[In our last installment, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine saw the plots of the past five seasons effectively wrapped up. The Dominion and Cardassians were dealt a galaxy-class whupping, the station was delivered intact to Captain Sisko, the Bajorans joined the Federation, and wedding plans for Worf and Dax were being drafted in earnest. All future episodes of that show could only be excruciatingly dull rehashes of Ferengi profiteering, and the show is canceled to make way for Doogie Howser reruns.

While the station toasted its own creative obsolescence, Jean Luc Picard and the Enterprise-E have passed through the Bajoran wormhole into the Gamma Quadrant and have caught up with the Voyager and her sister ship, the newly re-christened Borg Cube USS Duchess, as they enjoy a brief respite from the now decisively concluded war with the Dominion.

What happens now is anyone's guess.]

Chapter 3: "The Conscience of the Queen"

"Your ready room or mine?"

The words echoed in Picard's mind. He'd had only brief acquaintance of Captain Kathryn Janeway. What he remembered was a professional, severe young woman, eager to prove herself worthy of the trust Admiral Owen Paris had placed in her. Admirable accomplishments peppered her service record, as well as some negatives, mostly from a Vulcan's report of her first command. He noticed with amusement and approval that she and the Vulcan had been inseparable colleagues ever since. He continued to study her service record, which he held in his hand as he sat alone in his ready room. One of Starfleet's younger and more promising captains, she had been in her early thirties when given her first command, and not yet forty when given the Voyager and the assignment to scour the Badlands for Maquis renegades three years before. Her disappearance so soon after her launch from DS9 had shocked Starfleet Command, who had taken nearly two years-longer than usual--to declare the vessel lost.

Number One certainly spoke well of her. Her first command, the T'Pring, had originally been offered to him--but he was less than two years into his position on the Enterprise-D and preferred second rank on the Federation's flagship to commanding scientific expeditions in the Beta Quadrant. Picard wondered if Riker would ever bend to pressure and accept that fourth pip and his own vessel. Even the Enterprise herself had not been a sufficient lure; twice in the last ten years the ship had been his, when Picard seemed as good as dead. And twice, Riker had sought Picard out, saved him, and restored him to his place, honoring the first duty of the First Officer--protecting his captain-at the expense of his own advancement.

Picard certainly wouldn't grudge the man his choices.

Number One had told Picard all he could remember of Janeway. He said she was a brilliant but often reserved cadet, capturing Admiral Paris' attention and sponsorship for her thesis on massive compact halo objects as a sophomore.. He said they'd even gone out once on a blind date, though he didn't provide details--ever the officer and gentleman, Picard mused. In the years since, Riker had said, her self-confidence had grown with her rank.

Riker even admitted he never believed Janeway was dead, even after the declaration of loss was official. "Sometimes I think she could stare Death itself in the face and tell it to go back to Hell," he had said with a shrug. "I think she and Q might even get along if they ever met."

Picard did a double-take. "What makes you say that, Commander?"

Riker paused. "I'm not certain, sir." But Picard could see he had meant it.

And now, as Picard finished reviewing Janeway's record, he slapped the PADD lightly against his knee. He had hoped never to face the Borg again. He had done so too many times already, had had his self-confidence shaken more severely by them than by any other experiences in his exquisitely eventful life. The Borg had taken so much from him, had compromised so much of what he held dear about himself, and when he thought his life was back in some semblance of order, they returned and brought with them all the horrors of the past.

Picard regarded the golden ships in the case to his right--the shining reminders of Enterprises past, and their glories and hardships and ultimate fates. His gaze settled on the first Constitution Class vessel, the ship which had ridden like a mythic wagon train to the stars, had fought battles and ended conflicts and sought out legions of new worlds, new life, new allies. A ship which had saved the galaxy more often than seemed possible by any one crew, had Picard not met so many of those extraordinary officers himself over the years, under circumstances others might deem equally incredible.

Unbidden came a familiar voice--a voice directed at that vessel's legendary captain, at that pivotal time when the Klingons went from intractable foes to tentative allies, thanks largely to him.

"Only Nixon could go to China," he heard, an echo etched into his mind by a long ago meld with that remarkable Vulcan, Spock.

As Kirk was to Klingons, am I to Borg? Am I the cold warrior who must put aside his prejudice and acknowledge that the tide of history has turned?

