The
hours passed quickly, as the Voyager trio peppered the Krigi scientists with
technical questions about shield and weapons modifications. B’Elanna especially was engaged in the
conversation, frequently turning theoretical discussions into pragmatic insights
about matrix capabilities, energy requirements and transponder stress
levels.
The Klingon engineer was warming to these alien scientists, she knew, especially on an intellectual plane. It was a deep joy, or rather an unexpected treat, to call upon her formidable engineering knowledge as she tried to match wits with the Krigi. It was exhilarating, B’Elanna thought happily, knowing her pleasure was shared by both Janeway and Tuvok, who were clearly also enjoying the rich technical repartee.
As
Janeway pursued a particularly intriguing topic about the pragmatics of test
design, B’Elanna leaned back in her chair, studying the Krigi scientists. Interns Srange and Leov possessed two of the
quickest minds she had ever encountered, and B’Elanna was not annoyed in the
slightest when either of them dared to finish her sentences for her, since
every time this occurred they would follow up with another intriguing
remark. It was an intellectual feast. She had not felt mental stimulation like
this since her early days in Starfleet Academy, when she had braved entry into
a high-level warp theoretics class taught by none other than the famous Dr.
Leah Brahms.
Researcher
Sylvan, however, was another case entirely, decided B’Elanna. His intelligence was not merely
brilliant. It was sublime. When he spoke, which was not often, and
again she admired the easy comfort with which he deferred to his assistants,
his insights sometimes literally took her breath away. B’Elanna recalled that Tuvok had mentioned
something about how the Borg Collective had coveted the Krigi for their
exceptionally quick intellects. Well,
no wonder, she decided firmly.
She
perked up suddenly. It appeared as
though this round of negotiations was ending.
Thus far, the Krigi had decided to trade their shield schematics for a
wealth of Borg tactical data, culled from Seven’s last encounter with the
Collective, when the Borg Queen herself had tried to blackmail Seven into
helping assimilate Humanity. Shield
fortifications, B’Elanna knew, were on the very top of Janeway’s wish list,
since the odds were that effective shielding would be more valuable, in the
long-term, than superior weapons. The
captain had to be pleased with the outcome of the barter thus far, thought the
Klingon, assuming that sample simulations held true to form in practical
testing. After this interaction with
the Krigi, however, Voyager’s chief engineer harbored little doubt that tests
would be successful.
Negotiation over weapons modifications, however, would be delayed until Researcher Sylvan met with Seven of Nine. He wanted to gather extensive information about the Collective’s leadership and social structure from the ex-Borg officer, and indicated that more detailed information along those lines would be used in the weapons portion of this barter. In addition, he wanted to explore more thoroughly the Borg technology aboard Voyager. Sylvan had acquiesced easily to Janeway’s demand that all meetings with Seven occur solely on the Federation starship. Indeed, he had not even questioned the motivation behind the captain’s request.
“I
look forward to meeting with Seven of Nine.
It is not every day that one has the chance to speak with a severed
drone. I look forward to adding the
drone’s extensive knowledge of the Collective to our databases,” Sylvan
remarked dryly, his dark purple eyes fixing steadily on Janeway.
The
captain kept her expression pleasantly impassive, B’Elanna noted, although the
engineer knew how much Janeway disliked hearing Seven referred to as a
drone. Sylvan’s comment snapped
B’Elanna back into a more cautious mode.
In all the esoteric discussion of warp conduits, matrix disruptions and
modulating frequencies, she had managed to forget this species’ morbid fascination
with the Borg Collective.
The
Voyager captain answered evenly, “I am
certain that Seven will be able to provide you with valuable insights into the
Collective, and I look forward to continuing our negotiations after your
discussion with Seven. We shall meet
you in our transporter room in thirteen of our hour segments. Will the initial group of engineers
accompany you?”
“Yes,
Captain. I will be relinquishing my
engineering team to Lt. Torres, so that our technicians may begin work as soon
as possible on the initial series of tests and installations. I have no doubt that this first phase will
proceed quite efficiently.”
Sylvan
glanced significantly at his two assistants.
“Only I will meet personally with the Borg drone.”
