STAR TREK - VOY - 16 - Seven Of Nine

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Star Trek - Voy - 016 - Seven Of Nine
By: CHRISTIE GOLDEN
PROLOGUE
TAmMK VRIIS stared AT THE SCREEN AMD DRUMMED HIS three fingers on the console.
Nothing. Only the blackness of space, punctuated by the twinkling of a few stars, met his gaze.
He felt a blackness of his own rising within him; despair, mixed with the dark indigo of fear. His
colleague, Imraak, the elected One of the province of Leila'ah, glanced at him sharply. The numbing
darkness of despair mutated into the heat of embarrassment. Normally, Tamaak, the elected One of the
vast continent of Ioh and the selected leader of the entire Circle of Seven, was adept at cloaking his
thoughts.
He, more than most, knew how a stray image could disturb the harmony the Skedans valued above all
qualities.
He sent a cooling, feather-brush apology, and Imraak nodded his acceptance. On Tamaak's other side,
staring intently into her own screen, Shemaak shook her graceful head. Her huge ears flickered, revealing
her own distress, though her thoughts remained calm.
They ought to be here by now, Shemaak sent. The enclosed room felt colder as the Seven heard and
reacted to her comment. Our scouts died to relay the information of the attack, and the Emperor
promised to send reinforcements for our defense fifty sun circles ago.
Again, silence. Shemaak had merely given utterance to what they all feared. There was nothing more to
say. Slowly, heads turned and large brown eyes regarded their leader. Tamaak felt the press of their
worry like a too-heavy blanket on a hot summer day.
He collected his thoughts and sent them. We have done what we can.
The attack should not come for another six sun circles. In that time, the Emperor's fleet will certainly have
arrived. In the meantime, we Imraak's uncensored anger was like a physical blow and they all gasped
softly with the pain of his sending.
He will not send help! We all know this. If it was to come, it would have come by now. The attack will
His white-hot anger was disrupted by the insistent, mechanical beeping of the main viewing screen. They
all turned to stare.
The attack had come. Early.
Anguish exploding from seven master telepaths made the room feel so close each breath was a struggle.
Skedan technology was advanced.
There was no mistaking the images that now swarmed onto the screen.
Large, square cubes, bristling with sharp gray edges. Crawling with beings that were an offense to
She-Who-Creates-monstrous hybrids of the biological, the natural, and the technological, the artificial.
Beings without conscience, without souls, who descended like the wrath of He-Who-Destroys to
obliterate entire species.
The despair and rage and pain that nearly ripped Tamaak apart was not for himself. It was for his
people-people who, betrayed by the Empire with which they had allied, had no natural defense systems
of their own. People who had elected him as leader of the Circle of Seven, who had counted on him for
protection. He realized what must have happened.
This unnatural enemy had gotten to the scout ships, had learned what the unfortunate scouts had learned,
and had doubled their speed to reach Skeda early in order to catch the peaceful planet unprepared.
People didn't even have the chance to flee into the shelters that had been hastily dug. They were on their
way to the gardens and fields, no doubt looking up and sending off wave after wave of shocked terror
before the foe descended.
Tamaak thought of Rhly, his mate, and their two little ones. They would be among those walking towards
the green fields, who had time to look their deaths in the face. Thoughts alone could not let him grieve
properly, and a scream tore from his throat.
The voice, a dark harmony of millions of voices, crackled through the silent room.
"We are the Borg. Prepare to be assimilated. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be
added to our own. Resistance is futile."
"THAT'S THE BIGGEST PIECE OF CLAIMED SPACE I'VE EVER seen!" blurted Lieutenant Tom
Paris as he and the rest of the senior staff stood gathered in Astrometrics.
Before them on the huge screen was a grid displaying a particular area of space. Even though the grid
had been scaled down dramatically, the mapped area filled the screen.
"That's why it's called an empire," said Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, softening the jibe with a smile.
"Well, yeah, but-wow! I mean, look at it!"
"Crossing through it, even at its narrowest point, will take several weeks. And circumnavigating it would
take almost a year." Captain Kathryn Janeway crossed her arms and glared at the vast expanse of the
Lhiaarian Empire, an imperfect circle of pale blue on the map.
Paris had used colorful terms, but he was essentially correct. It was the single biggest area of claimed
space that any of them had ever seen. It made the Romulan and Klingon empires look like anthills.
