Two more drones down. Four. Six. They kept getting closer.

Darrow set her weapon to full auto and strobed the corridor with a steady stream of tracers. Then her clip ran dry.

Kedair and T'Prel snapped fresh clips into place. Able to count the rear rank of drones in a glance, the Takaran security chief switched over to full automatic and mowed down the final handful of Borg in the corridor. She released the trigger as the last drone fell in a b.l.o.o.d.y, shredded heap. The tang of blood and the acrid bite of sulfur hung heavily in the sweltering darkness.

"Like clockwork," Kedair said to her team. "Nice work. Let's keep moving. Malaya, ch'Maras, on point."

The rear guard moved past Kedair and the others and advanced through the pa.s.sage, occasionally peppering the overhead or the bulkheads with streaks of flare gel. As she followed them, Kedair retrieved her spare dampener from the deck, deactivated it, and put it back on her belt.

At the end of a long corridor, they arrived at a T-shaped intersection. The perpendicular pa.s.sage was open on one side into the great empty s.p.a.ce that surrounded the vinculum, which was housed in an hourgla.s.s-shaped structure at the probe's center. Kedair stared out at the other sections of the ship. From the highest deck to the lowest, the interior of the probe was almost as dark as s.p.a.ce, except where weapons fire flashed white, explosions blossomed in crimson, or flares bathed their surroundings in lime green. The constant, echoing rattles of rifle fire reminded Kedair of the sound of construction work.

Movement caught her eye from the opposite side of the ship. A group of black shapes moved in quick steps through the murky shadows, heading straight toward a Starfleet strike team that had its back turned to the ambush. Out of force of habit, Kedair reached toward her combadge before she remembered that the energy dampeners had cut off all communications. She considered shouting a warning to the other strike team, but then she thought better of advertising her squad's position, and she doubted that her voice would carry all that distance with enough volume to pierce the din of the ongoing battle.

There's more than one way to get someone's attention, she realized, and she lifted her rifle, put her eye to the scope, and targeted a bulkhead support beam near the Starfleet team. Her single shot pinged off the metal beam, startling the other Starfleet team, whose sharpshooter immediately turned his weapon toward her. Kedair looked up from behind her scope and pointed emphatically in the direction of the coming ambush.

The sharpshooter and his fellows dropped into covered positions and took aim at the approaching pack of drones. From a distance, all Kedair saw was a blaze of tracers and the violent, twitching dance of the mortally wounded. Then the Starfleet squad's commander was up and shouting, but Kedair couldn't hear what the man was saying. The shooting came to an abrupt stop, and the squad fired some flare rounds down the pa.s.sageway.

As soon as the corridor brightened, Kedair saw what she'd done. A bullet-riddled Starfleet strike team lay on the deck in a spreading pool of its own blood. Four of her brothers and sisters in arms had been shot down on her command.

Kedair wanted to scream as if she had been the one who was shot. Denial and guilt collided in her thoughts while she stared wide-eyed at the carnage she'd carelessly provoked.

"Sir," T'Prel said, "we need to keep moving and clear this deck." The Vulcan woman's flat, uninflected manner of speaking conveyed no sympathy or pity for Kedair's tragic mistake, and that suited Kedair perfectly.

"All right," Kedair said. "Take point with Englehorn."

T'Prel and the human man stepped away and continued the sweep through the Borg probe. Kedair turned her back on the b.l.o.o.d.y consequence of a moment's error, already knowing she would bear its memory with shame until the day she died.

Enterprise security officers Randolph Giudice, Peter Davila, Kirsten Cruzen, and Bryan Regnis stood guard beside an opening that led to the probe's center. Two of their shipmates-an acerbic Vulcan woman named T'Sona, and Jarata Beyn, a hulking Bajoran man whom Giudice had nicknamed "Moose"-used compressed-gas tools to sink self-sealing anchor bolts into a bulkhead opposite the gap.

Giudice winced at the series of sharp pneumatic hisses and reverberating thunks of metal piercing metal. "Hurry up," he said, impatient to be on the move again.

He tried not to think about the fact that Dr. Crusher had told him he shouldn't be moving around at all for a few more days; it had been less than ten hours since she and the rest of the Enterprise's medical staff had spliced him, Davila, and Regnis back together after their harrowing fight with the Hirogen boarding party.

