PROLOGUE:

The ship rocked harshly, throwing the pilot to the hard metal deck.  His forehead clapped against it, and blood spilled forth.  Grunting, wincing in pain, the pilot slowly pulled himself back into his chair, and wiped the blood from his eyes.  The forward viewscreen flickered and sputtered, the incongruous image growing less and less discernable upon it.  The room was dark; the lights had long since been burnt out.  Consoles sparked and caught fire, smoke choked the air from the room, forcing the pilot to cough and wheeze with every breath.  The helm controls flickered; the station was losing power.  The pilot pounded on them, and the ship sluggishly responded, pulling slowly to the port side, away from the deadly enemy it faced.
 

The enemy struck again, tendrils of energy biting hard into the hull of the damaged ship.  Plasma spewed from the ruptured tanks, and the enemy sucked it up hungrily.  The ship went spiraling off course, wildly out of control, trailing luminescent warp plasma.  The enemy trailed behind it, gathering up the streams of plasma that were flowing from the ship’s ruptured hull.

The pilot fought to regain control of his vessel as it spun wildly.  The deck bucked again when the enemy finally decided to put the pilot out of his misery.  The pilot died silently, not screaming, knowing that this was his end.  He had fought valiantly, and lost.  Such was the way of his people.  The enemy surrounded his ship, took hold of it, and snapped it in half.  The ship’s halves few away from each other as the explosion that occurred within from the rupturing of the hull threw the enemy away.  Angrily, the enemy whipped about, and returned to the debris field that was, only moments before, a ship.

Hungrily, it gobbled up the warp plasma that remained.  Then, when the plasma was completely gone, it left the area.  The enemy’s hunger not yet abated, it went in search of more plasma.  It reached out, searching for another source of food.  And, after several days of hard, long searching, it found another source.  Another strange vessel had entered its territory.

The enemy surveyed the vessel from long distance, its great vision zooming right in on the graceful ship’s image.  There were markings upon it, the enemy noticed.  The previous meal had no markings. Intrigued, the enemy focussed in on the markings, and could make neither heads nor tails of it.  It was a strange language it was not familiar with:

    USS VOYAGER
    NCC-74656
    It’s hunger and curiosity piqued, the enemy warped in for the kill…

***   ***   ***   ***

PLASMA, PART ONE

 “—And, so there’s Tuvok, phaser rifle in hand, pointed right at the guy’s head, and,” Tom Paris announced loudly, “get this…  He has the phaser pointed at the guy’s head, and he says, ‘Your actions are not logical.’  I’m telling you, I nearly burst out laughing right there!”

Captain Kathryn Janeway smiled at the story, and then looked up behind her to the Tactical station where the aforementioned Lieutenant Commander Tuvok was standing.  His strict Vulcan demeanor had not been compromised by the embarrassing tale, and his gaze and attention remained fixed on Ensign Paris.  Janeway turned back to Paris as the helm officer continued with his story.

 “So the shopkeeper is completely taken by surprise by this,” Paris said.  “He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong.  Tuvok had a phaser on him, and he had no clue why!  Of course, the problem is, there was no reason why!  Tuvok had the wrong man!”

 Janeway, Ensign Kim, and Commander Chakotay burst out laughing.  Tuvok remained steady as he took these insults from Paris on a normal basis.  Paris laughed, and was about to continue with his story when the deck rolled obnoxiously to the port side, making the entire crew grab the arms of their chairs.  When the deck straightened itself, Janeway looked about in confusion.  Paris swiveled around in his chair to face his station and the forward viewscreen.

“What was that?” Janeway asked.

The response didn’t come for several seconds, but when it did, it was from Harry Kim.  “It looks like something has latched onto the starboard warp nacelle.”

“On screen.”

An instant later, all eyes on the bridge were staring at the viewscreen.  Voyager’s aft section was displayed there, along with the writhing, seething mass that had grabbed onto it.  Tendrils of energy coursed along the translucent body as it squeezed the nacelle.  Janeway looked closely and saw the hull plates on the nacelle beginning to buckle.

 “Transfer auxiliary power to the structural integrity field in that section,” she ordered.  “Tuvok, see if you can get a transporter beam on that thing.  Harry, what’s it doing?”

