Underspace unfolded before them. Gravimetric distortions twisted and spun their particulate dance. Mottled clouds of shimmering grey, patched with orange fire, boiled in a restless maelstrom. Through this unending funnel, the Jem’Hadar attack ship tumbled, Borg extrusions from its hull illuminated by chaotic discharges of polarised energy. The USS Ahwahnee followed close behind. The Starfleet ship moved with purpose, pitching and rolling through each fork and twist.  

The attack ship was impossibly nimble. Tiny spurts of flame could be seen shooting from the Jem’Hadar hull. It moved erratically, but each time the Ahwahnee changed course to match. The dogged pursuit continued. Buffeted by the stretching and shrinking of spacetime, the bridge crew held on.  

Once again, Sreyler Theb was in command of the ship she’d barely managed to repair. Her engineering uniform was frayed. A plasma burn had singed a black streak into the grey shoulder fabric, and her cuffs were stained with conduit grease. The attack ship ahead contained three of the crew- her crew, and her cold blue eyes narrowed as she made a pact with herself to get them back. As heavy as her duty weighed, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the ship’s pilot. Chunks of space rock and flotsam ripped past, narrowly mising the Ahwahnee as she pivoted and dived to avoid any more damage to her already fragile hull.   

The unfortunate task of flying had fallen upon Ensign Feynn. A Bolian from Werala Colony, he had been assigned to the Ahwahnee only at their most recent stopover at Deep Space 17. Having aced the Academy flying programme, he had now plunged head first into the deep end. He made lightning-fast course corrections with barely enough time to look up from the conn.  

“Ma’am.” He called out, a little shake in his voice. “The Borg have modified the attack ship’s maneuvering thrusters. I can barely keep up with these turns.”   

“Keep at it, Ensign. We’ve made it this far. Keep on it.” A lock of silver hair had come loose from her topknot. She pushed it aside, eyes fixed on the swerving ship ahead.  

Then there was some time to think. “Science, where in the ice are we? What is this place?” 

Lieutenant Steldon pored over the sensor readings. “I can’t make it out, Commander. Seems like some kind of wormhole, but if it was, we’d be through to the other side by now. The only thing that matches the readings I’m seeing is a Tureian Underspace corridor.” 

“Tureian?” Sreyler frowned. “I thought they were Delta Quadrant?” 

“They are.” Steldon explained. “But we could be in the Delta Quadran, Ma’am, for all we know. We don’t know where the Jem’Hadar took us.” 

“OK.” Sreyler said, more to herself than as a reply of any kind. “Delta Quadrant.” She took a deep breath. “Bridge to sickbay.” Somewhere inside her, a faint spark of hope glimmered. Perhaps the Captain was sat, resting, ready to resume command. All he needed to know was how dire the situation had become. He would be on his way any moment now. 

“Sickbay.” Dr. Lomal’s soft baritone boomed across the bridge. 

“Any updates on the Captain?” 

“He appears to be in a self-induced stasis, Commander.” Sreyler’s hope was instantly doused. Her heart sank deep into her chest. “The spatial anomaly we’re in is interacting with his neural pathways. His theta waves are off the charts. He might not be responding, but there’s a lot going on in his head right now.”  

“Understood, Doctor.” Sreyler said, masking her bitterness, “Thank you.” 

“Ma’am!” Feynn called out just as the channel closed. “I think the exit’s coming up.” 

Frelrak stood upon the plateau’s edge. The Argosian sun had just begun to dip below the horizon. Cirrus clouds filtered the orange light that poured down upon the rich canopy of the Saldavesk Forest. He looked down at the Yarlok pines growing alongside mighty Craawn banyans. He watched the tips of the Argosian boulderwoods swaying imperceptibly under the evening breeze’s gentle touch. The air was cold, carried down from the jagged grey peaks of Creydak Range, at the foot of which he stood. The atmosphere, heavily saturated with oxygen from the day’s photosynthetic surge, shone green above the clouds. As individual atoms twirled and collided, transitioning to a lower energy state from the recombination, it seemed as though the emerald blanket of leaves stretched far up into the sky; an ethereal haze that faded into the night.  

The faint hiss of wind in the branches picked up every now and then. Lynchen bugs whirred from the undergrowth, punctuated by the vociferous cries of the Krasterit howlers. Felrak absorbed the sounds of his home world for some time. As always, it had been too long. He stretched out his hands in front of him. The lichen and moss grew thick, up his forearms and over his body. Despite being covered by a brown cloak, he could feel his own photosynthesis granting him energy and a clarity of thought. The incessant itch of space was gone. 

