CHAPTER SIX

 

 

“Your hospitality is most appreciated,” said Enforcer Duttir, the Krigi security officer’s polite words belying none of the hostile tension that had permeated his manner during Seven of Nine’s presentation on Borg technology.  

 

 

With the presentation finished, the small group of senior Voyager and Krigi officers now relaxed in Voyager’s conference room, sans Seven.  It had been a stressful engagement, reflected Tuvok, as he sipped his hot beverage before placing it down before him.  The Krigi clearly had been uncomfortable in Seven’s presence, their scorn for the Borg expressed by the layers of loathing accompanying their every word.  Only their commander, Mercut, had been relatively mild, yet even his words had been edged with a terse antipathy. 

 

 

Here in the conference room, away from Seven and the bold curves of Borg mechanisms, the Krigi trio seemed to lose most of their tension.  The air no longer seemed deadened by anger, coiled with hate. 

 

 

Tuvok briefly wondered how Seven was recovering from the experience.  She clearly had been affected by the Krigi’s reaction to her, and the Vulcan had seen her retreat into a Borg mask of indifference.  It had been some time since he had seen that particular high level of coldness from the young ex-drone.  He had not missed it.

 

 

The Vulcan officer turned his attention to Commander Mercut, who had produced a padd from his vest pocket. 

 

 

“Captain Janeway, we thank you for arranging a most informative presentation.  It was an unusual experience, to say the least, to be so close to a member of the Borg Collective and not fear assimilation,” Mercut began, his words softened by humorous resonance. 

 

 

It was a joke, Tuvok noted, that Janeway did not seem to appreciate.  Her face had tightened at Mercut’s words.

 

 

The alien commander seemed to realize that he had offended, for he quickly amended his words.  “I realize, of course, that Seven of Nine is no longer fully Borg,” waves of sincerity and apology accompanying this sudden peace offering, “and so we recognize the immense value of her shared knowledge and insights into the Collective’s structure and technology.  I believe this knowledge will greatly facilitate our negotiations, and I look forward to outfitting your craft, soon, with our tactical offerings.”

 

 

Janeway nodded crisply, her face impassive.  “Would you like to begin negotiations?”

 

 

Mercut gestured to his padd.  “In twenty of your hour segments, Captain, we will be joined by a most prestigious guest – Researcher Sylvan, he who united my people during those dark days after assimilation.  He wishes to conduct the negotiations himself, a most rare honor.  He offers you an initial greeting, as well as his own reflections on the history of our people, pre- and post-assimilation, of course.”

 

 

The alien passed the padd over to Janeway, who accepted it with a tight smile.  Tuvok wondered at Janeway’s demeanor.  It was unlike the captain to be so tense in these situations.

 

 

“I must add, Captain,” continued Mercut, pride lining his words, “that the Researcher very much looks forward to meeting a crew that has dealt so adeptly, and bravely, with the Borg Collective.  He also wishes to avail himself to your engineering experts, so that the technology transfer might proceed as smoothly as possible.  After all, he is the main author of many of these inventions.”

 

 

This time, Janeway offered a warmer smile, and Tuvok thought that her shoulders seemed to relax.  “Commander Mercut, please inform the Researcher that I look forward to reading his reflections, and that, as a fellow scientist, I greatly anticipate discussing his technological achievements.  I trust you will arrange for the meeting?”

 

 

“Certainly, Captain Janeway.  We thank you for your continued patience.”  The Krigi commander glanced over at his officers, who began to stand.

 

 

“One moment.”  The Voyager captain’s voice was low, steely. 

 

 

In surprise, Tuvok tilted his head, catching her eyes.  For a split second, he thought he glimpsed fear, but then she turned her head, those intense grey eyes quickly sliding away from his.

 

 

The Krigi officers paused uncertainly then sat down quickly, turning to stare at the auburn-haired human captain.

