Seven of Nine gasped, her breath coming in dry rasps as she struggled to breathe normally. Her eyes were closed, but she didn’t need sight to know what her lover was doing. Small warm hands slowly caressed her inner thighs with fingers moist with her own juices. A hot mouth encircled her left breast, teeth gently nibbling on a hard nipple. A weak groan escaped Seven, and an answering chuckle welled up from her lover’s throat.
“Had enough, darling?” Kathryn Janeway’s husky whisper sent erotic chills through the blonde, who merely hugged the other woman closer.
Seven licked her dry lips, took another breath and smiled faintly. She opened her eyes and gazed down at the auburn-haired woman, replying seriously, “I do not believe I shall ever tire of this.”
Janeway laughed again, pulling herself further up the bed, kissing Seven fully on the lips for one long, tingling moment. Then she shifted, lying on her back, her right hand lazily stroking the other woman’s upper left thigh. “I believe I could use a cold drink, after all this,” she announced dreamily, her eyes closed as she replayed the last moments of Seven’s orgasm, how intimate muscles had contracted so deliciously around her fingers, how the cool blonde had been reduced to the most erotic series of moans and groans and gasps that Janeway had ever had the pleasure to induce.
Her eyes flew open as the bed suddenly shifted, Seven rising quickly and striding out of the bedroom. “What would you like for liquid refreshment, Kathryn?” The query was tossed behind her, as the blonde woman made her way, uncaringly nude, to the small replicator in the other room.
Janeway allowed a wry smile, reminding herself of Seven’s efficient attitude towards pleasing her lover, before rising to don a small silver robe. “Just a glass of ice water, Seven. Thank you.” On her way out of the bedroom, she picked up Seven’s crumpled biosuit, straightening it as she walked over to the couch.
She exchanged the biosuit for the ice water, watching as Seven, who seemed to eye the suit rather dolefully, dressed quickly. Janeway reached out a gentle hand, stopping Seven as the blonde began to put up her hair. “Please, darling, just let it hang loose for a while longer,” Janeway requested softly.
Seven lowered herself onto the couch, settling next to Janeway so that their thighs touched warmly. She placed an arm around the captain’s shoulders and gently kissed her throat. Then she pulled back and patiently watched as Janeway took impressive gulps from the glass.
After a few seconds, Seven quietly spoke. “I wish to address the discussion we had begun….before you so pleasantly distracted us.” A small smile graced her lips as she looked earnestly at the captain.
Janeway took a final sip from the glass and then placed it carefully on an end table. She shifted her position, crossing her legs. Her face was pensive, obviously considering several answers before she finally turned to look upon Seven. “Darling, I don’t know how you can possibly understand the complexities of this situation.”
She paused to link Seven’s hands with her own. “For years, I’ve always held myself apart from the crew, maintaining a personal distance that can be vital for the successful functioning of a Starfleet captain. Our situation, our relationship, is something that caught me off-guard, no matter how much I’ve wanted it and how much I’ve dreamt of it. It’s a huge personal adjustment, for one thing. And then having to interact with you in front of crewmembers, that’s just really hard for me, right now.”
Seven squeezed the captain’s hands gently. “Perhaps interactions in front of the crew would not be so problematic if our relationship was acknowledged and known publicly. It appears to me that part of your difficulty is maintaining the secrecy. If you did not need to preserve an illusion, would it not be less stressful?”
The older woman shook her head forcefully, her face tightening. “No. Right now I need to deal with the changes myself…and with you.”
“That is not an entirely accurate assessment of the situation, Kathryn. Your interactions with me in front of the crew have changed. In effect, the crew already is involved. In their presence, you are now less prone to speak with me. During meetings, you now fail to ask routine questions that, previously, you had not neglected. You seem to believe secrecy also implies isolation. But that is not the reality of the situation.”
Seven’s observations were delivered in a neutral analytical tone, without a hint of reproach, Janeway knew. Still, they stung. And the situation was far more complicated than she would admit to Seven.
Janeway’s deep-seated guilt for trapping Voyager in the Delta Quadrant was deeply intertwined with her feelings of self-esteem as a starship captain. In the first year of their isolation, she had frequently wondered, in her most private moments, if the crew still respected their errant captain, or if lingering resentments over their predicament would negatively affect her ability to command loyalty, respect, and admiration. She had striven especially hard to connect personally with her crew, taking time to interact with all levels, from junior to senior level officers, from ensigns to the most wary ex-Maquis members.
