CHAPTER
FIVE
The
three senior officers sat quietly in the captain’s ready room, each collecting
their thoughts. The Krigi
representatives had just been sent back to their ship, assured that Janeway
would consider their request to inspect Voyager’s Borg technology and meet with
Seven of Nine. As a gesture of
generosity and goodwill, Commander Mercut had provided a solution to their odd
dilithium problem, waves of amusement and dismay reeling from him as he
informed the Voyager senior officers that the Kantari were well-known
throughout the sector as sadistic practical jokers who tended to unleash their
foulest tricks on unsuspecting strangers.
The
geometrics and engineering divisions were even now evaluating the new
information. Hopefully, thought
Janeway, the solution was as simple as corrupted crystals, chemically bonded
with a nearly undetectable time-release agent designed to transmute matter. A clever joke, if slightly evil and
definitely gratuitous, the captain decided crankily.
Her
mind, however, was captured by the Krigi’s last request. She turned to her first officer, who was
silently peering into his half-empty coffee mug. “Well, Chakotay, what are your thoughts?”
The
ex-Maquis looked up, dark eyes thoughtful.
He sighed and grinned wanly.
“I’m exhausted. Three hours of
emotional resonance is about my limit, I don’t know about the two of you.” He paused and smirked significantly at a
silent Tuvok. “As for Mercut’s request,
well, I think we should consider it.
The specs on those shield and weapons modifications were no less than
astounding. I’d feel a lot safer in the
Delta Quadrant with those types of improvements on Voyager.”
Tuvok
nodded slowly. “I would concur. Their technological accomplishments are
admirable, and no doubt a direct result of their determination to challenge the
Borg Collective. Such a goal, as well,
certainly explains their interest in Voyager’s Borg technology and Seven of
Nine. I believe we should arrange
another meeting with the Commander and his senior staff.”
The
Vulcan paused to consider, then continued.
“Perhaps a small tour of Cargo Bay Two and a short presentation by Seven
would be helpful in determining exactly what aspects of this technology they
would like to acquire. I suspect that
Seven’s accumulation of Borg tactical data will prove appealing. If that is all they require, then it would
be an easy, and profitable, barter for Voyager.”
The
captain reflected on his suggestion, her face assuming a calculating expression
that the two other officers easily recognized.
They sat back; content to wait for her pronouncement.
Janeway
was remembering another incident, one in which a peculiar Think Tank had tried
to trick Voyager into trading Seven of Nine for urgent tactical data. The deception had been discovered, and the
Think Tank had been defeated, perhaps permanently, but Janeway had become leery
of any alien encounter that involved Seven.
Was this another such situation?
It was hard to tell, she thought wearily. They’d just have to watch for signs that the aliens were becoming
too interested, too fixated, on the ex-Borg.
She
fixed a deadly serious stare on her two senior officers. “The Krigi’s technological and tactical
levels are far above our own. What are
the chances that they’ll simply take what they want?”
Tuvok
leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands in front of him. “Captain, I believe the fact that they are
bothering to bargain bodes well for us.
Of course, there is always the possibility that, should negotiations
proceed poorly, they may be tempted to utilize force to fulfill their
needs. In this case, we should take
extra care to study their sample modulation routines, and perhaps devise ways
to counteract such technology.”
“I
agree,” added Chakotay. “My instinct,
however, is that Mercut is sincere in his desire to negotiate with us. Let’s allow them to survey the Borg
technology, meet with Seven, and we’ll see where we go from there. If they have been studying the Borg for a
while, it may turn out that we simply don’t have anything they need. In the meantime, as Tuvok suggests, it
certainly wouldn’t hurt to take precautionary measures.”
The
captain nodded slowly, wishing that she could be as sanguine as Chakotay. Perhaps he was right, she thought, and her
personal involvement with Seven was clouding her judgment. That possibility disturbed her, but she
forced it to the back of her mind.
She’d think about it later.
“Agreed,”
said Janeway. “Tuvok, after her
regeneration is complete, please brief Seven about our meeting with Mercut and
his request. Get her impressions of the
Krigi species. Also, I’d like you to
work with her on preparations for both the tour and her presentation. After we all get some rest, I’m going to
meet with B’Elanna about the dilithium situation and also get her input about
these Krigian modifications.”
The
two men both nodded quietly, each glad for the opportunity to gain some
rest. After they left, Janeway finished
her coffee and sought the comfort of her own chambers. She was grateful that Seven was regenerating
in her alcove, even the Borg’s immense reserves no doubt stretched after a full
twenty hours of intensive space mining.
Otherwise, Janeway would have been tempted to seek out her company, and
the likelihood of sleep would have been small, she thought, an erotic smile
unconsciously gracing her face.
Besides,
she really needed to reflect on the day’s events.
Mercut’s
story had touched the captain deeply, and she had been greatly affected by his
pain and loathing. An entire
civilization nearly destroyed by the Collective — one of many such unfortunate
occurrences, she knew. While she
admired the strength and determination that had reunified his species, she couldn’t
help feeling that it was a doomed effort, a fanatical dream of vengeance
destined for failure. But that wasn’t
her problem, now, was it?
