Fight or Flight

Captain Dorlan Hallar stared emotionlessly at the forward screen.

Emotionless, he thought. Just like the black horde that now swept towards the Core Worlds of the Federation. A cancerous tide of death that would extinguish the bright spark of life, not just here, but across the Galaxy.

And there was no if or but about that, because Hallar knew that once the Borg had finished here, they would be strengthened both in number and determination; strengthened in their resolve to wipe out any remnant of the Federation that might have temporarily escaped their clutches.

Yet still they fled; convoys consisting of any ship that was spaceworthy carrying refugees, the last remaining hopes of the Federation, to the furthest reaches of the galaxy - perhaps beyond.

And Hallar also knew in his heart, that should the coreworlds fall, that simply wouldn't be far enough.

"Helm," he said quietly. "Set course for the RP, maximum warp on my mark."

The helm officer nodded once and bent to his task as Hallar recalled a phrase that had been oft spoken over the past week...

And may God have mercy on us all.