No title
“Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway,” the urgent tone
reverberated around Kathryn’s quarters.
Eyelids fluttering, Janeway let a small groan escape her lips.
“What is it Seven?” she croaked huskily, reaching for the glass of water next to
her bed.
“I have been assimilating more data, Captain.” Seven said, obviously believing
this to be enough of an explanation.
“Good for you, Seven. Please explain why it was necessary for you to wake me at
0300 hours to divulge this information.” Janeway said sharply, feeling herself
rapidly losing patience with her protégé.
“I have been studying Earth history, and I believe I have made a significant
discovery.”
Janeway noted the slightly elevated excitement in the normally super cool Borg’s
voice. Drawing the glass of water to her lips, Janeway sipped at it.
“Alright Seven. You have my attention. What is so significant that it couldn’t
wait until morning?”
“The answer to all our problems, Captain. A remarkable human invention called
the television.”
Kathryn choked back the water she had just swallowed.
“The television? Seven!” she exclaimed, exasperated.
“Yes, Captain. I have downloaded 30 gigaquads of information and I now believe
I am in possession of a therapeutic practice that 21st century humans indulged
in.”
Janeway felt a smirk creasing the corners of her mouth.
“And what would that be, Seven?” she asked, amused and intrigued as to what
Seven might say.
“Jerry Springer, Captain,” Seven offered by way of an explanation. Kathryn’s
eyebrows creased her porcelain forehead.
“Jerry who? What? Seven, could you please try to explain yourself more fully.”
“Jerry Springer, Captain. I have downloaded and viewed all 756 episodes of this
most interesting human who helps people to vent their personal issues, it was
transmitted through a device called a television, I believe most humans had one
and they could partake in the viewing of this programme. It is a most
enlightening experience. Would you like me to come to your quarters now and
show you?” Again, the trace of excitement in Seven’s voice pricked goose bumps
along the back of Kathryn’s neck.
“No, Seven that will not be necessary.”
“But Captain...”
“Seven, I really think this can wait until morning.” Janeway reduced her voice
to a low growl. Silence filled the air and Kathryn waited.
“Seven?” she punctuated.
“I understand Captain,” Seven retorted petulantly. “Goodnight.” Without waiting
for Janeway to bid her the same, Seven cut off the transmission.
Laying her head back down onto the cool pillow, Kathryn silently raised her eyes
to the ceiling, before letting them fall gently closed.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Commander Chakotay was blissfully untroubled by anything as he entered the
turbolift that took him to the bridge. His head felt wonderfully light and
empty today; indeed, as it did most days. Occasionally something would gnaw at
his subconscious, a feeling that could be construed as worry or fear, but just
as soon as he felt it entering his head, it disappeared, and once again he was
left with nothing more tangible than the ridiculous tattoo on his forehead that
he had received as a result of a drunken prank by Tom Paris. Still, even then,
everyone had smiled at him and commented on how manly the tattoo made him look,
and he began to enjoy the almost tribal facial adornment. Every so often he
would hear someone sniggering and turn to see them pointing at him, but he
consoled himself with the idea that they were just jealous that he now looked
like an Indian warrior, and even lost himself in fantasies of animal guides and
naked forest rituals.
The morning after the prank, the Doctor had summoned him to sickbay. He had
been worried that the needle used to administer the tattoo may have
inadvertently punctured Chakotay’s skull, and indeed at first, it seemed this
may have been the case. Testing his IQ, the Doctor became very agitated when
the Commander consistently failed to score above 50, and eventually dismissed
him, concerned enough to request the Captain’s opinion. Janeway informed the
Doctor, with a reassuring pat on his holographic arm, that there was nothing to
worry about, and that Commander Chakotay’s current IQ score was equal to the one
previously administered as routine when he had first come aboard Voyager.
Whistling a tuneless ditty to himself, Chakotay stepped off the turbolift and
surveyed the Bridge. Yes, he thought, everything is as it should be. There are
stars on the big television, and people, tapping away at little… little… his
mind struggled to conjure up the correct word.
He turned to his right and carefully navigated the three steps that lead to the
Captain’s Ready Room.
Standing in front of the big metal doors, he scratched his head thoughtfully.
From inside he heard muttering, and eventually the doors whooshed open.
“Well don’t just stand there, come in, come in,” Captain Janeway commanded
fretfully, waving an arm about in his general direction.
Chakotay obeyed the order and stepped into the brightly lit room, blinking at
the sudden change of lighting.