While these interactions did not encourage friendships in the usual sense of the word – her position as captain still did not allow for that type of easy familiarity – she had managed to foster a devotion that extended beyond professional, that made Voyager feel like a tightly knit, extended clan. She had gloried in this success, in the deep respect that she now certainly received from her crewmembers. And she dreaded how this could change if her new relationship with Seven was revealed.
She glanced at Seven, perhaps more sharply than intended, and responded, perhaps more harshly than planned. “The crew is just not yet ready to know that their captain is involved with…one of them.” She stumbled slightly on those last words, but pushed quickly ahead, hoping Seven had not noticed. “Trust me when I say that. And I am not yet ready to submit myself to their judgment.”
Janeway froze, mortified by those last words. She sneaked a glance at Seven, who began to look rather confused.
The young woman frowned slightly. “Judgment? You are the captain. Is it their prerogative to judge you?”
“Yes, Seven. A good captain functions by fostering and maintaining the loyalty of her crew,” Janeway answered, desperately slipping into a more detached, lecturing mode. She didn’t want to lose control of this particular conversation. “You need to trust my judgment in this.” She patted Seven’s hand reassuringly, hoping the young Borg would thereby drop the topic. “It simply is not easy to be captain and also be involved in a romantic relationship like the one we share.”
Seven, however, was still frowning. “Yet, your behavior must change. It is –“
The captain interrupted. “Seven,” she said coolly, “these are matters of protocol and hierarchy, two concepts that admittedly are, and have been, difficult for you to master. That is why you must trust my judgment in this. You must have more patience.”
“I believe I have been quite patient. Yet the situation is hurting me, Kathryn. You appear to be one person in private, and an altogether different one in public. This is –“
Janeway cut her off, frowning in irritation. “Seven, this matter is closed.” She moved off the couch, grabbing the empty glass, and headed swiftly to the replicator.
Seven froze. Her eidetic memory easily recalled that Janeway had used this same exact phrase to dismiss the original discussion about ‘emotions.’ She flushed slightly with anger, remembering how the captain had brushed her off for days over the matter.
“Is that a command, Captain?”
Janeway, who didn’t realize her rhetorical error, turned in surprise, bristling at the suddenly sarcastic tone in her lover’s voice and the unexpected use of her title. When did Seven learn dry sarcasm, she wondered, not knowing that she herself was the wellspring of inspiration for this particular feat?
“Perhaps you should go regenerate, Seven, and we’ll discuss this later,” said Janeway in a low voice. She turned back to the replicator, recycling the glass, and ordering herself a soda-and-whiskey.
The blonde woman watched the captain’s back for several long moments, her pale blue eyes angry and hurt. Then she stood up, slowly and deliberately, upset that Janeway still refused to face her. “I will comply,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion and inflection. Without a backwards glance, she strode out of the captain’s quarters.
For several long minutes, the silence in the captain’s quarters was broken only by the soft tinkle of ice on glass, as the captain sipped her drink in misery. Then, she returned to the couch, settling down and staring out the large windows opposite.
Janeway rubbed the side of her face. Her lover was right. Her recent behavior had been hurtful, even thoughtless. What was wrong with her? Ignoring Seven, as well as attempting to minimize public contact with the astrometrics officer, was no solution at all, she knew. It was only hurting the situation, hurting Seven. That thought sliced through her soul, unleashing yet another barrage of self-recriminations.
She really hadn’t meant to be hurtful. It was simply that, for the first time in her life, she had no clue how to manage her love life. And she felt too vulnerable, too reluctant to expose her feelings, to seek out one of her few friends on the ship, such as Tuvok or Chakotay, for advice.
It had been easy with previous lovers, she thought wistfully. There had been no awkward questions, no potential embarrassments. Oh god, she groaned guiltily, is that how I think of Seven now? As an embarrassment?
Her lover was a Borg, she told herself, once part of a hated Collective that destroyed worlds mercilessly and took over lives remorselessly. The Borg Collective stood for everything that Janeway hated – it represented a soulless obsession with a concept of perfection devoid of emotion, feeling, beauty, and passion. The very idea of this so-called perfection chilled the captain, and she reflexively gathered her robe closer across her chest.
Unbidden, her mind conjured an image of Seven as Voyager first encountered her – pale white skin, metal implants, black garb. A drone of unnerving coolness and maddening arrogance, so frighteningly efficient at her Borg duties that she had risen from the obscurity of billions to the vaunted position of Tertiary Adjutant to Unimatrix Zero One.
