Gasping for air, the woman clawed at the body pinning her down, struggling frantically to gain relief from the barrage of sensations that drove at her, making her mad with lust and pain. She was utterly vulnerable, thoroughly at the mercy of this creature whose hands and body moved with ferocious abandon, drawing streaks of blood across back and stomach, pocking her skin with an assortment of insistent bites and nips. There was nowhere to go – only a need to stop the barrage before her senses overloaded and she lost herself completely, but there was no way out from underneath this strong body.
She tried again and again, thrusting her muscled hips against the other woman’s hard stomach, heaving her legs to assault the pair that pinned them down. All to no avail. Her grunts were met with groans of passionate delight, and the body above seemed to grind more fiercely into her fevered frame, driving the air from her lungs and drawing a small scream. She stilled her actions, surrendering to the force of the larger woman, who moved more determinedly over her, grounding hips and moist genitalia into her yielding skin.
The larger woman seemed to shake, her wide mouth opening in ecstasy, but it was not enough. She suddenly seemed to notice the acquiescence of her smaller companion, and, enraged at this unwelcome stillness, she raised an open palm and brought it down with no small force, smacking the woman across the left cheek. An exhalation of pained breath, and the larger woman sat up, still pinning her lover to the bed.
“Why did you stop?” Leov growled, her chest heaving as the passions roiled within her, cooling only slightly. Her fists clenched and she jammed them uncaringly into the other woman’s sweaty thighs.
The smaller woman gasped for air, feeling Leov’s fists grind slowly into her body. “Too much,” she panted, swallowing heavily, “you have to slow down tonight.”
Leov frowned, glaring down at her lover for a long moment, then, with a frustrated curse, slid off the other woman and stretched out on her back. She still felt her passion like a coiled spring in her chest, stretching her tight, hurting her with its painful tension. She tried to slow her breathing, but the urgency did not dissipate. She felt her lover sit up and felt dark eyes watching her.
“Leov, what bothers you tonight?” murmured Jeama, a Krigi combat leader and the Intern’s lover of one month. Jeama reached out a hand, but snatched it back as Leov turned to her, eyes aflame with a deep anger.
“Don’t you dare stop like that ever again,” ordered the Intern, her voice low and dangerously level. She sat up straight, reached over with a strong hand and grabbed the other woman by the hair, pulling the head up to a level with her eyes. “Or I won’t be so gentle.”
She released the hair, watching as Jeama’s head dropped to the bed. Then Leov rose and began to dress quickly.
“Where are you going?”
“Away.” Without a backwards glance, Intern Leov strode out of Jeama’s quarters.
The Krigi scientist walked the corridors with a careless grace, passing soldiers and technicians who quickly steered away from her, none wishing her displeased visage to focus upon them. Undisturbed and unaccompanied, Leov walked a familiar path, her thoughts feeding on a gnawing disquiet and dissatisfaction.
She was not at all regretful about her curt treatment of Jeama. If the combat leader did not please her, there were many others on this ship who would leap at the chance to entertain the powerful scientist. Leov’s penchant for rough sport in bed was well known, and if her lovers could not handle the interaction, then they were swiftly replaced. Leov was not one to become sentimental over such matters.
That was why the present situation bothered her so much, driving her to an unprecedented level of frustration, which, she admitted with some humility, was a large part of her increasingly rough, frenzied treatment of Jeama. That drone, thought Leov with a renewed fury, why does the drone torment me?
Close proximity to the drone was slowly driving her mad. Initially, she had tried to deny her growing lust, transforming the energy into an exhausting focus on her research. But such had little effect on the phenomenon – her want grew with every hour, as she touched the drone’s body during studies of its brain and cybernetic physiology, as her fingers shamefully obeyed the urge to linger on the warm skin surrounding its implants. And its unceasing indifference to her only deepened the lust, turning her sexual desire into an even stronger urge to possess, to control, to command.