Sylvan’s
hollow voice, as usual, betrayed no emotion, no inkling into the feelings of
this accomplished Krigi leader. Idly,
B’Elanna wondered at the emotional repercussions of the attack on him by the
Borg.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Janeway
sighed as she settled onto her couch, silver robe flowing silkily over her
naked body. The shower didn’t help at
all, the captain determined ruefully, rubbing her throbbing forehead.
The meeting with the Krigi had been more enjoyable, though more draining, than she had anticipated. Once she had recovered from their ship’s disturbing resemblance to a Borg cube, she had allowed herself to focus fully on the extraordinary Krigi scientists conducting the negotiations. In truth, she admitted to herself, it had been relieving to throw herself into the highly technical discussion, rejoicing in the temporary distraction of the exchange to wrest her mind from thoughts of Seven of Nine.
Kathryn
Janeway didn’t know what to do. Her
last conversation with Seven, in the turbolift and outside of astrometrics, had
deeply shaken the captain. Seven’s
coolly contained facade, the anguish in those beautiful blue eyes, her pointed
question about deception — all hit Janeway like a slam to her solar
plexus. Clearly, Janeway’s words —
those hurtful and damning accusations she had thrown at Seven during last
night’s terrible discussion — had deeply wounded the blonde woman, and, with an
aching heart, Janeway knew that no small amount of reparations would be
required to repair the hurt.
Why,
why, did she say those things! She
replayed the words in her head, wincing at her own cruelty.
And
her own guilt. For Kathryn Janeway
realized she could no more disavow those words than she could excise a dark
part of her soul, the part that balanced good with evil, the part that every
human being harbored, yet most could control.
Usually, Janeway had no difficulty controlling it; only in the depths of
stress did her inner demons gain some leverage. She was proud of her control — until something like this
happened, and she was forced to deal with the realities of her own fallibility
and personal weaknesses.
She
had indeed entertained those questions in her most private moments. But she had never meant for such doubts to
reach Seven’s sensitive ears. No, she
shook her head, eyes bleakly tearing in the low light of her quarters, she
never meant to hurt the young ex-Borg in such a brutal personal attack. Of all people on this ship, Janeway was the
one who knew most how deeply Seven’s personal history tormented her, having
been the most important confidante that the former drone possessed as she
worked her way through the initial disorienting isolation from the Collective,
and then as she dealt with the complexities of Humanity.
In
the corridor today, when Seven had mentioned deception, Janeway had fully
grasped the extent of her betrayal. The
realization had rocked her, stopping her cold, even as the pain evident in
Seven’s brief glance slashed through her very soul.
She
was worse than the others on the ship who had systematically rejected the
ex-Borg, Janeway recognized painfully.
At least they had given Seven the courtesy of honest prejudice, of
clear-cut disapproval and outright snubs.
Janeway’s deception was an unthinkingly malevolent betrayal, for she had
never demonstrated any such discomfort about Seven’s past, had never allowed
the other woman to even think that the captain was capable of such unforgiving
grievances, and therefore had led Seven to believe that she was safe from
resentment in the captain’s company and embrace.
Dear
god, how she wanted to see Seven, Janeway thought despairingly, her senses once
more overwhelmed with an unfamiliar urgency and desperation. She dearly wished to gaze into those pale eyes,
cup that beautiful face, and beg forgiveness.
But
that would not be possible tonight.
When she returned from the meeting, Janeway had immediately asked the
ship’s computer to locate Seven of Nine, only to be told that the astrometrics
officer had just initiated a regeneration cycle. The coincidence of timing was too convenient, and Janeway
understood instinctively that this was Seven’s method of avoiding the captain,
that Seven did not wish to see or interact with the captain in any way. Janeway felt she had to respect this
unspoken wish, especially now in the aftermath of last night’s revelations —
and no matter how much it hurt the captain to stay away.
Besides,
reflected Janeway grimly, she herself needed this time to deal with the
matter. It was way past time to
confront her insecurities and prejudices.
She wasn’t at all sure about how she was going to deal with her aversion
to all things Borg.