Hiss-thunk. Hiss-thunk. "Anchors secure," T'Sona said.

Jarata threaded four thin but resilient cables through the eyes of the anchor bolts, then affixed the cables to grapples c.o.c.ked in the barrels of four handheld launchers. "Ready to go," he said to Giudice.

"Nice work, Moose," Giudice replied. He slung his TR-116 across his back and picked up one of the grapple guns. Davila, Regnis, and Cruzen did likewise. "Time to go to work," he said, bracing the device against his shoulder. He shut one eye and peered with the other through the launcher's targeting scope. "On count of three. One...two...three."

Four grappling hooks soared away through the bulkhead gap, down toward the hourgla.s.s-shaped vinculum tower at the heart of the Borg ship. Each grappling hook penetrated the black tower's chaotic twists of exterior machinery and stuck fast, directly above an entrance pa.s.sage whose access walkway had been retracted into the tower's foundation.

Working quickly, Giudice and his team took up the slack from the cables and secured them as tightly as they were able. "Moose, T'Sona, watch our backs. We're going in." He locked a handheld pulley over his cable and then attached himself to it with a safety line that was looped through a carabiner on his belt. In a few seconds, the other three humans had also hooked up their pulleys and safety loops to their zip lines.

"Now the fun part," Giudice said with a smirk. Gripping his pulley with both hands, he pulled himself up onto the ledge of the barrier that stood between him and the great emptiness on the other side. He waited until Davila, Cruzen, and Regnis were perched beside him atop the barrier. "Three...two...one."

They tucked their knees toward their chests and let gravity do the rest. The incline was fairly shallow, less than fifteen degrees, but within seconds, they were hurtling through open air at an exhilarating speed. Deep aches and sharp pangs-aggravated by his sudden, extreme exertion-reminded Giudice of the impaling wound he'd suffered hours earlier.

He stole a glance at Davila and saw that the older man, who had been slashed across his chest, was also in considerable pain. I guess even Starfleet medicine has its limits, Giudice mused. Only Regnis had recovered fully from the Hirogen attack, despite having been garroted nearly to death. Giudice scowled. Some guys have all the luck.

The vinculum tower loomed ahead of them. Giudice clutched the braking clamp on his pulley and slowed his descent. On either side of him, the rest of his team decelerated. Moments later, their feet made contact with the tower, and they braked to a halt as they bent at the knees to absorb the impact. With practiced ease, they detached their safety lines and dropped down onto the platform in front of its recessed entrance.

Davila nodded at the bulkhead which had sealed the tower's entrance. "Looks like they were expecting us."

"I guess we'll have to knock," Giudice said. "Cruzen, want to do the honors?"

While her comrades took cover around the corners from the entrance alcove, Cruzen moved forward. The pet.i.te, innocent-looking brunette removed her backpack, opened it, and retrieved a peculiar demolition charge. It was a malleable chemical explosive with a binary chemical detonator. Though less powerful than Starfleet's most advanced photonic charges, it would suffice to open the pa.s.sage-and it had the advantage of being able to function despite the energy-dampening fields being generated by the Aventine and its strike teams.

Cruzen primed the detonator and fixed the charge in place against the barricade. She made a final tap of adjustment and then sprinted back toward Giudice and the others. "Fire in the hole!"

She ducked around the corner with Giudice half a second before a ma.s.sive explosion spouted orange fire out of the alcove and rocked the entire Borg probe. The cloud of fire and oily, dark smoke persisted for several seconds. Aftershocks trembled the vinculum tower as the blast effects dissipated.

"h.e.l.l of a boom, Cruzen," Giudice said. "I hope the vinculum's still in one piece."

"Should be," she said. "I used a shaped charge." She peeked around the corner. "Looks okay from here."

He heard the heavy percussion of approaching footsteps. "And what about the drones guarding it?"

"They're fine, too," she said.

"Great." He unslung his rifle and thumbed off the safety. In a smooth pivot step, he rounded the corner and fired several controlled bursts directly into the advancing company of Borg. There were so many, in so dense a formation, that he didn't need to aim. All he had to worry about was running dry on ammo. Glaring left and right at his teammates, he snapped, "What're you waiting for? Invitations?"