 

 

“I couldn’t help but notice that you all were extremely…uncomfortable…with Seven of Nine,” Janeway began slowly in an even tone, her eyes sweeping over the Krigi officers.  “Not every vessel has an ex-Borg crewmember.  I recognize the situation is indeed unusual.  With your people’s history, there is no reason for you to harbor any tolerance for the Borg, in whatever form they come.  However, since Seven will be assisting with any Borg-related data transfer, I would like to facilitate this exchange, with as little mutual discomfort as possible.” 

 

 

The Krigi were silent for a long moment.  Tuvok did not move a muscle, preferring to study their expressionless faces.

 

 

Finally, Mercut spoke, emotional tones muted and vaguely regretful.  “We apologize, Captain, for any offense we may have incurred.  Sometimes, it can be difficult to control our responses.  Of course we would consider any arrangement that will maximize efficiency and … comfort.  What would you suggest?”

 

 

“Any and all interaction with Seven of Nine will be conducted on this vessel.” Janeway’s words had an edge of steel to them.  “That includes technological, scientific and other discussions with her about the Borg and their devices.  In addition, I would like to minimize the number of Krigi directly interacting with her.  Some exchanges, after all, can be conducted via vid-links.”

 

 

Janeway paused, allowing her words to sink in.  Then she added, her tone gentler and more entreating, “Commander, I too mean no offense, but it is obvious that today’s encounter was … difficult … for both you and her.  That cannot be productive.”

 

 

Mercut glanced at his officers, then back at the human captain.  “I will relay your suggestion to the Researcher.  I will say, however, that it sounds quite reasonable.  Thank you, Captain.”

 

 

Privately, Tuvok thought the captain scarcely seemed reassured.

 

 

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Captain Janeway studied the padd intently, her mind trying to poke holes in B’Elanna’s theories regarding vulnerability points in Krigi modulator rhythms.  Her eyes narrowed as she focused on one equation in particular.  She reached over to another padd, quickly entered a counter sequence, analyzed the results, and turned to her chief engineer with an arrogant smirk.

 

 

“Sorry. Try again.”

 

 

With a frown, Lt. B’Elanna Torres took the padd and scanned it, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips as she accepted the weak link in her program.  With a mental shrug, the Klingon engineer set to work once again, trying to make her hypothetical countermeasures withstand the other woman’s tests.

 

 

It was hard work.  The Engineering Department was consumed by the task of understanding and even trying to outwit the Krigi technological innovations.  B’Elanna dearly hoped their efforts would not be needed because, thus far, the best of their efforts were failing under the objective, and impressively expert, critique of the captain.  The Klingon head of engineering was overwhelmed once again with an intense admiration for her captain.  Janeway was pushing herself hard, if not harder than anyone around her, working long intense hours on a variety of tasks in preparation for the barter.  B’Elanna wondered how much sleep her superior officer had enjoyed in the past couple of days, thinking that the number was probably disturbingly low.  Yet, Janeway remained as tough and brilliant as always.  Starship captains, thought B’Elanna for the umpteenth time, truly were a breed apart.

 

 

The chief engineer wished that Seven of Nine was available to contribute her extensive technical knowledge and insight, but the astrometrics officer was tasked with creating a portable matrix for any Borg technical data that would be included in the technology barter between Krigi and Voyager.

 

 

At a sigh from Janeway, B’Elanna turned to the captain.

 

 

“It’s not going well, is it, B’Elanna?”  The captain gazed at the Klingon with tired eyes.

 

 

“Captain, I’d be lying if I said that we knew what we’re doing,” B’Elanna remarked dryly, admitting to herself that even such droll humor was not comforting at the moment.  “You don’t really think they’d attack us, do you?”

 

 

“I just don’t know.”  Janeway shook her head, leaning back in her chair, as her eyes seemed to study the far end of the conference room.  “I just can’t read them very well, the emotional resonance notwithstanding. What if they can project what they don’t actually feel?  Then again, their solution to the dilithium problem proved perfectly correct.”

 

 

B’Elanna nodded in agreement and cautious optimism.