Janeway suspected that the Borg's area of dominance would give the Lhiaarrian Empire a run for its
money, but Seven of Nine had not been forthcoming with any details.
Besides, the Borg considered the entire universe their empire-they just hadn't charted all of it yet.
"Mr. Neelix, what do you have on the Lhiaari for me?"
The Talaxian perked up at the mention of his name and strode forward.
He examined his padd with a flourish. "Well, as we can see, it's quite the, ah, piece of space, isn't it? The
term Lhiaarian Empire is actually something of a misnomer. The Lhiaari only live on a single planet, which
is their homeworld and the capital of the empire, located about. .."
He delicately tapped the console and the mapped area shifted, zooming in on a single orb. It looked so
much like Earth it made Janeway's heart skip a beat.
"Here. They are an intelligent race, not overly given to warfare, and quite advanced. However, they do
seem inordinately fond of red tape.
"The entire perimeter of their space is loaded with checkpoints, and there are more sprinkled about here,
here, and here. Apparently, it can sometimes take weeks for ships to negotiate passage if a vessel hasn't
been given express clearance by Emperor Beytek himself."
"That is unacceptable." Seven of Nine stood erect at the console. Her face, pale, blue-eyed, and graced
with a few remnants of Borg technology, was almost as unreadable as that of Commander Tuvok, the
Vulcan security officer who stood silently beside her.
The blue light from the screen played across her features, glinting on the metal of her implants.
"We do not have the resources to sit idly in space dock awaiting clearance. "Hate to say it, but I'm with
Seven on this one," said Torres. "Isn't there something we can do?"
"There are times on this journey when I would rather have a good old-fashioned firefight than keep
kowtowing to the diplomats," said Janeway, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. "And right now is
one of them. This sounds like the Bowmar all over again. But I don't see any other alternative. I'm not
going to add an entire year to our journey just because we don't want to be annoyed by red tape. Neelix,
how are we doing on foodstuffs?"
The Talaxian's dappled brow furrowed. "We're doing all right on seasonings, but staples are dipping
below my comfort level. We haven't passed through any space where we could stop to replenish our
supplies.
There is of course always the replicator and rations if we get into a tight spot."
"Rations. Mmmmm," said Harry Kim, rolling his eyes.
"If we are going to be stalled in space, twiddling our thumbs at an emperor's whim for a week or two, I
would respectfully request that the replicator be reserved for medicines and medical supplies," put in the
Doctor.
"Now wait a minute," interrupted Torres, turning with a frown.
"Engineering needs-" "That's enough!" Janeway's voice held an edge.
"We're not even in Imperial space yet and already we're arguing about who gets the replicators! Tom,
how far are we from the first checkpoint?"
"We should be there in a few hours if we maintain present speed, Captain." Janeway smothered a smile.
Paris looked like a choirboy, eyes wide and guileless, careful to not attract attention after Janeway had
just reprimanded the others.
"Do it. We'll see if we can't hurry up passage to the next point after this one. Perhaps we can manage an
audience with the Emperor and get a hold of one of those coveted free passes. I think a ship from
another quadrant might be something Emperor Beytek would be interested in seeing. Seven, do the Borg
know anything about this species? Anything that might give us an edge in negotiating with them?"
Janeway had asked the question deliberately.
Though Seven was human now-well, mostly human; eighteen percent of her body was still cyborg
technology-she had been raised by the Borg and had no doubt personally committed more than her share
of atrocities in the name of assimilation. It was simply a part of who she was, and Janeway was
determined that, eventually, her crew would get used to that fact.
Though the information Seven harbored was gleaned in a monstrous fashion, it was still information.
Much of what Seven knew about various species had proved helpful in the past. Once, in the case of the
Katati, it had even given them the means to evade destruction and to make some kind of reparation to a
race the Borg had decimated. And the knowledge of Species 149 had brought Neelix back from the
dead. Janeway liked those kinds of ironies.
Seven arched a pale eyebrow. "The Lhiaari were not assimilated by the Borg in the time that I was with
them. The name is known to me, however, because we assimilated the inhabitants of some of their
conquered worlds who dislike and distrust the Emperor."
