Clean Again
“I want you to be with me.”
Janeway stopped walking. “Be with you? I don’t understand.”
“I, um…” Seven ducked her head quickly, and kissed Janeway.
“Seven! What is this?” Janeway grabbed her shoulders, holding her at arms length,
a wave of shock and something akin to repulsion rolling through her. They’d been
walking, at Seven’s request, in the Admiral’s cornfields. The former drone had
wanted to speak to her.
“We can be lovers, Kathryn.”
Janeway’s eyes widened and her instinctive reaction was “No.” She waited for
Seven’s reaction but saw only stoic confusion. "You just don't get it do you?"
Janeway paced.
“Captain, I do not believe there is anything to ‘get’.” Seven’s long blonde hair
looked dull under the clouds, and her perfect, twenty-something complexion was
sallow in the weak light.
“Seven!” The Admiral was exasperated, her eyes flashing in anger. “What you’re
asking is impossible. Do you understand? I… I just… can’t.”
“Can’t what? Can’t feel? Can’t be-” Seven pulled out her biggest gun. “-Human?’
That caught the older woman off guard. All the times she’d used that against the
drone, she’d never expected her to throw it back at her, and never, ever in such
circumstances.
“I am human, Seven.” Janeway spat. “And I do feel. I have felt more than you
could in a lifetime.”
“Do you think I’m incapable of feeling, Admiral? You think I don’t remember
every lifetime, every moment, of those I heard in the Collective?”
“You’ve never experienced, never lived.”
“And you have?”
Janeway felt that question like a kick in the stomach. Had she lived? Or had she
missed out, passed up on life? Had she achieved anything in her forty-eight
years?
“Kathryn…” Seven stepped close, placing her hand on the other woman’s arm.
Janeway shrugged it off quickly. “Don’t… don’t call me that.”
Seven moved back as though stung. “I want you to understand,” she began, almost
in a whisper, “that I’ve never meant to hurt you. I need you to understand how I
feel. That I do feel.” She took a deep breath, staring out at the corn. “I need
you to know that I love you.”
“You can’t be serious. You can’t possibly love me, not like that.”
“I meant every word.”
Janeway sighed. “We can’t, Seven.”
“Tell me why not.”
“I don’t love you-”
“-I can change that”
“No, Seven, listen to me. I don’t love you. I love someone else.”
Seven closed her eyes, a futile effort to keep the tears from falling. She
hadn’t wanted to believe it, though she had known it, known it for years. “Chakotay.”
She said his name flatly, without emotion, as though keeping the rage in would
rob it of its power. “He’s given up. He wants me.” It didn’t occur to her that
perhaps Janeway knew she was lying- it was irrevlevant.
A tear slid down the Admiral’s cheek. “You’re wrong.” There was no animosity in
the statement, just truth.
The rage broke through. “No! You’re wrong!” She moved quickly, overpowering
Janeway and knocking her to the ground. Seven straddled the Admiral and pinned
her wrists above her head. “You and I, we can have everything. We can be our own
Collective.”
Fear had taken hold of Janeway now. She knew that Seven would assimilate her,
and that was something she couldn’t bear again. “Seven, don’t do this.”
“I will have you. He can’t have you. He was mine- you’re mine.” She shifted so
she held both Janeway’s hands in one of her own, her Borg strength making any
movement difficult for Janeway. Seven’s enhanced hand with its metal web came
towards her neck. Janeway could see the tubules beginning to emerge. Fat
raindrops hit her face, mixing with the Borg’s tears and her own.
And then the adrenaline kicked in. The Admiral twisted suddenly under Seven,
surprising her and throwing her off. They struggled, Seven’s strength having a
clear advantage, until Janeway ripped her optical implant away.
The pain was too much, and Seven collapsed, the human part of her screaming in
agony while the nanoprobes coolly went about repairing the damage. She pulled
her hands away from her face, amazed at the amount of blood, and the slick
redness of it. She looked up at Janeway then, her human eye cold and hard, and
fixed her with a look that froze her heart. “I will have you.”
Janeway ran. She knew there was no one else for miles, and there was no hope of
sending any call for help- Seven was too fast. She ran, the air burning her
lungs and the uneven ground punishing her shins and ankles. She ran into the
house, dashing into the kitchen. She hadn’t brought any weapons home with her,
she’d been sure she wouldn’t need them, not here. Not anymore.
