The transporter beam released Hernandez as her new surroundings took shape around her. The transition felt smoother than it had in her days aboard the Columbia. It helped that the process was faster, but she was certain that the confinement beam had been made less oppressive-a change for which she was grateful.

Freed from its paralyzing hold, she found herself in a transporter room aboard the Aventine. Several security personnel from t.i.tan had beamed over with her. Lieutenant sh'Aqabaa and Senior Petty Officer Antillea flanked Hernandez, and Lieutenant Sh.e.l.ley Hutchinson stood behind her. The Andorian and the reptilian female, whom Hernandez had been told was of a species known as the Gnalish, stepped off the padds. Hutchinson, a trim woman with short brown hair, walked around Hernandez and followed her colleagues out of the transporter room.

Waiting to greet Hernandez were Captain Dax and a lean man with short black hair whose face was defined by parallel drooping ridges on his cheeks. "Captain Hernandez," Dax said. "Welcome aboard the Aventine. This is my second officer and senior science officer, Lieutenant Commander Gruhn Helkara."

"Thank you, Captain," said Hernandez, stepping down from the platform. She offered her hand to Helkara, who shook it. "Pleasure to meet you, Mister Helkara."

"Likewise, Captain," Helkara said with a polite nod.

"Well," Dax said, "I hate to beam and run, but I need to get back to the bridge. Mister Helkara will escort you to main engineering, where you can offer Chief Engineer Leishman the benefit of your technical expertise."

Hernandez nodded. "I understand, Captain. Thank you."

Dax smiled, turned, and left the transporter room. Hernandez reflected on how much Dax reminded her of herself at that age, as a young starship captain, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with confidence and as-yet-unrealized potential.

Behind Hernandez, the transporter's energizer coils came alive with a deep hum. She pivoted on her heel and saw five more shapes materialize: two human men, a Vulcan woman, and a male and a female of different species that she didn't recognize. All carried imposing-looking rifles and other combat equipment.

Helkara touched Hernandez's elbow to guide her. "Captain," he said. "We should go. Lieutenant Leishman is waiting for us."

"Of course," Hernandez said. She followed him out of the transporter room into the corridor. Security personnel, attired in padded and reinforced all-black uniforms, moved past her and Helkara in groups. Most of them were armed with the same rifles that she had seen in the hands of the officers who had beamed in after her. A few carried stockier weapons with wide barrels. As she and Helkara turned a corner, they pa.s.sed a squad of security personnel who were field-stripping their weapons, making modifications to them, and rea.s.sembling them.

She and Helkara stepped inside a turbolift. "Main engineering," he said as the doors closed. A high-pitched pulsing hum accompanied their descent.

"Your people look pretty confident with those rifles," she said. "But how're they going to fire them once they're inside a dampening field?"

"TR-116s fire chemical-propellant projectiles ignited by a mechanical firing pin," Helkara said. "Gas-capture recoil drives the reloader at a rate of nine hundred rounds per minute. No power needed except a pull on the trigger."

"In other words, they're primitive firearms."

"I wouldn't call them primitive. More like a modern update of a cla.s.sic idea. They were designed during the Dominion War for use against the Jem'Hadar, but they didn't make it much past the testing phase until the Tezwa conflict." He caught her quizzical glance and grinned sheepishly. "None of what I'm saying means anything to you, does it?"

Hernandez grinned. "Not really, no."

"Sorry," he said. "Maybe when this mess is over, we can hook you up with some light reading to bring you up to speed."

"I'd appreciate that," she said.

The turbolift stopped, and the doors opened on the manic activity of the Aventine's main engineering deck. Helkara led Hernandez into the middle of the commotion. Sparks fell from upper levels around the warp core as critical components were welded back into place, and the bulkheads were lit by infrequent flashes of acetylene light. A dozen discussions-some between people in the compartment, some over the comms-overlapped beneath the low-frequency throbbing of the antimatter reactor.