 

 

Janeway’s eyes focused on her again.  “When I go over to their ship tomorrow to meet with this Researcher Sylvan, I want you by my side.  It’ll be me, you and Tuvok.”  She paused to pass over a small padd.  “Here’s some bedtime reading for you.  It’s Researcher Sylvan’s reflections on Krigi history, as well as a short synopsis of their recent scientific achievements. You’ll find it’s fairly interesting reading.  You and he will have a lot to talk about, I suspect.”

 

 

“Seven’s not coming?”  B’Elanna was surprised at the omission of the Borg officer, especially since Borg technology was Voyager’s sole bargaining tool in the transaction.

 

 

“No,” replied the captain firmly.  “She’ll be staying on Voyager.”

 

 

B’Elanna waited, but when no further elaboration followed, she nodded swiftly.  “Yes, Captain.”  Sensing that her session with the captain was over, B’Elanna pushed back her chair and picked up three padds.  It’s going to be a long night, she thought ruefully.

 

 

At that moment, the door slid open to reveal Seven of Nine.  The Borg entered swiftly, nodding to a still-seated Torres before turning her attention to the captain.

 

 

“Yes, Seven?” asked a cool Janeway.

 

 

“Captain, my preparations for the portable matrix are nearly complete.  I would like you to examine some aspects of it, however,” she returned with an equally cool response.

 

 

Janeway shook her head.  “I trust your judgment, Seven.  Lt. Torres and I are still working on those theoretical countermeasures.  Please continue your work and file a report for me when you are finished.”

 

 

Seven pressed the issue.  “I would like to discuss some things with you before I complete my work.”

 

 

“Seven, I really don’t have the time right now.  If you have concerns, please put them in your report,” responded the captain more firmly, turning away from the blonde woman to pick up a padd.  “Dismissed.”

 

 

Much to B’Elanna’s surprise, Seven did not move.  B’Elanna saw the captain glance quickly over at her before turning back to the Borg officer.

 

 

“Is there something else, Seven?”

 

 

“I wish to engage in a philosophical discussion.” 

 

 

B’Elanna could have sworn that she detected a note of strain underlying Seven’s words.

 

 

Janeway seemed to stiffen.  “Seven, this is neither the time nor the place. Can’t it wait?”

 

 

Seven did not reply.  Instead, she merely took a deep breath and stared silently at the captain.

 

 

Feeling increasingly perplexed by the sudden tension escalating between the two women, B’Elanna made a move to gather her things.  She really didn’t need to be here.

 

 

Janeway reacted to her movement.  “You’re not finished here, Lieutenant.” 

 

 

Or maybe she did.

 

 

Surprised at the adamant tone, feeling grey eyes bore into her, B’Elanna placed her padds back on the table and tried to sit very still.  Really, she hated witnessing arguments between Janeway and Seven.  These two stubborn, strong-willed women managed to suffuse a room with a nerve-wracking tension thicker than T’arg blood.  She wondered idly if Krigian emotional resonance could match the intensity of a Janeway-Seven duel.  Well, she’d find out tomorrow, she supposed.

 

 

Janeway was now contemplating the silent Borg, and her manner seemed to soften suddenly.

 

 

“Seven, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to speak with you.  When we’re done here, I’ll come and see you, alright?”

 

 

Seven continued to level a measuring stare at the captain, but finally conceded.  “That is acceptable, Captain.”

 

 

Turning on her heel, the blonde officer exited the conference room.

 

 

Uncertainly, B’Elanna glanced over at Janeway.  “Captain?”

 

 

The other woman took a deep breath, nodded at B’Elanna, and said, “You may go, B’Elanna.  Just be sure to read over Sylvan’s material.”

 

 

“I will, Captain.”  Confused, but wisely choosing not to pursue her curiosity, B’Elanna gathered her things for a third time and left.

 

 

On the way to her quarters, the Klingon wondered if the Krigi encounter was exacerbating the strange, sudden rift between Seven and Captain Janeway. 

