“They brought us the Runyon.”  Captain Wren Walton reported to the visage of Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana on the Perseverance’s viewscreen.‌  His eyebrows were tightly and deeply furrowed on a tense face.  “They told us they would await the return of the creators and didn’t want our variables getting in the way.”

Fontana’s eyes narrowed.  “In other words, our people are not compatible with their project.”  He let out a long sigh.  “Captain Crawford and his team are working with the major and minor guilds and the central government to get something, anything figured out.”  Walton felt for Fontana – a contact mission like this was supposed to be exciting and full of possibilities.  It had twisted into a nightmare with biomechanical robots threatening from the deep darkness.  Another sigh.  “Proceed carefully, Captain Walton.  We need our people back, and news to pass along to their families.”  She turned to the bridge as the channel closed.

“Activate our Hazard Team.  Alert our medical response operations – the highest level of quarantine is now in effect.  Wallaker?”  She shifted her gaze to their chief science officer.

At the science station, Hazel Wallaker had various swaths of the sensors working on the Runyon.  “There are hull breaches all around engineering – no force fields are in place.  The bulkheads and emergency doors are in place.  Sensors show life signs in sickbay, on the bridge, and in the science lab.  Most are human. A small percentage are coming back as Vorethi, but the computer is having a hard time differentiating those from some of the mechanical equipment it’s detecting.”  Her fingers moved across the keys, adjusting the sensors as she evaluated each data point.  “I’m able to confirm most of the human readings against the ship’s roster.”

Walton stood and walked towards where the science chief sat, sensing the answers to her pressing questions were going to hurt.  “Grissom Class ships have 80 officers and crew,” she stated.  The question hung in the air.

Wallaker worked at her console, her face telling part of the story as the computer calculated those alive and those otherwise.  “I have 65 human life signs.  The remaining 15 are partially human.”  Another rapid run of her fingers across the console, trying to determine the rest of the story.  “The partial readings are coming back with the other side unknown.  It’s unable to authenticate if it’s Vorethi or something else.  The computer is having a hard time breaking through the interference on those life signs.”

Wren felt her body grow cold as the science chief relayed what she had found.  The 15 being ‘partially human’ was the wild card, she knew.  Survival of assimilated Borg was terrifyingly low.  What chances did the handful of Runyon have with the Vorethi-bots?  She needed to move. And quickly.  “Have the Hazard Team transport over.”

The screen flickered with the four cameras from the Hazard Team as they stepped out of the transporter room.

One officer reported, “Atmosphere readings are nominal – life support is still operational in sealed sections.”  Wren sat on the edge of her command chair, leaning forward as the dystopian scene played out.  The ship had sustained heavy damage.  Corridors were covered in weapons fire; blackened stains littered the walls.  Debris from the battle scattered across the floor.

Another member of the team spoke up. “We’re nearing the bridge.” Wren observed the door; someone had hammered it in the attack.  Cracks climbed the door, nearly splintered.  Another voice. “Engaging override.”  It took a few minutes, but eventually the door creaked open, revealing a darkened bridge with lights flickering in a wild rhythm.  The team shifted through the doorway, weapons drawn as the flashlights on the ends of the phaser rifles searched the room.  A third voice.  “We’ve got wounded here, Captain. Ten injured.  None conscious.”

Walton’s eyes searched for familiar faces from the roster she had memorized, and her voice was tightly wound.  “Visual.”  She gasped as the Hazard Team began to triage and inspect each of the Runyon’s crew.  Bruises, dark blue and black, covered their faces and arms.  Ruby-red blood had curdled in pools across the bridge, and dried stains lay on the bodies.  Some wounds were bound haphazardly, while other injuries caused the bridge crew to wince at infections left untreated.  “Can you stabilize them on-site and evaluate their biomechanical infection status?”

“Yes, ma’am.  These folks can hold out for an hour.  We’ll split the team.  Two will remain here and two will make a count of sickbay and the science lab.”

“Get it done, Lieutenant.”

“I am sorry, Lieutenant Josephs.”  Baron Nine spoke from his secured bio-bed.  He had come out of the coma and, after evaluating his situation, made his apology.  “I notice you have removed some of my former implants.”  He paused as he closed his eyes, seeming to search for something.  They opened slowly. “You have also erected a shield around me, preventing contact with the Vorethi-bots.”

Ada shook her head slowly, as if to emphasize to him the level of concern.  “They bested you, Baron.  They took control of you.  And I cannot allow that to happen again.”  Her eyes met his, bearing heavily into him as she spoke.  “Your work on the Perseverance’s computer has kept them at bay, so your skills are not in doubt.”

A look of concern crossed his face. “But you do not trust me enough to release me from the restraints.”  There was a ripple of hurt that floated across his eyes, and his mouth turned down.  “I cannot deny your logic, Lieutenant Josephs.  I hope I did not scare anyone.”

“You have a lot to learn about Starfleet officers, Baron.  You unnerved people.  When an ex-Borg speaks in a voice that isn’t his, we’re going to wonder about them.  We’re going to take precautions.  Even with the implants I removed, there’s still enough of the Borg in you to be concerned about.  I can’t release you.  Not until we know how to compensate for it.  And not just for this mission.  Your future on the Perseverance depends on it, Baron.”

He blinked in silence until he found his words. “I wish to remain part of this crew.  Whatever we must do to allow me to continue my work on this ship, we must do it.”