She
would reach out for help, the captain decided, a decision that cost her no
small discomfort. The fact that she
didn’t know exactly how she would seek help, or who with, was skipped over in
her urgency to resolve the matter internally.
Yet, she knew, whatever the cost in comfort and humility was minuscule
in comparison to the alternative — losing Seven, as friend, as lover, as
future. And that possibility, she
reflected, body tense with pain and dread, was unacceptable.
For
now Kathryn Janeway knew she deeply loved the beautiful, blonde ex-Borg. She had suppressed the realization from herself
for the past two weeks, preferring to focus on the sensual pleasures of a newly
romantic relationship and surrender fully to a dreamy contentment that seemed
to envelope the two lovers in the privacy of her quarters. Not once had she echoed Seven’s declaration
of love, and the younger woman never mentioned the omission. Seven probably did not even know that such
declarations were best answered in kind, reflected Janeway sadly.
But
the prospect of losing Seven now forced the captain to confront her true
feelings about the match. Forced her to
admit the reality that she had fallen hard for Seven of Nine, was still falling
in fact, and so quite possibly had driven away the one person who had touched
every part of her soul.
Was
it too late? she wondered bleakly, trying to imagine a life without the love of
the young blonde. She quickly recoiled
from the thought, frightened by the rising tide of despair and emptiness that
welled up at the mere thought.
She
wiped away a tear.
She
would make this right. Somehow, she
would get Seven of Nine to trust her again, to believe in her love.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Researcher
Sylvan stood at the view port in his office, staring out into the glittering
star field. Out of the corner of his
eye, he saw the flicker of the doorframe and heard soft steps enter the
room. He turned slowly, watching as the
two women stopped mere steps away from him.
“Are
they here?” he asked softly.
“Yes,”
responded Srange. “Three ships, cloaked
and waiting behind the asteroid belt.
They await our command.” For a
second, it appeared as though she was going to speak further, but she merely
closed her mouth and looked attentive.
Sylvan nodded. “Good. Mercut is aware of them, but reiterate that he is not to contact them. Cease all communications until necessary. It would not do for Voyager to intercept a stray transmission.”
“I understand,”
the female scientist answered uneasily.
“When will you know for sure?”
He lifted his face, and his right hand absently
swept over his head, scratching over the postulthe
region. “After I meet with the
drone.” Sylvan turned back to the view
port, his shoulders tensing. “What of
the engineering team?”
“They are aware of what they must do,” Leov
replied.
“Excellent.”
Srange
hesitated again, and Sylvan turned to her with a renewed interest. He watched her silently for a moment, then
demanded, “Srange, speak your mind. I
know you harbor reservations.”
The
senior adviser swallowed once. “I am
uncomfortable with this plan.”
The
other woman turned to her with a hard look.
“Your discomfort has no merit, Srange.
We are honorable. Voyager will
get its share of the exchange. Our
shield and weapons technology will be theirs, and will no doubt serve them well
for the rest of their journey.”
“That
is not what I mean,” Srange responded tersely.
“I
know,” muttered Leov harshly, resonating with anger and impatience. Her eyes narrowed in a Krigi expression of outrage. “But I will not entertain your perspective
again. Your compassion is misplaced,
Srange. Have you learned nothing from
our struggles?”
Srange
flinched at Leov’s outraged tones, recoiled from the other woman’s anger. “I have no love for them, Leov,” she
countered firmly, “but have you thought of the cost to our own society? If we embark on this path, it could wreak
our very social fabric, something that we have worked too hard for too long to
reconstruct. There must be other ways
to use the Borg technology, other ways to utilize their knowledge and
experience to press our goals.”
Leov’s
eyes flashed with frustration. She
dismissed Srange’s protest with a contemptuous glance, turning instead to look
at Sylvan.
The
Researcher’s eyes flickered dangerously.
He was weary of this argument.
The pain in his postulthe began to flare again, and he massaged
it more fiercely.
“Your
discomfort is noted, Srange, but irrelevant,” he interjected decisively. “The alternatives are vastly inferior and
inefficient. Moreover, it is not yet
certain that we will proceed with the plan.”
Sylvan
turned back to the view port. “I must
first evaluate this drone. After all,
its attributes may not meet our requirements.