In an alcove opposite the warp core, a group of engineers were gathered around a hip-height table of control consoles. At the far end was a young, brown-haired human woman doling out a.s.signments. "Selidok, tell your team they have ten minutes to finish adjusting the yields on the warheads," she said to an alien who wore a mist-producing apparatus in front of his nostrils. To a diminutive lieutenant who resembled an upright pill bug, she continued, "P7-Red, we need at least twenty more of those energy dampeners replicated and distributed, on the double." Turning toward a looming Vulcan man-Hernandez guessed the ensign was at least 193 centimeters tall-the chief engineer said, "Navok, what's the status of the slipstream drive?"

"All components are operating within expected parameters," Navok said. "However, we continue to have difficulty predicting the phase variances."

Hernandez blurted out, "You can control the pattern of the phase variance by projecting soliton pulses ahead of you, inside the slipstream."

Everyone at the table looked in Hernandez's direction, and Helkara said to the woman at the end of the table, "Lieutenant Leishman, allow me to introduce Captain Erika Hernandez, our new technical adviser."

Leishman's reaction was barely noticeable. "All right," she said to her team. "You have your a.s.signments. Navok, see if you can apply Captain Hernandez's suggestion for a soliton pulse."

"Aye, sir," Navok replied.

"Meeting adjourned," Leishman said. The junior officers split up and left the compartment. The chief engineer circled around the table to greet Hernandez. "Captain. A pleasure."

"Glad to be of service, Lieutenant." Hernandez motioned toward the table of consoles. "Care to show me your biggest technical hurdles?"

"Sure," Leishman said. She turned to the console and called up several sets of schematics on adjacent displays. "We have two small problems to deal with. The first is that we need to sh.o.r.e up our transphasic shielding to keep the Borg from slicing us in half before we hit them with the energy dampener."

Hernandez reached forward to input some commands. She paused before touching the interface. "May I?"

"Be my guest," Leishman said.

After centuries of dissecting and trying to improve on Caeliar technology, Hernandez found it easy to a.n.a.lyze and reconfigure twenty-fourth-century Starfleet software and hardware, which was much simpler by comparison. She rewrote power-distribution algorithms and adaptive shield-harmonic subroutines as if by instinct. By her reckoning, she had, in a matter of seconds, advanced Starfleet defensive technology by at least a decade.

She turned to the wide-eyed chief engineer and asked, "What's your second problem?"

Neither Leishman nor Helkara responded right away. They were both mesmerized by the designs and formulas that Hernandez had crafted in front of them. After a few seconds, Leishman grinned and snorted with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Something tells me you're gonna have a bright future at Starfleet Research and Development, Captain."

"We'll see," Hernandez said. Then she prompted Leishman, "Your second 'small problem,' Lieutenant?"

"Right," Leishman said, calling up a new array of complex computations on the tabletop's a.s.sorted display screens. "We're tracking the Borg ship you located, but it's pretty far away from here." She directed Hernandez's attention to a specific equation. "The problem is one of control. Once we engage the slipstream drive, we'll catch up to the Borg in a matter of minutes. But if we come out of slipstream too soon or too late, we'll be too far away to make a sneak attack. They'll have time to raise their defenses, and we might end up the hunted instead of the hunter. Unfortunately, our sensors and conn weren't made to drop in and out of slipstream with that degree of precision."

Hernandez studied the data on the screens and considered what Leishman had said. "Yes," she replied. "I see the problem."

Leishman said, "Does that mean you can help us?"

"That depends," Hernandez said. "Do you think you can persuade Captain Dax to let me fly her ship into combat?"

The chief engineer threw a questioning look at Helkara, who smirked and replied, "I think that can be arranged."

Dax emerged from her ready room feeling charged and impatient. Captain Picard had told her to have a plan before taking her ship into action; with her plan in place, she wanted to be in motion, tearing through a quantum slipstream for a rendezvous with a Borg ship whose minutes now were numbered.

Taking her seat beside her first officer, she asked, "How much longer, Mister Bowers?"

"Ten minutes at the most, Captain," Bowers said. "We're beaming over the last of the reinforcements from Enterprise and t.i.tan right now."