It might be too soon to tell. But he was determined to find out.

* * *

Picard finally settled on leaving the Enterprise with Commander Data. Number One's acquaintance with Janeway seemed too useful to ignore. The delegation would be rounded out by Dr. Crusher, Counselor Troi and Lt. Prang, his chief of security. It was a rather large assemblage for visiting a sister Starship, but in addition to the Borg element, the ship was apparently also teeming with Maquis. Janeway's mission report had been eye-opening indeed.

Assembled on the platform of Transporter Room 2, Picard waited for acknowledgment from Voyager, then nodded to the crewman manning the transporter. "Energize."

Five columns of light resolved into solid form in a similar but smaller room. A bearish man in the red uniform of Command, wearing unfamiliar insignia and a garish tattoo on his forehead, stepped forward. He smiled pleasantly. "I'm Commander Chakotay. Welcome aboard Voyager, sir."

Picard led the procession from the platform. "Thank you, Commander. I believe we've met."

"Briefly, sir. I was there when your debt of blood to my people was paid," he said without irony.

Picard remembered the phrase. Lakanta had said it to him when the hostilities between the Cardassians and Federation threatened to erupt again over the status of the colonies within the disputed territory. That wizened Native American leader had searched Picard's ancestry, had found a Spanish forebear involved in a massacre centuries before. Picard had done his best to maintain both the treaty and the peace, but the settlement reached had nonetheless led to the formation of the Maquis not long after.

Picard had studied Chakotay's record and Janeway's logs, and knew that the former Starfleet officer had joined the Maquis after the death of his father, Kolopak, in a Cardassian raid of his colony world. Prior to that, he had been a model Starfleet officer, and in Janeway's view he was again.

Picard smiled sadly. "I mourn your loss, Commander. I had truly hoped for a different outcome."

"Thank you, sir. This way, please. The captain is expecting you." He gestured toward the door.

* * *

The corridors were, to Picard's relief, drone-free. With the exception of the unfamiliar insignia on some crewmen, it could have been any standard Starfleet vessel.

As previously arranged, a young Delta Quadrant native, an Ocampa named Kes, had taken Dr. Crusher to Sickbay. The ship's tactical officer had stayed behind on the bridge with Lt. Prang for a tactical review. Commander Chakotay escorted Picard, Riker, and Troi to Captain Janeway's ready room.

As Picard passed through the door, he saw the Borg standing behind Janeway. Both were female. One tall and statuesque, the other a full head shorter, with the barest hint of a smirk on her mottled grey face. Seated at her desk was Captain Janeway, who stood when he entered.

"Captain," she said, negotiating her way around the desk with hand outstretched and expression alive with pleasure. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

"I return the sentiment, Captain. You remember Commander Riker."

"Absolutely," Janeway said, smiling, and shook his hand warmly. Riker's grin was almost too broad, Chakotay noted.

"And this is my ship's counselor, Deanna Troi," Picard said with a gesture.

"Delighted to meet you, Commander," Janeway said, conspicuously choosing her rank over the more customary title. Troi smiled at the compliment. "Would you all like something to drink?" Janeway asked. "Coffee, perhaps?"

"Tea, if you please. Earl Grey, hot," Picard said.

"Hot chocolate," Deanna Troi said.

"How about a decaf?" Will Riker asked amiably. Janeway frowned at the idea of seeing coffee so denuded, but nodded.

The unanimous request for hot drinks made Chakotay start. "I guess we've grown used to the past three years' privations," he said to Janeway. "We can raise the temperature to Starfleet standard if you like." Picard and Riker said nothing, but Troi couldn't help but nod with a slight smile. Janeway smiled as well, and ordered the computer to increase temperature as the Borg handed the visitors their drinks. Janeway's coffee mug was refilled as well. The Borg then returned to their positions behind the captain.

"You've met my first officer, Commander Chakotay," Janeway said, nodding toward the commander with an incendiary smile. "This is Seven of Nine," she said, indicating the tall Borg, who nodded mechanically. "Tertiary adjunct to the unimatrix 01." She didn't elaborate.

"And this is Four of Seven," Janeway added, pointing to the shorter Borg, dimples forming on her cheeks.

The shorter Borg smirked and said, "Introductions are irrelevant."

Picard did a double-take.

Riker eyed the Borg appraisingly, and more than a little approvingly.