“It looks like it’s draining warp plasma from the nacelle,” Kim replied.  “I’m detecting micro-fractures in the hull where it’s in contact with the nacelle.  It’s feeding right through the hull plates.”

Janeway looked at it for a second more, and then went to stand next to Tuvok at tactical.  “Any luck?”

“Negative, Captain,” the Vulcan replied.  “It defies transporter lock and single-spectrum sensor scans.”

“It looks like whatever that thing is, is out of phase with normal space-time,” Janeway said, glancing over the readings.  Her scientist background superceded her Command training in these instances.  A new life was being charted.  The problem was, it posed a danger to her ship.  When she realized that fact, Dr. Janeway went away, and Captain Janeway returned.  “Try a tractor beam.”

Her gaze returned to the main viewscreen, where she saw the beam futily attempt to grasp the creature.  Instead, it latched onto the hull plates of the nacelle, damaging them further.  Tuvok cut the beam, and reported to Janeway.  “Tractors have failed, Captain.”  Janeway’s hand balled into a fist.

“There must be something we can do to get it off,” she said.  She looked over at the Ops console on the other side of the bridge, where Kim was standing.  “Harry, you said it was draining our warp plasma?  See what happens when we stop venting.”

“If we stop venting plasma, it will build up in the nacelles,” Kim replied.  “We’ll have some major problems if we don’t vent.”

“That takes a few hours.  I just want to see if we can get this thing off of us,” Janeway told him.  “Close the vents.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The creature on the screen started to move faster, trying to get more out of the plasma vents.  When it couldn’t get anything from them, it started to beat on the hull of the nacelle.  The deck rocked and rolled beneath them, and Janeway was forced to stumble into her chair to keep herself from being thrown about the bridge like a scarecrow in a tornado.

“Hull breach on the starboard nacelle!” Kim shouted.

“Captain, the creature has disengaged from our hull!” Tuvok shouted.

Janeway looked at the viewscreen, and saw the bulbous mass twisting away from the nacelle.  A thick, writhing tendril formed from it, and swatted the Voyager.  The massive ship was smacked away.  Tuvok got the shields up just in time, and the tendril smashed into the powerful energy fields, nearly collapsing them from the force of the blow.

“Mr. Paris, do we have warp drive?”

“Barely, ma’am!”

"Get us out of here!”

Another tendril came swinging through space, ready to smash the Voyager in two, but Paris’ graceful piloting skills saved them.  The starship twisted up on its axis, tumbling side over side through space away from the tendril, and then streaked off into warp.  The tendril met nothing but empty space. Angered, hungry, and infuriated, the creature decided to pursue the vessel.  It built up its energies, and ran.

“I want a damage report,” Janeway said when the bridge had quieted down.

“Shields are down to 36%,” Tuvok said.  “Hull breaches on the starboard warp nacelle, and on Deck 15.  Warp power is falling, energy reserves are down to 87%.”

“How much longer can we stay at warp?”

“Without repairing the warp nacelle, we can sustain warp speeds for six hours.”

Janeway stood up from her chair, and looked at the viewscreen, still displaying the damaged warp nacelle.  The top of the nacelle was crumpled, the deck plates smashed inward by the creature’s movements.  The hole in the top of the nacelle was leaking warp plasma into space, leaving a long, iridescent trail behind them.  “We’re losing plasma.  That thing is probably going to follow us.”

Kim replied, “I have it on long range sensors, Captain.  At its current speed, it will overtake us in 2 hours.”

Chakotay turned to her, and said quietly, “I’ll go down to Engineering and see what B’Elanna has in mind for dealing with the damaged nacelle.”

Janeway nodded, and her first officer got up and left the bridge.  Meanwhile, Tuvok continued to run through the sensor readings of the creature, attempting to find a way to affect it with the ship’s systems.  He ran the computer through simulation after simulation of all the phaser frequencies, shield nutations, and tractor frequencies.  Reluctantly, but thoroughly, he attempted to simulate a torpedo blast.  The simulated creature on the tiny screen exploded outward when the torpedo detonated inside of it, and did not reform.  Tuvok, raising a curious eyebrow, tried it again.