 

 

B’Elanna enjoyed an expert’s grasp on the ship’s gossip, and she knew that word had it Janeway and Seven were meeting frequently, usually in the evenings.  Whatever discussions ensued, reflected B’Elanna, certainly seemed to be aggravating their friendship.

 

 

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The captain slowed as she neared Cargo Bay Two.  She was tired, consciously working late into the night in order to avoid thinking about the personal ramifications of the day.  Even now, she preferred only to focus on specific technical details of the upcoming exchange, and, dear god, how she wanted this particular alien encounter to be over.  An irrational part of Kathryn Janeway dearly wanted to be done with the Krigi, to be speeding away from this sad system with a Voyager newly armed and shielded, to be far from a people whose loss was so recent and whose grief was so overwhelming.

 

 

She was irritated at herself for these thoughts.  Ordinarily, the Krigi were exactly the type of alien species that she would have tried to spend months interacting with and learning about.  Indeed, they were one of the most interesting and accomplished people she had ever met.  On a professional level, as an explorer and scientist, this encounter could be one of the most satisfying she could ever hope for. 

 

 

For the woman in Janeway, however, the Krigi encounter was deeply troubling, reviving thoughts she had long since disavowed, ideas and suspicions she had never fully allowed to blossom, pushing them away in distaste and righteous indignation.  Even now, she didn’t want to deal with them.  But they were there, stalking the periphery of her consciousness, shadowing her interactions with Seven and everyone else, particularly the Krigi. 

 

 

Today had been especially tough.  She had listened to Seven’s presentation with a distracted ear, focusing instead on the palpable anger of the Krigi.  The captain had stood in the room, entranced both by their passion and by the history they shouldered so determinedly.  In respectful silence and dismayed wonder, she had noted their obsession with the Borg Collective in their every question, in the way they stared unflinchingly and unceasingly at the former drone’s visible implants, in their astounding mastery of modulation technology.  Genius through pain, success through grief, she had marveled silently as she studied the Engineering Department’s best efforts to comprehend the Krigi technology. 

 

 

The more she discovered about the Krigi, the more she became simultaneously awed, humbled, and apprehensive.  During Seven’s presentation, the captain had been rocked by their feelings of anger and pain, and she had left the cargo bay feeling wrung out emotionally, unable to deal with Seven’s unease, unable to do anything but fall back into the captain mode.  During the post-presentation meeting, she had recovered briefly, only to be felled by anxiety as she listened to Mercut’s lame joke about Seven’s Borgness and as she discovered that the Researcher himself would be arriving in their sector of space.  She’d felt a different kind of tingling when Mercut passed her the padd with Sylvan’s greeting.  It was a tingling of foreboding, of distrust, of ill will. 

 

 

But, truth be told, she didn’t know what to think, whom to trust.  Least of all, herself — at least where Seven was concerned.  The same doubt that had surfaced after the initial meeting with Mercut had returned with added urgency:  Was her professional judgment impaired by her personal involvement with the young ex-Borg?  Janeway shook her head.  She couldn’t tell, and unfortunately there was no one with whom she felt comfortable discussing the issue.  And right now, she simply was too exhausted to disentangle her own thoughts, much less make sense of all these contradictory emotions she was feeling about Seven and the Krigi. 

 

 

Yet, she had to see Seven.  The younger woman’s actions in front of B’Elanna were puzzling.  Obviously, something was bothering her young lover, and apparently it needed to be dealt with as soon as possible.  Janeway’s hands tingled, as they always did now when she thought about  Seven of Nine.  A ghost of a smile played on the captain’s lips as she realized that, even as exhausted as she surely was, she still yearned for the younger woman.  The mere thought of touching that warm, soft skin and kissing those full sweet lips was enough to make her heart race. 

