“Acknowledged,”Dax said. “Anything else?”

“Stand by. Vaughn out.” Turning to Nog, he said, “Lieutenant, begin a tricorder sweep of the ship. I want to know if there’s any indication of active subspace links to the collective. Then start scanning this alcove—its construction, its operation, its power source, everything. I need you to become an expert on Borg technology as quickly as possible.”

Nog’s mouth dropped open, but all he could get out were the words “Aye, sir” as he reset his tricorder and went to work.

When the call came from the bridge, Bashir allowed himself a private sigh of relief at the knowledge that the big mystery of the last few days was about to end. And none too soon. Separating his desire to know what was going on from his personal relationship to the ship’s fully informed first officer had been difficult enough. On the one hand, he knew better than to ask Ezri about any ship’s business that Vaughn didn’t see fit to loop him into. That was Vaughn’s prerogative as ship’s captain, and Bashir wasn’t about to make Ezri’s role as X.O. harder by attempting to draw the information out of her. He wouldn’t have succeeded anyway; Ezri took her transfer to command too seriously to let anyone undermine it, least of all Julian.

On the other hand, as Defiant’s chief medical officer, being asked to operate in an information vacuum was a sure way to put lives at risk. He couldn’t prepare for something if he didn’t know what he was likely to face. The fact that knowledge capable of minimizing the risk to the crew was being withheld from him was troubling enough, but it didn’t take a genetically enhanced mind to know that the continuing secrecy was itself contributing to a notable rise in anxiety among his shipmates. And that, Bashir knew, was dangerous. Anxious people made mistakes.

And although Bashir had only a rough idea about conditions on the surface, just knowing that answers awaited him on the other side of the transporter beam gave him a burst of energy that had him nearly running into the bay. He ignored the raised eyebrow Chief Chao shot at him as he bounded onto the platform and gave her the order to energize—ready, he believed, for whatever lay ahead.

Of all the settings he had imagined beaming into, the heart of a Borg ship wasn’t one of them.

Though his mind intuited immediately that the danger must be minimal or the commander wouldn’t have ordered him to beam down, nevertheless he experienced an instant of cold fear when his eyes focused on the distinctive technology surrounding him. Lit only by the away team’s wrist lights, the ship took on an extra dimension of terror. Bashir had never encountered the Borg before, but he’d read enough reports, and attended enough briefings and medical conferences about them, to hope he would never have to.

Still, Julian’s irrepressible curiosity had been piqued the instant Vaughn had started explaining the detection of the transponder signal, the away team’s mission, and what they had learned so far. Bashir hung on every word, the whole time running calculations in his mind about the effect this knowledge would have back home. Even after several small-scale attempts to invade the Federation had failed, the Borg remained a cause for serious concern. If they ever got it into their collective mind to attack en masse, it was all over. Fighting off a single Borg cube had consistently proven costly; fighting off a full scale assault might not even be possible, especially if it happened now, with so much of the Alpha Quadrant still rebuilding its forces in the aftermath of the Dominion war.

Why the Borg had thus far attacked with only one ship at a time remained a mystery, one that had many of Starfleet’s top strategists baffled and worried, Bashir knew. Some speculated that the advance ships were simply collecting data on the Alpha Quadrant’s ability to respond to, withstand, and recover from their incursions, adding new twists such as time travel to each assault as a way of gauging the Federation’s inventiveness. Add to that the Borg intelligence that Starfleet was amassing courtesy of Project Pathfinder, and an increasingly complex picture of the Borg was slowly emerging, one that differed considerably from Starfleet’s initial assumptions about the collective, and that necessitated constant reevaluation. And that was precisely what had Starfleet worried: an unpredictable enemy was dangerous, but one they still couldn’t comprehend was terrifying.

But a Borg encroachment of the Gamma Quadrant…that’s a new twist.Bashir thought he was beginning to understand Vaughn’s decision to keep the information contained among as few people as possible until all the facts were in. What puzzled Bashir now, however, was the revelation that he’d been summoned specifically to assess the condition of a drone.

Thirty minutes later, together with Bowers and Nog, Bashir found Vaughn a short distance away, sitting on the catwalk, knees up, hands resting on top of them. The commander’s eyes were closed, but Bashir could tell he wasn’t asleep; his forehead was creased in concentration, as if his mind were searching for something that was eluding him. Fatigue,Bashir suspected. He was about to pass his scanner over Vaughn when the commander spoke. “Report, Doctor,” he said without opening his eyes.

“I’ve completed my medical scan,” Bashir said. “The drone is a human female, age indeterminate. Approximately sixty-eight percent of its body has been replaced by Borg technology, including most of the left hemisphere of the brain. Its condition is critical, but stable. The alcove is acting like a life support system, trickling just enough power to keep the drone alive. But that’s it. In its current condition, the drone can’t function, and it can’t survive outside the alcove.”

“Sir,” Nog said to Vaughn, “I’ve finished my scans as well. There’s no evidence of any subspace transmissions beyond the Starfleet signal coming from the drone. Any connection to the Borg collective was probably severed when the ship crashed.”

Vaughn listened to the reports silently, then opened his eyes. He looked, Bashir thought, as if he was struggling with a decision. Finally he said, “Doctor…Lieutenant Nog…you’re both to begin work immediately on extracting the drone from her alcove without killing her. Then you’re going to beam her up to the Defiant,where you, Julian, are going to reverse the assimilation and restore the drone’s humanity.”

Bashir looked at Nog, who stared back at him, stunned. Wanting to restore a Borg drone to its original state was a laudible goal, but under these circumstances…

“Respectfully, sir,” Bowers said, uncharacteristically agitated, “do you think it’s wise to expose the ship to the presence of functional Borg technology? What if—?”

“I’ve made my decision, Sam,” Vaughn said, rising to his feet.

Bowers frowned. “Yes, sir. But the safety of the ship—”

“Is my responsibility,” Vaughn said quietly. “And you’ll do damn well to remember that, Lieutenant.”

Bashir held his breath. What in the world is going on here?

Vaughn met the gazes of all three officers and said, “Until further notice, restoring the drone is the Defiant’s top priority. All other mission directives are suspended. Security is to be maintained, both for the protection of the ship and in order to keep this from as many of the crew as possible. Am I understood?”

Not quite all at once, Bashir, Bowers, and Nog responded with “Aye, sir.”

“Doctor,” Vaughn went on, “You’ll find the drone’s medical records in a subsection of Ensign Tenmei’s medical file.”

Bashir understood then, his eyes widening. “I see…. Thank you, Commander. We’ll begin work at once.”

“Keep me posted,” Vaughn said. He contacted the Defiantand ordered Ezri to beam him up.

After he dematerialized, Bashir went back to the alcove, Nog and Bowers following close behind. “What was all that about?” Nog said almost immediately.