Captain Wren Walton sat in the center chair, eyes glaring forward.  She ordered, “Steady as she goes, Mr. Prentice.”

“Aye, sir.” Lieutenant William Prentice’s voice was stable, and sounded strong.  This was not how he was really feeling.  Across the bridge, everyone shared the sensation.  The revelation from Captain Peter Crawford had landed hard across the room.

Commander Park had shifted to a spare console on the outer edge of the bridge, her eyes singularly focused. Captain Crawford had been right.  They didn’t like it.  She turned in her chair, asking Walton. “What were they thinking?”

Wren was still trying to reconcile the lengthy and spotty report they had received from Crawford.  She wasn’t sure what to think.  She found some words to answer with. “They were thinking.  Just not of the future.  We have two thousand-plus years of history to remind us why creating experimental machines with minor oversight can end badly.  Repeatedly.  What they were ashamed to admit is the hardest thing for us to understand.  That the Blood Guild would attempt to integrate living Vorethi into their attempt at improving their fledgling mining operations.”

Hazel Wallaker turned in her chair at the science console.  “I don’t think they were telling us the whole truth, Captain.  I don’t think the Vorethi willingly attached themselves to those machines.  The Chief Premier could look none of us in the eye.  There has to be more to the story.”  Walton could see the fury mounting on her face and shot her a gentle warning glance.  Wallaker had passion in plenty.  Wren had learned to help the young woman find her triggers and isolate them as much as possible.

At communications, a nervous Cadet Catrin Williams sat up, alarmed. “Captain, I’m getting some unusual signals coming from the intercept point.”  She tapped on her console, shaking her head.  “Captain, it’s attempting to gain access to the computer systems.  Firewalls and security measures are holding.”

Seated to the left of Walton, Baron Nine sat up, his eyes half closed.  “They have seen us.  They will attempt to take control of Perseverance.”  He turned to her. “I can assist in the defense.”  She gestured to an empty console, and he shifted to the seat at the edge of the bridge.

She asked, “Is this how you think they started with the Runyon?”

Baron’s hand started slowly over the console keys, quickly speeding up as his eyes opened wider to watch the screens of code and systems he was building and enhancing.  “I suspect they learned from the Runyon and are using their education to make adaptations.  It is not a great feeling knowing they have started down the path of my former masters.  It is a benefit that they cannot find purchase within me as the past knowledge I have would present a real and present danger to us all.”

The lights above flickered for a moment.  Walton stood from her chair and stalked towards Baron’s station.  “Can you keep them out?  If not, we need to retreat.  I’m not inclined to feed them a Pathfinder-class starship.”

Another storm of the ex-Borg’s fingers on the console before the various alerts on the screen changed from red to yellow and at last, to green.  He turned to Walton, an attempt at a smile crossing his cragged lips.  “I have created additional security measures to prevent intrusion. They will break through eventually, but it will take some time.”

Walton raised her eyebrows, feeling a familiar panic clawing its way to her shoulders. “How long?”

“Fifteen years.  Ten if they get lucky.  Given that I’ve blocked that avenue, they will attempt a more forward approach.”

Wren asked, hoping to avoid having to get her hands dirty and her knuckles bloody.  She’d kept her uniform clean for a good long stretch.  “What are the chances of you being able to negotiate with them?”

Baron Nine frowned, or at least it looked like a frown.  “I had not thought of that possibility.  I am superior in every way to them.  There is no chance of them getting the better of me.”  He caught her incredulous look.  “My apologies, Captain Walton.  Old programming.”

She chortled, “Let’s make sure it stays old.”  Alarms beeped, blared, and alerted from various consoles, signaling the impending arrival of the mystery enemy.  “Looks like you’re going to get your chance, Baron.  Join me in the command chairs.  Red Alert – sound battle stations.”  The lights faded to the ruby overheads as the classic klaxon rang throughout the ship, with the additional orders for all hands to their battle-ready muster stations.