"Not an unusual attitude, for the inhabitants of a conquered world," Chakotay said quietly. Janeway
smiled sympathetically at her first officer, then looked at the screen. She moved forward, touched the
console, and restored the full image of the circle of the Lhiaarian Empire.
They had to find a way through. Janeway knew that she would lay down her life for her crew. Such a
sentiment was nothing out of the ordinary for a good starship captain. But she was also prepared to
swallow her pride if it meant getting them a year closer to home.
She'd bow and scrape and smile and do whatever was necessary to win passage through this mammoth
area of claimed space.
That was a lot harder than taking a phaser blast.
"Stations, everyone. According to Mr. Paris, we should be arriving at the first checkpoint inside Lhiaarian
space at 1400 hours. Let's put our best foot forward."
Out of the corner of her eye, Janeway saw Seven of Nine looking down at her feet with a puzzled frown.
Seven of nine, personal log.- I do not understand the human fondness for what they refer to as "slang." It
is inefficient and leads to confusion and misunderstandings. However, I am attempting to integrate such
terms into my vocabulary matrix and cross-reference them in order to facilitate conversing with this crew.
Lieutenant Paris seems to be an inexhaustible reservoir of various bizarre terms.
The Lhiaari have already proven Mr. Neelix's observations of them to be accurate. Rather than send a
delegation aboard Voyager, they have required that we beam down to the planet's surface and submit
our request through certain established channels. Mr. Paris says this makes us "sheep." I am uncertain as
to how obeying protocol transforms humanoids into ovi'nes, but I shall observe and hope that he is
incorrect. I do not think I would like to be an ovine.
"My God," breathed Janeway. "This is worse than I thought."
"Ellis Island must have looked like this back in the nineteenth century," said Paris, glancing around.
"Bring me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses. I'd say this qualifies as a huddled mass."
"More like a huddled mess," said Janeway. Frowning, she tapped her commbadge. "Janeway to
Voyager."
"Chakotay here. What's the situation?"
"Looks like we're going to be here a while." It was an understatement.
They had beamed into the midst of a swirling sea of people. Some were humanoid, some most definitely
weren't. Some of them practiced... different hygiene from those aboard Voyager. All of them were loud
and apparently annoyed. Janeway almost had to shout to be heard above the din. Her translator
struggled to interpret the various yelps, groans, squeaks, whistles, and purrs and finally, exasperated,
Janeway yelled, "I'll update you as necessary, Chakotay. I'm turning off my commbadge and so is the
rest of the away team." And she did.
Her team of Paris, Seven, Kim, and Tuvok imitated her, grimacing at the noise and smells into which they
had found themselves abruptly plunged.
A faint ripple of displeasure marred even the normally tranquil surface of Tuvok's face.
Seven of Nine glanced about with curiosity. The place, a poorly lit and poorly ventilated single chamher,
was crammed with bodies. There were clearly supposed to be lines, but such niceties had been ignored,
probably for some time. A few scanning booths, designed to detect weapons or unauthorized
communications devices, were set up at various locations. Few people seemed to be passing through
without a lot of very loud arguments.
Seven recognized many of the alien life forms present at this waystation. There was a member of Species
2822, approaching the bored, irritated, and apparently hungry people in line with some sort of food.
They were a species which thrived on opportunity, surviving apparently devastating natural disasters with
ingenuity and skill.
Their distinctiveness was added to the Borg several decades ago.
Over there was a cluster of Species 181 I. Not added; dismissed as unworthy. They would have
weakened the whole. They did not adapt well to the rigors required of the drones and died quickly.
"This line does not appear to be moving with any rapidity," observed Tuvok.
"This line does not appear to be moving at all," said Paris, "nor does it appear to even be a line.
Captain, this is ridiculous. It could be hours before we even get to talk to anyone."
"At the rate in which the line is progressing forward," said Tuvok coolly, "it would be nine point seven
hours."
Janeway sighed deeply and rubbed her temples.
"Any suggestions? I'd rather wait nine point seven hours than spend a year going around the Empire's
space."
Idle chitchat and complaints. Something that Seven had observed comprised a great deal of human
conversation. She returned her attention to the crowd.
Analyzing the variety of life before her was more interesting than listening to her crewmates squabble.
She narrowed her eyes. A small group of Species 4774 had noticed them and was now pushing through
the crowd in their direction.
