Seven studied the Krigi scientist intently, even as her breath caught at his unexpected words. Her mind worked quickly, trying to decipher possible meanings and ramifications behind his words. Assimilation? Possible scenarios played out in her mind, from experimental situations involving assimilation nanoprobes to actual laboratory-induced assimilation of sentient beings. A feeling of cold dread, which had rumbled in her stomach upon first waking in this alien laboratory, intensified throughout her body. She fought this sensation, knowing it did her little good in this situation.
"Explain." The Borg's voice was firm and cool.
Sylvan stepped back, a small smile twitching on his lips. His purple eyes seemed to glow with a new light. "I meant exactly what I said, drone," the Researcher stated mildly. "You will assist us in assimilation. We have gathered a number of... subjects...in this laboratory, and you will use your talents to assimilate them. We shall study physiological changes induced by assimilation nanoprobes in the exact instance of their introduction into these bodies. Afterwards, we will use the new drones in our continuing experiments for anti-Borg weaponry. Since you consider yourself a scientist, I'm sure you can appreciate the rich theoretical and practical uses of this new research phase."
Seven swallowed, her mind flashing on a myriad of past assimilations. She swiftly pushed away those memories. As she considered his words, the full horror of his intentions began to sink in, and fear gripped her as she wildly extrapolated the identities of these "subjects". She met his eyes directly and asked her question, trying desperately to keep fear from seeping into her voice. "What have you done with Voyager?"
"You need not worry for your former crewmates," he responded with equanimity. "They are currently on their way out of our system, unharmed and only somewhat inconvenienced. I doubt they will miss you much. After all, their ship is now much better equipped with our technology. I consider it a fair exchange, as I'm sure they will agree, once they've had a chance to calm down and reflect reasonably on the matter."
The Borg almost swayed as relief surged through her. So perhaps Kathryn and Naomi and the others were safe, she thought faintly. Perhaps then they were not the unfortunate "subjects" this alien scientist had mentioned. Yet, even as she celebrated the fact that no harm had befallen those she loved, Seven of Nine desperately pushed aside looming waves of sadness and grief at the prospect of permanent separation from her starship collective, from her Kathryn. She returned her attention to the triumphant Krigi scientist standing before her. "I will not comply."
Her words did not seem to bother him at all, for he simply shrugged. "I believe you will. Or you shall simply deal with Intern Leov."
At this, another figure moved from the periphery of her sight into full view. It was the female scientist who had tormented her on Voyager. The woman had moved to Sylvan's side, and now stood watching Seven closely.
Seven threw the woman a cold glare, asserting in a low voice, "Her methods will not induce my compliance. I will not participate in your research program. You will have no choice but to terminate this drone."
The Krigi scientists shared a glance, then Leov turned to the Borg and offered a chilly smile. "You will adapt, Seven of Nine. And I will enjoy...inviting...your adaptation."
Sylvan nodded, then moved forward swiftly to the alcove control panel. As he keyed in the commands, he half-turned to Seven and muttered, "You will complete the regeneration cycle. Tomorrow, we begin."
As the familiar energy flow of the regeneration process began to wash over her, Seven of Nine clung to an image of Kathryn Janeway, using the memories of her love to stave off the cold dread of a suddenly bleak future.
The Krigi starship Avenger sailed smoothly in space, maintaining its steady vigil over the Federation starship Voyager. For three days, the Avenger, with its sister ship Fantara, had flown unceasingly towards the outer boundaries of Krigi space, escorting the alien vessel and carrying a human cargo of four Federation officers -- Captain Kathryn Janeway, Commander Chakotay, Lt. Commander Tuvok and Lt. B'Elanna Torres. The Federation officers had been furnished with extremely comfortable individual quarters, since the Researcher had insisted that these reluctant guests be provided with the best that Krigi hospitality could furnish, aside from freedom.
In her quarters, staring out of its massive windows into a streaking star field, Janeway quietly battled the twin demons of desperation and humiliation. The hours, now days, since their capture seemed to drag on interminably, and she had chosen to torment herself with hypothetical alternative scenarios in which she had discerned the threat, the betrayal, that Sylvan had posed.