“Captain, I believe that I have found an offense to the creature’s assault,” he reported.  “A photon torpedo should destroy the creature.”

“Tuvok, I don’t want it destroyed,” Janeway said.  “It goes against Starfleet protocol in the worst way.”

“I realize that, Captain,” Tuvok replied.  “However, I have not been able to generate a hypothesis of disabling the creature that would leave no lasting harmful effects.  An anti-matter explosion at close range will destroy it.  At a farther distance, perhaps it will disrupt the creature.”

“We’ll give it a try once that thing enters firing range,” Janeway said.  “Until then, let’s see if there’s some way we might communicate with it, or come up with a less… drastic measure of defense.”

Tuvok nodded, and set to work.

Lt. B’Elanna Torres grunted with disapproval as she clipped the air-seal on the EVA suit’s gloves.  She lowered the helmet into place, and clipped the seal there, too.  Chakotay looked at her through the visor, and smiled.  She growled threateningly at him.  EVA was definitely not high up on her list of favorite activities.  Chakotay chuckled as he watched her slowly make her way to the airlock, and open up door to the median chamber.  The rest of her team followed her, cramming themselves into the chamber before Chakotay closed the chamber door, depressurized the tiny bay, and opened the outer door.

“OK, B’Elanna, the first micro-fracture is twenty meters from the airlock,” his voice coming in over the com in her helmet quite clearly.  “Make sure you keep the boots magnetized.  We don’t want any acrobatics.  If you have to move, walk, no matter how long it will take.”

“Yes, Chakotay,” Torres replied.  “I think we all know what happens when we fall out of Voyager’s warp field.”

“Just making sure, B’Elanna.  I want you to come back in safely.”

“Your concern is noted and acknowledged.  Now, I’m at the first micro-fracture.  It looks just like some kind of corrosive acid has eaten through the hull.  I can barely see it it’s so small,” she said. “Watson, let’s get ready here.”

“Yes Lieutenant.”

Torres knelt down next to the fracture, putting down her toolkit next to her.  The bottom of the kit magnetized itself to the hull when she opened it, and her tools were kept inside by that same magnetic field.  She picked up a small tool that would emit an energy field to clear off any abnormal particles from the hull.  Essentially, she was cleaning the wound.  Watson took the tool from her when she was finished, and replaced it in the kit.  Next, he handed her a welder to close the micro-fracture.  Across the crumpled hull of the nacelle, three other teams were doing exactly the same thing; cleaning and welding micro-fractures.

Chakotay’s voice rang in her head again, “I’ve stopped the plasma flow to the nacelle completely.  The vents on the port nacelle are open as far as they’ll go, and straining with the extra load.  Is there any other way I can get rid of this stuff?”

Torres thought about it for a minute, and then replied, “You might use the transporter to beam it out of the hold and into space.”

“Good idea.  We might be able to buy ourselves some time if that thing stops to eat whatever we dump.  Engaging transporters.”

“It worked, Captain!” Kim said loudly, watching the creature on his Ops screen.  “It’s stopping to ingest the plasma we transported.”

“Did we dump our entire load?”

“Yes, Captain.  We’ll have to build up more if we want to do this again,” Kim told her.

 Janeway nodded, “And the only way that we can do that is to stay at warp.”

“Exactly.”

“We’ve completed what work we could on the nacelle without putting into port somewhere and getting a real repair job,” Torres said.  “This kind of patchwork is the best we can do in flight.  If we stopped, we could get it in perfect condition, but obviously, we can’t do that.”  She looked around the room at the senior officers gathered around the conference table, with the Captain at the head of the table, her back to the stars through the massive picture windows set into the wall.  Torres was standing next to the large wall display, which showed them schematic images of Voyager’s damaged warp nacelle and the micro-fractures, each of which was highlighted by a yellow square and an ID number.  Torres pointed to each one of them as she explained, “Each of these micro-fractures is roughly a centimeter or two in diameter, and is fairly circular.  It looks more like something corrosive ate through the hull, rather than punctured it.”

“Did you get any organic samples?”

