But his revulsion was tempered by fascination-that in a universe where the collective had overrun Earth and then pushed on through the Federation towards Bajor, the Prophets' plan for Benjamin Sisko had still come to fruition, even for one so wounded in body, mind, and soul.

-Olivia Woods, Fearful Symmetry

Resistance is futile, the voice of the Collective thundered.

"Yeah," Kira responded under her breath. "Don't I know it." Under different circumstances, the other soldiers might've looked askance at the minor breach of discipline; currently, however, their attention was emphatically elsewhere. Louder, she ordered, "Prepare to open fire on my mark."

The weapons officer saluted, fist to chest. "Yes, Gul Kira."

Something deep inside her screamed protests at the title. Not five years ago, a gul would have been the enemy-someone she would murder in his sleep if necessary, and kill without the slightest compunction in battle. The collapse of the Federation, though, had utterly turned her world upside down.

She hadn't cared at the time about the handful of confused rumors that had reached Bajor's Resistance about the abrupt conquest of Earth. What little she had heard hadn't made sense in terms of tactics anyway-striking at the heart of an enemy was only smart if it was undefended, and surely the Federation had defenses to spare for its heartworld. Its government hadn't collapsed instantly-Vulcan, Andor, and other worlds had tried to pick up the pieces. Kira assumed they had worked murderously fast to build up a fleet and mount a counterattack.

The Borg, it turned out, had worked faster. A month later the first permanent transwarp aperture had opened, flooding cubes and assault spheres into Solspace. The Federation's underbelly had been exposed, and the Borg had slit it open. Kira assumed the spoonheads had rejoiced at the fall of their enemy. But the Borg made no distinctions among the local powers; they had turned on the Klingons with equal dispassion even before mopping up the last scattered Starfleet vessels, then begun swallowing minor states like the Tholian Assembly and the Ferengi Alliance whole.

At first the opening salvos against the Union had nearly destroyed the Resistance; the Cardies had cracked down harder than ever, desperate to get their internal affairs in order and present a solid front to the Borg. For their own part, the resistance cells hadn't been entirely certain yet that changing oppressors was a bad idea. Sure, Union propaganda blared Borg atrocities from every speaker, but it had been doing the same about the Resistance itself for years.

But then Cardassia Prime had fallen. Jagul Dukat had still looked as if he wanted to vomit as he signed the treaty, though just maybe that hadn't been for the terms: full member status for Bajor, full citizenship for Bajorans, and full pardons and military commissions for every militia member willing to turn their arms against the Borg. Granted, it had meant being folded into the organization that she'd spent almost her entire life fighting, and she'd felt a little ill herself. But by that time Kira had seen what the Borg did to their conquests. She couldn't make herself wish that on anyone, even a spoonhead. Except perhaps Dukat, and even then she didn't want to watch. It was certainly an interesting dynamic to have with your commanding officer.

The lone cube closed in on Terok Nor. One ship. One ship against an entire world. And it was probably going to win. "Open fire, all disruptors. Torpedo bays stand by." Her officers-Cardassian, Bajoran, even a few outworlders-obeyed without the slightest hesitation.

They were all Resistance now.

"Gul Odo to Terok Nor. Please respond."

There was no response from the besieged station, not even static. Instead, the bridge filled with a roar of voices: Lower your shields. Surrender your vessels. Your culture will adapt to service ours.

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline that invitation," Odo snarled, wondering why the Borg bothered. Did anyone ever actually take them up on their offer? "Is there any way we can cut through the interference?" The station's weapons ports were still spraying amber fire at the cube, for all the good it was doing, so there was definitely someone still in there.

The detestable noise ceased. "Not on the subspace bands," a Bajoran dalin answered. "But at this distance we can reach them on old-style radio without significant lag time. The Borg aren't bothering with that."

"Fine," Odo snapped. "Gul Odo to Terok Nor. This is the Third Fleet, or what's left of it. We're rounding Jeraddo now. If you know of anything that might make a dent in that cube, now's the time."

Jagul Dukat's face snapped onscreen, surprisingly clear of interference patterns. "...reading you, Odo. As you can undoubtedly see, we are already firing everything we have. If you think more disruptors will make a difference, by all means fire at will."

"Our scans show no significant damage to the cube," stated the Cardassian science officer, bypassing Odo, who simply waved his words on to the jagul. A show of disrespect was the least of Odo's worries at the moment. "Additional disruptors and torpedoes are unlikely to have any real effect."

"Anything less conventional up your sleeve?" Odo inquired wryly, knowing that the question itself would give the Bajorans an opening. As much as the Cardassians needed help, they still had a tendency to bypass their supposed inferiors without any real thought.

"The Borg systems are too decentralized for concentrating our fire to have any effect," Dukat snapped. "We can't knock out their weapons, their propulsion, anything!"

"Odo," Kira said, virtually shoving her way into view, "remember that viral weapon we uploaded into the Cardassian security grid three years ago? Decentralization wouldn't slow that down."

