by Robert Morganbesser

Authors Disclaimer: This is a work of Fan-fiction and should be read tongue in cheek. If anyone's favorite series takes a pounding, please remember that this is all done in fun and not to be taken seriously. Please direct any comments; negative or positive to:

Have fun!

Chapter One

Once she had been a grand ship, the first line of defense in a long war. The war had finally ended, thanks to treachery and deceit, leaving her the last survivor of her people's fleet. The ship had led the remnants of its people off to find a new world, a world where they could find the peace they craved.

They had fled their ancient and now victorious enemy, absorbing the losses of a long chase. Finally they left the space they new, entered uncharted areas of the galaxy. Finally free of their implacable enemy, they discovered that the long flight had left them unprepared for the anomaly that waited for them. This tear in space tore them from the reality they had known and thrust them into a much more dangerous one. Fully one third of the fleet, made of cobbled together barely functioning vessels did not survive the journey. A new enemy, one that made their old pathetic by comparison set upon the rest.

Where their old enemy could be dealt with, this new one was overwhelming them, absorbing them, leaving them a little weaker with every encounter. One by one, the fleet was absorbed until this battleship, one the leader of the fleet, was the last vessel remaining.

But not for long.

Once the captain had been a handsome man, his face framed by dark hair that now had streaks of grey in it. His shining eyes were now dulled by the endless combat and loss of life. Even now he stood in the small ships chapel, praying over the corpse of his father, killed in the last attack. He tried not to think of his sister, taken by the enemy, likely already absorbed to service them.

"Father," he whispered. "What can I do? We're all that's left…"


Rising wearily, the man known as Apollo, captain of the last Battlestar, Galactica headed for the bridge.

Starbuck rose from the center console. "Same old song, Apollo. Different singer this time."

Apollo froze at the image on the viewer. The cybernetic creature it displayed still had enough humanity left for him to recognize it.

Athena, his sister.

The pitiless voice that she spoke in still held the familiar tones of the voice he remembered so well. Starbuck had turned away, refusing to look at this caricature of the woman who had once loved him.

Athena, like most of those taken from the fleet and the ship, had been absorbed, assimilated they called it, turned into a new lifeform, the Borg.

"Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated."

Apollo felt his heart rate increase. They had escaped the Cylon's just to face this? "NO! NO," he shouted. "We'll never be assimilated!"

Turning his back on the viewer, he pressed a black plate in the bulkhead, a plate that had never been touched before.

Starbucks mouth dropped open, then he said, "Apollo? You can't do this!"

Apollo snarled at his one-time friend. "Why? Do you want to become one of those?" Apollo shoved the younger man away. "It's over. I'm not being assimilated. You can do what you want."

But the argument became moot as the ship shook from the impact of a Borg weapon. A bank of consoles erupted, shards of metal and glass tearing into Starbuck and throwing his shattered body across the bridge. Apollo could feel the pain as the shrapnel tore into him. Eyes tearing, he pulled down the control inside the open panel. Collapsing to the deck, he smiled. He wouldn't be assimilated.

Deep within the ship, control rods slid out of the engines power plant. Overworked and under repaired, the engines quickly went critical. Apollo's sight was fading as Borg drones began appearing on the ship. Then there was a bright light, the explosion of escaping energy rippling through the ship, annihilating it and it's remaining crew.

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