Bar J
by Charlene Vickers
watsondog@hotmail.com

----
The older woman pushed her dusty Stetson up over her forehead, wiping the
sweat from her brow with a faded handkerchief. As she circled her young
blonde companion, she growled, "I give up. I simply do *not* know what to do
with you."

"Perhaps you should instead attempt to understand your own motives in meting
out punishment. Many times you reprimand me solely because I don't live up to
your unrealistic standards." Seven's chin was held high, but a slight tremble
betrayed her nervous anticipation.

"I shouldn't have thought that obeying my direct order not to beam that member
of Species --"

"Your order was incorrect," Seven interrupted, lowering her gaze deferentially
to the ground. "Had I followed it, Voyager and all aboard would have become
trophies of the Hirogen."

Janeway nodded once, brusquely, as she traced a circle in the dirt with a toe.
"And your false memories? What was I supposed to do about those?"

"I experienced a symptom, I reported it to the appropriate authority. I followed
the Doctor's orders -- " and she raised her eyes to Janeway's, for a second, then
lowered them again, " -- and yours."

"Perhaps," the Captain replied, her tone of voice tinged with disbelief, "but
there have been far, far too many incidents of defiance. I give you an order,
you openly disagree with me. I ask for your help, you refuse me. I can't let this
go on any further." She lifted the lariat. "Computer, release clamps."

The steel manacles which had held Seven's feet to the ground sprung apart.

Sharp pebbles stung the soles of her feet as she flew across the corral towards
the gate....almost there, the gate tantalisingly close but so far....from behind her
a whizzing sound, almost like a bullet, then a sharp tug as the lariat circled her
waist, then tightened. The rope jerked her to a stop; she gasped, then flopped
into the dust.

"Not fast enough," Janeway shouted in triumph as she ran towards her quarry. 

Seven was unperturbed. "Next time I will--" but her voice trailed away as she
smelled the burning wood. Before she could continue, rough hands grabbed her
shoulders and hips, flipped her onto her stomach, and tugged her catsuit down
over her hips. She wriggled and twisted, but to no avail: she was trapped.

"Don't bother struggling, Seven. You won't get anywhere." Janeway's voice was
hard, uncompromising. "When I rescued you from the Borg --"

"Kidnapped."

"When I *rescued* you, you were little more than a non- sentient android. I
gave you your life back, Annika Hansen. I gave you back memories and
emotions and sentient thought. But you haven't been very grateful, have you?
Defying me, acting as if you were doing me a favour by obeying my orders.
Selfish, Seven, selfish. So now I'll have to make sure you know who's in charge.
Look over here." 

The holographic cowboys released Seven's head and shoulders, allowing her to
turn towards the voice. She swallowed in fear as she saw the red-hot iron in
Janeway's leather-clad hands.

"Do you know what this is?" the Captain asked. "It's a branding iron. I'm going
to brand you, Seven, and it's going to hurt. And when I'm done, you are going to
know exactly who you are and whom you belong to. Oh, you can go running to
your alcove or to the Doctor and get it removed, but it'll still be there, in your
mind. You'll always know, somewhere deep inside, that I own you."

Janeway slowly approached the prone Borg while carrying the glowing iron.
"So smooth...so soft."

Seven squirmed as the rough leather glove raised the fine hairs on her buttocks.

"So unfortunate, but so necessary."

She only screamed once.