Apart from rather obvious physical changes, Janeway knew, many in Voyager’s complement still saw that drone in Seven. But the captain knew better, having seen the humanity blossoming in the blonde ex-Borg, through discussions and emotional struggles, not to mention Seven’s obvious care for Naomi Wildman. And now the sexual desire and gentle love she shared with the captain herself.
Yet, these two portraits of the young Borg woman
disturbed Janeway in a way still difficult for her to articulate. On the one hand, Seven’s efficiency and
technical brilliance contributed immeasurably to Voyager’s survival. On the other hand, the captain could not
shake the thought that these same qualities, driven by a will that was strong
and unwavering, also had contributed to the horrific demise of an untold number
of species.
She shook herself, hoping to loosen such thoughts from her mind. Seven’s past was truly that, she told herself sternly. The past. Nothing more.
Not feeling consoled, she emptied her glass with a single swill, and sought the comfort of her bed, sinking into dreams of darkness and light.
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“Maybe we can reroute the conduits to extend the range on the shuttle’s tractor beam. That way, the additional power boost from Voyager should be enough for us to isolate the asteroids into position for short phaser bursts to break them up into pieces small enough for quick mining,” explained Ensign Harry Kim, his gaze flicking back and forth between Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay. Tom Paris sat quietly in the background, absorbing the discussion.
The four had been meeting for the past hour, trying to figure out a way to capture the targeted meteorites without risking Voyager in the asteroid belt. Kim wanted to build a power relay to the Delta Flyer, magnifying its tractor-beam capability and then allowing an away team to perform space-mining duties in relative safety from the belt’s volatile field.
Chakotay nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds good, Harry. But will the power relay hold long enough for the job to get done? More importantly, what are the chances that the power surge could overwhelm the Flyer’s circuitry? We can’t take too many chances here.”
Kim frowned slightly, trying to assess the theoretical tolerance levels of the Flyer’s energy conduits. He glanced briefly at his padd before speaking. “As long as we can anticipate any objects that might cross the transmission field and compensate for it, I don’t see a problem. And the circuitry should hold. If Voyager can hold it steady, the Flyer can handle it.”
Paris piped in. “Just in case, I’ve figured out how to bolster the Flyer’s tolerance by at least five percent. I’ll need two hours to do it. I can get on it right after this meeting.”
Janeway nodded slowly. “Good job, Ensigns. Tom, get started. Chakotay, assemble two away teams; they’ll simply alternate onto the Flyer. I want those asteroids mined continuously, so we don’t waste time. And I want this operation to begin in five hours.”
The door slid open suddenly, and they all turned their heads as Seven of Nine strode into the room. The cool ex-Borg greeted them with a swift nod of her head, eyes flickering briefly as she noticed an almost imperceptible tightening in Janeway’s face.
Seven turned directly to Janeway, speaking in a tone without inflection. “Captain. Projections for asteroid activity over the next 24-hour period have been completed. We anticipate a 3.3 percent margin of error. Here are the readouts.” She placed a padd on the table, stepped back and linked her hands behind her, waiting for the captain’s response.
Janeway nodded crisply. “Thank you, Seven.” She glanced at the three men. “Thank you. Dismissed.” She turned back to the Borg. “Seven, I would like to discuss these projections with you. Please stay.”
As the others filed out of the room, Seven strode to a chair and sat down, folding her hands on her lap, waiting expectantly yet not looking at Janeway. Instead, she stared down at the table. The door slid shut, leaving the two women alone.
Janeway studied the bent golden head, feeling an ache in her chest. She took a seat directly across from Seven, placing the padd before her. She lifted her eyes to gaze at Seven. “Hey,” she said softly, “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean for us to fight.”
In an even tone, again without inflection, Seven responded, “I do not believe I ask too much. Your public behavior towards me is becoming unacceptable. You know that. Yet, you would seek excuses for it, rather than attempt to rectify the situation.”
“Seven, I am trying the best I can. You simply can’t expect a change overnight!”
“It is not overnight. It has been more than one week. How much time do you require?”
Janeway slumped back in the chair, feeling her frustration rise and anxiety spread in her stomach. Why did this have to be so hard? Why couldn’t their feelings remain just between them? She spread her hands on the table, steadying herself. Her tone was entreating, almost pleading. “You said you would wait. I need more time. As for my public behavior, I really am trying. It’s just hard to look at you, or interact with you, in the same way as before. I feel so much more for you now, darling.” Her voice turned more sultry, huskier and deeper. She knew its effect on her lover. “Sometimes it scares me how much I care for you.”