She leaned closer to him and lifted her chin toward Erika Hernandez, who was seated at the conn. In a whisper, she inquired, "How's our new pilot doing?"

"Fine, so far," came Bowers's hushed reply.

"Good," Dax said. She swiveled her chair toward the tactical station, where Lieutenant Lonnoc Kedair was working with an intense focus on her console. "Tactical, report."

The Takaran security chief snapped her head up and answered with poise and calm, "Transphasic warhead yields adjusted for shield collapse only. Our own shields have been updated to stay a few steps ahead of the Borg's weapons"-she nodded toward Hernandez-"courtesy of our guest."

Dax grinned at Hernandez. "Sounds like you've had a busy morning, Captain."

"Haven't we all?" replied Hernandez.

Looking to ops, where Ensign Svetlana Gredenko was filling in for the critically wounded Lieutenant Mirren, Dax asked, "Ops, do we still have a solid lock on the Borg scout vessel?"

"Aye, Captain," Gredenko said.

"Helm," Dax said, "is the slipstream drive online yet?"

"Affirmative, Captain," said Hernandez. "Main deflector is fully charged, and chroniton integrator is online. Ready to engage on your order."

A signal chirruped on Bowers's armrest display. He silenced it with a tap of his index finger and said to Dax, "The last of the strike-team members are aboard, sir." Something on his screen made him do a double-take. "And you have a visitor."

"A what?"

Bowers relayed the message to her command display, at the end of her chair's right armrest. He lowered his voice. "It's Commander Worf from the Enterprise, sir. He beamed aboard with the last squad of reinforcements, and he's waiting for you in transporter room one. Says he won't leave till he sees you."

Dax stood from her chair. "Tell him I'll be there in a minute. Until then, hold the attack."

"Understood," Bowers said.

"You have the bridge, Commander," Dax said.

She strode to the turbolift as quickly as she could without looking as if she was in a hurry. The ride to Deck Three took only a matter of seconds, and then she walk-jogged to transporter room one. The door slid open ahead of her, and she entered to see Worf standing alone in front of the transporter platform. In one hand he held his bat'leth, in the other his mek'leth. He regarded her with quiet resolve. "I request permission to join your attack on the Borg, Captain."

Dax looked at the transporter operator, an imposing male Selay whose cobralike cranial hood was marked by a colorful pattern that reminded Dax of hourgla.s.ses. "Dismissed," she said.

"Aye, Captain," the Selay replied. He put the transporter console into standby mode and made a quick exit. The door closed with a m.u.f.fled hiss behind him.

Dax walked slowly toward Worf as she asked, "Does Captain Picard know you're here?"

"Yes," Worf replied. "He granted my request to volunteer for this mission."

"I find that hard to believe," Dax said. "Captain Picard doesn't think we should even attempt this mission. So why would he loan me his first officer?"

Bristling at the naked suspicion in her tone, Worf broke eye contact and lifted his chin in a display of defiant pride. "When it comes to fighting the Borg, I am one of the most experienced tacticians in Starfleet. Even if the captain does not approve of your plan, he wants you to have the best possible chance of success."

"Can I let you in on a little secret, Worf?" Dax smirked as he looked back at her. "The way you lifted your chin and looked away just then? That's one of your tells. Every time you do that, I know you're hiding something." The abashed look on Worf's face-and the speed with which he averted his fuming stare-told Dax she had scored a verbal direct hit. "Why don't you try telling me what you're really doing here?"

Worf sighed and set his weapons on the transporter platform behind him. "Captain Picard did ask me to try to change your mind about the attack. He considers it a foolhardy effort."

"And what do you think of it, Worf?" She tried to look into his eyes, but he turned his head to show her his stern profile.

"What I think is not important," he said.

"In other words, you agree with me, but you don't want to dishonor your captain by second-guessing his orders." His silence told her more than anything he might have said in response. "Let me ask you a question," she continued. "If we don't take the offensive in this battle, what are we supposed to do? If Captain Picard objects to my plan, what's his?"

