In the vast cargo hold of an intrepid-class Federation starship, eerie Borg lights flickered once, signaling the end of a regeneration cycle. Slowly, Seven of Nine studied her surroundings, ascertaining that she was alone in the cargo hold. She beat down a feeling of disappointment, and then shook herself consciously. She moved silently out of the alcove, turning to her console, half-heartedly keying the controls and perusing her messages.
Nothing out of the ordinary, she ascertained with a mere glance. Only departmental memos from subordinates in the Astrometrics Department and several general senior officer announcements, she noted, closing her eyes briefly as pangs of rejection surged through her chest.
Nothing from Kathryn. But really, she chided herself, her jaw unconsciously tensing, what did she expect? After all, she was Borg.
Using her eidetic memory, she forced herself to replay last night’s discussion, each of the captain’s words stabbing into her heart once more. Each hard glance relived, each piercing accusation borne anew. Her left hand, strengthened by a Borg implant, grasped tightly onto the edge of the console, hard metal fingers biting slowly into the metal construction.
Seven barely noticed her actions. Feelings of shame and confusion overwhelmed her, as she struggled to understand what had happened between her and the captain. Between her and her lover. Where had the accusations come from? Why did Kathryn suddenly level personal animosity about her history with the Borg Collective? After all, Seven recalled with a sinking heart, the other woman had been the one person who had believed in Seven’s rehabilitation from the very instant of her disconnection from the Collective mind, the one constant ally who had defended her against the paranoid suspicions and stinging animosities of senior officers like Commander Chakotay and Lt. B’Elanna Torres.
When did that change, she wondered frantically, hurt surging like a flood into her throat, fogging her mind and momentarily incapacitating her ability to think clearly?
She fought the tide of hurt, clenching her fist so hard that the metallic edges of her left hand bit firmly into biogenetic material. Yet, she was oblivious to the drops of rich red blood leaking from her left fist, oblivious to everything but the confusing maelstrom of emotion sweeping through her heart and mind. Her eyes burned, and she was reminded of this same sensation while witnessing the death of One, her technological offspring. Mercilessly, this recollection triggered her vaunted eidetic memory, which readily supplied the exact thoughts and emotions of that terrible time, yet more pain piling onto the emotional confusion and devastation of six hours previous.
Her eyes stung with a still-alien urge to cry, and she fought blindly against this Human trespass. Swallowing hard, breathing heavily, she called upon her fierce Borg discipline to crush the emotional overload. Full red lips thinned, veins pulsed visibly in her throat, her face tightened. For the moment, it was as if the universe was reduced to a single imperative — she would not lose control.
Her hands moved to access the captain’s personal logs, then stopped. No, she decided firmly, she would not initiate that infringement. She had done so before, in the early days of disorientation and insubordination to Starfleet hierarchies, and then again when a vast, ancient bioplasmic space creature threatened to entrap Voyager within its digestive system. Since then, however, the prerogatives of personal privacy seemed more important, as she grew to understand their relevance to Human social interactions. Now, such an action would admit weakness, she determined, although how she arrived at such a conclusion was a mystery to her.
With a word, she shut the cargo doors to all casual traffic. Only an emergency would allow entry. Or the captain’s override codes; she amended her thought in displeasure. She turned away from this scenario, forcing her mind to another endeavor.
She would understand the captain’s actions. She would use her superior mind to uncover the logic behind the words and accusations of last night. And then she would deal with the consequences.
To a casual observer, Seven of Nine would seem caught in a trance, for she stood immobile at her console, eyes open and unblinking, for the better part of an hour.
In that time, her eidetic memory worked unceasingly, replaying past scenes between herself and the captain at a rapidity that only Borg minds could comprehend. Seven easily accessed these memories, using her mental capabilities to extract, brutally and clinically, the details and inferences that would allow her to understand the motivations underpinning that most recent conversation with the captain.
The first few years of her time on Voyager flew by quickly, for she found little fodder in those periods. Only when she came to the recent past, to the kisses and caresses and romantic explorations of the past two weeks, did her synapses slow to process multiple possibilities, diverse interpretations and numerous logical deductions.