Seven swallowed, a familiar joy lifting her spirits, drinking in the husky voice, an erotic timbre she knew was reserved for her ears alone. She met Janeway’s eyes, saying gently, “I have told you that you need not be afraid.”
Janeway smiled at the memory, relieved at the sudden change in tone between them. “Please, darling. A little more patience?”
Seven’s eyes softened. “Very well. But only because you are human. And because I love you.”
Janeway chuckled at the humor glinting in her lover’s eyes, then said softly, “Dismissed.”
As Seven nodded and left, Janeway held her breath, then expelled it in a long sigh of relief after the door closed once more.
She settled back into the chair, closing her eyes. Kathryn Janeway remembered vividly every moment she had spent with Seven in her private quarters over the past nine days. Unspeakably beautiful moments, full of the most overpowering desire and joy she had ever felt in her life, long moments spent surrendering to a passion she had not imagined could exist between two people, much less herself and an ex-drone.
Yet, she conveniently avoided recollections of how her hands deftly avoided contact with Seven’s abdominal bands, how they skittered over the various implants, always managing to land softly on human skin in their erotic journeys. Nor did she dwell upon how, sometimes, she shivered as Seven’s cybernetic left hand caressed her skin, or how she instinctively leaned into the warmth of the other woman’s human right hand, relaxing in its easy strength.
Instead, Janeway luxuriated in memories of Seven’s skin in her hands, of her face nestled between those two perfect breasts, of her tongue slipping past delicate blonde hairs into sweet hot folds – this was now the stuff of her waking dreams and living fantasies.
The power of these fresh new memories shook her with their easy ability to penetrate her vaunted powers of concentration. It had happened frequently over the past week, she knew. One moment, Janeway would be focusing on a calculation or reviewing a report, and the next second, she would flush unwillingly as her mind conjured an image of Seven, blue eyes dark with desire as she lowered herself onto the captain’s waiting body, blonde hair falling across her face, accentuating an almost unbearable beauty.
Her recent behavior, she knew, wasn’t fair to her lover. Perhaps after the away mission, she thought, she could apologize to Seven through actions, not words. She flushed slightly as her mind catalogued exactly what ‘actions’ would be required.
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Janeway sat languidly in her captain’s chair, listening patiently to the friendly banter between Chakotay and Harry. The away mission was proceeding without a hitch. Already, the first away team had reported back to Voyager, exhausted from their eight-hour stint of space mining, but rather pleased by their extraordinary productiveness.
Blissfully unbeknownst to the captain, many bets had been placed as to whether the second away team would manage to produce a similar ratio of dilithium. The wild card in this instance was Seven of Nine, who, because of Borg-enhanced endurance and the Collective’s penchant for working in a vacuum, was the one constant worker spanning both away team rosters. Many crewmembers were betting that the blonde Borg would tire and fail to produce as prodigiously on the second shift; to the delight of Tom Paris, they would be proven wrong.
“Harry, how are the power relays holding? Any fluctuations I should know about?” asked a bored Janeway, although she knew the dark-haired ensign already would have alerted her to anything significant.
Harry swung into action, turning from Chakotay to his console, dark eyes expertly gliding over the readings. “No, Captain. Fluctuation levels remain within acceptable parameters. Another twenty minutes, and it’s over. This was easier than expected.” Then wished he hadn’t said that, as a superstitious part of himself groaned in morbid expectation.
At that moment, sensors sounded and the bridge crew snapped to attention. “Captain, a ship is decloaking right off our bow,” said Harry in an urgent voice, hands flurrying in sudden frantic action.
“On screen,” snapped Janeway, her senses kicking into automatic overdrive. Her eyes narrowed.
“Red alert. Shields up. Battle stations.”
A cursory check revealed that the strange ship had engaged its shields and was powerfully armed. The bridge crew tensed, well aware that crewmates were working just outside of the asteroid belt, vulnerable to attack and capture.
“Captain, we are receiving a transmission,” Harry said shortly. “Putting on screen now.”
The view screen dimmed and then lightened to reveal an austere, narrow humanoid face, large green eyes staring seriously into the screen. An odd, hollow voice filled the air. “I am Commander Mercut of the Krigi starship Sannah. You are in our galactic space. Please identify yourself and your intentions. We are aware that you have raised shields and armed tactical systems. We are also aware that you have Borg technology on board.”
