Seven immediately assumed a defensive posture, as she calmly evaluated the Krigi positions. The Krigi military team surrounded her, ignoring outraged cries and loud challenges from the other side of the force field.
“Seven of Nine, do not attempt to resist,” warned Leov coldly, her dark blue eyes meeting the Borg’s pale ones from across the shoulder of a Krigi officer. Seven said nothing, but her stance did not relax and the pale eyes immediately shifted back to the armed officers.
The young Borg felt an insistent knot of dread curling hard in her chest, even as a deadly calm suffused her being. Somehow, she managed to push away thoughts of Kathryn, of Naomi, of all her newfound friends on Voyager. Seven carefully studied the Krigi soldiers, amassing a wealth of precise observations in the space of mere heartbeats, her sophisticated Borg mind easily slipping into a more martial framework. While a part of her mind continued to process Vorik’s angry protests, Harry’s urgent objections, and various shouts and murmurs from Voyager’s entrapped crew as they argued against the Krigi, another part began coldly calculating estimated Krigi mass and firepower, coming up with success probabilities for various courses of defensive action. Her odds, it turned out, were not good.
Yet she had surmised that the real threat actually was the Krigi scientist, this Intern Leov, who moved with the confident ease of a civilian, not the contained grace of a warrior. Leov would not be a physical threat, the young Borg determined, and unfortunately that was the problem. With limited information, physical threats became the only sureties to defend against; other types of threats would be unexpected, and the odds were not good for guessing.
She watched as the Intern reached into her small bag and pulled out a small black device, shaped like a small Terran flashlight. The Krigi woman strode slowly over to near Seven’s position, careful to allow the officers to shield her in case of a sudden attack by the tall Borg.
“People of Voyager,” Leov declared, pausing slightly to allow the outraged murmurs to dissipate, “we know that many of you do not like this Borg. That its presence upon your ship is merely tolerated, not embraced. This will end as of now. We shall liberate your ship of this Borg presence. We could have merely transported it onto one of ours, but we wanted to share with you the dramatic strides that even this small contact has made on our defensive technology against the Borg.”
She held up the device. “This experimental wave detector has two functions: to identify Borg signature processing waves emitted regularly by cortical nodes; and to scramble those same waves. Research on this device began long before we encountered your ship, but the drone’s medical records allowed us more intimate detail of cortical node functions, and so we were able to make dramatic progress. This single device allows another powerful line of offense against the Borg Collective.”
Leov paused significantly. “Allow me to demonstrate.” And she turned the device towards Seven. With a flick of her wrist, the device came alive and a red light flickered onto Seven’s forehead.
A low-pitched hum emitted from the instrument, and Seven dropped to her knees, groaning loudly as she held her head in her hands. An intense shooting pain seemed to rush into her mind all at once. She lost all sense of her surroundings, could not hear the quick shouts and angry threats thrown about by the Voyager crew, did not know that many eyes had widened suddenly in shock and outrage at her suddenly incapacitated condition.
Her whole being was consumed by pain in various degrees, seeming to sear and scorch her very brain. It licked wildly through her consciousness, spreading agonizingly through her head, pulsating madly as the internal pressure grew and grew. Her hands clawed frantically at her head, in some places ripping through skin and releasing small rivulets of rich, red blood. Increasingly unaware of her actions, she cried out repeatedly, tortured incoherent grunts.
Leov flicked her wrist again, and the humming ended.
Seven continued to shake in agony, her breath coming in tortured rasps as her senses returned. Slowly, yells of concern from the crew filtered into her consciousness, but she forced herself to concentrate on the Krigi in front of her. She stood up gingerly, thankful to feel her strength returning.
Harry rushed forward, as close to her as possible, and asked urgently, “Seven, are you alright?”
Seven nodded once, wishing he could see her gratitude at his concern, yet not daring to take her eyes from the surrounding Krigi. “I am … functioning, Ensign Kim.” Her voice was shaky, and she forced herself not to look at her bloody hands.