No,
she thought dispiritedly, it was yet another unfolding tragedy linked to the
Borg Collective. What if his people had
clawed their way from near-extinction only to succumb to a senseless martyrdom
in an obsessive push for retaliation?
The thought thoroughly depressed her.
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“I
heard the Borg did them in.”
“Didn’t
you say that they were asking about Seven?
Think we’ll get rid of her?”
“I’d
love to get a look at their weapons array.
After all, anyone who thinks they can challenge the Borg Collective…”
Tuvok
sat in a corner of the mess hall, his eyes on the report displayed on the padd
before him, yet his attention was centered on wisps and remnants of
conversation that his Vulcan hearing picked up from around the room. He had tried to block them out initially, as
he usually did with regular conversation and gossip, preferring not to clutter
his mind with what he considered inane activities and information. Yet, the
tenor of these conversations was beginning to concern him.
He
knew that, on a ship as small and isolated as Voyager, the power of the gossip
mill was nothing short of miraculous.
Rumors often swept through the ship with unnerving speed and force,
often escalating into amusing facsimiles of actual events. But, thought Tuvok, there was little
humorous about the general direction of these present conversations.
One
logical outcome, he hypothesized, could be that the general sympathy of the
Voyager crew towards the Krigi and their tragic history would be converted into
a higher level of personal animosity towards the ship’s chief astrometrics
officer.
On
the other hand, he pointed out to himself, another outcome could be far more
amenable for the two ships – that sympathy towards the Krigi might facilitate a
mutually advantageous, high-level exchange of technology and information, and
that Seven’s assistance in this process might gain some favor for her among the
crew.
If
he were prone to sardonic snorts, Tuvok would have done so. He was not optimistic about the latter
scenario. Voyager’s crew had had a
number of years to accept and befriend the young ex-drone, but, for the most
part, had not — and emphatically so.
He had learned not to overestimate the power of rationality and
compassion among the human crew complement.
He
turned his head slightly, catching Seven’s entrance into the mess hall. She carried two padds in her cybernetic
hand, the Borg metal glinting in the light of the room. Seven immediately went over to a replicator
and then made her way to a small table on the opposite corner from Tuvok. She
apparently was content to sit alone, he noted.
She put down her glass, which the Vulcan knew contained a rather
tasteless nutritional supplement, and proceeded to work on her padds.
“There
she is. Hey, what do you think she’s
thinking about this whole thing?”
“I
wonder what qualities the Borg stole from the Krigi.”
“What?
You really think she even cares about them?”
Tuvok’s eyes narrowed slightly. A feeling suspiciously akin to impatience and frustration resonated in his throat. He knew that Seven’s Borg-enhanced hearing, superior to his own, easily discerned these careless, cutting words.
He
grabbed his padd, picked up a cup of hot Vulcan tea from a nearby replicator,
and approached Seven’s table.
“Seven
of Nine. May I join you?”
The
Borg woman glanced up from her work, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Certainly, Tuvok. How may I assist you?”
He
settled into a seat opposite her, placing padd and cup before him. “There is no need. I am merely reviewing some reports. You may continue with your own work.”
“I
understand.”
She
turned back to her padds, but not before Tuvok saw her face lose some of its
tension and her eyes warm with relief and pleasure.
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Commander
Mercut of the Krigi starship Sannah was hopeful. The initial meeting with the alien ship had proceeded
surprisingly well. While Voyager’s
technology level, with the exception of the Borg technology, was certainly
inferior to their own, its commanding officers seemed quite civilized,
non-belligerent and disarmingly honest.
He hoped his gift of the solution to that ridiculous Kantari trick had
deepened the reservoir of trust and goodwill that he was carefully building
up.
With
luck and charm, perhaps these negotiations would proceed peacefully, and the
Krigi would have no need to resort to violence to attain the Borg technology.
He
glanced at his monitor again, re-reading the confidential memo he had just
received from the Science Department, which was a rather innocuous name for the
highest stratum of Krigi political and military power. The communiqué had come directly from
Researcher Sylvan, the most powerful man in Krigi society.
Mercut
shifted excitedly in his chair, his eyes committing that precious communiqué to
memory.
-------------------------------------------------------------
To: Commander Mercut, Starship Sannah
From: Researcher Sylvan, Science Department
I
commend you for your capable handling of the situation thus far. I look forward to speaking with you in
person about the existence of this severed Borg drone and the Borg devices
aboard the alien vessel, Voyager.
My
ship will rendezvous with yours in two days.
Please continue to collect information about Voyager’s encounters with
the Borg, as well as other Borg-related data.
This
matter is now of the highest importance for the empire. Do not let Voyager leave the sector. We must assess this drone and its
technological assets. This is an
opportunity most fortunate.
Your
service will be remembered.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Mercut
was deeply honored that Sylvan himself had written. After all, Sylvan had achieved nearly mythic proportions in the
Krigi consciousness — for, nearly single-handedly, he had generated remarkable
scientific achievements for the past thirty years, returning pride and dignity
to a people who sorely needed such reassurance. The immediate aftermath of the Borg incursion, Mercut remembered
grimly, was a time of desperate despair, when many Krigi had seemed to give up
on life itself, sinking into dark depressions that frequently ended with tragic
suicidal attacks on Borg cubes.