When, that is, she wasn't thinking about Seven of Nine. On this matter, Janeway's colorful imagination and growing dread were a merciless combination, conspiring to fill her mind with graphic, heartrending images of the young ex-Borg caught in the implacable clutches of the Krigi science program, bombarded with hate-filled resonance from every Krigi she encountered, and forced to undergo unimaginable tortures as the Krigi scientists attempted to divine the weaknesses of the Borg Collective through the living force of a single ex-drone. This was the stuff of Janeway's waking nightmares, and the horrid visions of her few sleeping moments.
She replayed painfully every argument with Seven over the Krigi barter, remembering vividly how the younger woman had vigorously refused to cooperate fully with the Krigi, even in the face of condemnation from officers like Chakotay. Janeway had dismissed Seven's intransigence as irrational paranoia, perhaps triggered by the strong resonance of hate and rage directed at the young ex-Borg by some of the Krigi negotiators. Unfortunately, however, Seven's instincts were proven true. And now the one person with misgivings over the whole process had been taken captive.
The captain was determined to reverse events, to track down and free Seven from the Krigi war machine. Exactly how she was going to accomplish this feat, given the other species' technological advantages over Voyager, was a bit of a mystery. One that Janeway dared not dwell upon too long, lest she lose hope and drown in a morass of unceasing despair.
Suddenly, she lurched against the side of the wall. Scrambling quickly to her feet, she peered out into the dark star field, trying to discern the source of the sudden disruption. Then the ship jerked in the familiar motion of a vessel falling out of warp. More tremors shook the ship. Janeway's heart beat faster, as adrenaline rushed into her veins. The ship was under attack, that much was obvious. Around her, the lights dimmed but no untoward noises reached her ears. Apparently the sound-dampening field around for her suite was still intact.
For long minutes, perhaps even an hour, the Starfleet captain paced restlessly, frustrated at her lack of knowledge of current events and feeling increasingly more helpless about her fate. The ship shook occasionally with tremors, which dissipated in force and frequency as the minutes dragged on.
Finally, the force shield at the entrance to her suite shimmered and turned transparent. Through the opening strode a four-person Krigi contingent, dressed unlike any Krigi she had met. Garbed in navy pants and tunics, with bodies lean and tightly muscled, these Krigi carry themselves with a strikingly grim, serious air. As the two, shorter Krigi moved to guard the entrance, two Krigi females, who walked with the confidence of authority, approached Janeway.
"Captain Janeway of the starship Voyager." The low voice issued from the taller female, who raked Janeway with luminous gray eyes even as waves of cautious entreaty washed over the human captain. The Krigi women stopped three paces from Janeway.
The captain eyed them cautiously, noting the absence of weapons and the respectful distance they accorded her. She gave a small nod and answered, "I am Janeway. Who are you and what is going on?"
The taller female spoke again, her words edged with a faint amusement at Janeway's direct manner. "I am Commander Chiron of the Krigi rebel forces. We have taken control of this vessel, and currently are securing possession of the other two vessels, including your Voyager. On behalf of all that is decent in Krigi society, we apologize for your treatment at the hands of Sylvan and the Krigi military. Be assured that we will transport your officers and you back to your ship, and the Krigi shall trouble you no more."
Janeway squared her shoulders and straightened further, her eyes turning an opaque grey. She tilted her head to one side and cleared her throat. When she spoke, her voice was like ice, laced with sarcasm. “A most generous offer. However, why should I believe you are any trust worthier than Sylvan and his crew? Obviously, our dealings with the Krigi have been … disappointing.”
Chiron inclined her head at the captain’s words, and a deep sincerity accompanied her response. “There is no reason for you to believe us any more than you now trust Sylvan. Unfortunately, there is little time to prove our sincerity to you. Our actions will have to suffice.”
Janeway shifted her gaze onto the second woman, then back to Chiron. She admitted to herself the truth of the commander’s words. If this group returned Voyager to her control, then she would be able to attempt a rescue of Seven. It was the best, and only real, offer on the table.
She exhaled carefully. "Commander Chiron, I won't pretend to understand what is happening in your society, but I thank you for your assistance. My crew will thank you as well. However, Sylvan holds hostage a valuable member of my crew. And it is my intention to get her back."