“Not organic per se,” Torres said.  “I’m not sure how to describe it.  It’s not organic, and it’s not synthetic.  It defies most of our scanning techniques because the creature out of phase with us.”

Janeway stood up, and walked over to the display, looking at the blinking highlight squares. "How much more warp time does this give us?”

“A few days, a week,” Torres replied, shrugging.  “We might be able to repeat the process every now and then, extend it another few days.  But I don’t think we can keep this up for more than a month.  After that, the nacelle just won’t be able to take the stress of being at warp, no matter how much we patch it or transfer SIF power to it.”

 Janeway nodded.  “Tuvok, have you found any other defenses against the creature?  Anything that won’t tax our photon torpedo reserves?”

Tuvok shook his head no.  “Negative, Captain.  Analyses indicate that all phaser frequencies are ineffectual against it.”  Janeway threw up her arms in frustration.

“I can’t accept that,” she said.  “There must be something we can do.”

“Maybe there is,” Paris said, looking up from his PADD.  “Is there some way that we could ignite the plasma it’s ingesting?  Maybe a little indigestion will deter it.”

Janeway raised an eyebrow in a curiously Vulcan-like manner, leaning against the table on her palms.  “An interesting idea, Tom.  B’Elanna?”

Torres considered it.  “Possibly, if we tuned our phasers right.  The warp plasma we vent isn’t normally very volatile.  Maybe if we put something into it, maybe a little syrilium?”

The Captain nodded.  “Get to work.  You’re all dismissed.”

***   ***   ***   ***
“Captain’s Log: Stardate 52490.1
We have decided to lace our next warp plasma dump with syrilium gas, a highly volatile substance.  But for our plan to succeed, we need to let the creature get with phaser range of us.  If it doesn’t work, we’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

“Prepare to drop out of warp,” Janeway ordered, sitting down in her chair.  The ship reached the appropriate coordinates, and she ordered them to enter normal space.  The ship exited the warp dimension into normal space, and coasted along at sub-light speeds.  “Open nacelle vents, B’Elanna.”  Almost immediately, a bright pink trail flared up behind the Voyager.  Janeway looked at the phosphorous mix of gases and wastes, with a hint of blue syrilium thrown in for effect, and could almost sense the raw destructive power of the elements they were releasing into the area.

“Now, we wait.”

It was nearly an hour later when the creature arrived to eat the plasma.  It flew lazily along the trail, its “mouth” wide open to take in the volatile streak of plasma.  “Target the plasma, Mr. Tuvok, phasers to full.”

“Aye, Captain.  Target acquired.”

 “Fire.”

“Shields are down to 26%!” Chakotay shouted, hanging on to the side of the tactical console.  “Aft torpedo launchers are ready!”

“Fire torpedoes!” Janeway ordered, trying to make herself heard over the din of exploding consoles and blaring sirens on the bridge.  Smoke filled the air, and she was choking.  She waved her arm in front of her face, trying to clear the air, and squinted her burning eyes at the main viewscreen.  The aft view showed their pursuer gaining steadily on the Voyager, growing larger on the screen as it got closer to the crippled starship.  Three brilliant red orbs soared up from the bottom of the screen, and struck the massive vessel on its forward face.  The Borg cube barely registered these hits, and kept on coming.  The antimatter explosions that ripped through the cube’s outer hull caused only minimal damage to the armored Borg ship, and the repair process had started almost before the damage had been done.

Janeway swore silently to herself, and stood up from her chair, moving forward through the thick blanket of smoke toward the helm where Ensign Paris was frantically attempting to evade the Borg tractor beam that swept efficiently through space toward them.  Paris’ energetic maneuver to push the ship into an upward barrel roll was only partially successful, and Voyager’s damaged warp nacelle was struck a glancing blow by the tractor beam.  The Federation starship was thrown hard off course, the crew bucked around inside like kernels in a popcorn popper.  Janeway was flung over the helm, and smashed into the corner of the main viewscreen.  Intense pain shot up and down her spine as she fell to the floor when the ship righted itself.  Paris’ forehead struck the console, cracking the controls, and spilling blood across them.