Kitchen knives.
She rummaged through her drawers haphazardly, various utensils clattering to the
floor. Her hand closed around the largest knife; a long, very sharp carving
blade; and she didn’t stop to think about where she was going now. She heard the
porch door slam behind her, and knew that she’d lost the few precious seconds
she’d managed to find while running. She turned, didn’t see Seven, and moved
quietly, slowly, out to the garden, grabbing the spare communicator from beside
the door. She held the knife so tightly her palm hurt. There was only a few
metres between her and the garden wall, and out past that stood fields of corn.
Janeway’s father had insisted on keeping the crops going, and her mother had
held to that religiously. The golden-toppeds stalks stretched for miles, and
were tall enough that she would be hidden by simply crouching slightly. She
hadn’t noticed the deep laceration on her upper arm, the adrenaline having
dulled the pain. Her hand was sticky, her own blood and sweaty palms leaving
smears on the smooth handle of the knife, and there were drops hitting the
paving as the rain slid down her sleeve. She backed into the corn, glancing
behind herself every few steps, but kept her attention glued to the kitchen door.
She felt the press of the plants against her back, and moved to the gap between
the rows. She kept backing, moving the knife in her hand as she did so, her
Starfleet Academy training reminding her about basic weapons. How she
desperately wished for a phaser at this moment. It occurred to her then, while
she was considering that, that Seven still had her ability to adapt, and that a
phaser set to stun would have down Janeway no good, as one shot would render it
useless. She would only be able to use a phaser that was set to kill. Wasn’t a
knife set to kill?
Seven hadn’t yet appeared, and that nagged at Janeway. There was no way for the
former drone to circle Janeway, she knew that. She would have to move faster
than even she could. Any moment now she would lose sight of the doorway, and
then the garden if she kept backing into the field. But she had no choice- here
she was still too exposed, and when she tried to contact Chakotay with the
communicator, there was an uncomfortably large chance that Seven would hear her.
Her view of where Seven of Nine would emerge disappeared, and Janeway turned her
back to the house. She kept walking, moving swiftly and as silently as she could
though the stalks. When she was sufficiently far in, she crouched and flicked
the communicator to on. It was an older model, one sold to civilians recently,
but which Starfleet had been using almost a hundred years ago. She was surprised
the house, though old itself, still had it. The device was far out of date, and
Gretchen Janeway would’ve had access to the latest technology if she’d ever
required it.
Nothing happened. There was no return signal. She realised with a start that
Seven must have planned this. There had been no lights on in the house, Janeway
recalled, now that she had a moment to think about it. Seven must have cut the
power and installed a dampening field to block any cries for help. Borg
contingency planning and ruthless efficiency. She must have known, or at least
strongly suspected what the Admiral’s reaction to her proposition would be. A
wave of fear hit her like a solid punch in the gut, and the panic almost took
hold. She’d been in far worse situations than this, hadn’t she? She could get of
here, right?
She took deep breaths and willed herself to calm and her heart to stop hammering.
She was going to get out of this. First thing was to get to the shuttle.
Chakotay’s Alpha Flyer was kept in a hanger that Edward had constructed almost
thirty years ago when he was designing and testing shuttles. She knew that there
was every possibility that Seven was waiting for her to emerge from the crop,
just waiting to pounce. She shuddered to think what might happen then, and
wondered briefly what had happened to Seven to cause this. There was no simple
explanation, that much was obvious, but Janeway had always believed in her
protégé. There were times when she didn’t like her much, but she had always had
faith in the younger woman and her abilities.
She kept breathing deeply and prepared herself for the dash for the hanger. She
would have to run past the house and the garden and that would bring her in the
perfect postion for an attack from that direction. But she didn’t have a choice.
She stood slowly, keeping her head low, and took a step-
“Oh Kathryn…” Seven’s voice was sweet and cajoling. She spoke the Admiral’s name
in a sing song tone, and Janeway could hear her murmur, “I’m going to find you.
I know you’re in here.”