Janeway stood up slowly, demonstrating her ease and confidence to the alien commander. “I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager. We do not mean to be trespassing in your space. We are merely refreshing our energy needs using materials from asteroid debris. We mean no harm. We will stand down if you will.”
The alien studied Janeway for a long heartbeat, then asked in that same hollow voice. “And the Borg technology? Our energy scans read it as active and on-line. What is the meaning of this?”
“One of our crew is a former Borg drone who has been severed from the Collective for nearly four years now. She is loyal and poses no threat, you can be assured of that. That equipment is for her survival alone.”
The only effect on the alien seemed to be a slight widening of the eyes. He seemed to take a step back and clearly was listening to an off-screen speaker. When he returned to the screen, it was to seek an invitation. “Captain Kathryn Janeway, we will stand down our shields and weapons. Will you allow me and two of my officers to board your ship? Perhaps we can share information, and interest you in commerce?”
Janeway offered a small smile, hoping fervently that these aliens would be friendly, rather than sneaky violent types who would have to be fought off. “That would be my pleasure. In fact, I would be delighted to host a meal for you and your officers. We await your arrival.”
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Tuvok had a minor headache. Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay and he had spent the past two hours with the Krigi commander and his senior officers, eating an impressive dinner and sharing histories. It was an arduous experience.
The Krigi were unlike any other species they had encountered. While remarkably similar in size, height and build to many humanoids, the resemblance ended once the Krigi opened their mouths to speak. In person, a voice that sounded hollow and empty over a space communicator suddenly became leavened with robust waves of emotional resonance -- painfully so for the reticent Vulcan. Waves of emotion poured from the Krigi representatives as they spoke, even as their faces remained stoically still, effectively expressionless. There was simply no need for facial expression among the Krigi, the Voyager team soon realized, for the force of speech communicated quite effectively in their species.
Throughout the meal, Tuvok first had endured waves of delight, sincerity and goodwill, as the Krigi team formally presented themselves as trade representatives for a powerful people. Yet, these waves of positive feeling soon turned darker, as Commander Mercut shared the history of Krigi, revealing his species’ mammoth suffering in their conflicts with the Borg Collective, and how near-decimation nearly thirty years ago had led to a massive restructuring of their society. The animosity and pain and fear that flowed from the alien commander had been emotionally trying for Janeway and Chakotay — and nearly unbearable for Tuvok, who was unused to dealing with massive amounts of emotion, much less ones unleashed in palpable Krigian waves that seemed to batter the emotional walls erected through Vulcan discipline.
Several times during Commander Mercut’s narrative, Janeway had glanced over at Tuvok in concern, as if guessing at his emotional discomfort, but the Vulcan security officer had merely lifted an eyebrow in stoic inquiry. He had no wish to leave the gathering, for Mercut’s story was quite intriguing. It spoke volumes about the resilience of the Krigi species.
According to Mercut, the Krigi were a peaceful, space-faring people with a penchant for setting up tight-knit, clan-based colonies on various planets throughout the sector. They had a reputation for honesty, one enhanced by their emotive abilities, which reassured many an alien trader of sincerity, integrity and candor. The ability to discern candor, however, was far from single-sided. Apparently, it was difficult to deceive Krigi traders, Mercut related in no small measure of pride and gentle warning, for they were frequently able to discern motives behind the slightest facial motion. After all, Mercut had said, spreading his arms for emphasis, a people less reliant on facial expression also would be able to detect expressions that, contrasted with their own restrained ones, practically shouted by comparison.
The group had shared a laugh at that one. Janeway had broken in, relating an old Earth expression about “wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve,” and how that could apply to the Krigi voice and the human reliance on facial expression. Tuvok privately thought Vulcans would be exempt from such a category, and he wondered if the Krigi could read his own face as readily as they could those of the humans.
But discussion of the Borg Collective soon sapped pleasure from the room. Oozing pain and loathing, Mercut had recounted the Krigi’s short-lived struggle with the Collective – how Borg cubes had suddenly appeared in a synchronized attack on the Krigi home world and colony outposts, how millions of his people were assimilated in a crushing three-day struggle, how mere tens of thousands of survivors had banded together to form the nucleus of a new Krigi empire. One centered on a more martial ethic of self-defense and scientific achievement.
His narrative nearly over, Mercut leaned back in his chair, limpid green eyes skimming over expressions he easily defined. Sympathy, wonder, admiration, concern and sadness. He sighed inwardly. The story never got easier to relate, no matter how often told. And now, he determined, was time to enter into trade negotiations.