“You have no right to do this! Release us now!” demanded Vorik, glaring at the Krigi scientist. His stance was battle-ready, and mirrored by most of the crew.
“You need not worry,” Leov answered mildly. “I used the lowest possible setting. We do not wish to kill the drone. It is too valuable for that. We merely want to share with you some of our accomplishments, so you too could appreciate the rewards that our mutual cooperation has produced.”
The dark-haired human shook his head. “Release Seven of Nine,” Kim responded coldly. “She is not your enemy, and she certainly is not ours. This little demonstration is barbaric!”
“Oh really!” Waves of disdain and disbelief accompanied this exclamation, which exploded from one of the Krigi technicians, who had been part of the engineering team that had helped install the weapons modifications. The young Krigi strode purposefully towards the Voyager crew as an amused Leov watched.
The technician searched the crowd. “You,” he said, pointing to a carrot-topped cadet, “said you wished the ‘unnatural Borg bitch’ never set foot on Voyager, while you,” indicating a scowling Bajoran geometrics ensign, “thought that all Borg, including Seven of Nine, should ‘spend eternity in a world of pain’ to atone for their atrocities. And the lot of you,” his hands sweeping to include a group of biometrics staff, “think the drone should be tried for crimes against the universe upon your return to the Alpha Quadrant.”
As he spoke, faces turned away, eyes averted in sudden shame.
“Don’t you see? You are like us,” declared the technician, his tone softening to one of entreaty and camaraderie. “We share this common hatred. We share this common goal. Why hide it? The Intern has more to show you. Please…be proud of the fruits of our cooperation.”
Leov’s face changed nearly imperceptibly, her lips stretched in a Krigian grin. “Yes, there is more.”
Seven tensed as she watched the Intern reach into the bag and pull out a large dish. Behind her, she heard Vorik’s voice ring out. “Do not do this!”
“Be silent!” scowled Leov, advancing on Seven.
The young ex-Borg straightened, steadfastly ignoring the tendrils of fear curling around her chest. With a proud tilt to her head, Seven faced the other woman, who had stopped beside one of the armed soldiers.
“This is keyed to seek out cybernetic lifeforms,” Leov stated with clinical detachment as she waved the round object, “and emit electro-magnetic bursts at its targets, forcing those drones into immediate stasis.” She twisted a knob and a flare of white light flashed towards Seven, piercing into her chest.
Seven felt a white-hot heat rip through her body, uttering one long anguished cry before she succumbed to darkness.
“Leave her alone!” yelled Harry, his hands fisting in frustration and anger at his own helplessness.
Unconcerned, Leov watched Seven crumple to the floor. “This device also was at its lowest setting. The drone will regain consciousness soon enough,” she declared dispassionately.
“Stop this savagery,” said Vorik, biting off each word with unconcealed contempt. He glared at the Krigi scientist from behind the force field.
Leov looked at him in honest surprise, while the technician reacted more forcefully.
“Savagery?” he echoed in stark disbelief, then his eyes widened in anger. He strode to the prone form of Seven, lifted the slightly bloody head, and gestured emphatically at her visible implants. “This is a Borg drone,” he exclaimed as if this mere fact adequately justified the Krigi’s actions, his voice unleashing great waves of distaste and hatred.
The force of this emotional onslaught caught the Voyager crew by surprise, and many recoiled reflexively as waves of negative emotion poured around and onto them. Even Vorik, who was careful to maintain a stolid Vulcan emotional defense, felt himself cringe involuntarily.
Suddenly, Seven began to stir in the technician’s hand. In dismay, he dropped her head, watched as it hit the floor. Her eyes opened and she began to rise, using her arms to push off from the ground. The technician had stumbled slightly backwards in revulsion, but then a mad gleam entered his eyes. He loomed over her, drew back a leg and kicked her squarely in the head.