As if suddenly remembering why they'd come, Davila, Regnis, and Cruzen stepped out on either side of Giudice and formed a skirmish line. Davila and Cruzen fired while Giudice reloaded, and Regnis held his fire until he and Giudice could cover for the others. Working together, they cut down rank after rank of drones. For a moment, Giudice almost felt guilty about it, as if he and the others were shooting defenseless foes. Then he remembered what any one of those drones would do if it laid hands on him or any member of his team, and he resumed firing.

Regnis said to Giudice between blazing salvos, "Lieutenant? You know we're all down to our last two clips, right?"

Giudice shouted back, "Yes, Bryan, I see that."

"Well, I still see a lot of drones coming, sir."

"I see that, too, Bryan. Everyone, aim for effect!"

The team's shots became more precise, but the attacking drones drew inexorably closer. Then, all at once, there seemed to be only a half-dozen of them left standing. Unfortunately, that was when all four of the team's rifles clicked empty.

The drones prowled forward, pale revenants of malice.

"c.r.a.p," Giudice muttered.

Davila said, "We were close, too."

"Too bad the Borg don't give mulligans," Regnis said.

Reaching toward her belt, Cruzen asked, "Grenades?"

"No," Giudice said. "It might damage the vinculum."

The six Borg were only a few meters away. Giudice and his team had retreated to the edge of the platform and had nowhere left to go. Giudice wished he could just shimmy back up the zip line. He glanced upward and had an idea. "Everybody down!"

He used his weapon's gel-flare attachment to paint all six advancing drones with radiant green splatters, and then he hit the deck beside his team.

Less than two seconds later, an overpowering barrage of sniper fire from the distant sides of the probe tore through the six drones. As Giudice had guessed, sharpshooters from other strike teams had wanted to help him take the vinculum-they just hadn't been able to identify their targets in the dark.

"That's what I'm talking about," Giudice said as he and the others stood and eyed the captured vinculum. "Teamwork."

Erika Hernandez manned the Aventine's conn and eyed the black, oblong vessel on the main viewer with dread and enmity.

Her hatred was fueled by what the probe and the other Borg vessels had done at the Azure Nebula. She was beginning to understand the threat that the Borg Collective posed to Earth and its Federation. She could only hope that her wrath would be strong enough to overcome her fear when the time came to add her voice to the Collective's dissonant chorus, in an effort to bring at least part of it under her control.

At the aft stations of the bridge, Captain Dax and her first officer, Bowers, conferred in muted tones with the Aventine's science officer, Helkara. They and the other officers on the bridge all presented calm appearances, but there remained a palpable undercurrent of tension. No one wanted to speculate about what might be happening inside the Borg ship. We're all hoping for the best and expecting the worst, Hernandez brooded.

An alert beeped on the ops console. Ensign Gredenko silenced it with a feather touch and said, "The Borg ship just vented a small amount of plasma."

Dax and Bowers hurried back to the center of the bridge. "Magnify," Dax said.

The image on the viewscreen snapped to a close-up view of a small exhaust portal low on the Borg ship's aft surface. Another brief jet of rapidly dissipating plasma appeared. Moments later, two short plumes occurred in quick succession. "The delay between ventings has been exactly five seconds," Gredenko reported. The bridge crew watched with antic.i.p.ation. Then came three rapid spurts of plasma. "Five-second delay," Gredenko repeated. "Counting down to next venting. Three...two...one." Right on cue, a series of five fast plasma ejections sprayed from the port. "Fibonacci pattern and timing confirmed."

"All right," Bowers said. "Mister Helkara, lower the dampening field. Kandel, keep the shields up and the weapons on standby, just in case it's a trap."

Helkara tapped at his console and replied, "Dampening field is down, sir."

Immediately, Hernandez heard a few lonely Borg voices from aboard the probe. They had been cut off from the roar of the Collective, and they sounded disoriented and afraid. She stole nervous glances at the rest of the bridge crew and quickly realized she was the only one who heard the panicked drones.

"Lieutenant Kedair is hailing us from the Borg ship," Kandel reported.

"On speakers," Dax said.

Kandel replied, "Channel open."

"Lieutenant," Dax said, speaking up toward the comm, "this is Aventine. Go ahead."

"The Borg probe is ours, Captain," Kedair replied. "The vinculum is intact, and we've taken it offline while we make our modifications for Captain Hernandez."

