“The Dominion-Borg War”

By Hadrian McKeggan

Published May 10, 2001

Author’s Note: The Dominon-Borg War is set in a Alternate Universe where the Borg invade the Dominion, and a war of epic proportions erupts.

“Tolak’Talan to all fighters.” The commander of the Jem’Hadar fighter squadron said. “New orders. Set course to Karemman System. We are to crush revolt on Karemma Five. Tolak’Talan out.” Goran’Agar heard the orders drone over the com system. On cue, his pilot set the new course. Goran’Agar paced around his bridge. He had a gut instinct, that something was wrong. At first, he had chose to ignore this instinct and concentrate on battle. He had learned — the hard way — that this instinct was valuable. He paced over to his Second. “Status report.” Goran’Agar demanded.

“No change, First.” His Second replied. Goran’Agar stood over the console, checking his Second’s readings. “I see.”

“Can I make a suggestion, First?” His Second asked.

“You can Second.”

“We have served alongside in battle many months now. You sense that something is wrong?”

“Yes Second, I do.”

“Perhaps the Rebels are preparing a counter-attack. I will scan —”

“No, that will not be necessary.” The Second nodded.

“You are my First, and I shall obey.”

“Tolak’Talan to all fighters. We have detected dangerous emissions. Change course to intercept.” On cue, Goran’Agar’s pilot corrected their flight pattern as the three fighters formed a V-Shaped pattern and sped towards the emission, a white haze. Suddenly, the haze contracted and collapsed, and a huge cubical object emerged. If Goran’Agar’s gut instinct was merely nagging at him earlier, it was working overtime now. His Second looked up with heightened adrenaline.

“Tolak’Talan to all fighters. Attack Pattern —” Suddenly, Tolak’Talan’s orders where cut out and replaced by the droning voices of countless millions in unison.

“We are the Borg.” The voices said. “Lower your shields and surrender your ships. Your biological and technological systems will be made to service us. Resistance is futile.”

A lancing tractor beam shot from the Cube and smacked into Tolak’Talan’s ship. Tolak’Talan’s ship exploded in a fiery light. Goran’Agar peered at the monstrosity from his eye-piece.

“Pilot, evasive manoeuvres, hard about.” Goran’Agar ordered.

“Yes First.” The pilot replied. Another lethal beam of energy struck forth from the cube and decimated Goran’Agar’s ship’s counterpart.

“We are over our heads. Pilot, get us to the nearest Jem’Hadar base, maximum warp.” Goran’Agar’s Second turned to him.

“Normally I obey your orders without question. But we must destroy the enemy.”

“That ship is too powerful for our ram to have any effect, Second. We must warn the rest of the Dominion of the invasion so the defence lines can be solidified.”

“I see I am in error. I step down.” The Second apologised. The Pilot continued to have the ship retreat. But the Borg Cube, hot on her heels, fired one more lancing shot. The Pilot anticipated and evaded, but it was not enough. The shot hit the port nacelle, causing it to explode. The bridge shook, and the burly Jem’Hadar struggled to stay on their feet. A few collapsed dead. A falling bulkhead hit Goran’Agar and he collapsed. The Jem’Hadar fighter swerved through the atmosphere and crash landed on Karemma Five. The first shots of the most bloody conflict in interstellar history had been fired.

The millions of minds working as one ebbed and flowed throughout the gargantuan Cube. They knew their heading. The Omarion Nebula. The Borg Drones plodded about their work, preparing the transwarp drive for a second destination. As they did, a few conducted a sensor scan of the only habitable planet in the system, Karemma Five. Six million in population, limited if any defences. Worthy of assimilation. In effortless harmony, a Borg Sphere detached from its docking bay and flew out of the mothership. The Cube had bigger game.

Goran’Agar pushed the bulkhead aside. He shielded his face from light rays streaming into the bridge from all directions. Looking up, he noticed a gaping hole in the ceiling. A carrion bird native to this planet swooped above. “First. We thought you where dead.” His Second said from behind. Goran’Agar turned around. Dried blood covered half of his Second’s face. Two younger Jem’Hadar stood behind him. All three where apprehensive but ready to carry out Goran’Agar’s orders to the letter. “I sent the Third on recon throughout the ship.” The Second said. “He is looking for survivors.”

“How are our systems?” Goran’Agar asked. The Second nodded to one of the Jem’Hadar behind him, who, Goran’Agar recalled, was their pilot.