Seven reeled from the attack, as pain shot through her head. Another kick swiftly followed, this time hitting the metal bands of her lower chest. She had regained enough awareness, however, to allow herself to roll with the jolt, and she swung out her legs, knocking the surprised technician off his feet. He screamed in terror and began to crawl backwards rapidly.
Seven shook her head and tried to stand once more, only to be assaulted again as the butt of a Krigian rifle slammed into her head. She cried out with the pain, even as her right hand instantly grasped onto the rifle, and she instinctively used her impressive Borg strength to toss both it and its wielder to the other side of the cargo hold. She turned her head quickly, cognizant of Krigi soldiers swiftly encircling her, their rifles pointed ominously at her head.
Then a white light arced through the air, and her chest exploded with pain once more. For a second time, Seven succumbed to an electro-magnetic blast, dropping boneless to the floor.
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Intern Leov nodded with satisfaction, as she stroked the metallic disc. The device worked every bit as efficiently as she had believed it would. She was impatient to test the other devices in her bag. An increasingly rowdy captive crew, however, rudely interrupted her pleasant thoughts.
“Stop it!” screamed Ensign Kim, his handsome face twisted into an expression of absolute fury and contempt. “Don’t you come near her!”
By his side, Vorik had knelt down, as close to the force field as possible, trying to ascertain Seven’s condition as she lay prone on her side, unconscious after the second EM blast. “You act like savages blinded by hate,” he muttered, his dark eyes turning upon Leov with cold condemnation.
Other jeers were thrown from the frustrated Voyager crew, as Leov strode slowly over to the prone drone, the Krigi commandos carefully shadowing her every move. With a ginger foot, she prodded the unconscious drone, pushing it onto its back. Its hair had loosened, she noticed, and blonde tendrils now framed its slightly bloody face. She studied that face carefully. It was beautiful, she thought, very attractive indeed.
Leov found herself focusing for a moment on the full red lips and the curve of cheek, then she abruptly stopped herself, suddenly furious at the unconscious drone for daring to bewitch her with looks it had no right to wear. With a snarl, her heart pounding unreasonably fast, she kicked the drone in the stomach, feeling her feet connect with hard metal. Her action unleashed yet more cries from the captive crew, and her head rose up quickly to glare at them with luminous blue eyes as cold as space.
“How dare you condemn our actions!” she grated, waves of intense indignation wafting from her. “We expected better of you — a crew that has braved the bowels of the Collective itself, that has witnessed the very havoc it has wreaked upon our space! We thought you were sensible enough to understand our mission. And indeed that you shared our urgency in destroying the evil of the Borg!”
She advanced towards the force field, eyes aflame with a soul-deep fury. She flung out her arm, finger pointing at a fallen Seven of Nine. “That drone represents this evil. How many innocent species has it helped to destroy? How much evil has it caused? Do you even know this? How dare you defend it?”
A strained silence greeted her words, but many heads were shaking in rejection of her thesis. Seeing this, Leov felt further confounded, not understanding the captive crew’s stubborn inability to revel in the new weapons.
Then a feminine voice cut quietly through the tension. “Seven of Nine is not evil.”
The Krigi scientist whipped her head from side to side, searching for the crewmember that dared contradict her so coolly. She located a slender blonde human female, who was pushing her way to the front of the assembly. The woman’s face was drawn and tense, and her eyes held an unfathomable, unquestionably complex, expression.
“I know what evil is,” continued Marla Gilmore, previously a member of the infamous Equinox crew, her voice eerily calm and unyielding, “and evil requires a conscious intent, a willingness to disregard consciously every moral and decent urge. I know because I have done that. And Seven has not. She was a slave to the Collective. But she is not your enemy.”
“Seven of Nine will forever be a drone of the Collective,” declared Leov in an implacable tone.
“No,” countered Gilmore quietly. “Many of my crewmates may believe as you do, but that is wrong.”