‘How many times have I told you, Commander? You have to ring the bell if you
want to come in,’
‘Yes, Captain, sorry,’ he stuttered, confused by the sudden appearance of
Janeway in front of him, where only moments ago two large metal doors had been.
‘How can I help you Chakotay?’ exhaled Kathryn, in one long sigh as she mentally
added ‘Other than replicating brain cells,”
“I thought this was my… my… Ready Room!” he exclaimed, mightily pleased with
himself for retrieving the correct vocabulary.
“Noooooo,” Janeway cooed, “I am the Captain of this Starship, Chakotay, and you
are my First Officer. Now please rejoin the rest of the crew on the Bridge.”
“Oh. Yes. Where exactly…”
“The big, comfy chair, Commander, sit there until I come out and join you.”
“Aye, Sir!” he barked authoratively and turned to leave, catching a glimpse out
of the corner of his eye of someone else in the room.
“Captain!” he yelled fearfully spinning back to face her, “There is a life sized
Barbie sitting on your couch!!’
“Commander,” Janeway said in a sing-song voice, “That is Seven of Nine. She may
possess similar aesthetic qualities to the 21st Century children’s toy to which
you refer; however she also has superior strength and I would urge you to resume
your position on the bridge.”
Chakotay, wide eyed, stepped back and away from the statuesque blonde who was
now boring a hole into his head with her icy cold blue eyes, and once again
resumed his position facing the imposing metal doors. The swooshing sound
revealed the darker interior of the bridge to him, and he stepped out onto it,
the recent fear evaporating to be replaced with… nothing.
________________________________________________________________________________________
“He is an idiot.” Seven stated simply.
“I thought you were learning about compassion and humanity,” chuckled Janeway.
“I cannot be expected to feel empathetic towards someone so obviously
half-witted.” Seven said, turning her finely sculpted cheekbones towards the
Captain. “And to think,” she exclaimed angrily “That I will marry that redundant
man.”
Janeway’s eyebrows shot skywards as she moved around her desk, hands fumbling
for something solid to hold onto. Carefully placing one foot in front of the
other, she came to stop just in front Seven.
“What… did you just say?” she growled menacingly.
Seven retorted with a withering look of her own. “You are not aware of my
future, then Captain?”
“What are you talking about Seven?” urgency peppered the words as they spilt
from Kathryn’s mouth.
“My impending nuptials with Commander Chakotay. I have seen my future, Captain,
and it is not ‘rosy’. In less than two years time, I will marry that imbecile,
only to die in his arms mere moments later. I am most displeased with this
timeline. I wish to find a way to change it.”
“Seven, if you think so little of Chakotay, why on earth would you marry him?”
Janeway exclaimed, her mouth opening and closing like a doomed fish wriggling on
a hook.
“It is not my choice, Captain. I was experimenting with temporal mechanics, and
unwittingly witnessed my own downfall. I do not know exactly how I came to be
married to him, nor why I might die so soon afterwards,’ Janeway thought she
knew exactly why someone might die soon afterwards, least of all the idea of
copulation with this man would be enough give anyone a heart attack.. “But that
is what I saw,” Seven continued, breaking Janeway’s train of thought, “And I am
concerned there may not be a way to change this course of time.”
“Oh but there must be!” Kathryn implored. “Surely another lover, another
relationship could change this terrible prospect! I couldn’t bear it Seven, I
think I would die too if you married him!”
Seven looked up at Janeway quizzically. “You would be jealous of Commander
Chakotay and I getting married?” she said.
“Yes,” Janeway gulped a little air down and lowered her eyes.
“You wish to copulate with him yourself?” No amount of Borg refinement could
stop the look of disgust from spreading across Seven’s features.
“God, No!” Janeway jumped backwards as if a loose conduit had electrocuted her.
“That is not what I meant,” she emphasized, feeling her cheeks burning at the
direction this conversation was taking. “Look, never mind that, what can we do
to change that nightmarish alternative reality?”
“There is only one person who can help us.” Seven stated matter-of-factly.
“Yes, yes, good, who?” Sheer relief carried Kathryn’s voice.
“Jerry.” Said Seven.
“Jerry… Springer.” Janeway concluded, remembering the name from last night’s
fragmented conversation. “And how exactly do you propose he can help?”
“I will organize everything Captain, do not worry,” Seven said confidently.