The Klingon's prodigious eyebrows knitted together above the bridge of his nose as he frowned in irritation. "The captain has not yet presented his plan," he said.

Dax reached out and placed her hand on his arm. "Let me save us both a lot of talking, Worf. I'm sure that if you tried, you could give me a dozen good reasons not to go forward with the attack, and I could give you a dozen good reasons why I should. But in the end, it'll all come down to one simple fact: This is my command; I call the shots here. Starfleet protocol demands that I show Captain Picard deference because of his seniority, but if push comes to shove, he doesn't outrank me, Worf. I'm a captain, the same rank as him. This is my ship, and I am taking her, and her crew, into battle. And that's final."

He looked at her with both respect and pride. "That is exactly as it should be," he said. "And I will be proud to serve under your command."

"That's kind of you to say, but you're not coming with us," Dax said. "The Enterprise needs you more."

Worf became bellicose. "Do not be foolish, Ezri. You will need every advantage you can get against the Borg."

"I already have an advantage," she said with a broad smile. "I'm a Dax, remember?"

A proud gleaming broke through his wall of gloom. "It is at times like this that I see Jadzia in you," he said. "Are you certain you will not reconsider my pet.i.tion?"

"Positive," Dax said.

He stood. "Then I wish you success and glory in the battle to come. Qapla', Ezri, daughter of Yanas, House of Martok."

She got up and stood in front of him. "Qapla', Worf, son of Mogh." Then she wrapped her arms around his barrel-thick torso and hugged him with all the strength she could muster. He returned her embrace for several seconds, and then they parted.

He picked up his weapons from the platform, climbed the stairs, and stepped onto a transport pad. Turning back, he said, "Victory against these odds will be almost impossible."

Dax narrowed her eyes. "I wouldn't say impossible."

Worf replied with a smirk, "I meant for the Borg."

There were a thousand potential distractions on the bridge of the Enterprise, but every time Captain Picard looked up from the padd in his hands, his eyes found the blackened cavity of his ready room. Engineers and mechanics carried out scorched bulkhead panels and the charred remains of his chair and a crate's worth of his personal effects, all incinerated.

He fixed his eyes once more on the padd, which felt cold in his palm. Updates from the Aventine confirmed that Captain Dax and her crew would be ready to launch their bold-and possibly suicidal-attack on the Borg within a matter of minutes.

It's an audacious plan, he admitted to himself. I only wish it didn't seem so...futile. Perusing its details, he feared all the ways that it could fail. If the Borg adapt to the transphasic torpedo, the Aventine will be an exposed target, he brooded. Even if the strike teams board the probe, there's no guarantee they'll prevail. And those crude weapons are bound to produce friendly-fire casualties. He frowned as he scrolled through a summary of the plan's later phases. Worst of all, it could backfire beyond our worst nightmares. If the Borg a.s.similate Captain Hernandez, there's no telling what kind of evil we might unleash on the galaxy.

A female voice with a vaguely British accent interrupted his pessimistic musings. "Excuse me, Captain."

He looked up to see Miranda Kadohata, the ship's second officer, standing in front of him. "Yes, Commander?"

"The final roster of personnel who've transferred to the Aventine is ready, sir," she said. "I routed the report to your command screen."

He nodded and started calling up the file. "Thank you." After a few moments, he realized Kadohata was still there, as if she was waiting for something. He looked up at her. "Something else, Commander?"

She raised her eyebrows as she glanced away. The gesture accentuated the normally subtle epicanthic folding around her eyes, emphasizing her mixed European-Asian human ancestry. "Starfleet Command pa.s.sed along a suggestion from Seven of Nine, but I'm not sure you'd approve of it, sir."

Her apprehensiveness piqued his curiosity. "Go on."

"There is one weapon we haven't considered using on the Borg," she said, "and maybe we should."

"And that would be...?"

"A thalaron projector," Kadohata said. "Like the one Shinzon had aboard the Scimitar."