 

 

She closed her eyes, willing her formidable control to rein in her thoughts.  Not now, she chided herself.  There was still too much to think about, so many thoughts too easily smothered in the warmth of the other woman’s embrace.  Janeway swallowed once, forcibly wrenching her thoughts from that direction, and steeled herself for the encounter.  Right now, she reminded herself, Voyager needed a captain, not a lover. 

 

 

She stared at the door to Seven’s cargo bay.  Please let this go well and quickly, she pleaded to no one in particular. 

 

 

The door slid open and Janeway entered, quickly locating Seven at her console.  The blonde woman didn’t look up from her work, hands flurrying as she performed her tasks.  But there was little doubt the captain’s entrance had been duly noted.

 

 

A cool voice greeted her.  “Captain.  Thank you for coming.”

 

 

“Seven.  What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?”  A thread of irritation laced her inquiry as she recalled Seven’s insolent insistence on gaining an audience.

 

 

The ex-Borg stiffened at her brusque words, then quickly shut down the console.  She turned to Janeway, a small frown marring her visage.  When she spoke, however, the words were gentle, questioning.  “Kathryn, you said we would speak after the presentation.  Why have you not engaged me?”

 

 

Janeway stared at Seven in tired disbelief.  “Is this what that little scene in front of B’Elanna was all about?  That I didn’t hurry back to chat with you?”  

 

 

Seven flinched at her lover’s incredulous tone.  Swallowing, she answered haltingly, “I … needed … to speak with you.  I needed … to be with you.  I do not know how to express it.”  Her eyes dropped to the floor miserably, as she reflected on how inadequate her own words sounded, and wondered at this indefinable urge to connect with Janeway that she had harbored ever since the presentation.

 

 

“Oh, Seven.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t know…Come here,” Janeway whispered, holding out her arms, her eyes clearly regretting her earlier harshness.

 

 

The ex-Borg gratefully sought the captain’s embrace, leaning into the smaller woman with scarcely concealed relief, inhaling deeply the other woman’s scent and nuzzling the thick auburn hair. 

 

 

“Tell me,” Janeway requested softly, stroking Seven’s cheek as she looked up into that narrow face.  Her stomach lurched once as her gaze lingered on full lips and vulnerable blue eyes.

 

 

Taking one deep breath, and then another, feeling immeasurably reassured by the captain’s tender touch, Seven tried to articulate her troubled thoughts and jumbled emotions.  “With the Krigi, I felt … as if I was nothing more but a Borg drone.  As if it were me who had perpetrated the assimilation of their species.  As if I was the one … responsible … for all which occurred.”  She took another, shaking breath.  “I have experienced loathing and hatred from others before, but never in such intensity and with such…focus.  It is not an experience I would like to repeat often.”

 

 

Janeway absorbed these words in silence.  Quietly, she tried to understand what she was feeling.  Intellectually, the captain instantly seized upon a dozen comforting thoughts to share — soothing words about how Seven was no longer Borg, reasonable words about how the Krigi assimilation had occurred before Seven’s own assimilation into the Collective, sensible words about being stripped of one’s individuality, will and responsibility. 

 

 

Yet, if she believed all these thoughts, all these wonderful words, then why did a part of her freeze up inside?  Why, she wondered distractedly, did her throat catch and prevent the words from welling up?

 

 

As the captain’s silence lengthened and her embrace loosen, Seven took a step back from Janeway, asking in a small voice, “Is something wrong, Kathryn?”

 

 

“No, darling.”  Quickly, Janeway grasped Seven’s right hand and brought it up to her lips for a quick kiss.  Then, slightly hesitating, the captain asked, “Seven, I’m sorry you had to go through that. I know it must have been hard.  But do you believe the Krigi are wrong to feel that way about the Borg, or who they perceive to be representatives of the Borg?”

 

 

Seven’s eyes narrowed even as she responded.  “No.  Their experience was most unfortunate.”

 

 

“Then I’m afraid there is not much to be done.  I have, however, requested that your interaction with any Krigi be minimized and limited to this ship only.”  At least this, Janeway thought, she could share forthrightly with Seven.  This attempt to protect the ex-drone from a whole shipload of Krigi resentment.  She shuddered at the very thought of such a prospect.

