Sobek's phasers and saw the flash of an explosion behind him. "Good shooting, Juar!"

Nadaar pulled out one of the torpedoes as Doctor Srihzaraas returned. "Perfect." He carefully set one of the micro-torpedoes inside. "Four of these ought to be enough."

=/=

Nadaar and S'aren shimmered into existence in the dark and nearly empty corridor. The walls were lined with alcoves, only a couple of which had drones. They walked quietly, but quickly through the hall until Nadaar spotted the door he was looking for--the computer core control room. He crouched by the door and gestured for S'aren to start forcing the door open. He kept one eye on Lieutenant S'aren and one eye on the pair of Borg.

"How much time?" he hissed silently.

"Another minute or two," he said, tail and ears flicking.

Nadaar nodded and trained his multifaceted eyes back to the corridor. "All this for an old Oberth-class ship," he muttered.

S'aren's ears flicked with irritation. Suddenly, sparks flew off the panel he was working on and the door opened. Immediately, the drones in the corridor and the core room activated and moved toward the pair. Nadaar followed S'aren inside, keeping his back to the Caitian and preparing to fire. A drone, a partially assimilated Andorian, approached Nadaar on his flank. He didn't waste his first shot on that one, opting to backhand the attacker. The drone was sent flying back and lay sprawled on the floor.

S'aren shot a drone that stood between him and the nanoprocessor units. He leaped over the fallen drone and opened up the equipment case.

"Hurry, Lieutenant," Nadaar said as a Saurian-Borg aimed its prosthetic at S'aren. He fired, and the tactical drone collapsed to the floor.

Another drone approached Nadaar--a Tellarite who could barely reach up to Nadaar's knee. Nadaar snarled and kicked him in the face, sending him tumbling backward. However, being fully assimilated, he stood up again quickly.

Nadaar growled and shot another drone. Then another. But the last one had adapted. He threw his rifle at the drone with enough force that would kill an unaltered humanoid, but this drone was merely knocked to the floor.

"Almost there!" S'aren exclaimed. He set a torpedo onto the server. "Last one!" he said, ducking as a partially assimilated Cardassian drone tried hitting him with its prosthetic arm.

Nadaar tapped his combadge, "Sobek, get us out of here!"

"Negative. They've erected a transport inhibitor over that room. You have to get out of there," Juar said.

S'aren fired at the door on the other side of the room, leaving a smoking hole. "We don't have much time!" He ran through, Nadaar followed right behind him. A Borg force field popped to life just as he got through. And another one activated at the end of the corridor. A large drone, which looked like a cross between a Gorn, a Caitian, and a Jem'Hadar, with four arms and a long, thick tail, activated right beside Nadaar. It pushed him against the far wall with two of its arms. Nadaar punched it several times in the head and on the armor plates, to no avail. The drone reached with its prosthetic and began injecting him with nanites. It held its arm to Nadaar's neck until S'aren pressed his phaser to the drone's skull and fired. The drone collapsed, finally releasing Nadaar. He took a hypo out his pocket.

"Get out of here while you can," Nadaar said, wondering how many seconds he still had. But S'aren ignored him.

"That's a negative, sir." He pressed the hypo against Nadaar's neck and emptied the vial. He pulled another out of his pocket quickly and gave Nadaar another dose. Before he could grab the third a new drone, formerly a Tzenkethi, approached him from behind and pulled the Caitian away from Nadaar. It quickly moved to inject S'aren with the nanites.

Nadaar was too weak to really move, let alone intervene. He watched helplessly as S'aren's ears and tail stopped twitching. A metallic object sprang into existence on the side of S'aren's head and he stood up. The Tzenkethi-drone then turned its attention to Nadaar. It and S'aren moved toward him, but the transporter whisked him away. He roared with rage.

S'aren was beamed directly to sickbay. Or, rather, what had once been sickbay. The Tzenkethi-drone pulled him toward an empty surgical bed. Already, he could tell that the Borg were aware of the plan and were disarming the torpedoes. But it was too late. He felt the entire ship shudder from the explosion and a brief few moments of silence within his own head. But it did not take long for the voices to return. But Scout Vessel Eight-Four-Seven-Nine-Five was blind, for all intents and purposes.

The Tzenkethi-drone set the tip of its prosthetic against the side of his skull. There was a razor-sharp pain for a moment. He wanted to scream. He couldn't. The pain was reduced slightly, but he felt a throbbing as the nanites and the drone's own replicator began building implants in his head. Just as the medical drone withdrew its hand, he felt the extra weight on his head, followed by sharp pain as the device clamped down through his fur and skin.

His left eye suddenly went blind and he felt something pierce it from behind. The voices grew louder and for a moment, he could see himself through his "doctor's" eyes. He could see his own body heat, and his internal organs being rearranged and augmented. Another drone approached the bed and handed the Tzenkethi an optical implant. It then set its armature onto the center of his chest. Tubules sprang from the hand and the oversized needle impaled him. The changes in his body accelerated. The pain was intense and sudden, then vanishing just as quickly.

A device came down over the bed; the second drone pulled its hand away. The Tzenkethi-drone started making adjustments. He could see streams of data overlaid; information on S'aren's neural pathways. There was a bright flash of light. The second drone finished its task, then pulled an armature over S'aren's right arm, and clamped it down tight, just above the elbow. There was a sudden burst of pain and the drone removed his right arm.

The adjustments apparently complete, the Tzenkethi-drone placed the optical implant over his left eye and he once again saw things from his own perspective. He began receiving instructions to begin scanning the device overhead. He obeyed, but couldn't quite see clearly. The Tzenkethi-drone made more adjustments. the second drone returned with his prosthetic arm and started drilling into the bone of his upper arm. The adjustments to his ocular implant now complete, he could see individual components of the device and tiny movements within. Under more commands, he scanned his "doctor" and was able to detect every weak point of its body.

He felt the ship's sensors returning to life and he began receiving that data as well. The Sobek was far beyond their range and he could not hear Nadaar's voice among those of the Collective. With his last ounce of free will, he cheered. A moment later, he was silenced.

The Tzenkethi-drone began placing armor over his right shoulder, strengthening it before the weapon could be attached. S'aren's voice became less discordant with the harmony of the Collective. As the surgery continued, he began to regret 'saving' Nadaar from the Borg. After all, they only sought to improve on organic life. He had, perhaps, doomed Nadaar to continued chaos.

He stopped resisting and allowed his voice to join the others. He did not know if he spoke aloud or merely within the Hive Mind. But that was irrelevant now. "We are Borg. Designation: Tactical Drone, Nine of Sixteen."