At these soft-spoken words, Leov noticed, quite a few of the Voyager crew averted their eyes, lowered their heads in silent shame and self-recognition. Which made the Krigi woman more furious. “A Borg sympathizer,” she jeered in contempt.
The human woman merely stood her ground, refusing to drop her stare, and shook her head.
“Intern,” interjected Enforcer Duttir in an urgent voice, “it wakens.”
Leov turned away from the human woman, instantly dismissing her words and sentiment. She walked carefully near the Borg, her eyes raking over the lithe body revealed through the tight biosuit. Leov watched as the drone stirred, sitting up cautiously and sweeping its surroundings with slit, pale eyes. It stood slowly, and its gaze locked onto the Intern with the same insolent, defiant attitude it had displayed before.
Leov felt a familiar tightening in her stomach as those pale eyes fixed on her, and she slowly expelled a breath she had not realized she was holding. “Duttir, this little display is over. This crew obviously does not appreciate our efforts,” she heard herself say, forcing herself to look away from the silent Borg. “Inform the Mata that we have the drone. And beam it to the planned coordinates.”
“As you wish, Intern.” Duttir snapped into command mode, relaying instructions and directing action sequences.
The dark-haired human male fixed Leov with a foreboding glare. “You won’t get away with this.” Harry then turned to the drone. “Don’t worry, Seven. We’ll be there.”
Seven opened her mouth to respond, but quickly closed it as Krigi commandos surrounded her. Then she disappeared in a field of sparkles.
After a final, disdainful glance at Voyager’s crew, Intern Leov turned to Duttir. “This ship is under your command, Enforcer. Good luck.” She nodded once to the technician, who immediately keyed in transport instructions.
As Voyager’s cargo bay disappeared around her, Leov’s thoughts turned to the beautiful drone. Suddenly, the Krigi scientist was very much looking forward to the coming series of experiments.
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Researcher Sylvan eyed the technicians carefully, ensuring that the cryo-static caskets were deposited and hooked up in exactly the right spots. Under his steady gaze, five Krigi scientific technicians scrambled to complete the ‘passenger’ transfer under the famously unyielding supervision of the Researcher. While it was undoubtedly an honor to interact with Sylvan and his two distinguished Interns, more than one technician was gladly anticipating the end to this assignment, for the combination of Sylvan’s demanding exactitude and the unnerving presence of a mysterious captive drone weighed heavily in an already tense atmosphere.
To the technicians, it was still a mystery why the lifeforms in these caskets, suspended in a state of cryo-static preservation, were required in the laboratories — though the rumor mill had generated a list of possibilities, each more gruesome than the previous. To their dismay, at least one rumor had borne out: the presence of the Borg drone, one different from any they had encountered before. Even now, their eyes strayed to it, as it regenerated in the alcove corner, mercifully restrained by thin photonic bands across its neck, chest, arms and legs. Clearly, the Researcher was taking no small chance with his safety.
“Foreman Jakir, it would be advisable for your team to pay attention to their duties, rather than stare at the drone.” Sylvan’s hollow voice cut dryly through the air, vaguely threatening in its deceptive mildness. “If it would help, I can ask Enforcer Radew to assist with the installations.”
Jakir, a somewhat squat, older Krigi, stiffened at these casual words, and his limpid grey eyes cut over to the well-armed, muscled security contingent before turning to Sylvan. “Thank you, Researcher, but my team will be done very shortly. Not much more to do.” The foreman’s words were edged with embarrassment, as well as fear. And he turned to glare at his four charges with ill-disguised fury. They quickened their pace, even as their hands trembled over wires and various instruments.