Deanna Troi stifled a giggle.

Janeway laughed out loud.

"Isn't she something? Her colony on Garafalo Threes was assimilated five years ago. The Collective tells me that after the last Queen died, Four of Seven began stretching her, shall we say, biological distinctiveness. Her mind attracted me as soon as I was fully joined with the Collective. As the new Queen, I encourage this kind of initiative. She's one of my personal assistants."

Troi looked at Picard. "I sense a great deal of amusement from her, Captain."

"What about Seven of Nine?" Riker asked.

"Public relations, Commander," Janeway said with a wicked grin. "Puts a new spin on the whole assimilation process. I thought we'd work on making assimilation more...appealing."

Seven of Nine regarded Riker with naked interest. "Resistance is futile," she purred, her lips pursing, moistened by her tongue. She arched her back in an overtly feline manner, her eyes half-closed, speaking unspoken volumes of Collective ecstasy.

Troi slapped Riker full across the face. "Don't let me sense that again," she demanded.

Riker shook his head roughly, then coughed and straightened his tunic.

"Lust is relevant," Four of Seven said, suppressing a smile.

"You can say that again," Troi huffed.

Riker blushed and crossed his legs.

Janeway gave an enigmatic half-smile.

Chakotay said nothing, but was clearly uncomfortable with the banter. Drones as comic relief seemed wrong.

Picard was not amused one whit. "Captain, may I have a word with you, in private?"

Janeway nodded. "Commander, can you show our guests the ship?" Chakotay nodded, and led the way to the door, followed by a still-flustered Riker and the Counselor--who drilled ocular death needles into the back of Riker's skull.

Seven of Nine disappeared immediately, making her exit in a shimmer of green.

Four of Seven remained a few seconds longer. Janeway regarded her with a stern parental eye.

"Oh, come on!" Four of Seven whined. "Privacy is irrelevant. The Collective knows it all anyway," she pouted adorably. The incongruity of this behavior from a Borg deeply unsettled Picard.

"Janine--" Janeway began reprovingly.

"Okay, okay. Obedience is relevant," she said, and winked out, leaving the two captains alone.

* * *

"The Borg certainly have changed since my last encounter," Picard said cautiously, sipping at his Earl Grey.

"We have a long way to go, Jean Luc," Janeway said, "but the Starfleet touch has done the Collective a world of good. I expect you have a number of questions for me. I'll answer as best I can."

Picard thanked her graciously. "You claim to have been assimilated. Yet you seem largely unchanged. I see no prostheses or implants. How is that possible?"

"As you know, the nanoprobes the Borg injected into my bloodstream include the means to enable a subspace link with the collective. It prepares the cellular makeup of the host both biologically, and mentally. The implants and prostheses are more functional in design, depending on the ultimate assignment. Most drones end up that way. As the queen, my function is to guide the Collective. I don't need any implants for that."

"The Queen I met was almost utterly devoid of flesh," Picard pointed out.

"That Queen was as old as the Collective itself," Janeway said. "She wasn't always that way, but she gave up her humanity, one piece at a time, until there was barely anything organic remaining. The Borg have a long memory, Captain; I can 'remember' when the Collective was formed."

"I don't remember that," Picard admitted.

"I know. You were used, Captain. You never stopped resisting, and you weren't trusted by the Collective. Most of its memories were kept from you, most of its command processes denied. The Collective took all it could from you, but offered precious little in return. The Queen was so bent on assimilating humanity that she didn't let you fully experience the Collective mind. A fortunate mistake on her part, Captain."

"Fortunate?"

Janeway smiled an unmistakably human smile. "I'm still Starfleet, Captain Picard. You defeated the Collective--repeatedly. You disrupted the Collective more than you'll ever know by demonstrating that resistance was not futile. You destroyed two cubes and corrupted a third through Third of Five-what did he call himself? Hugh. You destroyed the Queen. You demonstrated a resistance to assimilation that shook the Collective to its core."

Janeway smiled gently. "They underestimated humanity, Captain. After the Queen died, the Borg found themselves increasingly vulnerable to Species 8472. You've read my report to Starfleet, I trust."

Picard nodded. "You came upon the Borg in the Delta Quadrant, losing badly to this new species. Your doctor discovered the key to the Borg assimilation technology, and modified the nanoprobes to counteract the alien DNA. You used this knowledge to strike a deal with the Borg, but before negotiations could conclude, the aliens forced a Borg retreat."