But it was forbidden. It was abomination. To even think such thoughts about a Borg, to entertain personal desires about a liaison with a drone, was madness. If anyone else knew that she harbored such thoughts, Leov shuddered as a cold snake of fear coiled her throat, her career would be finished. Her vaunted status would be lost, and all the power and respect she held would be negated in the face of such an unthinkable, unimaginable trespass. The fact that she did think it, that she did imagine it, would be taken as a concrete sign of scientific perversion, as well as the ultimate insult to the Krigi race itself. She would be rejected, totally and without mercy, she knew.
Her steps slowed as she neared familiar duranium doors. Stopping to register her biosigns at the recognition panel, she gathered her composure behind a stern, haughty mask of scientific detachment, then entered the cavernous laboratories. She walked quickly by the security team, who barely noted her presence as they played a common game amongst themselves, and reached her work area – near the drone. Taking a few, quiet, calming breaths, she moved to her workstation, grabbed a medi-corder and moved to stand before the captive drone.
Looking down on the drone, Leov experienced a twinge of regret. It was a pity, she decided, that the Borg’s light hair had been eliminated. Nevertheless, the drone remained beautiful, painfully so. The absurdly revealing biosuit had been replaced with a looser, Krigi-designed jumpsuit, which allowed removal of assorted panels to provide easy access to various implants and which, in Leov’s opinion, operated more efficiently to regulate and record the drone’s physiological changes.
Seven of Nine, lying silently on a biobed and restrained by now-familiar photonic bonds, regarded her dispassionately. Then the pale blue eyes shifted away, and the drone’s body did not move at all.
The Intern stiffened, knowing the drone was capable of movement; Leov herself restored the drone’s movement capabilities after every session, wanting the Borg to feel truly helpless – able to move yet held captive to the biobed. But now, thought Leov darkly, her contained lust edging her thought processes, the drone was clearly mocking her by remaining negligently still, as though the Intern was not a threat in the slightest. A hot rage filled the Krigi woman. She wanted the drone to strain at the bonds, to flinch at her touch…to do anything but demonstrate this maddening indifference.
It is enough, she told herself silently, that Jeama displeases me and leaves me unfulfilled, but now this damnable drone dares to ignore my presence, my control over her.
Leov flicked the medi-corder over Seven’s body, noting the general state of exhaustion in the drone’s body. Clearly, regeneration was necessary. She allowed a small smile to curve her wide mouth.
“You need to regenerate, Seven of Nine,” she purred, lowering her mouth to mere inches from full, dark lips. Leov knew the drone felt her anger, tinged with a reckless edge of lust. Then she straightened and flicked her eyes briefly over to the security contingent at the other end of the room, carefully noting that they still seemed highly preoccupied with their game.
Seven said nothing, merely lay watching the Intern.
“I will not allow regeneration at this time,” announced Leov in a low voice, watching for Seven’s reaction.
There was no reaction. Instead, pale eyes turned away to stare blankly at the wall.
Leov’s chest shook with anger. The drone still dared ignore her! Her hand moved quickly to clench around the drone’s jaw. She twisted the face harshly, forcing the drone’s eyes upon her. “I have been too gentle with you, Seven of Nine,” she said silkily, her hand continuing to squeeze the jawbone. Suddenly, she released it.
Breathing deeply, anticipation burning a pleasant trail down her body, she moved to her workstation, throwing the medi-corder carelessly on the desk. She glanced at the chronometer. Sylvan would not arrive for at least three hours. Leov smiled.
She leaned down, sweeping her hand across a recognition panel. When a small drawer door slid away, her hands moved deftly to draw out a few special instruments and devices. Placing these on a tray, she moved back to the biobed. Depositing the tray on a nearby receptacle, she keyed special commands into the console. Immediately, a faint blue force field shimmered, shrouding the biobed and surrounding work area in a contained environment.
Her smile deepened as she looked at the drone. “Seven of Nine, let us examine your ability to adapt to…pain.”