Dax nodded. "Good work. Is it safe for her to beam over?"

"Not yet," Kedair said. "There are still a few drones kicking around in here, but we have them cornered. Once we finish them off, we'll be ready to proceed to phase two."

"Well done," Dax said. "Keep us posted. Aventine out."

The channel closed with a barely audible click from the overhead speaker. Hernandez's thoughts drifted as she tuned out the bridge's m.u.f.fled ambience of urgent business. Her mind reached out as if to the Caeliar gestalt, the way it had in Axion when she'd eavesdropped on her captors. Now, however, she was listening to the Borg drones on the probe ship.

A bond was formed, a communion of sorts...and then she was seeing through the drone's eyes.

It was wounded and immobilized, lying on a deck inside the Borg ship. To her eyes, the interior of the probe vessel looked more like an automated factory than a starship. A celadon glow suffused its vast, deceptively open-looking architecture.

She felt the drone's labored breathing, the dull pain throbbing in its abdomen, the quickened beating of its heart. Its thoughts were chaotic and wordless, little more than surges of emotion and confusion. Then it reacted to the presence of Hernandez's mind with a desperate attempt to merge. It reminded her of the way a hungry infant might reach for its mother.

Its vulnerability and fear took hold of her, and she felt a deep swell of compa.s.sion for the mortally wounded drone. Don't be afraid, she a.s.sured the drone, acting on a reflexive desire to provide comfort. The drone relaxed; its pulse slowed. As its breaths became deep and long, it began to feel to Hernandez like a psychic mirror that reflected her will and desires.

Then a pair of Starfleet personnel turned the corner a few meters away. They had weapons braced at their shoulders as they advanced on the fallen drone.

Hernandez lost sight of the difference between herself and the drone. Its fear became hers as it stared into the barrels of two rifles, pointed at its face from point-blank range.

A shocked half-whisper pa.s.sed her lips, and she felt the drone speaking with her, as if they shared a voice: "No..."

The bond was broken in a crack of gunfire.

Slammed back into the solitude of her own consciousness, Hernandez recoiled with a violent shudder. She gripped the sides of the console to steady herself. Her eyes glistened with tears of anguish and fury, as if she had just witnessed the slaughter of her own flesh and blood. She knew that the Borg were still the enemy of humanity and its allies and that the Collective had to be stopped, but now she was also convinced that there was more to this implacable foe than she had been told-and perhaps more than Starfleet and its allies realized.

A brown hand settled gently on her shoulder. Bowers leaned down and asked quietly, "Are you all right, Captain?"

For a second, she considered telling him about her vision of the drone, but then she thought better of it. These people are terrified of the Borg, she realized. If they think I'm bonding with the enemy or sympathizing with them, there's no telling what they might do to me.

"I'm fine," she lied. "Just nerves, I guess."

Bowers nodded. "It'll be a while before they're ready for you on the Borg ship," he said. "Maybe you should go back to your quarters and rest a bit before we start phase two."

Hernandez forced herself to muster a grateful smile. "Sounds like a good idea," she said. She got up and walked to the turbolift as Bowers summoned a relief officer to the conn.

Before she stepped inside the lift, Dax intercepted her. "I just wanted to thank you for all your help today," Dax said. "I doubt we'd have succeeded without you at the conn."

"You're welcome, Captain," Hernandez said. "Could I ask a favor in return?"

Dax's eyebrows peaked with curiosity. "Depends. What'd you have in mind?"

"Seeing as you mean for me to pose as the Borg Queen in an hour or two, it would help if I knew as much about the Borg as possible," Hernandez said. "Can you give me clearance to review all your files about them? Including the cla.s.sified ones?"

"Consider it done," Dax said. "But be warned-there's a lot of it. I doubt you'll get through it all in an hour."

That drew a genuine smirk of amus.e.m.e.nt from Hernandez.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm a fast reader."

Lonnoc Kedair's first order after the Aventine deactivated its dampening field had been to have wounded personnel beamed back to the ship for emergency medical treatment.

Her second order had been to make sure every drone on the probe vessel was "one-hundred-percent dead."

"As opposed to mostly dead?" T'Prel had inquired with her trademark arid sarcasm. Kedair had responded with a withering glare that made it clear she was in no mood for witty repartee.