“All of them are offline and destroyed, First. Even the backups.” Two Jem’Hadar figures emerged from the blasted doorway.

“I have returned.” The taller one said, who was the Third. “This is the only live Jem’Hadar I could find. Our Chief Engineer.”

These were heavy casualties. From forty men to six. Goran’Agar paced across his bridge, only pausing to sidestep corpses and rubble. The Jem’Hadar soldiers stood to attention, as unbearable minutes passed as they waited for Goran’Agar to give his order. Finally, he gave the order. “Form into scout groups of two and search for any com systems we could use to contact Jem’Hadar patrol ships. We will hereby be using this ship as Headquarters.” Thankful they had their tasks, the Jem’Hadar departed. Goran’Agar looked up into the blistering sky, and hoped, for something, anything, for the first time.

“Intriguing.” Weyoun said as he calmly studied the tactical readout. “Nine fighter squadrons lost in one day?” He asked rhetorically. Omet’iklan stood uneasily at his superior’s side. Oh how I hate Vorta. He thought, looking at Weyoun with barely hidden disgust. Weyoun pondered his readout for a moment. To Omet’iklan, it was a very long moment. “I suppose the best thing to do is to perform a sensor sweep of the sector the squadrons where lost in.” Weyoun said finally.

“Yes sir.” Omet’iklan said. Of course, the exact same thing had already occurred to him some while ago. Weyoun stroked his chin, in the most relaxing and thoughtful posture one can have while standing. Omet’iklan could only wait for so long. “Should we perform the orders sir?” He asked, not being able to curb his desire to kill the Vorta there and then in his speech.

“Oh yes, you do that.” Weyoun said detached, a detachment which only enraged Omet’iklan further. But he calmed and chided himself, promising himself that killing the Vorta was pointless. They’d just clone him and send him out again. However, there was a certain pleasure in the possibility of killing Weyoun again and again — Omet’iklan cut of this train of thought, mentally beating himself for not staying focused. The pressure relived, Omet’iklan began issuing orders to his staff of this Jem’Hadar Attack Ship and they got to work.

The Premier of Karemma looked out his window onto the glorious plateau of Karemma’s capital city. Birds sung in the air, the sun was bright, and the people of Karemma got on with their lives, criss-crossing to and fro across the city. The Premier leaned against the window and looked mournfully onto the populace below. He wished at times he could be a normal civilian again, and this was one of those times. He dismissed it quickly, reminding himself of the incompetence or rebellious of Karemma’s previous Premiers, which only bore down the wrath of the Jem’Hadar. His people where still struggling from the many deep wounds caused by these most lethal of the Dominion’s occupying force. But he heard that they had been brought down on him again. Peasants who where unable to pay the dues by the taxpayers which where required by the Dominion had revolted, and he knew that the Jem’Hadar where most likely bearing down and intending to make an example of them and other Karemma. He heard the whine of transporter beams. His blood ran cold, and he begin sweating excessively. The Jem’Hadar? But confusion replaced fear as he saw cyborgs materialise where he expected Jem’Hadar warriors. But they lashed out, and as he watched the once serene scene rapidly spill over into a bloodbath, he was more scared by this new enemy than the Jem’Hadar. At the far end of the grand chamber he was standing in, the door burst open, shrapnel slicing through the neck of one of his two guards. The unfortunate guard collapsed, gushing up blood. The Premier turned around, just in time to see the other guard raise his weapon and fired. The Premier watched horrified and amazed as the phaser blast was simply was deflected by the cyborg’s personal force field. A grip as firm as death slapped on to the Premier’s shoulder, and he felt something enter his bloodstream. He collapsed with immense pain, and felt his individuality disintegrate. He saw flashes of other minds, and voices open up to him so many voices.... In moments, he was Borg.

Goran’Agar’s men emerged from the crashed fighter. The light blinded the Jem’Hadar momentarily, but their eyes adjusted until they could see a rolling cliff face stretching in all directions, gigantic mountains lurching from the crust of the planet, hanging above profoundly. The Second motioned to his officers. They cloaked, and spilt into groups of two, and trekked across the endless highlands, scanning the terrain.