 

 

Light blue eyes grew colder.  “You do not believe my interactions with the Krigi will be adequate or acceptable.  I assure you, Captain, I do not harbor ill will towards that species.”

 

 

Surprised, the captain gaped at Seven.  “No, no.  It’s not you I’m worried about!  I don’t trust them.  Their intentions may be good, but their hatred is too…raw.”

 

 

Seven tilted her head at Janeway’s words.  “You agree with their intentions?”

 

 

“I agree that it would be for the greater good of the universe if the Borg Collective ceased to exist, yes, I do.”  This was an obvious point for Janeway, and she was baffled that Seven even questioned it.  “Don’t tell me that you, of all people, disagree?”

 

 

Seven gazed thoughtfully at the captain.  She ignored Janeway’s question, preferring to ask one of her own.  “If their technology was not as remarkable, would you still trade Borg technology in order to support their goal?”

 

 

Janeway pondered the question, then shrugged dismissively.  “I guess I’d consider it.”  She cocked her head to one side and asked softly, “You don’t approve of the Krigi’s mission?”

 

 

The ex-Borg was quiet, her eyes studying the captain evenly.  Janeway felt a chasm suddenly open between them, but dismissed it as a figment of her tired imagination.  Still, Seven’s silence was troubling.

 

 

Finally, Seven spoke, her voice strangely Borg-like.  “You denounce the Collective for what you consider to be genocidal methods, yet you would support genocide for it?”

 

 

Suddenly alert, the exhaustion fleeing her body as a strange nervous energy roiled from the depths of her stomach, the captain stiffened.  “There could be a way to destroy the Collective without actually massacring drones,” she reminded Seven sternly.  “Severing the link may well achieve the goal.”

 

 

“I doubt such a subtle method is under consideration by the Krigi.”

 

 

It was Janeway’s turn to study Seven, and her blood was beginning to chill as she considered Seven’s protestations from different angles.  “Seven,” she said, her voice low and measured, “do you disapprove of our barter with the Krigi?”

 

 

“I do not know yet what they wish to acquire of our Borg technology…or of me in particular.”  The blonde woman’s voice was now totally Borg, without inflection, a cool instrument of unyielding logic and deductive reasoning.  Her face had become impassive, unreadable, closed. 

 

 

Janeway watched this transformation.  And was slowly becoming infuriated.

 

 

Oh no you don’t, she thought fiercely, this conversation is only just getting interesting.

 

 

“What exactly is your problem with the Krigi?” she asked of the blonde ex-Borg, biting off each word carefully and concisely.

 

 

Seven regarded the captain in silence.  She shifted her feet, standing taller, and linked her hands behind her in a familiar pose.  Calmly, she met those glittering grey eyes.  “I have several objections.  First, their arrogance will ensure their defeat at the hands of the Collective. It would be best for their continued existence if they worked towards a positive goal, rather than one of vengeance and retribution.  Second, they would use genocide to avenge genocide –“

 

 

“You are not seriously comparing the Krigi with the Borg Collective!”  The words exploded from Janeway, who was astounded by Seven’s objections.  She tried to make sense of the other woman’s perspective.  “Wait, so you feel that they should move on with their lives.  Sure.  I too feel that they might be rushing towards death by pursuing this goal.  I think that would be beyond tragic, considering all they’ve gone through.  But, Seven,” she shook her head in horrified wonder, “how can you possibly even begin to compare the Krigi’s goal of conquering the Collective to the Borg’s history of absorbing, killing, destroying entire worlds and species?  You can’t.  You just can’t.”

 

 

Seven waited patiently through the captain’s long interruption.  “It is true the Krigi are not the Borg.  They do not seek to extend their future in the same way at all.  However, I do not believe they mean only to ‘conquer’ the Collective, as you have stated.  I believe they intend to wipe out, physically and utterly, the Borg Collective, drone and queen alike.  Is that not genocide?  And is this therefore an act that Voyager should assist?”