In particular, she focused on the strange dance of Kathryn’s hands over her body, noting anew how the other woman always managed to avoid the Borg implants scattered over Seven’s body. She recalled the very instant that Kathryn had pulled away from her after that first kiss: the moment that the captain’s hand touched the Borg implant over Seven’s left eye. Other moments of physical aversion were catalogued quickly in succession; a terrible list compiled with unwavering efficiency, even as its contents ravaged Seven’s heart and killed her hopes.
With a logic that hurt as much as it illuminated, Seven drew the connections between her lover’s physical aversions and emotional motivations, between the tension denoting Kathryn the private lover and Janeway the public captain, and between the startling accusations of last night and the repeated reluctance to move forward with the romantic relationship. It was a testament of Seven’s dedication to an almost savage efficiency that she forced herself to replay the images over and over again, relentlessly testing her logical conclusions, painfully reworking her hypotheses, ruthlessly maximizing her understanding.
At the end of it, with final conclusions seared into her mind and heart, she stood shaking. She neither cared about nor noticed the dried blood stains lining the side of the console, the tears streaming down her face, the way her body trembled as she drew each harsh breath.
All she cared about was the devastating shock of uncovering a stunning truth about the one person who had seemed to believe in her, to have cared the most about her rehabilitation and rediscovery of Humanity — indeed, the one person whom she had grown to revere and love with a passion that shook her inexperienced heart.
Kathryn Janeway had lied. She had lied about her feelings, about her unease in the romantic relationship, about her attitude towards Seven of Nine. The issue of hierarchical protocol was merely peripheral to the real problem — which was Seven’s Borgness. This Borgness, Seven had determined, was very much the crux of the matter. Yet, this very Borgness was an inextricable part of Seven’s physical and emotional composition, the former drone recognized, this realization both a source of strength and a well of despair.
Once upon a time, Seven recalled agonizingly, Janeway had stood in the Delta Flyer and spoken of a bond of trust between the two of them. Then, Seven had believed her.
Not so now.
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Commander Mercut stood nervously in the transporter bay. His officers were fanned out in formal formation, each clasping right fist to left breast in a dignified military greeting. The whir of the transporter device filled the air, and sparkles formed over three ports. Mercut stiffened, trying to calm the anxiety rippling through his body.
Two sparkles quickly resolved into two Krigi, and Mercut recognized them as the Researcher’s most trusted scientific advisors, Intern Srange and Intern Leov. They immediately mimicked the formal greeting, as all eyes focused on the third form to materialize.
Mercut caught his breath.
Wearing only a mid-length tunic and standing on legs no longer organic, with his silver hair swept up over a long, serious face, Researcher Sylvan calmly scanned the gathering. He nodded to the assembled officers and military personnel, and then glanced over at his advisors.
At Sylvan’s silent assent, Intern Srange turned to face the gathering, her voice carrying boldly into the reverent silence. “Researcher Sylvan wishes to express his gratitude for your continued loyal service to the Krigi people. Your current mission is of the utmost importance to the empire. He is pleased that this most distinguished ship and crew are conducting such a sensitive mission. The Researcher will join you all for dinner in the main hall.”
Her words, swelled by pride and a sharp determination, lit the faces of the gathered crew. The three guests made their way out of the transporter bay, led by a silent Mercut, his shoulders level and proud as his men parted before, then closed behind, the celebrated procession.
Mercut swiftly led the three to the main meeting room, where his two senior officers, Duttir and Goeb, waited. The commander could not help thinking how, as they made their way down the curved halls, the Researcher’s steps seemed light and were barely audible. Truly, the Krigi leader’s cybernetic legs were marvels of genius. Fitting, he thought, for the Researcher.
Once in the room, with all six Krigi seated, Mercut looked expectantly at Intern Srange, well aware that she, as most senior advisor, was in control of this session. She gazed steadily back at him, her luminous dark blue eyes impenetrable. Then she studied each of his two officers in turn. Sylvan and Leov merely sat in calm repose, apparently familiar with Srange’s ways.
After a few minutes, Intern Srange spoke, her words carried on waves of warmth. “Commander Mercut, Enforcer Duttir, Officer Goeb, we have studied your initial reports regarding the alien vessel and its offerings. We are pleased to note that you have been quite thorough in your reflections and accounts of the meetings you have engaged in thus far. We shall be assuming control of the negotiations, as you have been informed.” She finished, and then dipped her head at Mercut.