Even with the sternest of rationing, there was only enough ketracel-white onboard the wrecked hull of the fighter to last him and his men one day. The fact struck Goran’Agar hard and cold. He was ready to die, weren’t all Jem’Hadar ready to die on a whim? But there was something... new. Something... indescribable. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt different somehow. Somehow, massacring civilians wasn’t as promising as it once seemed. The bloodlust was draining, but slowly. Goran’Agar began wondering about things which most Jem’Hadar would not give a second thought too. And he could not banish the insidious thoughts from his mind. With ten hours until his men returned, he had a lot to think about.

A stern but dimming resolve was held by the villagers. They knew that their rebellion meant certain death, but they had no other choice. They were starving, how could they give up the little they had to the cruelty of the Dominion? “Uncle, uncle!” A child shouted. Her uncle, the leader of the Resistance, rushed towards her to silence her. “Not now.” He told her soothingly. “But unca look!” She said, pointing into her house. The Resistance fighter motioned to two of his men, and they crept inside. No enemies lay within, but on the viewer was a face the Resistance fighter had seen many times before. The Premier. A tint of green covered his face, and Borg implants riddled it as well. “We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. Your biological and technological and biological distinctiveness will be made to service us. Resistance is futile.” The Premier droned lifelessly. The image faded. The Resistance Leader’s stood back, shaken. He heard a scream, and raced outside. A Borg drone ejected nanoprobes into one of his resistance fighters. Disorganised, they soon found the Borg everywhere, bearing down on them from all sides. The Resistance leader saw one go for his niece and he raced to save her. But as he did, something long and pointed jabbed into his neck. But he was running so fast that the thing was caught in his neck, and bent back, slitting his throat. He was killed instantly, and his niece was made Borg.

“The vessel is entering visual range.” The Second said.

“Patch it in.” Omet’iklan ordered, and he and Weyoun saw the Borg Cube through their sights.

“Ships similar to this design have penetrated the Dominion on several occasions, but never one of this size.” Weyoun said, matter-of-factly. Weyoun stepped back.

“Deal with the situation, First.” He said. Omet’iklan was overjoyed.

“Second, launch two fighter squadrons, have them destroy the Borg Cube.” Omet’iklan ordered. His Second nodded and complied. A total of six fighters launched from the Jem’Hadar attack ship and sped towards the Borg Cube. They bombed, spun and divided, nimbly spinning somersaults in space while letting lose a torpedo. The Borg Cube plodded forward, foreboding but without their grace. But the Jem’Hadar weapons had little or not effect as they collided with the Borg Cube, but a lancing tractor beam from the Cube struck home and ripped one of the fighters apart. As the fighters dived for a second pass, the tractor beam knocked out another of their wing mates. Warily, the remaining four Jem’Hadar fighters broke pattern and flew across the surface with random manoeuvres to keep the tractor beam off their tail, firing as many torpedoes as possible, which resounded across the Borg shields. Omet’iklan watched the scene with growing fury as the Cube snubbed another fighter, cutting the number down to three. “Second, can you identify why our fighters have no effect on that thing?” Omet’iklan snapped. The Second checked his sensors.

“They are adapting their shields to be impervious to our weaponry.”

“Adapt our weapons to compensate.” He said, and grimaced mid-sentence as another fighter was mauled.

“Fighters are adapting.” The Second said. The Fighters shot once more, hitting the shields, weakening them, but not significantly. Spinning up and about, they attacked again, causing some more minor damage to the Borg Cube. The Cube shredded yet another fighter for their efforts. The remaining lone fighter spun back, but with only one target to hit, the Cube found no problem in downing this foe. Weyoun was not pleased. “First, I told you to deal with the threat.” Omet’iklan shot Weyoun a black look. “I am doing that.” He peered at the cube from his eye piece, watching it move closer. “And we are not finished yet.” He strolled away from the Vorta down to his Second. “Second, target all weapons on weakest area of the Cube. Adapt weapons frequently, and open fire when they come into range.” Omet’iklan ordered. His Second nodded and preformed the task. “Computed time until they enter weapons range?” Omet’iklan asked.

“Two minutes.” His Second replied. Omet’iklan watched as the distance between the two celestial objects closed.