 

 

This stopped the captain.  And so only made her more furious.  Seven’s stubborn adherence to the definition of ‘genocide’ was obscuring the real issue, she thought grimly.  Which was the fact that the greater good would be served by purging the universe of the Borg Collective.  If a people who had suffered and lost, as the Krigi have done, were willing to work towards this goal – one that could ultimately lead to the future preservation and existence of untold number of species – then they should be applauded, not castigated and disparaged as Seven had just done.

 

 

The captain felt her cheeks flushing with anger, and she clenched her fists in a conscious effort to control her temper.

 

 

“You question my judgment in participating in this barter,” Janeway stated coldly.  “You believe I should walk away from a trade that could save our lives in future conflicts, while at the same time potentially help eliminate one of the worst threats to developed civilizations in the entire universe.”

 

 

Seven’s eyes sparkled in irritation.  “You are avoiding the issue.  What does the Prime Directive say about helping commit acts of genocide?”

 

 

The captain shook her head in disbelief, almost laughing at the absurdity of the question, yet also becoming more enraged at the junior officer’s open skepticism.  “Seven!  We don’t even know if we have anything that will help them succeed!”

 

 

“Irrelevant.”  

 

 

That one stung.  Janeway glared at Seven of Nine through slit, angry eyes.  Her voice, when it came, was low, dangerous, and cold.  “Why do you care so much about the Borg Collective, Seven?”

 

 

Seven flinched, her eyes widening.  She brought her hands forward from behind her back, clenching them into fists at her sides.  “I.  Do.  Not.”  Three words uttered in a voice raw with bitterness.  Then, more calmly, her emotions under rein once more, “Your question is irrelevant to our discussion.”

 

 

“Is it now?”  Somewhere in the back of Janeway’s mind, a trigger released, loosening all those thoughts she had hidden away, ugly thoughts that had been steadily unearthing themselves since that first kiss by Seven, uncertain thoughts provoked by her insecurities about the crew, furtive thoughts spurred by the Krigi presence. 

 

 

In the intensity of the moment, anger made her careless.  And suspicion made her cruel.

 

 

Her expression suddenly bland, Janeway advanced on Seven.  “It’s interesting, don’t you think, that no one else has brought up this particular objection.  No one seems to think challenging the Borg Collective is ‘genocide’, except you.  Maybe we should pay attention to you.  After all, you’re the resident expert on genocide, are you not?”

 

 

She stopped one step away from the ex-Borg, who had frozen at Janeway’s low, cutting words.  Their eyes met and held. 

 

 

Janeway continued, her voice a low purr in the vast room, “How many assimilations did you participate in?  How many species did you help force into the Borg Collective?  What was it like, Seven of Nine, to see the last traces of pain and fear from a species before they lost all sense of what it was like to feel, to fear, even to love?”

 

 

The captain’s words hung like ice in the air.  One woman looked into cold blue eyes, daring an answer, yearning for a response that would quell uncertainties festering ruthlessly within her own heart.  In the same instant, the other noted the steel-grey stare, numbing at the accusations and implications, feeling suddenly very alone in a universe that despised her kind.

 

 

Slowly, Seven lowered her eyes, swallowing hard. 

 

 

She turned away from the captain and walked over to the alcove, moving stiffly, a far cry from her usual smooth grace.  Listlessly, she keyed in some commands at the nearby control panel and then paused at the entrance to the alcove, her back to the captain.  “I must regenerate, Captain,” she said faintly.

 

 

With a stony face, Janeway watched Seven enter the alcove.  As the regeneration cycle began, a great wave of exhaustion swept through the captain.  She closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to forget this day, wanting only to sink into a dark oblivion where there were no thoughts, no words, nothing. 

 

 

She left the cargo hold, trying very hard not to think about what had just occurred.

 

 

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