Janeway sucked in a sharp breath. How had she found her? She still held the
carving knife tightly, but something was wrong. She looked down, and noticed the
blood. Now when had that happened? There were drops, quite obvious ones, leading
right up to where she’d been crouching for the last ten minutes. Now there was
no where to go but into the field, and there was no point in being quiet, either.
Seven was too close.
Janeway turned, and ran. She ran down on row for a few metres, then swung a hard
right into the next. She heard Seven’s whoop of triumph and her pursuit. It
occurred to her that removing the failsafe device had been a mistake. Seven
could never handle real, unguarded emotion, and the result of that mistake was
crashing along in the stalks somewhere behind her.
There wasn’t going to be enough time for Janeway. Seven was gaining all too
fast, her younger, fitter body outstripping the Admiral easily. She was right
behind her now. Janeway again felt the air scorching her lungs as she ran, and
sent a tiny prayer to anyone out there that she might just remain out of the
Borg’s reach.
Then Janeway felt strong, lean arms encircle her shoulders as Seven tackled her,
bringing them both crashing to the ground. The rain chose that moment to
increase in intensity, and lightning spilt the sky above them. It was like
something out of a bad holonovel. They rolled, the mud caking both of them and
tangling their hair. Seven’s had come loose, and hung flatly around her face.
The blonde strands were wet and dirty, and it added to the feral look in her eye,
making her look wild and frightening.
Seven again over powered Janeway, knocking the knife from her hand and holding
her down. She kept the Admiral’s hands secured in one of her own and brought her
enhanced Borg fingers to rest on janeway’s neck. “I’ll hear your thoughts,
Kathryn. Every moment, every wish and every desire. Everything you are will be
mine.” The tubules snaked out, and Janeway’s eyes widened in fear. So close.
Seven was grinning manically, and Kathryn realised that if she had a chance,
this was it.
She used the same twist as before, throwing Seven off, and grabbed for the knife.
She spun back as Seven lunged for her, and the felt the blade sink wetly into
the other woman’s ribs. Seven gasped, the pupil of her good eye dilating as the
shock slammed through her.
Janeway pulled the knife out, and pressing her advantage, stuck again. She knew
that Seven’s gasping meant that one of her lungs was collapsing, and that it
would only take a few minutes without oxygen for her to lose consciousness, even
with Seven’s superior physicality. Seven’s body was pressed against Janeway’s
and blood was seeping out of the wound thickly. It was sticky as slick over
Janeway’s hand. Seven sunk to her knees, sliding against Kathryn as she fell.
The nanoprobes couldn’t keep up with the damage. She stared at her former
Captain, mentor, the closest person she could ever remember, and the pain
Kathryn saw in her expression stung her. She’d never wanted this. She’d never
imagined it would come to this.
Janeway let go of the knife and stepped back in horror. Seven fell back and a
hand reached up to remove the knife. She pulled it out, her mouth open in a
silent cry of pain, and gazed at it, lying there in her palm. The blood was wet
and still warm, and coated her fingers. She looked up at Janeway again, and then
breathed out slowly, tiny specks frothy blood staining the edges of her perfect
lips. Janeway knew then that she was dead.
She sunk to her knees too, and then onto her arms, finally allowing the last
half hour to register and the numbness of shock to register. Her arm was hurting
like hell, but she wasn’t concerned. Her heart was breaking, and she couldn’t
tare her eyes from the body before her. She couldn’t breath, couldn’t think, as
the pain, the sorrow, the dismay ripped through her. The storm was still over
her, the clouds making the day dark, and the lightning giving brief flashes of
too-bright illumination. She stood.
The rain was falling on the cornfields of Indiana. Janeway’s hands were slick
with the blood of her former protégé and the thick, muddy earth was brown and
cold. The rain kept falling, and to Janeway, so was she. She’d never loved Seven
of Nine, that pretty, metal, Borg doll. She had innocence and youth, but was
hardened by the memories, the pain of billions. She’d never lived, but she’d
experienced, with the nanoprobes, the lives of those billions. Janeway stared at
her feet, at that pretty, broken doll, and for a fleeting moment, the silence of
peace surrounded her. It was over. All over. The red was under her nails, and
absently she wondered if she’d need soap to get it out, or if all it would need
was the rain. The detachment seeped into her skin.