“Second, prepare all weapons and target them at weakest location on enemy vessel. Fire when we are in range.” The Second complied. The tense minutes passed. Omet’iklan was ready to die, they all were. They were Jem’Hadar, and if he had to sacrifice every solider on his ship just to cause minimal damage to an enemy vessel, so be it. At last, the Jem’Hadar Attack Ship released its volley, as every single weapon on the formidable craft pounded into the Borg Cube. The shields of the targeted section failed, and an explosion was caused on the surface, ripping off a chunk, albeit a small one. The Dominion victory was short-lived, however. The Borg responded with a tractor beam, knocking out the shields. Omet’iklan did not bat an eyelid. “Second, prepare a second volley -” In moments, the bridge was covered in Borg from all directions. Omet’iklan whirled around and shot a Borg Drone, blasting it to pieces. And he shot another, destroying it too. But the third shot fell harmlessly on the Borg’s personal shield. Personal adaptive shields ... Impressive. Omet’iklan thought as he adapted his weapon. These enemies where far more worthy of the Jem’Hadar. Omet’iklan fired, but as he did a Borg threw its hands around his neck and injected nanoprobes.

Indeed, in moments the entire ship’s complement was Borg. Using the body once known as “Weyoun” they began to replicate more of this drug, “ketracel-white” the new drones required. The most recent threat obliterated, the Borg began rapid repair on the damage and continued on course for the Omarion Nebula.

The Borg felt the last minds of Karemma’s key cities enter the collective. The entanglement of minds used their collective knowledge and scanners from the orbiting Borg Sphere to pick out the remaining scattered locations, and groups of drones split off from the technology assimilation process to claim these lands. One of the detailed scans of the planet’s surface intrigued them. A crashed Jem’Hadar fighter. The survivor possibility was low, but three Drones were directed to the site to assimilate any possible survivors and search the wreck for new technologies. And thus it was done.

And there was many other decisions pressing the hive mind. The hive mind knew the powers of physiological terror, and so decided to use the sole assimilated specimen from Species 7411, or Vorta species, as their voice to the Dominion. The one known as Weyoun was given a name, as the one known as Picard was given the name Locutus during the invasion of the Federation. The Borg called it Boratis. Boratis awoke from regeneration with its new function, and clambered through the Borg Cube in preparation to deliver the Borg’s ultimatum to the Dominion.

The Pilot and the Third were paired during Goran’Agar’s ordered search. Cloaked, they trekked through the mountainous plains which never seemed to end, stretching as if for eternity into the distance, keeping in contact with their ship all the time. A faint figure was seen on the horizon. The pilot pointed, and the Third, who could see the pilot since people with personal cloaks both activated can see each other, started with him. Another figure emerged in the horizon, and another. They marched on, getting closer. “Scan them.” The Third ordered. The pilot held his equipment in the direction of the figures and registered them. He stroked his brow, confused. “The solids ahead register as Karemma, but they are not registering as alive. They appear to be supported by cybernetic devices which have been implanted.” He handed the scanning device to the Third. The Third searched over the readings, concerned.

“The Karemma do not have this type of cybernetic technology. The rebels must have got it from that enemy ship which attacked us.” The Third held up his rifle, pointing in the general direction of the three figures, know much closer than before. The Pilot nodded and brought his rifle up. The two charged, still cloaked, up to the figures until they where in firing range. The Third and the Pilot decloaked, and fired simultaneously at the Borg to the left and right. The two drones fell. The remaining drone lunged for the Third. On reflex, the pilot fired, downing this one as well. He looked down on the Third, reeling in agony on the ground as nanoprobes pulsed through his veins. The Pilot stood there, assuming the Third had been infected. He tapped his combadge. “Pilot to First, come in.” There was a pause, but finally Goran’Agar responded.

“First here. What’s the problem, where is the Third?” The Pilot was slightly taken aback in the First’s response, but he made his report anyway.

“The Third seems to have been infected by the enemy.”

“Do you know the cause?”

“The cause is irrelevant. The disease is either permanently wounding or fatal. It would be a waste of resources to determine the cause.”

“If we knew the cause, we could still cure him.” The Pilot was even more confused.

“First, he is unlikely to be able to return to combat readi-” Suddenly and unexpectedly, the Third lurched up and grabbed the Pilot. The Third was a more mature and of greater physical endurance than the Pilot, and easily pushed him to the ground, ejecting nanoprobes into him too. The Pilot lurched in pain as his veins where clotted with the assimilation process. Goran’Agar’s voice sounded a few times, but it was no good. For they were already both Borg.

A cold wave swept over Goran’Agar’s body. Someone, something, was attacking. Goran’Agar punched his combadge.

“First to Second.” Goran’Agar said.

“Yes First?” His Second intoned over the com.