Sylvan nodded in cranky satisfaction. He was irritated at the presence of so many strangers in these hallowed laboratories. It was bad enough, he reflected grouchily, turning to a console, that a security contingent of four would be present at all times. He wasn’t the only one bothered by it. Srange had been even more upset at the officers’ presence than he had, and it had absolutely been no comfort that Sylvan himself had requested their presence as an added precaution for the upcoming experiments. As long as the security personnel maintained a discreet distance, assisting only when necessary, then all should proceed smoothly, he reminded himself.
He quickly skimmed the various messages on his console, noting that Voyager would be departing imminently, escorted by two Krigi war ships. Sylvan rose from the chair and swiftly paced over to the large windows spanning an entire wall of the laboratories. From his vantage point, he easily looked down on the Federation vessel, and took a moment to admire its sleek white curves. It had begun to move away, and, sure enough, two war ships, darker and more angular, shadowed its flight.
The Researcher squelched a small upsurge of regret for the actions of the past ten hours. The memory of the betrayed, outraged expressions on the faces, in the eyes, of Voyager’s leadership team was a difficult one. For so long, the Krigi had acted honorably in their encounters with other species, priding themselves on a stoic refusal to bend to desperation and despair, even in the darkest times of their history. Their trustworthiness and stalwart integrity were two factors largely responsible for their continued vitality as a people — for these qualities had led their allies to band together and provide copious amounts of assistance during the desolate, post-assimilation period. The surviving Krigi had been treated very well, with respect and kindness, rather than cast out among the stars to survive or starve.
However, Sylvan recognized with a heavy heart, the story of their deception of Voyager might well resound throughout the empire, tarnishing their golden reputation. All the more reason, he decided firmly, to make the most of this astonishing opportunity — and destroy the Collective as quickly as possible. If they succeeded in such a task, then the Voyager encounter would be transformed from a negative ploy to a positive chance properly, even miraculously, exploited. And all the species of the universe, old and new, would hail the Krigi as the selfless conquerors of evil itself.
If only he could erase the memory of Janeway’s face when he had revealed the deception, had informed her of Voyager’s takeover and of the drone’s capture. For a species unable to emote resonance, he reflected wryly, the Starfleet captain had demonstrated a remarkable ability to communicate her emotional response through facial and tonal movements. He had felt a distinct chill spread in his chest as he watched her eyes narrow and shade to an ominously opaque grey, even as her voice dropped two registers to a dangerously low tone, rich with barely suppressed anger, fury and hostility.
Sylvan shivered slightly. He would not like to meet the human captain again. With a sharp sense of relief, he watched as Voyager’s form elongated for a split-second as it engaged its warp drive, followed seconds later by the other two ships. According to plan, Voyager’s senior officers, now under armed guard but comfortably ensconced in individual suites aboard the starship Avenger, would be returned to their vessel when the three starships reached the outer limits of Krigi space. The presence of two Krigi war ships, not merely one, was to provide added incentive for the alien crew to vacate Krigi space and resume their homeward trajectory, with a much more powerfully armed vessel, albeit minus one Borg crewmember.
“Researcher, we are ready for your inspection.”
Sylvan turned as the foreman’s subdued tones reached his ear. Nodding, he made his way to the casket area, and for the next half hour he inspected each of the eight cryo-static caskets, ascertaining that every connection was secure and placed properly. Finally, he straightened. “Good work, Foreman. Your team may leave now.” His tone was curt, and he watched impassively as their features visibly relaxed. On a softer note, he added, “I have authorized bonus allotments for each technician, in recognition of your efficiency. Thank you, and know your service will be remembered.”
At that, the technicians immediately began to convey effusive gratitude, which he waved off decisively. He moved away quickly, hearing them shuffle off, out of the lab and likely directly towards the transporter room. Even before they left the vast laboratory, Sylvan’s thoughts had turned elsewhere.
Indeed, the Krigi’s top scientific mind was headed right for the regenerating drone. His pace slowed as he neared the alcove corner, however, for he noticed Intern Leov standing in front of the sleeping drone. The junior assistant was standing very close to the drone, and the Researcher paused to watch curiously. Apparently, Leov was so engrossed in her activities, whatever they were, that she did not notice his attention.