Accepting the invitation to speak, the commander responded formally, with pride and delight. “We are honored to be a part of this most important event. Our reports were prepared with care, and we are pleased they have served you well. If you require additional information, please know that we are, and remain, at your constant service.”
“A most gracious offer, Commander,” said Intern Leov, her low voice resonant with approval. Mercut turned his head to fully study her, and was intrigued by how her dark green eyes seemed to swirl in barely repressed excitement. “The Researcher, of course, has further inquiries about the Borg technology, as do I.”
“By all means, Intern Leov. If we are able to provide the answers, we will gladly do so.”
She nodded quickly. “This Borg drone. Is it capable of assimilation?”
“Ah, yes. That initially was our concern as well,” Mercut answered easily. “However, it would appear that Seven of Nine is no threat, thus far of course, in such a way. We have been in close proximity and were reassured that Voyager’s officers would not allow such an action. Furthermore, there are no other Borg on the vessel, so it seems that assimilation has not been exercised.”
“You have not answered my question,” countered Leov, slightly annoyed. “I will restate. If it wished to assimilate, could it do so?”
Embarrassed at his error, Mercut glanced at his two officers, each of whom remained silent, able to offer no assistance with the question. He turned back to the scientists. “I don’t know. I am sorry. I didn’t think to ask. After all, she is no longer connected to—“
“SHE?” For the first time, Researcher Sylvan spoke. His was an odd voice, hollow and without resonance.
So it was true what was said about Sylvan’s suffering, realized Mercut. Not only had the Borg damaged his limbs, but some amount of brain damage probably had occurred as well, affecting that part which controlled emotive resonance.
Scrambling to answer the Researcher’s sharp question, the commander explained. “Yes. Seven of Nine was a Human female when assimilated. She is now attempting to reassume her Human heritage.”
Sylvan listened to this explanation, his purple eyes brightening in agitation. In the ensuing silence, the Researcher leaned forward carefully. When he spoke, his words held the flattest, most direct reproach Mercut had ever heard.
“It is a Borg drone … forever a creature of the Borg Collective. Never forget this.”
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Seven of Nine listened silently as Lt. B’Elanna Torres detailed the progress thus far achieved in understanding the sample modulation schematics. She nodded absently as the Klingon engineer explained the list of hypotheses generated by the engineering staff.
The ex-Borg officer was never more grateful for her eidetic memory. She knew she would need to review it after this meeting. It was so difficult to stay focused, difficult to ignore the persistent pangs of emotional pain shooting through her chest and stomach. Difficult to ignore the agonizing conclusions that her fevered mind had reached about Janeway and last night’s discussion.
“Do you have any questions, Seven?” asked B’Elanna, surprised at the other woman’s silence. It was unlike Seven to listen without comment. The Borg usually was quick to point out faults and flaws. Maybe, thought B’Elanna pleasantly, their work was better than she thought.
The astrometrics officer merely glanced at B’Elanna and said quietly, “No. I shall review these and apprise you of my findings.” She reached for the padd, faltering momentarily as the captain walked up.
Janeway smiled pleasantly at her two officers. “B’Elanna, are you ready for the big meeting?”
B’Elanna returned the smile. “Ready. I’ll be sure to keep my Klingon emotions in check, too.”
“You do that,” was the cheerful reply. The captain looked at Seven, who had assumed a stiff stance of attention. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Seven merely responded stiffly, “I must report to astrometrics.”
“Well, I’ll just walk you there then.” As Seven strode away, the captain turned to the engineer. “B’Elanna, I’ll see you in the transporter room in one hour.”
As Seven left the engineering room, Janeway caught up to her, adjusting quickly to the Borg’s rapid pace.
Janeway looked up at Seven, noting the closed expression and averted eyes. She took a breath as they rounded a corner. “Seven, I’m sorry about last night. Things got out of hand, I was tired, and I’m afraid my temper was running a bit high. I said some hurtful things, and I am so very sorry. Please, can we talk later?”
The words spilled from the captain in a huffed rush, as she matched the taller woman’s rapid stride.
Seven said nothing. She didn’t even look at the captain. Only when the two women entered the turbolift did the ex-Borg officer respond, her eyes firmly fixed on the lift door.
“Our discussion was quite revealing. I understand far more now.” Seven’s face didn’t change as she spoke, and the light eyes remained distant and cool.