“The Third’s group seems to have been attacked by something. Join up with the fourth’s group and investigate.”

“You are the First. I shall obey.” Goran’Agar winced slightly. The harsh form of Jem’Hadar command was becoming more distasteful by the minute.

“Good. First out.” He tapped his combadge again, severing that link. He sat down on a smashed station, and peered through the hole in the bridge’s ceiling. He had been feeling different since the crash. He didn’t know why, but he was no longer the bloodthirsty killer — yes, for that was all he was — that he was prior to the crash. He felt emotions which most Jem’Hadar had barely heard of. The Jem’Hadar soldiers where stripped to the emotions of bloodlust and fanaticism. He felt compassion, fear, righteousness, and many more unknowns. And even hate, but not towards the enemy solids or even the Vorta. Hate — at the Founders. These disturbing thoughts passed through his mind. He indeed had much to think about. But someone was attacking, and he didn’t have enough time to think about it. He knew he was soon to discover if his fighting skills had been diminished by his new found properties.

Borath stood at the edge of the Great Link. A bubbling sea for changelings spread out beyond him. At last, a shapeless form emerged from this tranquil sea and transformed into the Female Changeling. “What is it, Borath?” She asked with her deceptionly soothing voice. Borath uneasily cleared his throat. This would not be easy.

“The invading Solids have overran nearly half the Dominion. They have been sending out smaller vessels from the mother ship to each system within three sectors away and conquering all within.”

“You must stop the solids.” She said simply. Borath sighed. If only it were that simple. He thought.

“We have tried many times, but each time our fleets have been obliterated. Worse still, the path of the mother ship is here.” The Female Changeling’s brow furrowed.

“Are you sure?” She asked with genuine concern she rarely displayed.

“We are. If they proceed on their present course they will intercept the planet exactly. It’s too striking to be a coincidence.” The Female Changeling thought for a moment.

“Assemble the entire fleet at the homeworld.” She said. Borath bowed slightly. Nodding with satisfaction, she delved into the Great Link.

“That went well.” Weyoun said as he walked in. Borath turned around.

“They cloned you again already?” He asked.

“Of course. I’m too valuable to the Founders to be lost.” He said with a resemblance of a sneer in between his atypical over cordiality. A flicker passed in Borath’s eyes, and then faded.

“Assemble the fleet as she instructed.”

“I am already on it.” Weyoun said with self assurance, and tapped his combadge.

“Ixtana’Ran, beam me onboard.” Weyoun dissolved in a Dominion transporter beam, leaving Borath on the planet’s surface. Borath turned back to stare at the Great Link, and basked in its radiance.

The remaining four Jem’Hadar under Goran’Agar’s command hiked through the plains, cloaked. “The last reported position of the Third’s Group was that way.” The Fourth, who was also the Chief Engineer, said, waving his hand in the general direction. The Second nodded, and arced his phaser rifle into a firing position. The other three Jem’Hadar did likewise. “I want a full sensor sweep of the area.” The Second said, motioning in four directions. The other three Jem’Hadar turned on there portable sensor equipment and waved them around. “There they are!” One of the Jem’Hadar said suddenly. The people emerging from the plains where indeed the Third and the Pilot, as the Second could see quite well. One of them locked eyes with him. “They are cloaked too.” The Second said. The Third and the Pilot marched towards them.

“That’s odd.” The Fourth said. “I’m not registering any life signs. They are being supported by cybernetic enhancements.”

“The enemy must be using them.” The Second concluded. He swung his weapon about, facing the closing Jem’Hadar drones. The other three did likewise, and all three fired. The shots hit the adaptive shielding harmlessly, and the drones plodded forward. Realising his weapon was useless, the Second threw it aside, and unsheathed his dagger. “We’ll have to fight them hand-to-hand.” He ordered to his troops. All four Jem’Hadar lunged at the drones. The Second and one of the other Jem’Hadar tackled the Third. The Second’s knife struck home, slicing the Third’s main areterty, while the other Jem’Hadar cut through the drone’s stomach with his dagger. The drone fell, and the Second and the other Jem’Hadar fell on top of him. The dying Third grabbed the Second and ejected him with nanoprobes, and then collapsed. At the same time as this, the Fourth and one of the other Jem’Hadar struck towards the Pilot. The other Jem’Hadar missed poorly with his throw and fell, and the Pilot grabbed him, and ejected nanoprobes into his veins. The Fourth came from behind, shoving his knife through the spine. It struck home, slicing out the other side. The Pilot slammed his hand into the Fourth’s face, the ejection tubules sticking into the Jem’Hadar’s head by accident, killing the Fourth, who collapsed dead. The Pilot’s internal nanoprobes began to repair his damaged systems, making him more dependant on cybernetic implants. The last of the Jem’Hadar, when he saw this outcome, tried to flee, but the Second gripped his leg, making him fall onto the ground, and soon he too was Borg. The Borg searched the memories of these drones, and discovering that there was one more survivor, sent the drones off towards the Jem’Hadar fighter.