If he succeeded, then they would be able to acquire the precious technology his ship had detected on Voyager — the very reason why they, cloaked and undetected, had shadowed Voyager for three entire days.
“Our rebirth as a people is organized around a specific end goal. The annihilation of the Borg Collective,” Mercut stated, a powerful wave of determination and steely resolve edging his words.
Tuvok was startled by this assertion, as were Janeway and Chakotay, judging from the shock expressed on their face. Mercut studied the two humans, clearly discerning their skepticism.
“You don’t think it can be done, do you?” the alien commander asked quietly, his emotional tones suddenly muted and measured.
The captain dipped her head, saying, “Based on our own experiences with the Collective, we wouldn’t know where to begin. It is hard enough to escape the cubes when we have the misfortune to encounter them. The idea of seeking out the Collective, discovering their weak points, hoping they don’t adapt before you can exploit them…the calculations, and the required knowledge, are staggering.” She conveniently left out the fact that she herself had dragged her command team to confront the Borg Queen and rescue Seven of Nine.
Mercut accepted her words in silence, eyes gleaming. “Our technology, Captain Janeway, is quite advanced.” Smoothly, he transitioned into commercial considerations. “In fact, I believe we have some knowledge that your ship could use. Traversing through the Delta Quadrant, as you no doubt have experienced, is a risky endeavor. Our scans of your ship, if you don’t mind, reveal that we have technology which could prove quite useful for your shields and weapons.”
Janeway evaluated these words, a slow smile forming. Tuvok recognized the answering gleam in her eyes – the captain relished the prospect of an intriguing barter deal. “Really? Do tell.”
The alien commander leaned forward, his words releasing waves of sincerity and pride. “Advanced modulation routines for your shields, ones that could even hold off Borg cubes for extended periods of time. These modulating shields would even be effective against the Borg’s transporter technology. And we have developed similar technology for phaser, disruptor and torpedo systems. Voyager would become even more formidable, Captain, as it makes its way home.”
“And what of your very impressive cloaking technology? After all, you managed to get quite close to us. I hate to think what would have happened had you been hostile.” Janeway’s small smile had not disappeared. It was her ‘poker face,’ Tuvok identified. Yet, he thought it would be less effective with this bunch.
“That, Captain, is not for barter,” Mercut protested, regret lining his words. “It is purely sovereign technology. For defensive reasons, we do not share that knowledge. With anyone. Please do not take offense at this. None is meant.”
Mercut then turned to his security chief, Enforcer Duttir, who immediately reached for a nearby padd and passed it to his commander. Mercut pressed a few commands, then presented the padd to Janeway. “Here are samples of the modulation capabilities of our shields. Tests, of course, can be conducted to verify our claims. You may specify the parameters of any such test, as is expected. The same applies to weapons technology.”
The captain studied the data, accessing the sample scenarios. She struggled to keep her face neutral, and wondered how badly she was failing. The Krigi technology was astonishingly sophisticated. The benefits for Voyager would be very real indeed, if all functioned as promised. If the weapons modifications were in any way comparable, then Voyager would emerge a far superior ship from this single barter encounter. But what, she wondered, could the Krigi possible want from Voyager?
She passed the padd to Tuvok, accepting another one from Mercut that held weapons data and sample scenarios. Scanning the new padd, Janeway became even more intrigued. Modulating weapons would be an asset in more ways than one, and not only in encounters with the Borg. It was a shame that their cloaking technology was not for barter, but these advances in shields and weapons more than made up for that particular disappointment, she decided. Janeway glanced over at Tuvok, who raised his eyes and held hers for a significant moment. Yes, she knew, he also was impressed.
After all three Voyager officers had reviewed the padds, Janeway turned to Mercut. “Very impressive, Commander. I must say that we have not encountered this level of scientific sophistication in any species we have encountered in this Quadrant, except for the Borg, of course. I hope that you will find something pleasing in our own wares.” She offered a warm smile and nodded to Chakotay, who handed Mercut a padd containing Voyager’s own inventory supplies and technological offerings.
The alien commander graciously accepted the padd, studied its contents for long minutes, and then gently placed it on the table before him. “Captain Janeway, your wares are quite intriguing. However, the item that interests us is not listed.”
“No?” The Voyager captain was nonplussed, her eyes narrowing as she tried to guess his meaning.
Mercut clasped his hands in front of him and spoke carefully, trying to project as much sincerity and enthusiasm as he could. “Your Borg technology intrigues us very much. We also would like to meet this…Borg…crewmember. Would this be possible?”
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