The willowy Krigi scientist paused briefly in the hall, bringing up her hand to press against her throat, trying to calm the anxiety pulsing along her neck. She breathed deeply, then continued. As she passed through duranium doors, her eyes searched the room nervously. Quickly, she located the four members of the security detail, relieved to note that they were engrossed in a common game. She nodded to the soldiers, moving swiftly into the deeper recesses of the laboratories.
With dismay, Srange saw that Leov was present, working with the drone behind a protective force field. The shimmering blue field shrouded the other Intern’s movements. Srange stopped to peer into the field, curious about Leov’s activities at such an early hour. Leov’s face seemed slightly moist, perhaps with exertion or exhaustion, thought Srange, and her eyes seemed to have darkened into near-black pools of intense focus. Then Leov’s face tilted upwards, and Srange saw the woman flinch as she recognized her watcher. The junior scientist seemed to freeze, and her hands fumbled for a split second, almost too quickly to be seen by any but the most familiar observer.
Srange shook her head slightly, turning away. Clearly, the other scientist was carrying out her usual tortures on captive drones, Srange realized, only this time she was savvy enough to perform such activities away from the disapproving eye of Sylvan — not that the Researcher would remain ignorant of Leov’s actions. He would arrive in about one hour, plenty of time to inspect the drone and note residual damage.
Srange shook her head, walking away towards her work area. She had never understood Leov’s fixation with Borg drones. Perhaps it was that elusive quality that inspired the junior Intern’s prodigious grasp of cyborg mechanics, a discipline that consistently failed to excite Srange, who was much more interested in weaponry and shield technology.
She was grateful for the blue force field, a specially designed field that prevented both sound and resonance from escaping. Designed to protect surrounding areas from the resonant pain of Krigi rebels under ‘interrogation’, the field also served as a benevolent sensory barrier during Leov’s brilliant, if gratuitously violent, studies of captive Borg drones.
Yet, none of this would matter much longer, she reflected, feeling relief and sadness constrict her throat.
The senior Intern arrived at her workstation, and her hands moved quickly over the console. She worked efficiently, every sense keyed to the console and her immediate surroundings. She could not allow anyone to surprise her right now. Her fingers flew over the controls, her eyes maintaining a tight bead on the lines scrolling before her eyes, her mind working furiously yet methodically to complete the sequences necessary.
Even as this activity consumed her mind, a part of her attention was hyper-aware of her space, her surroundings, and the sounds of the laboratories. To be discovered would be to die — uncovered as a traitor and summarily executed, never mind the fact that she was Intern Srange, long-time aide to Researcher Sylvan. Her crime was so heinous, she knew, that the Researcher himself might even preside over her death.
Perhaps she was condemning them all to death, she thought wryly and a bit maniacally, as she finally finished entering the fateful sequences, transmitting the codes into the very heart of the ship’s computers and then sending a secret communiqué into the depths of space. For a long second, she stared at the cooling panels of her console. She felt empty inside. It was as though this act of subterfuge drained all feeling from her soul.
She sagged slightly. Suddenly feeling suffocated by the enormity of her actions, she felt an urgent desire to seek the comfort of her quarters, where she could sit alone and reflect on the reasons why a top scientist had come to betray her mentor.
Her steps carried her past Leov, who remained enshrouded in the blue field, apparently not caring that Srange had witnessed her activities. Leov looked up briefly, arrogantly meeting her eyes directly. Even through the shimmering field, Srange could see that Leov’s eyes were dilated in a familiar expression of sensual intoxication.
The senior Intern averted her eyes, feeling a shudder run through her body.
Kathryn Janeway felt the cold splash of water run down her face, and she breathed deeply. Opening her eyes, she peered closely at the woman in the reflection, noting taut lines around a thin mouth, haggard circles under stony grey eyes, tense set to the jaw. She swallowed, her eyes flicking down for a brief second. When she returned to the reflection, Janeway the captain replaced Kathryn the woman.