Gradually,
however, ragtag bands of Krigi survivors were united under the power of one
man’s vision — Sylvan, with his scientific brilliance and charismatic charm,
with his own tragic history of tremendous suffering at the hands of the Borg,
with his unwavering belief in eventual triumph over the soulless, pitiless
Collective. His vision had forged faith
out of sorrow, and the Krigi people had rewarded Sylvan by pulling together
into a cohesive unit, dedicating their powerful intellects and war-borne
determination to fulfilling the dream.
Although
they no longer controlled vast tracts of space and had scaled down their
trading ambitions, the Krigi were quietly building a technological superiority
that allowed them to proceed relatively unimpeded in the quadrant. They had become a respected military force,
yet one that neither oppressed nor impinged upon other societies. Their neighbors left them alone, recognizing
perhaps that their nearly fanatical devotion to Sylvan’s vision was a fortunate
one. Rather than using their technology
to conquer other species, the Krigi instead were devoted to annihilating the
one common enemy: the Borg Collective.
And
now the Researcher himself was coming to meet with Mercut.
The
commander’s facial features barely shifted, yet to the trained Krigi eye he now
glowed with determination and excitement.
He would not disappoint the Krigi leader.
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Seven
of Nine felt herself spiraling into defensive mode, retreating further into
Borg-like coolness as she struggled to complete her presentation for the three
Krigi representatives. She wished for
this ordeal to end, so she could leave the emotionally charged environment
these aliens so easily generated.
Even
now, as she demonstrated the regenerative features of her alcove and detailed
the demands on Voyager’s energy matrix, she could feel their eyes piercing into
her, accusing and loathing and hating her.
She knew they saw only the Borg aspect of her existence. And were utterly revolted.
She
had felt it as soon as they appeared on the transporter pedestal, their
luminous eyes fixing on her in sudden fury and repressed anger. Their main representative, Commander Mercut,
was the least difficult of the trio, his emotions apparently more mild, or at
least better controlled, than those of his colleagues. The other two – Enforcer Duttir and Officer
Goeb – had greeted her politely, yet their words had assaulted her senses with
layers of fear and antipathy. They
stared forcefully at her visible implants, their eyes seeming to cool with
every passing minute.
Tuvok
had warned her of the Krigi’s disastrous experience with the Borg Collective. It was not an unfamiliar tale for Seven,
since she carried the memories of that short-lived war and assimilation. Species 6742 was a resourceful species, she
had informed the Vulcan, one that the Collective had prized for their
exceptionally quick intellect and biological distinctiveness. The assimilation had not ended as smoothly
as planned, since thousands of individuals had managed to elude the
Collective. Yes, a most resourceful
species, indeed. And ambitious as well,
considering that they now were motivated by a dream of vanquishing the
Collective itself.
She
forced herself to maintain her composure as she completed another recitation of
technological attributes. The Krigi had
remained silent throughout most of the presentation, for which she was
grateful. When they spoke, the fear and
hate unleashed was distracting, to say the least. She glanced over at Tuvok and the captain, her left eye arching
to indicate that she was finished.
The
captain immediately stepped in, smiling and asking the trio to retire to the
conference room for refreshments. As
the group quietly shuffled out of the cargo hold with Tuvok in the lead, Seven
saw the captain direct a quiet question at Commander Mercut. Her Borg hearing easily discerned the words.
“Would
you like Seven of Nine to join us?”
“No,
Captain. She has been quite
informative. I may, however, require
another meeting with her at a future time.
With your permission, of course.”
“Of
course.” And Seven watched Janeway
gesture graciously towards the exit.
As
the room emptied, the captain turned to Seven.
The captain’s visage was somewhat grim, and Seven wondered what she was
thinking.
“Seven,
thank you for the presentation. You did
a good job. Your presence is not
required any longer, so consider yourself off-duty. Thank you for your work.”
Janeway turned to go, hesitating only when Seven softly called her name.
“Kathryn.”
Janeway
half-turned toward the blonde officer, her reluctance to engage in conversation
clearly apparent. “Yes, Seven?” Her voice was cool, terse, distant.
“It
was a … most difficult … experience.”
Seven didn’t understand exactly why she was embarking on this personal
conversation with the captain at this moment, knowing full well that the older
woman’s presence was required with the alien visitors. Still, she felt an indefinable need to
connect personally at this moment with her lover, somehow knowing it could help
counteract the daggers of hatred and fear that had hammered her.
The
captain sighed, turning to face Seven, yet maintaining her distance near the
exit. “I know. I felt it, too.” Janeway paused, her body seeming to tense. “Let’s talk about this later? I have to go.” She quickly turned and walked away.
Watching
Janeway’s departure, the young ex-Borg felt disappointment and hurt rippling
through her body. She recognized now
that she had simply craved small comforts – to be reassured that she was cared
for, that not everyone hated her, that she was more than simply Borg.
She
had not realized these were difficult comforts for Janeway to provide.
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