One of the aft environmental stations exploded, throwing a junior crewmember over the rail, and onto the Captain’s chair.  Janeway shook her head, trying to clear her blurred vision, her burning eyes, and the grogginess that was seeping into her.  It didn’t work.  Her hair was matted to her head by sweat and blood, and her uniform stuck to her neck and armpits.  Her uniform was charred in some places, and torn in others.  This battle with the Borg cube had lasted for nearly an hour.

The deck shook violently one more time, and Janeway’s last conscious thought rang through her head: They’ve locked on the tractor beam.  With that, her vision went completely black, though she could still hear for a second or two.  But it was enough.  A harsh voice rang through the bridge speakers, a cold, unrelenting mixture of thousands of voices into one.

“Resistance is futile.”

Chakotay stepped away from the tactical console that Tuvok had once been posted at.  But the Vulcan had taken a harsh blow to the head in the last Borg attack, and had been rushed to Sickbay, where he was now deep into the Vulcan healing trance.  There was nothing the Doctor could do to bring him out of it prematurely, no matter how much the crew needed the expertise of Lt. Commander Tuvok.  So Chakotay had been ordered to fill in at Tactical.  Surely, there was any number of junior officers who could do it, such as Lieutenant Rollins, but Janeway had opted to put her First Officer there for the time
being.

He looked at the massive Borg cube on the viewscreen, barely visible through the thick, choking smoke that had pervaded the atmosphere of the bridge, and through the blurring green haze of the Borg tractor beam that held his ship.  Any second now, he knew, Borg drones would materialize all over the ship, and attempt to assimilate the crew.  Well, Voyager may be down for the count, but the crew would never give up without a fight!

As the green columns emerged on the bridge, he saw the crew pulling out their phasers to ward off the first assault.  Chakotay pulled his own, but couldn’t get off a shot before the drone that beamed in right next to him grabbed him by the arm, and shoved him against the wall.  The drone reached for his neck, tendrils filled with nanoprobes began to extend forward.

He grabbed the drone by the arm, and pushed.  The drone fought against his strength, and began to gain ground on Chakotay.  But it delayed the drone enough so that he could grab up his phaser once again.  He rammed the emitter into the drone’s neck, and fired.  The drone sparked and shook in spasms, and fell back against the tactical console.  Chakotay looked around.  The Voyager crew had moved fast enough that there were two dead drones on the floor, and the others were cornered.

Chakotay aimed his phaser, and fired.  The beam struck the drone square in the chest.  The force field that protected the drone flared up around the drone’s torso, blocking the blast.  Just then, however, the deck rocked as the ship was thrown away from the Borg cube.  All the drones were suddenly beamed away to the cube, leaving the Voyager crew once again to their own devices.  Many looked around in confusion; it was not normal for the Borg to abort assimilation just as they were gaining the upper hand.  Frowning, exhausted, confused, Chakotay looked up at the main viewscreen for an answer.  The Borg cube listed to the side, huge explosions blossoming along the hull.  The hull of the cube ripped open, fire billowing out from it along with hunks of the ship’s interior.

The bridge crew stared in awe at the Borg cube as something clawed its way out from inside.  Chakotay’s jaw dropped uncharacteristically as he realized what was going on.

“Computer, wide-angle view.”

The view on the screen changed immediately, as though the camera had simply zoomed out, but the images of the change had been cut out.  Behind the Borg cube was a tear in space.  A great white hole had appeared, the edges of it rippling with the intense energy needed to shred reality.  From it, hundreds of bright orange orbs were being emitted.  As the orbs neared the Borg cube, their true form was revealed.  They were all like the plasma-eating creatures the Voyager had encountered the month before.

“My God…”

The remainder of the cube exploded, throwing Voyager another couple of thousand kilometers away.

Chakotay rushed to the helm, knowing full well what the creatures were going to go for next.  He punched in the commands necessary to throw the ship into warp (it didn’t really matter to him what course they set right now, he just wanted to get out of there) and slapped the key to engage the warp drive.  The ship groaned around him; it barely had the power to go to warp.  But the ship streaked away from the cloud of creatures that were munching on the remains of the Borg cube.