It had to be this way, she realized, for she needed to function at her best — or, rather, Seven needed it. The part of Janeway that yearned to be reunited with her lover was safely locked away, behind a steely façade of command competence and icy detachment. Right now, Seven needed the captain.
She turned from the reflection, leaving the washroom of her ready room. Striding crisply to her desk, Janeway sat down once more. For long minutes, she reviewed the layout of Sylvan’s ship – the blueprint had been thoughtfully provided by Commander Chiron — and mentally ran through the various rescue scenarios that her team had devised. Satisfied, she finally stood. It was time to go.
Heads turned as she entered the bridge. “As you were,” she ordered coolly, settling into the captain’s chair.
Chakotay turned to face her, and she could feel his eyes raking her figure, taking in the change of garb. She was now dressed entirely in black — heavy work pants, sweater and boots. The other members of the away team would be similarly garbed, in order to blend in with the navy-clad Krigi rebels. “Status,” she snapped, turning to face her first officer directly.
Something flickered in his eyes as he recognized the cold command tone, and he offered a wan smile. “ETA to the Mata is twenty minutes. Weapons are on-line, shields are ready for maximum activation, and battle protocols have been thoroughly reviewed. All stations report ready.”
“Well then,” she said, her voice a throaty trill, “battle stations. Red alert.”
She turned to her operations officer. “Ensign Kim, hail Laric for me. On screen when ready.”
As he complied, Janeway felt the last parts of her command mask snap firmly into place. The rebel leader’s face soon filled the screen. “Captain Janeway.”
“Laric. What can we expect?”
The alien leader nodded, appreciating Janeway’s direct manner. “Nothing has changed since our last discussion. We anticipate little resistance from the Mata. Its weapons and shields systems will be off-line, if all goes according to plan. The protector ships will pose a threat, but two of our ships will engage them. Your team will beam aboard first, and mine will follow. You have the target coordinates; that too has not changed.”
“I assume that your plans for our crewman also have not changed,” Janeway surmised, her tone cooler.
The Krigi leader replied without hesitation. “You are correct, Captain. It remains in your best interest to reach the drone before we do.”
“And your sympathizers on the Mata?”
“We are not accountable for their actions regarding the drone. To the best of our knowledge, however, your crewman still lives. And assimilation has not yet occurred.”
Janeway nodded frostily. “I understand.”
After cursory remarks, she cut the channel. Turning to Chakotay, she smiled thinly, “Well, I guess I’ll go join the rest of the away team in the transporter room. You have the bridge, Commander. Take good care of her for me, please.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me going in your place?”
She shook her head, remembering his shuttered eyes when he had first made this offer, one day ago after a particularly strenuous strategy session. At the time, she had felt inexplicable chills wend down her spine and she had instinctively, instantly, rejected his offer, citing the duty of the captain to place herself in dangerous missions like this one. Later, she had tried to shake off her suspicions of his newfound sincerity in wanting to rescue Seven — but clearly, she thought now, she had not succeeded entirely, for a slight chill of foreboding raced through her bones even now.
“Thank you, Chakotay,” she responded, trying to inject a note of warmth into her tone, all too aware of a new frostiness in her relationship with her first officer, “but I need you to take care of Voyager. I think she’s going to take some hits.”
He nodded, and his eyes seemed to exude a familiar warmth. She turned away, uttered a short farewell to the bridge crew, and entered the turbolift.
It was time.
Sylvan walked into his laboratories with an uncharacteristic agitation. Military reports already had consumed too much of his time this morning, and the news was far worse than he had anticipated. Apparently, the rebel forces had managed to secure impressive numbers of new recruits on the strength of leaked reports regarding Sylvan’s possession of the Borg drone. Traitors now seemingly lurked on every military vessel, and the planets and colonies were in turmoil.