However, if they do, then we will proceed with our plan.”
His
head swung back to fix a steely glare on Srange.
“There
will be no turning back.”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Captain
Janeway stopped in the corridor and took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervousness
churning in her body. Then she started
down the corridor once more, entering the astrometrics lab slowly. Her heart spasmed painfully as she saw Seven
of Nine, who was at the far end of the room rewiring a panel conduit.
The
blonde astrometrics officer did not turn her head at the captain’s entrance,
but her automatic greeting rang out.
“Captain. How may I provide
assistance?”
Janeway
gazed for a second at the bent figure, then walked over near the panel. “Seven.
May we talk now?” Her voice was
quiet, open. She didn’t want to push
the younger woman into a conversation, but still felt the need to connect with
Seven, to assess how much damage she had inflicted on the younger woman and
also on their new relationship.
Seven
was silent for a moment, her hands stilling their activity. Then, she continued deliberately, yet
quickly, and, the task completed, carefully stood up facing Janeway. Her narrow face gave nothing — no
discernible emotion, no indication of the feelings flowing under that
self-possessed mask. The pale eyes were
disturbingly remote as they studied the captain.
“I
wish to discuss the data required by the Krigi,” Seven stated, her toneless
voice driving the captain’s hopes lower.
“Tuvok has delineated their requirements for Borg tactical data, and I
will comply with the request. However,
I was puzzled by the lack of specification regarding Borg technology. Explain.
Do the Krigi not wish to acquire any technology?”
Janeway
winced inwardly as she realized that Seven was deliberately limiting their
discussion to professional matters. She
took a breath. Patiently, she
answered. “In exchange for their shield
technology, we are providing tactical information. Apparently, the Krigi provide assistance against the Borg in this
sector of space, so the tactical data would be useful for that purpose. However, Researcher Sylvan left open the
possibility for other types of information, including technology, to serve as
barter for their weapons technology. He
wants to meet with you, specifically, in order to discuss the social and
leadership structure of the Collective.
We arranged a meeting for today, at 1300 hours.”
“Indeed.”
Watching
Seven closely, and increasingly dismayed at the lack of any kind of distinguishable
reaction, Janeway tried another tactic – the direct plea. “Seven, please, I want to talk about our
discussion in the cargo bay. I know I
hurt you. I know I said things that
were painful and more than a little unfair.
Please, let me make it up to you.
Let me show you how much I care.”
Seven
turned away, moving to her main console, from where she gazed at Janeway with
eyes more distant and cold than ever.
“One hundred and four.”
The
captain stared blankly at the blonde officer.
Seven
held her stare and explained in a voice drained of emotion. “You wanted to know the number of
assimilations in which I participated.
That number is one-hundred-and-four.”
Janeway
swallowed, a cold snake of dread slithering up her back. She didn’t like where this conversation was
going. “Seven,” she whispered, holding
up a hand, “you don’t have to do this.
It doesn’t matter anymore. It
doesn’t matter to me.”
Her
voice broke slightly at the last words, as she realized in a flash of belated
insight exactly how little Seven’s past really mattered – in comparison to how
much she needed the young woman in her life, as part of her future and as her
most cherished lover and partner. A
piece of her soul, torn asunder under pressure of all the doubts and misgivings
Janeway harbored about Seven’s Borg past, began to heal, slowly yet
irrevocably.
But Seven pressed on, ignoring Janeway’s whispered words. “For a drone with only eighteen years in the Collective, the number is indeed high. I was very efficient at my duties and therefore was activated frequently for assimilation missions. The Queen was most pleased with my progress. I believe I was a … favorite. I felt nothing during these assimilations,” the ex-drone’s tone now brutally void, “except for a sense of detached satisfaction at the contributions of those species to the Collective’s perfection.”
Seven’s
gaze on the captain never faltered, and those pale eyes never warmed. Janeway felt a chill run down the length of
her body. Oh darling, she cried
out silently, what have I done to you?
Have I hurt you so badly?
“Do
you wish to know more about my time in the Collective?” asked Seven
stiffly. For a moment, her lips seemed
to tremble, then her face tightened and closed once more.
