"Captain's log, stardate 50309.8.  It is finished.  As I look
down from the bridge of the Enterprise, I see the smoking ruins of
Earth.  Paris.  London.  New York.  Tokyo.  San Francisco.  They are
all painful memories now, of a time when things were better and we
fooled ourselves into believing we had a chance for survival.  The
smoke rises up from across the surface the Earth, billowing funeral
wreaths for a lost civilization.  The Borg came, and we have lost.
     "Our lives for the past six years have been a lie.  We defeated
the Borg before and somehow believed we were invincible.  When they
came again, they laughed at our starships and destroyed our defenses.
They carved up our cities and raped our planets.  Nothing is left but
ashes and dust, tossed in the wind.
     "That, and memories.  Should anyone--some remnant of the
Federation where the madness of the dream persists--find this log,
these things should be known.  Note that Admiral Picard, Counselor
Deanna Troi, and Commander Geordi LaForge died bravely as they engaged
the Borg in a desparate attempt to prevent a Borg takeover of the
Enterprise.  Special commendations for Lieutenant Commander Worf for
his bravery in battle and for Lieutenant Reginald Barclay for his cool
thinking in engineering following the death of Commander LaForge.
     "Captain William Riker recording.  Close log."
     Riker leaned back into the command chair and rubbed his eyes
wearily as the battle-torn Enterprise orbited the shattered Earth.
     "Data, what is the status of our warp drive?" he asked.
     "Lieutenant Barclay reports that we have warp power.  Klingon
cloaking device is in place and fully functional."
     "Good.  Get us out of here.  Take us to Vulcan, best speed
possible."
     "Course laid in.  We will arrive in six hours and fifteen
minutes."
     "Enagage."  Riker regretted saying it immediately.  An image of
his friend floated before him unbidden, an unwelcome reminder of the
loss they had suffered.
     The Enterprise streaked off into warp space, leaving the ashes of
the Earth behind them.
     He struggled to hold his eyes open; he had not slept in forty-
eight hours.  He had heard, over the communications channel, the
death-cries of his friends aboard the USS Hood as a Borg invader
sliced through the ship's hull.  He had watched in painful horror as
Borg soldiers appeared throughout his own ship, seen the bloody
remains of those who dared to resist.  He had watched helplessly as
Jean-Luc Picard fought, hopelessly outmatched, against the waking
nightmare that had come to reclaim him.  He had seen it all.  Those
dead had it easiest.  He had to live with the memories which would
haunt his sleep as long as he lived, the terrified look in crew as
they were taken like sheep to slaughter to a fate worse than death: to
become one with the Borg.  He had seen his friends cut down before
him: Geordi, Jean-Luc, Deanna, even Data had not escaped.  The android
first officer now functioned bereft of a left arm.
     He fought sleep valiantly, knowing the nightmares he would see if
he surrendered.  But exhaustion overcame him, and he could not resist
its siren call for long.  He closed his eyes, and as he dreamed, he
remembered . . .

     It had been four years since anyone had seen the Borg.  Four
years since a woman with a vendetta drove an ancient planet-devouring
machine through the Federation.  Four years since she avenged the
Massacre of the Penzetti with the destruction of four Borg ships.
Four years since the Borg modified their lasers into weapons that
could slice through a neutronium hull and adjusted their shields to
resist the planet-destroying ray of the Doomsday Machine.  Four years
since the death of the Federation was sealed.
     Of course it had not seemed so at first.  The Borg silence seemed
to speak of some disaster for the soulless anti-life, perhaps even the
end of the Borg.  The Federation continued to explore, and
occasionally find friction along the Romulan Neutral Zone.  The Borg
threat gradually began to fade from pre-eminence, and people thought
about other, more pressing matters.  When the Borg finally did arrive,
it was to find a Federation only marginally prepared to resist
assimilation.

