CHAPTER EIGHT

 

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.

 

 

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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.

 

 

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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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