The
captain couldn’t tear her eyes from Seven’s face. “No, darling, no,” she whispered, her heart pounding with guilt
and regret. She stepped forward,
reaching out her hand reflexively, wanting only to find the warmth she knew
existed under that cold facade.
Seven
flinched from her touch, taking a quick step backwards.
“You
need not touch me,” Seven asserted frostily.
“I know now how difficult it is for you to touch a Borg body.”
Janeway
inhaled sharply, the words piercing her heart.
With a shattering clarity, she recalled all the times she had avoided
Seven’s Borg implants, all the hesitations and shivers induced by those
metallic reminders of her lover’s assimilated past. An icy film seemed to wash over her, as she began to realize how
much distance, how much pain and hurt, now separated the two of them.
“If
there is nothing further, Captain,” Seven’s cool voice continued, “my
assistance is required in engineering.”
At
that, the astrometrics officer walked away.
The
captain stood frozen for long moments.
Then, with a blankness of mind and heart that would later terrify her,
she made her way to her ready room.
After all, she needed to prepare for the pending meeting with Sylvan and
the Krigi engineering team. She had
things to do — a ship to command, a barter to continue.
If
only she didn’t feel so numb, so very cold.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Seven
studied the Krigi leader, noting his relaxed stance, reserved face and the dark
purple eyes that watched her with an almost detached air. It was the second hour of their meeting,
much of which had been spent answering Sylvan’s pointed questions about the
culture of the Collective. Objectively,
the meeting was progressing adequately, Seven reflected, for his questions were
generally neutral in content. And she
was deeply thankful that he did not emote resonance. Given her own emotional disarray, she would have been highly
vulnerable to another assault of Krigi loathing.
Subjectively,
however, the meeting was a tremendous sap on her internal resources. Janeway’s presence was an unwelcome
distraction. Although the captain chose
not to participate actively, merely interrupting sporadically to clarify
knowledge contained within Voyager’s own databases, Seven was uncomfortably
aware of shuttered grey eyes watching her every move, a tense gaze lingering on
her face, a note of strain lining the familiar command voice. It took every ounce of Seven’s fierce Borg
resolve to avoid looking at Janeway.
The
young ex-drone was almost grateful for Sylvan’s sharp questions, because they
provided an opportunity to concentrate on other matters other than her feelings
of personal devastation. She occupied
her mind with the best ways to avoid divulging too much information in her
answers. She still did not agree with
this barter, even though thus far the information requested was far from
sensitive. That was the problem, she
decided. This exchange seemed too
easy. Seven wondered if the captain had
considered this possibility. But then
Seven knew far more about the Collective than anyone else, and so perhaps
others would not consider that more detailed information could be had for the
taking.
“What
was the nature of your relationship with the Queen?”
Seven
narrowed her eyes as she considered Sylvan’s words. “Explain your question.”
“My
question relates to the treatment of top … performers … in the Collective. You indicated that your official title was
Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix Zero One.
In order to reach such a high ranking, you must have provided excellent
service to the Collective,” Sylvan explained smoothly. “How was your service received by the
Queen?”
“The
Queen obviously perceived my service as adequate and quickly promoted me through
the ranks. My initial designation was
Four-Thousand-and-Twelve of Eleven Thousand.”
Her
answer was crisp and curt, yielding no more detail than required. This was her strategy. She would not make this exchange easy for
Sylvan. Something about him, she
admitted, roused her distrust and suspicion.
A part of her wondered if her inability to trust stemmed from her recent
disillusionment with Janeway, and she filed it away for later consideration,
wrenching her attention back to the Krigi leader.
“What
actions on your part inspired the Queen’s confidence in your abilities?” Sylvan
persisted.
From
the corner of her eye, Seven saw Janeway’s face sharpen into a more attentive
expression. Yes, Seven thought sadly,
the captain would be greatly interested in this answer as well. This answer would do much to elucidate
Seven’s own complicity in the atrocities committed by the Collective.