=========================================================================

     Captain William Riker of the USS Enterprise looked at his hand.  Stoic
and unemotional on the outside, he was grinning inside.  A straight flush.
He looked up and across the table at Deanna.  Was she reading his emotions?
Damn.  He had to keep a tight rein on those around her, especially during a
poker game.  He laid down four of his cards, holding the last one.
     "I cannot believe this," his second officer rumbled.  "This will be the
fifth hand in a row that he will have won."
     "Talk or play, Worf.  Not both," Riker said evenly.
     "I fold."  The Klingon laid his cards down.  How in Klinzhai did the
captain do it?  He turned to Commander Data and waited to see how he would
deal with their captain's winning streak.
     Data stared levelly at the captain and looked down at his own hand.  "I
will see your fifty and raise you another fifty," he said simply, adding his
chips to the steadily building pile.
     "This is too much for me.  I'll have to fold," Deanna said, dropping
her cards face-down to the table.
     Riker returned Data's stare steadily and decided he was bluffing.  He
added his chips to the pile and laid down his final card.  Five hearts,
running from a seven to a jack.  He reached for the chips, intending to rake
them in.
     "That action is premature, Captain," Data reminded him and proceeded
to lay down his last cards.  Another straight, all clubs, but topping with
a Queen.  Victorious, Data raked the chips in, ending Riker's winning
streak.
     Miles O'Brien let out a low whistle.  "Impressive, Commander."
     "Thank you."
     "Well, Data, I don't know about you, but I'm game for a rematch.  How
about another hand?" Riker asked.
     O'Brien stretched and yawned wearily.  "I don't know, Captain.  If it's
all the same, I think I may turn in.  It's getting rather late, and I'd like
to go home with some money left."
     "Suit yourself, I--" Riker began.  Before he could complete his thought,
the intercom interrupted him.
     "Captain Riker," Geordi called.  "We're receiving a priority one call
from Star Fleet."
     "Send it to my quarters, Geordi," Riker answered, motioning with his
hand for fellow poker players to stay.  "And view it yourself."
     "Aye, Captain.  LaForge out."
     The com panel in Riker's cabin lit up to reveal the familiar visage of
Admiral Picard.
     "Admiral," Riker said, "to what do we owe this unexpected courtesy?"
     "Hello, Will," Picard grinned.  "Are you taking good care of Enterprise?"
     "The best I can, Admiral.  But you know Geordi, and how careless he gets
down in engineering.  It's all we can do to keep him from destroying the ship
in his carelessness."
     "Indeed."
     Riker watched as his first officer's eyebrows furrowed in an attempt to
understand the exchange.  Data finally gave up and spoke.  "Captain, I cannot
remember any time when Geordi has ever 'nearly destroyed' the Enterprise.  Do
you a specific incident in mind?"
     "Never mind, Data," Riker sighed, and turned back to Picard.  "So,
Admiral.  I assume this is not a courtesy call?"
     "A wise assumption.  Will, we have a crisis on our hands.  Twelve hours
ago, Star Fleet detected an unusally high level of activity within Romulan
space.  Soon after that, we received a transmission from the Romulans asking
for assistance against an invader."
      Riker shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  The Romulans would not meekly
ask for assistance.  "What is it?"
      "They reported a number of incidents with cube-shaped vessels.  They
estimate the invaders to be roughly twenty in number, each the size of a small
moon.  Will, I don't need to say what Star Fleet suspects they are."  He
broke off, and then continued.  "Star Fleet is now in a state of general
red alert.  The Enterprise is ordered to proceed to Sigma Phi Chi immediately
for a rendezvous with a taskforce of other vessels which you will take charge
of.  A flag rank officer will be present for strategy planning."
      "Understood, Admiral.  Data, what would our ETA to Sigma Phi Chi be at
warp nine?"
      The android thought for only an instant.  "At warp nine, we would arrive
at Sigma Phi Chi in eight hours and fifteen minutes."
      "We'll be there in eight hours, fifteen minutes, Admiral."
      "Make it so.  And Will . . . good luck."  The com panel grew dark, and
the officers scattered.

       In the cold of space, the Enterprise slowly spun and disappeared.

=========================================================================

     With silent grace, the Enterprise dropped out of warp space and into
the Sigma Phi Chi system.  Situated along the Romulan Neutral Zone, the
system was the ideal location for a Federation outpost to monitor activity
within the Romulan Empire.  And house an outpost it did, until the outpost
mysteriously disappeared, along with twenty or so others.  Of course, that
was ages ago.
     "We are now entering the Sigma Phi Chi system, Captain," Data intoned.
     "Good."  Riker sat back in his chair.  "Mister Worf, status of the
taskforce?"
     Without looking, Riker saw his tactical officer check the readings on
his sensors, once, twice, and then three times.  The Klingon was notorious
for his devotion to thoroughness.  Worf's voice came down from behind the
captain, "In addition to the Enterprise, there are two other ships in this
sector.  The Pentheus, Excelsior Class starship; and the Actaeon, Enterprise
class."
     Riker grimaced.  "Looks like a lot of people are going to be late for
the party.  I just hope the guest of honor isn't early this time."
     Data turned in his chair.  "Captain, I do not understand your comparison.
If we should encounter the Borg in this system, the ensuing battle will not
resemble a festive occasion."
     "Depends who throws it," Worf responded and returned to his scanning.
     Riker smirked.  "Commander Worf, open a hailing frequency to the
Pentheus."
     "Hailing frequency open."
     "Captain Skibork, this is Captain William Riker of the Enterprise.
 How have things been going in the sector so far?"
     The viewscreen lit up to reveal a tall, lanky Vulcan with a thin face
and straight brown hair which parted along the center of his head.  He raised
his right hand in the Vulcan salute.  "Live long and prosper, Captain Riker.
It is good to see that you have arrived safely."
     "The Enterprise is a good ship, Captain," Riker answered, silently
kicking himself for forgetting that the Pentheus' captain was a Vulcan.
     "Indeed it is," Skibork responded.  "But it has a good crew, and an
excellent captain."
     "Thank you."
     "We have had no indications that either the Borg or the Romulans are
approaching this sect--"
     Worf's deep voice cut him off suddenly.  "Captain, Romulan Bird of Prey
decloaking to the starboard."
     "Raise shields, go to red alert," Riker called out.  Data's fingers
danced across his console with rapid ease.
      "They are opening fire," said Worf as the Enterprise rocked under a
sudden barrage of Romulan phaser fire.