Kathryn Janeway awoke in Sickbay, with the Doctor and Commander Chakotay standing over her bed.  The Doctor was running a blinking instrument over her head, probably the neural stimulator that had awoken her.  But as her eyes winked open, the Doctor replaced that instrument with a medical tricorder, taking readings on her vital signs to make sure that she was all right.

“What happened?” Janeway asked.  “I expected to wake up a drone.”

“The Borg ship was destroyed,” Chakotay explained.  “It was those plasma-eating creatures.  They came out of some sort of subspace rift.  Seven of Nine is still analyzing the readings.”

Janeway nodded, not fully comprehending the meaning of the statement.  “Damage report?”

“That’s gonna take some time,” Chakotay said with a slight chuckle, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  “Warp drive is seriously over stressed.  Shields are down to twenty-three percent, and regenerating at a rate of five percent every hour.  Phasers and photon torpedoes are still off-line, so we’re basically defenseless.”

“And the hull?”

“One major breach on deck twelve, but it’s been sealed and the repairs are going steadily.  Minor breaches on decks three, four, six and ten.  Two sections of deck five collapsed from loss of support from four and six.  Casualties among the crew, however, are rather light.  We lost two people to the Borg, and one more was in the collapsed section of deck five when it went down.  Other than that, a few major injuries, and just a lot of minor ones.”

The Doctor completed his scan, and stepped away from the bed, allowing Janeway to stand. “Captain, you’re fit as a fiddle,” he exclaimed happily.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Janeway replied.  “I think I’m going to go get a shower and change of clothes now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, no,” the Doctor replied.  “You’re free to go.”

Janeway nodded her thanks once more, and then left with Chakotay.  They entered the busy hallway outside of Sickbay, and garnered happy looks and nods of greeting from the crew.  Damage control teams rushed past with floaters filled with equipment to repair the injuries of the ship.

“Are they following us?”

Chakotay looked over at her, and waited until the hall had become clear as they walked toward the turbolift that would take them to her quarters.  “Yes,” he said quietly.  “A swarm of about a hundred is about ten hours behind us.  I haven’t told anyone because I wasn’t sure how the crew would take it with all this stuff to take care of.  Kathryn, we need to find a port.  B’Elanna’s jury-rigging just isn’t going to cut it anymore.”

Janeway nodded in complete agreement as they stepped onto the lift.  She called out the number of the deck her quarters were on, and the lift began to move upward.  “But we’re in the middle of an arm of Borg space, Chakotay.  There aren’t any ports to put into.  Seven told me it will be another month before we enter ‘friendly territory’ again.”

Chakotay shook his head.  “Don’t worry,” he said, putting his hand lightly on her shoulder.  “We’ve been through this before.  We’ll beat this.  Don’t worry.”
 

"Captain’s Log:
Supplemental
What repairs that could be done to the ship without putting in to port have been completed, however, it required that we shut down the warp drive for a total of six hours.  The swarm of plasma creatures is now only four hours behind us, and we are still nowhere near the edge of this part of Borg space.  The crew’s morale is low, the damage to the ship is great, and I find myself doubting that we will make it through this new crisis.  These creatures are as ruthless as the Borg are.  Once again, I find myself between the rock and the hard place.  Will I make the right choice?"

Voyager continued to sail towards the distant edge of Borg space, with a swarm of deadly space-dwelling, plasma-eating creatures following its every move.  The crew manned their stations, standing or sitting stiffly, muscles tensed.  The crew on the bridge stared at the main viewscreen, with its view of the endless black of space, stars trailing past with rainbow streaks behind them.  The image was usually so comforting, but now it only brought dread, because when the view shifted aft, a blob of orange blurred out the stars and covered the blackness in the center of the screen, growing larger as though infecting the blackness.  And so they stared.  It was a test of endurance.  The crew had to pit their ship against that swarm of creatures.  Which would tire first?  Would Voyager be run down and killed like a defenseless creature in hunted by a jackal pack?  Or would the ship sail safely into friendly space, leaving the starving, hungry creatures behind to deal with the Borg?

It was a dangerous game Janeway was playing.  The stakes were high and the chances of success were low.  But she laid down her hand, ready to deal with the consequences.  Now all she could do was wait, and see what her hand her opponent was dealt.  So Janeway played the waiting game.
 

End Part One

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