"We have no delivery mechanism!" Dukat seethed, obviously irritated by the reminder of that rather humiliating defeat. "What do you suggest, beaming aboard with a data solid and looking for an interface port?"

Kira grinned ferally. "I have something...less conventional in mind."

Through the Queen, the Collective focused its will. Through Locutus, the Queen. And through First-and-Second of Fifteen, Locutus.

First-and-Second's species had proven unexpectedly resistant to assimilation-very briefly. Then the nanoprobes had discovered the symbionts serving as second neural centers, and the resistance had ended. If anything, after that minor problem was adapted to, the Trill (Species 4707 and 4708) had proven more than usually effective as drones.

Data flowed into First-and-Second's dual cortical nodes, in and then out again. The current center of resistance (designate "Terok Nor") was manifesting no new tactics, although it had been joined by a fleet (new-model vessels, designation unknown, most experiencing damage). Disruptor and torpedo fire pummelled the cube's surface. Minor bits of hull broke away and were replaced. The energy was absorbed and channeled into cube systems, which returned it with interest. Terok Nor was not so successful at adapting to the cube's fire; its shields had fallen to 32% power. The utility of its inhabitants for assimilation was open to question; the Collective's vessels were currently replete, although new tactical cubes were under construction in a number of sectors.

"Disruptor fire is showing unusual modulation," Fourth of Fifteen reported verbally. Additional data channels relayed more specific information through the collective mind. "Energy absorption systems are responding to the modulation." First-and-Second found its primary sensory stub tilting slightly sideways. The modulation pattern was oddly...interesting. Worthy of assimilation. The collective began to channel it into propulsion systems, where it obviously belonged.

"Warning," stated Eighth of Fifteen. "Enemy disruptor fire has been modified to transmit a virus into our systems. Propulsion is experiencing significant function losses." The Collective did not curse, of course. There was, however, something of disgruntlement in its response. Since the disruptor fire projected modulated energy that did no real physical damage to the vessel, it could inflict undesirable patterns on its information relays; since it was a brute-force weapon, it would not be expected to do so. Clearly, the tactic was obvious; the Collective filed it for immediate adaptation and future use.

However, propulsion systems were already suffering from the virus. First-and-Second willed the cube to move forward, but instead it shuddered rapidly sideways and up as if palsied, weaving as it went. "Prepare to purge and re-initialize infected systems," said Third of Fifteen.

"Anomalous spatial disruption in Grid 348," First-and-Second warned, relaying images of intense space-time curvature and heavy verteron emissions.

There came a flash of blinding white light.

The Borg vessel loomed closer. Someone was screaming that the shields were gone.

And then the cube veered away from Bajor and Terok Nor, spinning as its propulsion systems-whatever they were-fired at random.

"Get the shields up!" Dukat didn't believe for a moment that Kira's absurd trick of using a disruptor beam for data transferral would halt the Borg for more than a few minutes. The Bajorans were tenacious, he gave them that, but they were no match for a juggernaut capable of crushing Prime within its grasp. "They'll be back on us the moment they've purged that virus!"

The out-of-control vessel's spinning became a spiral path, arcing up toward the Denorios Belt, as the hive mind regained partial control even faster than Dukat had expected. And then-in a flare of blue energy-it vanished.

"What the kosst...? Where'd they go?" A female Bajoran dal-and what a farce it was to even think that-had pulled herself back up from the floor and was studying the view from a science station.

"Did the ship detonate?" Dukat demanded.

"I don't think so," the dal said, glancing at Kira as she spoke. "Readings indicate some sort of spatial anomaly. If their transwarp drive overloaded, it might have thrown them out of the B'hava'el system."

"There's no triquantum signature," Kira said after a moment. "Whatever that was, it wasn't transwarp."

Odo's visage-now there was a gul one could halfway respect, non-Cardassian or not-appeared on the main viewer. "Sensors aren't picking up the cube anywhere in local space, Jagul. I presume we were responsible for that?"

Dukat shrugged. "So far no one's been able to say. Dal Erim, anything further?"

"High-level verteron readings," the Bajoran said, bafflement on that herding-animal's face. "The sort of field you'd need to stabilize a wormhole, if it were possible."

"We've seen nothing like that from the Borg," Kira pointed out. "Even if their technology was partly responsible, I don't think it was a controlled effect. I wouldn't expect them back any time soon."

"Well," Dukat said sarcastically, "thank the Prophets for small favors."

If the station was up and running by the time the next attack came, that would be a miracle.

Fourth of Fifteen was encased alone in white light.

The voice of the collective still filled Fourth's thoughts, but it was saying impossible things. Contradicting itself. Worse even than mere solitude.

This is not all that you are, said the Collective. Fourth waited for specification, but none came.

"I am Fourth of Fifteen," it said into the emptiness. "We are the Borg."