"And I was assimilated," she continued. "But the Collective was headless, void of leadership. The Queen delegated duties, but not power. They needed a strong mind to speak for them--and to them."

Janeway leaned forward on her desk. "Jean Luc, because of you, the Collective recognized the strength of will humanity is capable of. They'd assimilated thousands of us, but they couldn't conquer the best of us. I think it was because of you that they accepted me, in fact--I reminded them of you. Which flattered me immensely, I assure you."

"I still don't entirely understand," Picard confessed.

Janeway stared at him, radiating compassion. "Though the Collective didn't let you in completely, it yearned to. It wanted a willing voice to speak to humanity for the Collective. Locutus could well have led the Borg, at the Queen's side, or alone as her successor. The Borg recognized that potential within you, Captain. When they brought me aboard the cube, determined to negotiate from a position of strength, they remembered you. Until Species 8472 attacked, I had struck a bargain with them! I had them over a barrel, captain; they knew we had accomplished what they couldn't, and they agreed to my demands. Commander Chakotay was sure they'd turn on us if we managed to survive the alien threat, and I suppose he was right-they did take me."

"But when I was assimilated, I saw their great potential, I was accepted wholeheartedly, and I saw the original noble desires. I gave myself to the Collective completely, captain-and in the end, I was still myself, and the Collective chose to do my bidding. After the failures of the last Queen, I suppose they were ready for change."

Picard sat silently for a long moment, studying captain Janeway. Her eyes were not dead, or malevolent, or alien in any way. That spark of wit and intellect he (barely) remembered in her was still there--only more so. Her confidence and bearing were greater than ever, and despite her occasional lapses into unnecessary levity she seemed no less a Starfleet officer for the experience.

In fact, considering the three-year ordeal she and her ship had endured, she had held up remarkably well. Her demeanor reminded him of another captain he had once met, and buried on Veridian III.

"Very well, Captain," he said at last. "It would seem the Federation owes you a great debt of gratitude. The Dominion threat is neutralized, thanks to you, and the Cardassians will be humbled for a long while. We may even be able to renegotiate a treaty more amenable to the Maquis among your crew." His right eyebrow shot up meaningfully.

"What's left of them," Janeway said sadly. I've caught up with the last three years in the Alpha Quadrant, captain; the largest contingent of Maquis left alive are onboard my vessel. Their worlds, their families, are gone. Whatever battles they fought back then, they've more than atoned for. I hope Starfleet Command will show mercy on my crew. And I do mean my crew, Captain. As you can see, I've had some experience with assimilation before we encountered the Borg. They're as fine a crew as I could ask for."

"I don't doubt it." Picard stared at his now empty cup. He'd read the reports, and concurred with her assessment. It would be unconventional...but these were unusual times.

"Allow me," Janeway said, rising from her desk. She took his cup and hers to the waste processing unit, then ordered another Earl Grey and a large black coffee from the replicator.

If you'll forgive me, Captain--" Picard began as she handed him the fresh cup.

"Please," she said with a nod.

"What are your plans now? Surely you can't be Queen and Captain. You will have to choose."

Janeway settled into her chair. "I'll know for certain when I report to Starfleet Command. The last few days have been rather eventful, as I'm sure you'll agree--I had intended to bring Voyager home to Earth, announce Mission Accomplished, and plead for leniency for my Maquis crew. I hadn't expected to find the first Starfleet vessels we'd find to be part of a dispossessed armada preparing for war."

Janeway sighed heavily. "The Cardassians have caused us all such pain, Captain. They stole my father's time and happiness when I was a child. They changed Admiral Paris and my first fiancee by torture." (She saw Picard shudder, and remembered he had endured Cardassian interrogation as well.) "My apologies, Captain; I forgot."

Picard nodded tersely.

"The Maquis vessel that disappeared into the Badlands was chased there by Cardassians, and we went to look for them-and got caught in the same displacement wave that took Chakotay's ship. We lost a lot of good people, and we lost a lot more after we joined crews. One of the Maquis was a Cardassian spy. The Maquis wouldn't even exist were it not for the Cardassians. And, thanks to them, they no longer do."

Picard nodded. "My question remains: what happens now?"