The captain's eyes glinted dangerously as she watched Chiron exchange a quick glance with her companion. The other woman turned to study Janeway, deep green eyes swirling speculatively. The captain stared back stoically, determined to communicate her resolve. Somehow, she sensed that this second woman ultimately would be the decision maker of the two.
"The Borg." Words uttered in a surprisingly melodic voice, although tinged with distaste and anger. "You would risk your vessel and the lives of your crew for a drone?"
Janeway felt her face harden, and she struggled to keep her voice level, refusing to succumb to pent-up frustration and rage. "Seven of Nine is a valuable member of my crew, as I have stated. We protect our own. I will not leave her to become a science experiment in Sylvan's laboratories."
Again, the two Krigi females shared a significant glance. Then the smaller woman spoke again. "Very well, Captain Janeway. You may accompany our contingent. My name is Laric, and I will be in command of the forces leading the assault on the Mata. We could benefit from the power of another starship. However, we must leave this space as soon as we have secured control of the Fantara and transferred Voyager back into your hands. We don't have much time. Our forces are successfully pinning the bulk of the Krigi military on the other side of the star system. But that may not last long. At maximum warp, it will take us no less than two days to reach the Mata's current location."
Janeway nodded quickly, her command mask firmly in place.
Laric continued. "I must leave now to oversee the rest of our activities here. Chiron will explain briefly so you may understand your own role in the events that have transpired. However, Captain Janeway," and luminous green eyes challenged the captain, "you must accept that our cooperation has limits. While you and your crew have the objective of freeing your... drone... that will not be the case with us. Our goal is to capture Sylvan and end his new research program. This includes eliminating the drone and the dangers it represents."
Laric stepped back. "It would be in your best interest to reach the drone before we do."
She nodded once at Janeway, glanced briefly at Chiron and swiftly exited the suite.
In the resulting silence, the captain looked sharply at Chiron. Janeway's eyes narrowed and her lips thinned.
Before she could speak, however, the tall Krigi woman began. "You must forgive Laric," said Chiron softly, as muted waves of sadness and genuine concern reached Janeway. "Ten years of organizing the resistance movement and fighting Sylvan now rests on what occurs in the next two weeks. This is a most significant time for us. Especially so for Laric. Without her, the Krigi would have no choice but to follow Sylvan's tyranny and obsession."
Janeway remained silent for a few moments, allowing herself some time to rein in her emotions and indignation. She nodded slowly and asked, in a surprisingly cool tone, "Rebel forces? It appears that our lessons in Krigi society were lacking. Would you care to explain?"
"Of course." Chiron gestured to the table and chairs at the other end of the suite. As the two women walked over and sat down comfortably, the Krigi commander began to explain.
"Our rebel movement started out small, yet has gained force steadily over the years. It seems that more and more Krigi are becoming weary of serving Sylvan's obsession with the Borg Collective. And now, his plans for your drone are inspiring massive revulsion, swelling our numbers beyond our wildest imaginings, even among the ranks of the military itself. So the time for us to strike is now -- when the fire burns hot against Sylvan."
Janeway felt her stomach tighten. "What exactly are his plans for Seven of Nine?" She felt her mouth go dry even as she spoke the words, and her heart began to hammer in her chest, painfully and emphatically.
Chiron's gaze never wavered from the captain's face. "He will force your drone to assimilate Krigi criminals. But 'criminals' is the wrong word, Captain. Our penal colonies are mostly composed of captive rebel organizers and sympathizers. Yet, these same prisoners also are the brothers, sisters and parents of so-called 'loyal' Krigi throughout the empire, even military personnel. Political differences can split families quite peacefully, yet Sylvan would dare turn these Krigi into Borg drones -- and use them in his live experiments. This, more than any other factor, is turning loyalists into rebels. His plans are abomination. Even staunch military officers are finding they cannot stomach a leader who would turn their relatives into drones. And the tyrant does not seem to realize that he has trespassed so badly."
Janeway was stunned. “Why would he experiment on his own people?”
“Apparently the tyrant considers any Krigi who does not share his mission to be a useless Krigi,” replied the alien commander, her face hardening perceptibly. “If he deals with them in this respect, then they become useful in his mind.”
As Chiron's resonant outrage washed over her, Janeway shook her head. "Seven would never agree to that."