“VORDENNA.” It boomed again. That voice. He knew it. Not just from back on the Ahwahnee– that’s where he was.  No, it was from a different time. A different world.  

“VORDENNA… OPEN YOUR EYES.” It was closer this time. Felrak whirled round and stumbled as the source became apparent. Not moments ago, he had been sure there was nothing behind him. Now he looked up, further and further still. The colossal entity appeared to extend as far as the eye could see. A vast trunk grew straight from the rock, towering above everything. Twenty Argosians could have stood in a circle around it and still not made up the circumference. Buttress roots spread themselves across the plateau, winding and burrowing their way through the surface with ease. Some rose taller than Felrak where they joined with accessory trunks that connected with branches in a vast, intricate network. Felrak watched the connections grow as if time had sped up, and it appeared to him as though this was not a single organism, but a whole forest unto itself. He found himself surrounded, fenced in by walls of roots, leaves and seed pods that dangled from thin green stalks.  

The feeling washed over Felrak, enveloping him like a warm blanket after nightfall on the plains. All was well. He was at one with the entity before him. He moved towards it, as if pushed by an invisible force. He felt a tugging around his torso and two long, creeping tendrils hooked themselves around him. Arrowed and glossy, the dark green leaves reminded Felrak of Kashlyn Ivy. The strength of the vines was like nothing he had seen, however. Supporting his entire weight, they lifted him higher and higher. The colossal trunk divided, forking and winding into the spokes on which the great fabric of leaves grew. Fluttering and swaying surrounded him. He felt cocooned within a calming embrace.  

Then he was perched upon a bough. The wood beneath him was so thick that he could stand quite comfortably. He had no fear of falling from that dizzying height, enthralled as he was by the reassuring presence of the tree. What was it? It felt so familiar. He could almost remember. 

A silvery glow shone from a knot in the wood. He moved towards it, compelled by a sense of familiarity. He raised his hand. A sudden gust of wind whistled through the lattice branches. “I… remember…” He spoke quietly, inches away from it. “The Zenith.”  

“YES.” 

“B’Gyr’Tyn…” The memories came flooding back. “But how have you traveled? How can you speak?” 

“NOW.” The Zenith pulsed slowly, glowing brighter, drawing him to it. “FRIEND.” Felrak was overwhelmed with a soothing positivity. Immediately, he raised his hand, placing it against the silver aura.    

It all filled his mind at once. The rogue planet pierced his body with rays of crimson light. The Dominion fleet and the Battle of Farpoint, juggernauts thundering against each other in the blackest reaches of space. The Borg and their shadowy passages, spreading out from the hives undetected like a malignant cancer. He saw it all; The Ahwahnee, hurtling through Underspace. The attack ship flung from an aperture into a waiting Borg cube. 

The Ahwahnee. An icicle of fear cut into him. The ship faced the biomechanical obselisk; a speck of insignificance against an all-consuming tidal force. Just then, like a new constellation, Felrak saw a glittering above. The drops of morning gossamer dew, infinitesimally small, spread and smattered across the vast nothing. Invisible threads from a different realm held them together, hanging poised in an ethereal continuum above them all.  

Tursk turned to Delfino. “You good?” 

“Good as I can be.” Delfino groaned, massaging her bruised shoulder as she leant against the bulkhead. She eyed the opposite side of the maintenance bay. They had deliberately moved as far away from the Borg alcoves as possible, but she still shivered at the sight of them.  

“Not heard any movement for a while.” Tursk had spent the last half hour with his ear pressed against the welded door.   

“Feels like they just don’t care.” Delfino surmised. “More important stuff to deal with, I guess.” 

“Turbulence has stopped.” Tursk noted. 

“Ugh, yeah… I don’t want to know where we are.” Delfino unconsciously reached out, running a hand along the phaser rifle that lay on the deck beside her. The whole bay shook. “What was that?” 

“Felt like a tractor beam.” Tursk replied. He cast his eyes up and around, as if searching for a way out. 

Delfino sighed. “Commander. If they get in here, and we can’t hold them off…” She looked towards the rifle. 

Tursk grunted. “We’ll get out of here, Lieutenant. How’s Lup?”  

Lup was curled up on his side, shivering. “N-not great.” He stammered. 

Tursk crouched over him, tricorder open. “His heart rate’s high.” He gently nudged Lup’s shoulder. “Lup, try and sit up.” 

Lupulo did as asked, using his hands to heave himself up against the bulkhead. Tursk stepped back, aghast. Delfino pushed herself away with a yelp. Lupulo’s veins congealed in a dark mass around his jugular. Tiny metallic claws sprouted from its centre, gripping his skin.