Sylvan edged forward carefully, determined to survey her activity surreptitiously. His face was grim. Leov was a brilliant and capable scientist, especially in the field of cyborg mechanics, yet in the past her special brand of … zealousness … for research on Borg drones had been quite lethal. On more than one occasion, Sylvan himself had been forced to wield his considerable authority in order to soften her more aggressive tendencies.
The few drones they had managed to capture alive had not lasted long under her attention, even given a decided tendency towards self-termination and an already rapid deterioration of cybernetic systems after disconnection from the hive mind. Leov simply would not be allowed full rein on this drone, he decided firmly. Its assets were far too valuable, and its unique ability to adapt fully to a severed life was a remarkable quality that simply could not be wasted.
He stopped suddenly in surprise. Leov was indeed positioned closely to the drone, but the assistant’s movements were anything but forceful or threatening. Rather, the female scientist appeared to be studying the drone’s face intently, while her right hand lightly traced the metal on the drone’s cybernetic left forearm.
Sylvan moved forward. “Leov? What are you doing?” His face was clearly puzzled.
The Intern’s hand froze on the Borg metal, and she quickly retracted it when she turned to greet Sylvan, her face impassive. She cleared her throat, and when she spoke, her resonance was muted. “I am merely noting the nearly flawless removal of the drone’s external implants, Researcher. According to the medical records, quite a number of external, and some internal, implants were removed relatively soon after it was severed, yet only a minimal amount of dermal reconstruction was conducted, even after Voyager’s medical team had become more familiarized with its cybernetic physiology. A most impressive effort.”
Sylvan eyed her skeptically, wondering why he felt that she was hiding something significant. “Is that all?” he pressed.
She stared back at him, seeming to recognize his deeper question. Her eyes turned from him to rest on Seven of Nine. “No,” she murmured. “This drone disturbs me.”
“How so?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Voyager’s crew was quite tenacious in its declarations of allegiance towards the inclusion of the drone within its team. I did not expect such a … passionate … defense of the drone.”
He nodded, recalling Leov’s initial fury upon her return to the Mata with the drone. She had paced back and forth furiously as she told a tale of an ungrateful crew, one seemingly uncaring, even scornful, of its contribution to impressive new anti-Borg weaponry. He had been impressed at her restraint during the demonstration, knowing how she had itched to test more of the new devices.
“That is no matter now,” he assured, trying to soothe her thoughts. “Voyager has left this region. We need not worry about them any longer.” His eyes also turned to the drone. “Our thoughts should be on brighter things, Leov. Now, wake this drone.”
Her eyes widened. “Now?”
His lips twitched in a sardonic grin. “I only wish to inform it of tomorrow’s activities, when it shall have the honor of launching a new era in our Borg research.”
Leov returned the grin, moving quickly to a nearby panel, on which she keyed some commands.
As the regeneration cycle ended, Seven of Nine opened her eyes. The young drone silently stared at the two Krigi scientists, who merely seemed amused when Seven tested her bonds futilely. Seven swallowed, then spoke. “State your intentions.”
Sylvan felt elation pass through his chest as he studied the captive drone. He recognized the feeling as one that had become increasingly rare, even painfully elusive, in the past decade. It was the joy of embarking upon a new, potentially catalytic research program, one rich enough to draw upon and test every one of his talents. Hungrily, he savored the surge of intellectual excitement, knowing it fed his soul like no other activity or emotion. With a small, triumphant sneer, he answered her query, his hollow voice accentuating the impact of his words.
“Welcome to the research ship Mata, Seven of Nine. You are in my laboratories. Rest well tonight, for soon you will help us with the next step in our research program.”
He stepped close to the drone, enjoying her instinctive recoil. His voice dropped lower, becoming a dread whisper in her left ear.
“Assimilation.”
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