Janeway considered the man sitting across from her. "I've been able to do both so far, Captain. I'm in the best of both worlds. The positions as I see them are complementary. As a Starfleet captain I have the discipline and the ethics--the respect for life--that the Borg so desperately need. As Queen of the Borg, I have the ability to prevent future incursions into Federation space, as well as to share Borg propulsion, medical, communications and defensive technology that can benefit the whole Federation. No strings attached."

Picard started, and his voice dropped an octave. "Are you seriously suggesting an alliance between the Borg Collective and the Federation?"

Janeway waved her hand. "Neither the Borg nor the Federation is ready for that. But we can make a beginning. We've already fought together once, Captain. The Borg and the Federation and its allies have battled together, and shared a victory against the enemies of freedom. I'll propose what I propose, but I will abide by Starfleet Command's decisions. Whether the Borg become allies, or keep their distance, is up to them. I'll follow orders as a Starfleet captain, and the Borg will comply."

Picard was silent a long time. "It will be interesting to hear what Starfleet Command has to say, Captain Janeway. I can see the logic in your position--even keeping the Borg neutral is in the Federation's best interests. Over time..."

"Time is something I have plenty of, Captain. While I'm in the Collective, I won't be growing any older. I promise you, as long as I hold the Borg together, the Collective will never harm the Alpha Quadrant again. My first duty is to the safety of my people. All my people. And you humans are just too much trouble to assimilate." She smiled.

* * *

Beverly Crusher reviewed the medical logs in Voyager's sickbay as a familiar face looked on. She had never thought much of the Emergency Medical Holographic program, but she was discovering, with increasing astonishment, the potential the program had. Starfleet Medical would be as well, she was certain. And his program as now constituted was too valuable to be reset.

As the redhead clucked her tongue in approval, the Doctor and Kes shared a warm smile.

* * *

Riker and Troi chatted casually with the bridge officers. Well, most of them. Lt. Prang and Lt. Tuvok were embroiled in more professional discourse, reviewing Voyager's security logs from the previous three years. Commander Chakotay sat in the captain's chair, maintaining a respectful distance.

Riker found himself drawn to the helmsman, Lt. Tom Paris. He was aware of the young man's disastrous past, but Janeway's report had been unremittingly positive about his behavior in the Delta Quadrant.

"So tell me, Lieutenant," Riker said in sotto voice, "how was the Delta Quadrant?"

Paris stared at his board while he spoke, making course adjustments as needed. "I'm thrilled to be back home--well, I will be once we go back through the wormhole and actually are home again. But considering everything that's happened the last three years...I wouldn't have traded the experience for the world."

"In what way?"

"When I left New Zealand, I was a convict on furlough. I'd torpedoed a bright Starfleet career and my family's good name, and most of my self-respect. Captain Janeway gave me a chance to redeem myself. That wasn't the original plan--a short hop through the Badlands and I'd get my walking papers. But I signed up because I wanted a lot more than freedom--I wanted to prove myself." He looked at the commander, his fabled impish smirk utterly gone. "The captain let me do that. Encouraged me, in fact."

"That's your captain, all right. We were at the Academy together, you know."

Paris' smile returned. "Really? Did you and she ever..."

"Once," Riker said, laughing. "Blind date. She left the coffee shop after five minutes to work on her sophomore thesis. Played hell on my reputation, let me tell you."

Paris whistled. "And did wonders for hers, I bet. Sir."

Riker chuckled. "I'm afraid so. I never told her how much I looked forward to that date. How about you, Lieutenant; I can't imagine you didn't entertain a thought or two."

Paris drew back in horror. "Commander, I'm appalled!"

Riker apologized profusely as the eyes on the bridge turned his way.

Paris smiled. The Commander could find out about his relationship with Janeway once Voyager's logs were downloaded in the main Starfleet data banks. Besides, the less said about that warp 10 joyride on the Cochrane, the better.

* * *

"The Borg did that?" Picard asked.

Janeway nodded. "Ironic, isn't it? First Contact with the Borg was with another Voyager. The Collective found the probe, modified it, and sent it back home. V'Ger's return was inadvertently the first Borg invasion."

Picard whistled. "Incredible." But that tickling in his mind from his mind-meld with Spock confirmed the truth of it.