No replies on any channel. Goran’Agar had no doubt about it now, he had sent his men to their deaths. He had done such more, many times before, but he couldn’t live with himself for doing it now. He felt that he just as much fired the phaser as did his unknown assailant. He had now felt guilt. And suddenly, his guilt burst forth. Not just for this one thing, but the countless atrocities he had committed throughout his life. The civilians pleading before him as he mercilessly shot them down... his blood lustful conquest of planets, leaving not one living thing in sight... Goran’Agar descended into self-hate.

Weyoun leaned against a bulkhead, watching the Dominion fleet form an iron ring around the Founder’s Homeworld through his eye-piece. Fighters scoured the Nebula, searching for the first sign of the Borg Cube. Just below Weyoun, Ixtana’Ran stood at a sensor readout, bending over the back of his Second to see. Blips flashed on the screen signalling as Jem’Hadar craft, a tight circle around the Founder Homeworld, and fighters spread across the Nebula. Finally, a new blip emerged into the Nebula. “We have them.” Ixtana’Ran said, hushed, but deliberately loud enough for Weyoun to hear him.

“Deal with the situation, First.” Weyoun said, almost a carbon copy of himself when he said the same line to Omet’iklan. Ixtana’Ran nodded, and began to issue orders to the Jem’Hadar flight squadrons to intercept the Borg Cube over the COM. Suddenly, the hailing light blipped on the Second’s panel. From the Borg Cube. The Second and Ixtana’Ran exchanged concerned glances. “The enemy is hailing us.” Ixtana’Ran said aloud, knowing that the Vorta covered “diplomatic” functions.

“Project to my eyepiece, First.” Weyoun replied. To his astonishment, Weyoun saw himself on his eye-piece. Could the former Weyoun really have defected to the enemy?

Weyoun was quite glad only he saw this, for if the Jem’Hadar saw such defection in the former Weyoun, they would have killed the latter Weyoun instantly.

But he was disturbed that he, of all people, could actually join the enemy cause.

“We are the Borg.” Boratis, formerly Weyoun, said.

“Weyoun, Species 7411. Vorta.” Boratis said, observing Weyoun. “This drone was of Weyoun, Species 7411, Vorta.” The drone cocked its head slightly, its disturbingly impassive face recalling information. “Probability suggests: Clone.”

“You have violated Dominion space. This misunderstanding can be resolved by your withdrawal.” Weyoun said with his over-cordial tone.

“Insufficient.” Boratis said, still totally devoid of life, as if he was an animated corpse and not a man at all. But perhaps he was merely just that. Perhaps that was all the Borg ever were. “You will be assimilated. Lower your shields and surrender your ships.” The drone said.

“The Dominion do not tolerate threats.” Weyoun said as a parting blow, it being clear the “negotiation” — if it ever existed — was not going to work.

“Irrelevant. Resistance is futile.” Boratis said, and the channel was severed. The Borg vessel dove into the Nebula, driving straight for the Founder’s Homeworld.

Footsteps. Goran’Agar turned around, weapon in hand, as he watched his Second, his Pilot, and two of his other Jem’Hadar enter the room. Goran’Agar saw the cybernetic implants ridden throughout each of them, and the cold and lifeless expression on their faces. Suddenly he knew they were dead and that they had come for him.

The drones began plodding forward. He fired at the Second. His shot resounded off the Second’s shield. Relentless, the Borg continued to close the distance between them and Goran’Agar. Like a cornered animal, Goran’Agar leaned up against a bulkhead, all his escape routes blocked. He switched the modulation of his gun and fired at the Second again. The blast struck home and the Second’s chest exploded, the lifeless hulk smashing onto the ground.