"Perhaps your drone can be persuaded."
Janeway's eyes flashed. "No. Never."
"You have met Intern Leov?" Janeway nodded slowly, feeling a chill spread up her spine. "Leov is the empire's leading expert in cyborg mechanics, even more accomplished than Sylvan himself in that discipline."
Chiron leaned forward as she continued. "Leov also carries another distinction. She is the empire's most sadistic scientist."
"Dismissed." Janeway flexed her shoulders tiredly, finally feeling the adrenaline wash away, replaced with the first numbing waves of exhaustion. She moved her head, catching Tom Paris's eyes. "Tom, stay as close as possible to Laric's ship. I don't want us losing them."
He nodded, murmuring, "Aye, Captain."
Satisfied, she watched as the rest of her senior staff shuffled out of Voyager's conference room. As Janeway turned to gather her padds, she tilted a curious eyebrow at Chakotay, who remain seated, his face slightly disturbed.
"Chakotay. What's wrong?"
He inhaled slowly, as though reluctant to answer her question. As his frown deepened, her concern grew. Finally, he spoke. "Kathryn, I didn't want to contradict you in front of the others, but I think this mission is a bad idea. We should not become involved in the middle of a civil war."
Irritation flared in her tired head, but she tamped it down. Calmly, she tried to address his point. "We are involved, whether we like it or not. And this crew sticks together. We don't abandon our own. Besides, you heard what happened in the cargo bay with Intern Leov."
His face didn't change. "But we have to take calculated risks. In my opinion, this is a bad one. We can't just go running off, risking everything, because someone does something that we don't like."
His gaze was pointed, and Janeway wondered if he was referring to the Equinox episode. "You think I'm advocating this mission purely out of an emotional indulgence?" Her voice had become dangerously soft.
Chakotay's eyes suddenly narrowed and darkened. "I know you care about Seven. But can you see clearly what you're doing? What you're committing us to?"
"What?"
"It's obvious, Kathryn, that you have become personally invested in Seven of Nine's rehabilitation. But I'm asking you to step out of the mentor role and put things in their proper context," he murmured, reaching out a hand to cover hers in gentle sympathy.
She stared at her first officer, feeling anger grip her throat, even as a part of her mind breathed relief at his ignorance about her true relationship with Seven. Savagely, she crushed that errant part, shutting it down coldly. Janeway felt a sudden calm flow through her and settle. Perhaps it was the culmination of days spent ruminating madly on Seven's fate at the hands of Sylvan, or maybe it was the inescapable realization, more powerful than ever before, that she loved the young ex-Borg with a consuming passion. Whatever the reason, Kathryn Janeway decided finally to take the first step on a public path.
"My personal feelings for Seven are not at issue here. I would do the same if it were you, B'Elanna, Harry or any member of this crew. I need you to understand that," she asserted firmly, holding his gaze with an intense stare and withdrawing her hand carefully. "But you are right that I have feelings for Seven. When we get her back on board, which we will do," she paused to emphasize her resolve on this point, as he watched carefully, "I won't hide those feelings any longer. I love her, Chakotay. We have become…close. And I don't care who knows it."
His eyes widened as realization hit, his throat worked soundlessly, then he managed to croak, "What? You...and Seven?"
She nodded, feeling slightly more faint, slightly disbelieving that she had finally shared knowledge about her love.
He gaped at her as though stupefied, then his shoulders sagged, even as his eyes blazed with a new emotion. "I can't believe...how could you..." His voice trailed off, as he took deep breaths.
Suddenly, he stood up, his face turning purple. His mouth twisted unpleasantly. "I should go. There's much to do," he said stiffly.
"Chakotay, is there a problem?" she asked quietly, disturbed by his strong reaction. She remembered his words to Seven over the nanoprobes, and wondered how deeply his revulsion ran.
He hesitated, his frame seeming to deflate. His shuttered eyes searched hers. "You would go with a ...Borg...and not me? I thought we had a chance, Kathryn. I thought..." He shook his head, moving away as she remained riveted to her spot, speechless in disbelief and astonishment.
Then he turned abruptly, body tense with a new energy. "She didn't do something to you, did she? Some damn Borg mind control?!" he demanded, almost yelling with an uncharacteristic anger.