"Captain," said Seven. "We are being approached by- "I see them, Seven," said Janeway. The aliens
took a few more moments-the press of the crowd was tight-but it was clear that the five members of the
Voyager crew were the object of their interest. At last, one who appeared to be their leader stood
before them.
Species 4774. Known as the Skedans. A race of telepaths with a protective ridge of bone on the skull
that protrudes down the back.
Non-aggressive. Resistance was minimal The young are inefficiently nurtured in pouches. Physically, they
did not make good drones, but their telepathic abilities were analyzed and added to the technological and
biological distinctiveness of the Borg.
The alien looked at them expectantly, and uttered a series of whistles and clicks. Belatedly, Janeway
seemed to remember that they had switched off their communicator/translators and quickly activated
hers.
She smiled at the alien, but the smile grew quizzical as she sniffed the air. Janeway shook her head and
chuckled. "If I didn't know better, I'd say someone was brewing coffee." Seven marveled, not for the first
time, at the human capacity for distraction.
"I'm sorry, our translators weren't active. Can you repeat what you just said, please?" asked Janeway,
apparently shaking herself out of her reverie.
"Certainly. Please excuse the intrusion. You are Captain Janeway of the Alpha Quadrant vessel
Voyager?"
Janeway nodded. "Yes. And you are... ?"
The alien bowed deeply. "I am Tamaak Vrs. I have a favor to ask, and a favor to offer."
"I'm listening."
"My people," and he gestured to the cluster of
'23 thirty-odd large-eyed beings who stood respectfully behind him, "are without a home. We Skedans
are good citizens of the Lhiaarian Empire, and we are attempting to reach the Emperor and ask for
repatriation.
You are also seeking passage through Imperial space, or you would not be here. If I can move you
swiftly through all the checkpoints, will you give my people passage to Lhiaari aboard your vessel?"
"Tamaak, if you can speed up this process, I might let you pilot the vessel," said Janeway, hope lighting
her face. "But I don't see how-" Tamaak turned his head and half-closed his eyes. A few seconds later,
one of the heavily armored, burly, four-armed aliens who served as guards in the place trundled up to
them.
"Captain Janeway?"
"Yes?"
"Your admission requirements are being addressed.
Please, follow me."
They all turned to stare at Tamaak, mouths open with shock, then hastened to follow the guard before he
was swallowed up by the crowd.
Seven was unimpressed. Janeway and the others did not know of the Skedan's formidable telepathic
powers. Clearly, he had "suggested" to the guard that the Voyager crew should be given priority. She
followed, the last in line, pushing her way through the crowd. For a moment, she lost sight of the
black-and-red uniform of her captain, and craned to see her.
A horrible scent assaulted her nostrils. It was the rank, stomach-churning stench of rotting flesh. Suddenly
fear squeezed her heart, sent adrenaline spurting through her. Seven's mouth went dry.
No... not again....
Straight ahead, perched atop a scanning booth and impaling her with its yellow-eyed gaze, was an
enormous black bird.
JANEWAY COULDN'T BELIEVE THEIR LUCK. SHE WASN'T sure exactly what kind of
connections Tamaak Vrs had, but whatever they were they were certainly welcome. They made quite a
sizable group, the refugees and the delegation from the Federation starship, as they followed behind the
Imperial guard. Out of the corner of her eye, Janeway allowed herself the chance for a better look at her
benefactor and his people.
They were a little smaller than humans, and though they were certainly bipedal, they weren't exactly
humanoid. What once must have been an elongated, cervine muzzle eons ago had compressed into a
smaller version on a flatter, more humanoid face. The eyes were enormous, soft and limpid. The skull
was large and protected by a covering of bone which extended down the beings' backs.
They had arms with three fingers that appeared dexterous enough, and a delicate torso flared into large
hindquarters with powerful legs.
Soft, pale brown fur covered those body parts not protected by bone.
All of the Skedans carried heavy packs.
Clearly the skeletal and muscular structure, reinforced by the bone ridge down their back, made them
quite strong despite an almost fragile appearance.
A soft chirp caused Janeway to glance over at another of the Skedans.
It was a female, and one of her young poked its head up out of a pouch in her belly. It was adorable, its
big eyes and ears reminding Janeway of a fawn. Its mother picked it up and cradled it, murmuring, her
eyes catching Janeway's and half-closing in what Janeway somehow knew to be the equivalent of a
friendly smile.