Goran’Agar didn’t waste time so fired at one of the other Jem’Hadar as well, killing him too. And then at yet another Jem’Hadar, but this time the blast resounded off his shields. Goran’Agar remodulated his gun again and fired, killing this one too. But he then felt a hand with an iron grip grab him. The Pilot. He threw his gun into the face of this drone automatically, the rifle smashing the skull. The charred corpse crumpled to the ground before it could never give Goran’Agar the nanoprobes.

Goran’Agar looked around at his handiwork, bitter. He killed others so he could live. He descended into further self-hate, but then a new emotion surfaced, confidence. He felt the guilt of his past self and was most truly appalled, and this was a good thing. Goran’Agar’s spirits lifted slightly, and he left the crashed Dominion fighter, the last icon of his old self. He knew that someone made his former soldiers into the cybernetic monstrosities they were, and that that someone — or something — wanted him, too. So he trekked through the mountains to escape this fate, continuing to feel as no Jem’Hadar had done before.

Ixtana’Ran did not know how the conversation Weyoun had with the Borg happened, but he knew an attacking enemy when he saw one as he watched the Borg Cube go directly for the Founder’s Homeworld. “Fire!” Ixtana’Ran shouted, leaning over the Second’s console in anticipation, looking through his eye-piece to see the results.

The Dominion fleet opened fire, hundreds of phasing polaron beams striking out from the formidable fleet and impacting on the Borg Cube’s surface. Many polaron beams harmlessly hit the shields, but a few disabled the shields in the area they fired at. Then the fighters which had scouted through the Nebula, rammed their ships through these holes in the shields. The impacts on the surfaces caused massive explosions, and Ixtana’Ran smiled — until the explosions cleared away showing only slight craters on the Borg Cube.

“Put me on the commlink.” Ixtana’Ran ordered his Second. When his Second nodded the all clear, Ixtana’Ran said: “Ixtana’Ran to all fighters, suicide run on enemy vessel, now.” The fighters flew out from the battleships ringing the Founder’s Homeworld, striking towards the Borg Cube with the determination of all kamikaze vessels. The Borg cube used its tractor beam to eliminate as many fighters as it could as they bore down, but there was too many of them for the tractor beam to handle. All of the fighters drove themselves into the weak spots of the Borg Cube, and a explosion so massive it engulfed the Cube erupted. Ixtana’Ran didn’t do any early celebrations this time, and waited for the explosions to clear.

And when they did, he saw that quarter of the Borg Cube had been lost by the fighter suicide run. At the same moment, the tractor beam struck out, impacting on one of the battleships. Ixtana’Ran didn’t wait to see the outcome. “Put me on the commlink again.” He ordered his Second. His Second did so. “Ixtana’Ran to all ships, suicide run on the enemy vessel, now.” He ordered. All the battleships flew forth as the one the Borg Cube targeted earlier exploded.

The pilot prepared to join them, but Weyoun tapped him on the shoulder and motioned no. Ixtana’Ran saw this and approached Weyoun. “Why are we not joining in?” He asked with barely concealed anger. Weyoun faced him. “This is the command ship, Ixtana’Ran. This ship must coordinate the attack, not enter it.” Weyoun simply. Ixtana’Ran huffily nodded, and turned back to his Second. The Borg Cube locked one of the battleships in a tractor beam and disabled its shields and then destroyed it. But the speed of the battleships was too great for the Borg to get any more. The ships as one rammed straight into the remnants of the Borg Cube, and the Cube was finally shattered, exploding in a mighty ball of flame that lit up the murkiness of the nebula.

But an ominous sphere emerged from the cube, and shot towards the Founder’s Homeworld. “Target all weapons and fire!” Ixtana’Ran barked. The lethal polaron beams shot out from the command ship, the only Jem’Hadar ship left, and impacted on the sphere’s surface. Like its larger counterpart, the sphere exploded in a ball of flame.

But it was too late. A few Borg had already beamed down to the Founder’s Homeworld. Borath heard them approach, and turned around. “What the —” He said as Boratis grabbed him, the nanoprobes pumping into Borath’s veins. Boratis threw Borath aside, and the handful of Borg Drones approached the Great Link in union. In the sea of Changelings, the Female Founder emerged. “Halt.” She ordered. But it was too late. The Borg bent over to the pool, and their assimilation tubules hit the Great Link. Slowly but surely, a wave of grey began to spread over the sea of gold. The nanoprobes floated and latched on to the Founder’s essence at the molecular level, and the unified mind which was the Great Link was becoming Borg.