Janeway paled. “What do you mean, Seven?”
“I understand why you hide our relationship from the crew.”
The turbolift doors swooshed open and Seven exited quickly. Janeway, whose knees had weakened momentarily, struggled to keep up with the tall blonde officer. She grabbed Seven’s arm, pulling her to a stop. “What do you mean?” the captain repeated, a tight fist of dread clenching in her stomach. She quickly removed her hand when Seven’s narrowed eyes seared it with a look.
The ex-Borg officer took a breath, turning her face away from the captain. “I believe you already know,” she said tightly. For a heartbeat, Seven turned her face, pinning the captain with a piercing glare. “Or would you deceive yourself as you have me?”
She turned and walked away, moving quickly to the astrometrics lab.
The captain remained behind, feeling her body numbing with a soul-deep chill. She slumped against the corridor wall. Seven’s eyes, she thought dully, dear god, Seven’s eyes.
Blue gashes of pain.
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Lt. B’Elanna Torres struggled to maintain a neutral expression, hoping fervently that her extreme surprise and discomfort were not apparent. She walked behind Janeway and Tuvok as the Voyager trio was led through the Krigi starship Sannah, on their way to meet with Researcher Sylvan.
Yes, she kept reminding herself, this was a Krigi vessel. Not a Borg cube, for Kahless’ sake. Yet, with each step her disquiet grew, as the corridors stretched out, curved and dark and glowing with eerie green lights. She half expected to see those dreaded drones rounding each bend in lockstep. She controlled yet another shudder. The only difference between the interior of this vessel and a Borg cube, she realized, was the absence of regeneration alcoves.
B’Elanna wondered what the other two Voyager officers were thinking. And it was a good thing she thought darkly, that Seven of Nine had stayed behind on the Federation starship. After all, Kahless only knows how the ex-drone would have reacted to this creepy display of Borg-oriented obsession.
The group was led into a small round room. There was no door, B’Elanna noted, but the archway flickered from yellow to blue light after everyone had entered, and sounds from the exterior corridors could no longer be heard. Some type of force field instead of a door, she surmised.
“Please be seated. The Researcher will be right in. He has been detained momentarily due to other, external matters. He sends his apologies, and hopes that you will enjoy some of our refreshments while you wait,” said Commander Mercut, gesturing at a small round pitcher surrounded by six metal glasses.
As the Voyager crewmembers seated themselves on one half of the table, Mercut carefully poured three glasses of a warm clear liquid. “It is vicsos, our version of your tea,” he explained, resonating with pride.
With a small smile, Janeway took a sip. Her smile widened. “Commander, this is delicious. Thank you for this hospitality.”
“It is our pleasure.” Mercut remained standing.
Tuvok studied the commander for a moment, then spoke, his flat tones betraying nothing. “The interior design of your vessel is most interesting, Commander Mercut. Are all Krigi starships designed to resemble a Borg cube?”
Mercut responded easily. “Yes. We wish our military and space-faring citizens to become familiar with Borg designs, so that our side does not become disoriented in the heat of battle. Familiarity, we believe, breeds competence and focus. If this environment is uncomfortable for you, I apologize.”
The Vulcan officer merely inclined his head. “A logical explanation. And no apologies are necessary. I find this design interesting, not discomfiting.”
Speak for yourself thought B’Elanna crankily this is downright spooky.
The alien commander turned his attention to the archway.
B’Elanna, who sat facing the archway, saw its lights flicker from blue to yellow. As she watched, a Krigi male entered the room breezily, moving with a lithe lightness that intrigued her. He was followed by two Krigi females, their long flowing silver hair offset beautifully by delicate narrow faces. The three were dressed in floor-length, reddish-brown robes, a far cry from Mercut’s sleek martial uniform. They paused in front of the table as the Voyager trio hastily stood in greeting. Solemnly, Mercut made the introductions, excusing himself after he was finished, and the six seated themselves, Janeway flanked by her two officers, while the two Krigi Interns sat on either side of the Researcher.
A moment of silence filled the room before one of the Interns spoke, her dark blue eyes seeming to expand. “We are honored to meet with such brave enemies of the Borg Collective. Your experiences with the Collective were most illuminating, and we look forward to learning more from you about our common foe. We are assured that our transaction will prove mutually beneficial for both parties.”