The Public Communications Ministry was working double-time to disseminate scientific explanations touting the beneficial aspects of the new research program, but, thought Sylvan sourly, it appeared that many Krigi were more concerned with sentimentality. Even repeated broadcasts of Sylvan’s own tragic history — the horror of being attacked by a drone wife, the horrific necessity of killing her — was not resonating as expected.
It was puzzling and disappointing to the Researcher. Obviously, the Krigi had not learned fully that their larger goal required massive sacrifices, even ones that, on the face of it, might be deemed intolerable. No matter, he decided grimly, these rebels would be crushed again…and again and again, if necessary. And he would enjoy using their traitorous leaders in his drone experiments.
Perhaps he would begin with the leaders on the five starships closing in on the powerful Mata, daring to challenge Sylvan in direct combat. His lips curved. It would be a pleasure to test the Mata’s experimental phasers on these vessels and their useless Krigi crews.
As he neared the drone’s biobed, his thoughts turned away from military matters, instinctively trusting his military personnel to resolve matters concerning the pesky rebels. He stepped up to the bed, his eyes sweeping over the drone’s form and visage. Its eyes were shut and the body was still. Frowning, Sylvan reached for a nearby medi-corder and tracked it over the Borg.
His anger grew as its read-outs confirmed his worst fears. Eyes darkening, he located Leov at the far end of the laboratory, apparently engrossed in an anatomical report. Gripping the medi-corder, he moved swiftly to her side. Tossing the device directly on top of her console, narrowly missing her hands, he straightened before addressing the startled junior scientist.
“Are you mad? Look at these read-outs! I have warned you of your limits regarding this drone, Leov.” He glared at the woman, noting her obvious discomfiture.
The Intern picked up the device, silently read its data analysis, and then calmly put it aside. “There will be no lasting effects. The drone’s arrogant behavior needed some mild adjustments.” Her eyes met his directly. “Everything I did will likely be repeated during our attempts to induce assimilation.”
“Why is the drone not regenerating? Its energy readings are near minimum levels.”
Leov seemed unconcerned. “I will begin the regeneration cycle after my review of this latest report.”
He stared at her silently. As the moments passed, he saw her resistance flag. “You will do so immediately,” he commanded, his hollow voice now a low, ominous whisper.
She stood, averting his eyes. At that moment, Sylvan’s communicator sounded, and the urgent voice of his military commander resounded thinly in the air. “Researcher, rebel ships are engaging.”
“Counter them as planned,” he responded tonelessly.
As the communicator beeped to signal disconnection, the Researcher answered Leov’s silent query. “A group of rebels dare to attack us. It is nothing to be concerned about. Consider this an experiment of Srange’s new phaser systems.”
She smiled slowly. “Good. I have been wondering when we would test those systems.”
Together, they began to walk toward the drone. Light tremors began to rock the floor underneath, and the lights dimmed. Sylvan changed course, moving instead to the large wall of windows. He felt Leov stop at his side. Silently, the two scientists watched as familiar Krigi ships swooped back and forth, phasers and torpedoes and disruption beams splitting the blackness of space.
Suddenly, he pressed his hand to the pane, scarcely believing his own eyes. Voyager! Somehow, the Federation starship had found its way back to the Mata. Sylvan wondered if the alien crew had survived, or whether Krigi rebels now controlled the ship from the so-called Alpha Quadrant.
He heard familiar footfalls behind him and turned. It was Srange, a disruptor in one hand and a short phaser rifle strapped to her back.
Amused, the Researcher asked, “Srange, are you so concerned about these rebels? You look more military than scientist.”
The senior Intern did not return his smile. An odd look filled her face. “I have released the security detail to their usual battle posts,” she informed her two fellow scientists, an undertone of sorrow and regret carrying her words. “We are alone now.”
“Srange, be serious,” said Sylvan, worried that his senior assistant seemed unduly frightened by the rebel threat. “Do you really believe we need to take up arms, too? Have you no confidence in your own weapons systems?”