Seven
took a breath before responding, savagely crushing a sudden flood of shame and
regret. She would not lose
control. Not in front of Sylvan, and
certainly not before Janeway. “My
dedication to efficiency was notably superior,” she explicated in clipped
tones. “I was quick to note
malfunctions in other drones. My
assessments of species assimilations were more thorough than most. In addition, my ability to identify more
efficient methods for resource allocation was deemed valuable.”
Sylvan
sat motionless through her answer, his face impassive. “An interesting set of skills,” he noted
dryly. “What happened to malfunctioning
drones?”
“Drones
who could not be fixed were terminated,” Seven responded tightly. The pangs of remorse returned with added
force, as her mind conjured snippets of memory associated with those acts.
“I
see. How did the Collective assess
species assimilations?”
“The
Borg used a complex model to calculate the most efficient time and strategy for
assimilations. Essentially we
forecasted likely trajectories for technological and biological development of
targeted species, and then estimated the most efficient opportunities for
assimilation. In some cases, the
Collective would wait decades or centuries before it acted. In other cases, assimilation occurred
quickly after an initial assessment.”
Sylvan’s
eyes were swirling now as they stared unblinkingly at the former drone. “And how were your assessments more …
thorough … than most?”
Seven
dared not look over to Janeway, who remained preternaturally silent. “My assessments invariably proved more
accurate than most. This is explained
by my contribution of advanced algorithms for computation of likely methods of
resistance, attuned to the technological and biological attributes of the
species in question. Unlike many
drones, I was able to improve upon the Collective’s standard models.”
“Ah.” Sylvan leaned forward slightly. “So you made it possible for the Collective
to succeed in assimilations that otherwise might have failed?”
Seven
clenched her fists under the table. She
stiffened visibly as shame surged through her body. “In some cases…yes,” she affirmed with difficulty. She looked down at the table, a muscle in
her jaw tightening.
“Is
there a reason for this line of questioning, Researcher?” It was Janeway’s voice, low and strained.
Seven
looked over at the captain, who was gazing sternly at Sylvan. For a brief moment, the captain glanced at
Seven, but the grey eyes were veiled and impenetrable. Seven swallowed miserably and turned away.
Sylvan
turned to the captain, his movements easy and relaxed. “I apologize, Captain Janeway, if these
questions are difficult. Perhaps you
can understand that it would helpful for us to know the factors and logic
included in the Collective’s decision-making process. In fact,” he said, eyes shifting to Seven, “I believe that
inclusion of a decision-making matrix used by the Collective will be a part of
our barter request.”
“Seven,
can you provide this?” Janeway asked
coolly, her eyes still fixed on Sylvan.
“I
will comply,” Seven responded, her throat suddenly dry. She felt a burning at the back of her eyes,
and clenched her fists even tighter to forestall the tears that
threatened. Her face tightened into an
impassive mask of Borg coolness.
“That
would be appreciated,” Sylvan remarked lightly, apparently impervious to the
charged emotions suffusing the room.
“On a different note, I would like to ask some questions regarding your
nanoprobe technology.”
“Indeed,”
responded Seven stonily. “You may ask
your questions.”
“Nanoprobes
are highly prized among the medical and scientific community, for we are aware
of certain healing properties associated with their use. However, it is difficult to maintain a ready
supply of Borg nanoprobes, aside from harvesting them from a live drone.” Sylvan paused, noting Seven’s suddenly
narrowed eyes. “Have you managed to
find a way to replicate them?”
“No,”
Seven answered tersely.
Sylvan
seemed to study the former drone with somewhat sharper eyes, and then he leaned
forward carefully. “Seven of Nine, are you
capable of assimilation?”
Silent
for a moment, Seven responded quietly, “My nanoprobes are fully
functional. I can command them to
assimilate a new host.”
“I
see.” He pondered this for a moment, shifting
his gaze from Seven to Janeway, and then back again. “And assimilation would be complete?”
“Explain
your question.”
“I
will clarify. If you assimilated a new
… host … then would that host develop into a drone fully capable of contacting
and integrating into the Collective?”
Seven
contemplated his question, trying to see behind the words to his
intentions. It frustrated her immensely
that she could not ascertain full clarity in identifying his intentions, and a
nervous energy roiled in her stomach.