Tuvok inclined his dark head respectfully. “We too look forward to an equitable exchange.”
With these niceties neatly dispensed, small yet necessary declarations in the familiar culture of the space trader, the group settled back for the expected exchange between leaders.
Janeway and Sylvan stared at each other across the table, clearly measuring the other with an impunity allowed, even expected, of leaders during a trade.
The Krigi leader broke the silence. “Captain Janeway, it is rare to meet a leader of such a capable crew. I can only hope that the trade of our tactical technology enhances your already formidable capabilities.”
Sylvan’s hollow voice, unrelieved by resonance, shocked the Voyager crewmembers, especially Tuvok and Janeway, who had become accustomed to the waves of emotion from the Krigi. B’Elanna merely seemed surprised.
“You are wondering why my voice is … different,” Sylvan stated quietly.
Janeway nodded slowly. “I apologize for our surprise. We were led to believe that your species was distinguished by an emotive resonance. It is something of a shock to hear you speak without this resonance.”
The Researcher gazed at them, his smooth long face expressionless. His eyes, however, seemed to darken visibly. “You were not misled. I am … unique … among my people. Right after the initial assimilation of my people, my ship was accosted by a Borg vessel. In the ensuing attack, I was damaged by a … drone.”
B’Elanna wondered at the slight hesitation on the last word, but Sylvan quickly moved on, eyes darkening considerably to a deep rich purple.
“I was able to kill it, but the combat led to some brain injuries. My postulthe portion was irreparably affected. My inability to emote has required some adaptation.”
Janeway’s face softened, assuming a sympathetic expression. “I mean no offense,” she explained, “nor did I intend to pry.”
Sylvan merely inclined his head. “There has been no offense.”
“I am glad for that, Researcher,” responded Janeway, her voice carefully modulated to convey both respect and a firm dignity. “Before we begin the negotiations, however, I would like to clarify your intentions regarding the Borg Collective.”
“I see.” If he was surprised by Janeway’s request, Sylvan did not show it, nor did his two assistants. They simply seemed to relax and waited expectantly. Curious herself, B’Elanna turned to watch Janeway.
The Starfleet captain, her eyes a muted grey, gazed evenly at the Krigi scientists. When she spoke, her voice was firm and clear. “Commander Mercut explained some of your post-assimilation attitudes towards reconstruction of your society, and I found your,” she nodded to Sylvan, “recollections quite interesting in that regard as well. However, the commander specifically mentioned ‘annihilation’ of the Collective. I am curious as to what exactly ‘annihilation’ means in this context.”
Sylvan stared coolly at the human captain. B’Elanna thought she detected a ghost of a smile around his thin lips, but dismissed that thought. Krigi faces, after all, never seemed to change.
“An interesting question. May I ask what inspires your curiosity?”
Janeway nodded. “Of course. Please understand that my Federation imposes strict rules and guidelines about how we interact with and influence other societies. Assisting one species in a full-scale conflict against another species, I am afraid, would be extremely problematic for us.”
Sylvan quickly looked over to Intern Leov, who in turn smoothly answered Janeway’s concerns. “Captain, rest assured that any information we request from you will be used for defensive purposes. Indeed, much of the tactical data that interests us could be accessed from a Borg cube, but the fact that you possess this data actually negates the need for a physical confrontation. As you no doubt are aware, the Collective frequents this sector of space, and oftentimes we find ourselves in the role of guardian for species who possess neither technological nor tactical capabilities to defend themselves. This barter would heighten our ability to defend both ourselves and our allies.”
“Yet this does not answer the captain’s question about so-called ‘annihilation,’” Tuvok broke in, his objection cutting to the heart of the matter.
Leov turned to the Vulcan security officer, and her response was edged with apology and contriteness. “The term ‘annihilation’ is inaccurate. You must excuse the hyperbole of our military officers. They tend to pose issues in a more martial fashion. In the Researcher’s reflections, you will recall, the terms ‘containment’ and ‘cure’ were used instead.”
At this, Sylvan interjected, his hollow voice strangely lending force to his declaration. “Our intentions are to tactically isolate the Collective, and then … release … the drones from captivity. For this latter task, Captain Janeway, I require more input. I require more information about the Collective’s social and leadership structure.”
The Krigi leader paused, purple eyes swirling with an unfathomable expression.
“I require your Borg drone.”
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