Janeway's eyes widened. She stared at him as though seeing a stranger. "Commander, get a hold of yourself," she ordered coolly, becoming angry at his intimation of manipulation by Seven and disturbed by his obvious animosity towards the ex-Borg. In a gentler tone, she said, "Chakotay, I thought we were clear about matters between you and me. I'm sorry if I led you on in any way --"
"No, Kathryn," he responded too quickly. His eyes avoided her. "I was out of line. I apologize."
He nodded curtly, then turned on his heel and left the room.
The captain sank slowly into a chair, feeling her head begin to pound. She honestly had no idea that he still harbored feelings, even hopes and expectations, about a more intimate relationship with her. What a mess, she thought gloomily.
Seven of Nine lay on the biobed, her body no longer responding to her dictates. She lay quiescent, just as she did on the Equinox, when the Doctor had disengaged her brain functions from her nerve endings. She could only comprehend what was happening, yet was powerless to protest or engage physically, as Intern Leov methodically probed and studied the architecture of her brain.
It was the fourth day of her captivity, she knew, and thus far the Krigi scientists merely had chosen to confirm the data included in her medical records, learning for themselves about her idiosyncratic biological and physical functions. She had been amazed at the speed and efficiency with which Leov worked, although she had come to realize that the Krigi scientist had acquired a significant amount of drone-related knowledge from previous dissections. And she wondered how much longer it would be until the Krigi attempted to convince her to assimilate the sentient subjects.
Such thoughts, however, lingered on the periphery of Seven’s consciousness, for much of her waking energy was now spent attempting to filter out a constant barrage of hate-filled resonance, which seemed to fill the air like a dead weight, growing increasingly heavier until its presence became nearly suffocating. It was worse when the purveyors of such emotion, the constant security teams attending to Sylvan and his scientists, dared to come near the ex-drone. When that occurred, their murmurings seem to increase and the resonance would acquire a nearly sharp edge, unrelieved by much else but equally powerful undercurrents of fear and loathing.
Sylvan and his scientists, however, conveyed little of such emotions. Their resonance usually consisted of curiosity, satisfaction and even a bit of happiness. In the past day, though, Seven had begun to notice some stress wafting from Srange and Sylvan. But none from Leov, whose resonance, particularly when she worked alone with Seven, was a complex blend of curiosity, slight anger, and an oddly sensuous undertone. The latter confused the ex-drone, but she did not focus on it.
Instead, her attention was consumed by the hate and fear generated by the security teams, because these emotions were now mixing with disturbing images triggered by Leov’s current actions. The scientist, in rooting through her brain architecture, obviously had found a data path on assimilation and was pursuing it. As Leov continued, an unfortunate consequence was triggered. Distinct if mercifully short images flitted across Seven’s mind’s eye --- images from previous assimilations, images that the young ex-Borg had hoped never to recall ever again.
But, helpless in its grip, Seven could only endure the parade of dread memories. With horrific clarity, she saw once again the expressions of horror and fear and loathing on the faces, in the bodies, of targeted species, as they attempted futilely to escape the reach of the Collective, as they sacrificed themselves to spare a few extra, equally futile seconds of flight for their companions. She saw anew the empty triumph burning in their eyes when, cornered and desperate, some species would terminate their own offspring as she watched, rather than allow the Collective to assimilate their young – one last act of defiance, one last homage to personal will, before they either self-terminated or surrendered to her tubules.
Her viewing of such events, now, differed dramatically from the first time by one significant, terrible measure. For now, no longer attached to the hive mind and so newly capable of personal emotional reactions, Seven of Nine could not help but be consumed by compassion and regret as she relived these memories. In some respects, it was as though she experienced the events for the first time – and perhaps she did, in an unfiltered, unprotected sense. There was no protective barrier filtering out the emotional repercussions, no Collective refusal to acknowledge the pain and horror of the assimilation process in which she participated.
There were only the fresh memories, and the inescapable fact that these were her actions, her deeds, her tubules inserting into hapless, terrified victims. As the images seared her consciousness, over and over again, the external barrage of hate-filled resonance inextricably meshed with, and enhanced, Seven’s internal cries of self-recrimination.
There was no surcease from the negative emotions. And she could not stop feeling.