She looked over at Janeway, who met her glance with that same unreadable
expression. But the captain’s lips and
face were noticeably more taut, observed Seven, a quick pang of pain slicing
through her as she realized how distasteful it must be for Janeway to endure
all this discussion of Seven’s complicity in the Borg Collective.
“Yes,”
Seven replied evenly, “the new drone would be fully functional. Its ability to contact the Collective would
be impaired only by destruction of the neural transceiver, as well as
suppression of the ability to manufacture another one.”
Sylvan
settled back into his chair. A strange
silence filled the room as he contemplated Seven’s answers. Seven fought the urge to look again at
Janeway, reluctant to confront her impassive face, or, worse still, afraid to
discover the familiar grey eyes filled with loathing and revulsion for Seven’s
history with the Collective. She must
adapt to seeing those emotions in the captain, Seven told herself dejectedly,
just as they were mirrored in the eyes of many crewmembers.
The
Krigi leader sat up, apparently having come to a decision. He turned to the captain, who straightened
and peered intently at the alien scientist.
“Captain
Janeway, I am ready to identify my requirements for the second part of our
barter,” he announced, his hollow voice ringing somewhat loudly in the room.
The
captain nodded. “Please continue,
Researcher.”
“First,
we require two of your spare regeneration alcoves. The Borg construction of the energy matrices are intriguing, and
their ability to dispense energy with minimal waste would be a helpful
theoretical and technological contribution to several research projects ongoing
in our laboratories.” Sylvan paused,
expecting a response, but Janeway remained silent.
He
continued. “Second, I would like a
decision-making matrix of the Borg’s assimilation assessments, as we
discussed. Third, we require a detailed
exposition on the cultural and social aspects of leadership in the Collective, with
an emphasis on the Borg Queen and her relationship to high-ranking drones. I will have my ship relay a list of precise
analytical points to explore in this exposition. I am sure that our best social researchers will be delighted to
receive this high-level, insider information.”
He
stopped to take a breath, then turned to Seven as he detailed his last
condition. “Finally, we require a large
supply of nanoprobes from Seven of Nine.
The precise amount will be determined after consultation with my assistants.”
“Unacceptable.” Seven’s voice was cold, implacable. A chill inexplicably had enveloped her as
soon as she heard this last request, and she wondered at the dread unfolding in
her stomach.
Janeway
shot Seven a quick stern glance, before turning to Sylvan. “Researcher, your conditions are very
interesting,” the captain stated with firm precision, “but obviously we will
need some time to discuss these requirements amongst ourselves.”
“There
will be no discussion about my nanoprobes.
I will not comply,” asserted Seven, glowering at Sylvan, then her
ice-blue eyes slashed over to Janeway, silently emphasizing her opposition to
the idea.
“I
do not know if this barter can proceed without the nanoprobes,” remarked Sylvan
mildly. “Please do take time to
consider my request.” At this, he stood
slowly, a none-too-subtle indication that this round of negotiations, at least
for him, was concluded.
Janeway
also stood, and she spoke in a resolute tone, facing Sylvan yet clearly
intending the words for Seven. “We will
discuss all facets of your request. We
will be in contact.”
As
the trio left the room, Seven angrily avoided looking at Janeway, who tried
several times to catch her eye. No, the
ex-drone thought determinedly, the nanoprobe technology would not be shared
with this species. It held far too much
power, too much potential for damage.
If she must, she would defy the captain in this matter.
Seven
did not trust this Sylvan to tap into it solely for medicinal purposes. There was something about him, about his
relaxed air that unnerved the former drone.
She found him far more disturbing than his Krigi brethren, all of whom
at least shared their emotions openly.
In all
likelihood, she hypothesized glumly; she would be alone in her defiance, as
well as her suspicion of the Krigi.
Hatred of the Borg Collective ran too high, too deep, among the crew —
and its captain, she added painfully — for the Voyager team to maintain an
objective perspective on the barter.
She would have to compensate for their emotional response.
If
only she could ignore her own emotions, she thought fiercely, avoiding yet
another look by Janeway, then she would be more efficient in this endeavor.
Which
would be better for all involved.
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