Rising from the couch, she noted that Janeway was still contorted into a strange
animal like shape, her teeth still bared from the verbal assault Seven had
appeared to have inflicted upon her in the form of an accusation of desire for
Commander Chakotay. Seven wondered that if the Captain did not have romantic
feelings towards him, why she would be so upset by the suggestion of his
marrying Seven. A reason popped into her head but she dismissed it as pure
fantasy on her part and continued to stride proudly and purposefully towards the
doors, allowing herself a smirk for the little white lie she had told the
Captain in order to deceitfully gain permission to create a Jerry Springer
Holodeck programme.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
B’Elanna stretched her arms behind her head as she read the screen in front of
her. Since the crew was now able to retain almost constant contact with the
Alpha Quadrant she had been increasingly interested in the newest craze to find
out what had happened to old friends and colleague.
‘Klingons Reunited’ had provided her with a much needed source of distraction
and amusement, reading through profile upon profile of people she had once known,
sometimes liked, sometimes despised, all of their life paths laid out for her to
ingest. There had been one Klingon in particular, whom B’Elanna had ached to
read about, and now sat, yet again, reading the words on the screen in front of
her, willing them to change and read differently.
‘NugneH. 'IwIIj ghogh yIQoy. yIn DayajmeH 'oy' yISIQ’ She sighed and forced
herself to look away. Life could be so unfair. Here she was, stuck in the
Delta Quadrant, with all who knew her thinking she was having the time of her
life, and really, what did she have? Tom Paris? His childish pranks were
sometimes endearing to her, but mostly he drove her mad with his ridiculous
jokes and tricks. When would the man grow up? Not like ‘aGent’. He was a
strong warrior, whose arms around B’Elanna had made her feel protected and even
when she had fought him her weakness for his ridges had won her over. How she
wished she could be back there now, if only things had been different.
B’Elanna shook her head as if doing so would shake all desirous thoughts away.
She began searching again through the archived pages, this time from Earth,
cross referencing the crew database to see if any of them had also joined the
reunion site. The last person whose name she expected to see was Seven of Nine.
Actually, she didn’t see that particular name, not in the titled header, she saw
Annika Hansen.
Intrigued by what Seven might have written, she opened up the full explanatory
and began to read.
‘Annika Hansen age 5.5, last attended Rockafeller Infant School,’ she read.
‘I am now known by my designation, Seven of Nine. I do not remember being an
infant, nor attending this school but databanks tell me it is so. Since leaving
with my parents to explore the galaxy, we were all assimilated by the Borg.
Twenty years later, I was rescued by the Starship Voyager, where I now serve as
a member of the crew. My main interests are Astrophysics and Engineering.’
B’Elanna suppressed a snigger at the cold analytical nature of the writing, so
typical of Seven.
Only one other name remained, having been cross-referenced with the entire crew
database. It was Kathryn Janeway’s.
It listed an infant school, a secondary school, and her Starfleet Academy
training. B’Elanna was impressed with the list of achievements that her Captain
possessed and was genuinely interested to read what she had written.
‘Well, ho! This is mighty strange! Where do I start! Umm, ok, right now, I am
almost 20,000 light years away from Earth; I am the Captain of the Starship
Voyager, on a wild and crazy journey through the Delta Quadrant. Some of you
might remember my fiancé Mark? Well, that big bag of shit dumped me as soon as
he learned of my being stranded out here. If you’re reading this, Mark, I think
I’m a lesbian anyway.’
B’Elanna spluttered a cough and rubbed her ridges thoughtfully, continuing to
read.
‘My interests are Velocity, painting, sculpting, and Seven of Nine.’
‘Oooh,’ B’Elanna exhaled audibly. ‘Didn’t see that one coming.’
The door chimed and she quickly shut off the screen, not wanting to share her
little secret with anyone.
Tom quickly entered, looking very shifty, and ran over to the bathroom, unable
to contain his juvenile excitement. He thrust a finger up to his lips and mimed
the word ‘Shush,’ to B’Elanna. Seconds later the door chimed again. B’Elanna
threw her hands up and rolled her eyes. Once again the doors opened, and
Commander Chakotay ambled in, a large dark stain gathering at the crotch of his
trousers.
‘Where’s … Where’s…”
‘Tom?” B’Elanna finished for him.
‘Yes! Where is he?” He dropped his voice to a pathetic whine. “He made me put
my hand in warm water when I was napping on the bridge and I wet myself.”
He gestured to the stain now covering half his right leg.
‘Oh dear.” B’Elanna managed with more empathy than she felt. “Tom went to the
messhall. You’ll find him there.”
‘Thank you B’Elanna.” Chakotay enunciated, and left.
Tom came out of the bathroom clutching his mouth in one hand, stifling laughter,
and running his other hand through his hair.
‘Thanks B,” he grinned at her.
“Get out.” B’Elanna said.