Erroneous input is detected, the Collective said. All drones stand by. The virus must be responsible. Fourth waited patiently for the errors to be corrected.

Fourth found itself within Unimatrix 1. "It is aggressive," said the Queen. "But it cannot have what it seeks."

The timbre of this "Queen" did not match her authentic voice. "Resistance is futile," Fourth informed the false Queen. "Aggression is irrelevant. We bring perfection to Bajor." It remembered the spatial anomaly. It had been transported...somewhere else.

Fourth was sitting on a small wooden structure near flowing water. Its exoplating was missing. "What is perfection?" asked 35 of 424, an immature drone which Fourth knew to be ensconced in a maturation chamber. 35's exoplating was also absent. It was holding a primitive device for harvesting water organisms.

"The Borg are unity," Fourth responded to the false sensory input, presuming it to be some form of communication. "We are the fusion of flesh and machine, and the harmony of all thought. There is no logic in resisting our advance toward perfection."

Fourth was in the cabin of a resisting vessel. A female humanoid that had escaped assimilation looked up at him, crushed beneath fallen debris. "This is harmony?" it queried.

Fourth requested clarification from the hive mind and heard only garbled noise. "This is the result of resistance," it said at last. "This is the opposite of harmony. Failure to submit to the Borg brings destruction."

"Adversarial," said Locutus from the viewscreen of Enterprise.

"Confrontational," mused First-and-its-previous-host.

It must be destroyed, decreed the Collective.

The Collective destroyed defective drones. Fourth must be defective. There was no weapon at hand with which to destroy itself, however.

"This is not all that you are," the Queen said.

"There is only the Collective," Fourth stated. "What preceded the Collective was not life."

"Preceded?" asked the broken female. "What is 'preceded'?"

Fourth attempted to narrowcast a diagram of space-time to the entity and received no response. "Events proceed in order," it said, finally. "Each event produces more events. The final event is the triumph of the Collective over all non-Borg."

"It is not linear," said unassimilated 35. Fourth considered that.

"No," it responded. "It is not linear." The entity appeared to exist outside conventional space-time. The Borg's utilization of time travel was incomplete. This entity-Species 8387 would be the presumable designation-would be worthy of assimilation. "You will be assimilated," Fourth informed it.

"That is beyond your capabilities," said Seven of Nine, a tertiary adjunct of the distant Unimatrix 01.

"Resistance is futile," it said again. "Your diversity will be added to the whole."

"This is not all that you are," stated {Jake} 35 of 424.

"Resistance," said unassimilated First-and-Second, "is eternal."

The dying female {Jennifer} looked up at him. "You are the Sisko."

"I am Fourth of Fifteen. We are...we are Borg."

"You are the Sisko," repeated a {member of Species...} Cardassian gul.

"That is in the past," Fourth insisted.

"There is no past," said unassimilated Loc- {Captain Picard}.

"What is, is," Curzon Dax stated.

Resistance is futile, chorused the Collective. Fourth could no longer tell whether it was the true Collective or not.

Then the white light swallowed it again.

"Gul Odo to Terok Nor. The anomaly has opened again."

Kira appeared on the screen, harried and sweaty inside her incongruous Cardassian cuirass. "The cube? Did it come back out?"

Odo hesitated, not wanting to seem the bearer of bad news. "It did. However, the anomaly...expelled it. At a very high speed."

"So the wormhole-or whatever it is-spat the cube out?" Odo nodded. "Guess it didn't like the Borg any more than we do."

"I must say I can't blame it," said Odo. "In any case, the cube went to warp almost immediately. I'd like to believe it won't return, but I think we know better than that. And our...unorthodox tactic almost certainly won't work a second time."

"Well," Kira said, with a pained laugh, "we'll just have to try a different unorthodox tactic. The Borg aren't the only ones who know how to adapt."

"I suppose it'll come down to whoever can adapt faster."

Kira opened her mouth, then said nothing. Wearily, she reached out and switched off the viewer.

Odo wondered if he would ever be able to make sense of her.

"It seems these...atemporal entities have taken a liking to you, Fourth of Fifteen." The Queen laid a light hand on the drone's shoulder. "I suppose you will have to go back."

"They will resist," the drone said.

"Of course they will," the Queen responded. "Individuals always do. And always fail. You will need a name, then."

The drone looked slightly puzzled. "My designation is-"

"No longer relevant. You are now reassigned as Speaker for the Collective to Species 8387. We'll call you-"

Impossibly, Fourth of Fifteen interrupted. "I am the Sisko." That had been its previous designation as an individual. It was, therefore, utterly inappropriate. "That is what Species 8387 called me," it added, as if attempting to explain.

The Borg Queen studied it carefully. Despite its unexpected-and dangerous-capacity for limited independent action, the drone was still incapable of lying to her. And as a Speaker, it would have been granted that limited capacity anyway.

"Very well, Sisko of Borg," said the Queen at last. "Assimilate them."