* * *

Picard emerged from Janeway's ready room forty-seven minutes later. He was visibly relaxed, Riker noted. Troi regarded him for a brief moment, then smiled at Riker. Whatever had happened to Captain Janeway, Picard seemed convinced the Borg were not an immediate threat.

"We would be happy to escort you back to Earth with full honors, Captain. Yours has been an arduous journey, and you should finish it in style."

"I'd be delighted, Captain, thank you." Janeway smiled graciously.

Riker regarded Janeway. "I know this may be out of line, but I can't help but ask," he said.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Well, if the Borg are now an ally, I was wondering if you'd care to initiate them officially into the Starfleet fraternity."

Picard stiffened. "Number One..." he warned.

Janeway's eyes crinkled. "What do you have in mind, Commander?"

* * *

The USS Excalibur found patrolling the ruins of the Thallonian Empire more dull than dangerous once the Great Bird of the Galaxy had hatched. Being a Starfleet presence would normally be an exercise in diplomacy, but Commander Shelby knew the Excalibur's first few weeks had pretty much guaranteed that her captain would be regarded as a first-rate warrior.

A warrior who, at the moment, was snoring so loudly that the door to his ready room was vibrating. Shelby had the conn, but for all the excitement going on she may as well have been sawing a few logs of her own.

Zak Kebron, the mountainous Brikar security chief, broke her boredom with the rumble of grating rock. "Commander. Sensors have detected a vessel coming out of transwarp."

Shelby shot up in her seat. "Identify!"

"It appears to be Borg, sir."

"Shields up! Red alert!" Shelby snapped as she slapped her comm badge. "Shelby to Calhoun--Captain to the bridge!"

The door to the ready room stopped vibrating immediately. Two seconds later, it slid open to admit Mackenzie Calhoun, fully alert. "What is it, Commander," he demanded, more order than question.

"The Borg, sir. Sensors just picked it up."

"On screen," he ordered. Kebron complied at once.

At first, there was nothing. Then space opened, and the Cube was simply there.

"They're hailing us," Lt. Soleta reported.

"On screen," Calhoun ordered.

Shelby gasped. On screen was a black-clad William T. Riker. Half of his face was covered by a black prosthesis. It whirred and clicked. His remaining eye was devoid of any emotion.

"I am Phallus of Borg," he droned. "Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated. Your technological and biological distinctiveness will be added to our own. Existence as you know it...is ended."

"Will--" Shelby gasped, her voice barely a whisper. She collapsed into her chair.

"I am Captain Mackenzie Calhoun of the Federation Starship U.S.S. Excelsior," Captain Calhoun growled. "And you don't know the meaning of resistance."

"Resistance is futile. Bluster is irrelevant. Death is irrelevant. You will be assimilated. Your--"

Riker--what had been Riker--halted in mid sentence and moved his head mechanically to gaze directly at a near-catatonic Shelby.

"Elizabeth?" Riker/Phallus said.

Shelby shot up. "Will! Can you hear me! Yes, it's me, Elizabeth! Fight them, damn you!"

Riker hesitated, then set his face. "Commander Shelby. Resistance is futile. You will be...will be..."

"Fight it, Will!"

Calhoun looked at his first officer, not liking the situation one bit. "Mr. Kebron," he whispered over his shoulder, "what's our weapons status?"

"Fully charged, sir."

Shelby begged Calhoun for a few minutes more. "I think I can get through to him, sir! I served with him on the Enterprise. He recognizes me. Sir--he defeated the Borg at Sector 001. If the Borg have taken him--" Calhoun absorbed this, then nodded.

Riker stared blankly at Shelby for a few seconds more, then he began to convulse.

"Will!" She yelled in horror.

Riker continued to convulse. He doubled over. It was only when Riker came up for air that Shelby realized something wasn't right.

His eye prosthesis had fallen off. Riker was in tears--and laughing his fool head off.

"What the--" Calhoun shouted.

"Riker! Damn you! What's happening?" Shelby demanded.

Riker wiped tears from his face, still laughing himself sick. "Oh, Elizabeth...you should really monitor the subspace traffic--"

"Why, you-" Commander Elizabeth Shelby had heard enough. "Mr. Kebron?"

"Sir?"

"Fire at Will."

Copyright © 1997-1999 Jim Wright

Star Trek (R) is a registered trademark of Paramount Pictures registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office.
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Last Updated: August 30, 1998