Her face did not change. “I have no confidence in systems that will not respond,” she replied cryptically.
He felt Leov’s outrage as the junior assistant expelled a harsh, shocked breath, and he himself had taken no more than two quick steps towards Srange when a series of explosions massively rocked the ship and the lights went dark.
In the sudden darkness, all three scientists fell to the floor, a dull cacophony of metallic grinding and shrill alarms filling the air around them.
The captain gripped her compression phaser rifle as she materialized on an isolated section of the Mata. She was aware of the other away team members appearing off to her side, several feet away from her position so as not to represent a single target. The air crackled with a palpable tension, no doubt given off by the hundreds of Krigi on this vessel, as they scrambled to adjust to a disaster in the making.
Janeway knew that weapons and shields were off-line on the Mata – an unthinkable scenario and one made possible only through the diligence of the rebels’ mysterious highly placed collaborator. She only hoped that this informant was not intent on using such superior access to harm Seven of Nine.
The floor rumbled under their feet, a metallic groan accompanying each tremor. Either the Mata’s internal explosions were consuming the ship and creating a chain reaction, or bombardment by rebel ships had begun. Voyager, on the other hand, had been strictly instructed to fire only when necessary, since Janeway had decided that the Federation crew would do as little as possible to insert themselves in the ongoing civil war. Their only objectives were to rescue Seven and then get the hell out of this space.
She signaled Tuvok, indicating that the first phase, discovery, should begin. An eyebrow arched in reply, the dark Vulcan immediately assumed a tactical stance, and the team of four slowly inched their way down the dimmed, angular corridors, the green glow of the control panels reminding them of this species’ obsession with the Collective. A special device strapped to the wrist of each team member pointed the way to Seven, using her idiosyncratic node patterns to locate the captive drone.
Adjusting her eyes to the dim lighting, Janeway led the way, only looking back momentarily to ensure herself of the alertness in the eyes of the other two Vulcan crewmembers, members of security and chosen precisely for their battle experience, mental resistance to emotional resonance, and superior Vulcan strength. After all, no one knew Seven’s physical condition, and if necessary these crewmembers could carry the heavy Borg-enhanced woman – at least for short distances.
The team suddenly pressed themselves against a wall, secreting themselves from view behind a set of consoles and columns. A couple of seconds later, a band of Krigi security forces ran past their location, obviously oblivious to intruders.
Janeway allowed a breath of relief, then snaked her head out again. She gave a slight nod and pushed off the wall. The others followed her lead, and the small group moved through the corridors, grateful for the crisis that shadowed their arrival and that, even now, distracted their adversaries.
She checked her wrist device. Seven was located on the next level, and, according to Laric’s blueprints, a maintenance tube was located nearby that would allow access to the laboratories. Squinting, she located the entrance panel, half-hidden behind a massive console. The team quickly made their way to the panel, and swiftly was ensconced in the cramped interior of the tube. The holodeck simulations had paid off, in efficiency and accuracy.
After what seemed like an eternity, as the team cautiously wended their way in and about and up the small passageway, increasingly grateful that their mysterious high-ranking accomplice apparently had managed to disengage security sensors lining the tube, the opening to the laboratory came into view.
As Janeway neared it, she heard a sudden piercing scream, then a few seconds of silence followed by excited, though muted, chatter.
She squelched a frantic dread that squeezed her chest painfully, and quickened her pace, tightening her grip on a small phaser and feeling the reassuring weight of the rifle across her back. She tried to tell herself that the scream did not sound like Seven of Nine. But her face whitened considerably, and she swallowed several times, calling on reserves of mental discipline to chase away unwelcome images of pain and death involving the young ex-drone.
Janeway pressed onwards, reaching the exit panel. She moved to one side, allowing Tuvok to press his more-sensitive ears to the panel.
Holding her breath while he listened intently, the captain steeled herself for the coming confrontation.