Janeway smiled back, though her heart suddenly ached with sympathy.
The children always suffered the most in tragic situations like this one, but clearly the Skedans were a
loving, supportive family unit.
She liked them immediately, feeling a deep and profound sense of kinship with them even though they
were so unlike humans in their appearances.
"Captain." Tuvok's cool voice broke her train of thought. "We have lost Seven."
"What?" Janeway stopped so abruptly that Paris almost walked into her. She craned her neck to see and
worry gnawed at her. Tuvok, as usual, was right.
Seven was nowhere to be found.
"Captain? Our guide is rapidly outpacing us," Tamaak said.
"Sorry, Tamaak, we've lost a member of our crew in the crowd. Excuse me." She hurried forward to
catch one of the guard's four arms.
"We'll have to wait a moment. One of our crewmembers is missing."
"Wait, I see her," said Kim. "I'll go get her."
Janeway watched him go, the pleasant company of her new friends forgotten in a wash of concern over
Seven of Nine. Then logic reasserted itself.
Of any member of her crew, Seven could probably take care of herself with the most efficiency. She'd be
all right. Probably she'd just spotted something of interest and taken off to examine it without thinking to
request permission. It would be just like her.
The humans had a term for this phenomenon. They called it dL6jl vu, which meant "already seen" in one
of their Earth languages. French, a calm part of her mind told her with irritating irrelevance, even as she
sat huddled against the wall, long legs clasped to her chest.
It seems to know me. Those were the words she had entered in her log almost a year ago, when the
visions of the black bird-the raven-began haunting her.
The mystery of her visions and the concurrent regeneration of the nanoprobes lying dormant in her
bloodstream had been solved then.
Seven had been responding to a Borg resonance signal, a kind of homing beacon.
The signal had led her to the wreckage of the only home she had known until she had been assimilated-a
small Federation vessel piloted by her parents. That vessel was called the Raven. The Borg signal had
reawakened both her implants and her memories. The Doctor had adjusted her implants so that she
would not be troubled by Borg resonance in the future.
Or so they had all thought.
She raised her head and stared again at the bird. It really did seem to know her. It had flown closer now,
and stared, unblinking, into her blue eyes.
"You are nothing more than a product of my-my imagination," Seven told it sternly. She fought to keep
her voice from quivering, her body from trembling. She failed. "You are not real. You do not exist!"
The blackbird opened its beak as if in silent laughter.
"Look, mama!" Seven cried, extending a pale blue digit in the direction of the bird. "It's a skorrak!
They're not supposed to be here for seventeen more circles!"
"You've been studying hard, Keela!" Her mother, soft and warm and furry, stroked her daughter with a
clawed hand Seven snuggled into the embrace, loving to be touched and petted "Your tutor must be very
proud. Now, are you going to make Warrior K'itka proud too? Bring him the first skorrak of the
season?"
Nervousness caused Seven's two hearts to beat faster, but she set her pointed teeth and nodded.
T will do my best, " she assured her mother.
"That is all I would ever ask, my dear child.
The so , yellow tufts of fur about Seven's eyes and oft jaw fluttered softly with the gesture. Normally,
when she went hunting, she carried weapons, but it was the mark of a true warrior to bring down prey
with only his hands and teeth and wits. Perhaps today would be the day of her first blooding. It was an
exciting thought.
The skorrak remained unaware of their presence.
It hopped about on its spindly legs, its scarlet and black plumage gleaming in the early morning light.
Seven settled herself, and focused on the prey. Her long tail twitched, revealing her agitation. Then she
leaped forward, propelled by the power of her enormous haunches, and landed on the bird. It squawked
and managed to elude her clumsy, kitten's pounce.
All Seven got for her trouble was a mouthful of feathers.
"Seven, are you okay?"
Seven blinked. Her head felt like it weighed a hundred kilos, far too heavy for her slender stalk of a neck.
It was Harry Kim, of course.
Trust him to be the one to come find her. He seemed to be both afraid and protective of her. There was
a slang term-behaving like a mother hen with with a single skorrak chick.
"Ah!" She gasped and pressed her fingers to her temples.
"Seven, what is it?"
Fear rushed through Keela. Where was she? Where was her mother, the brightly hued skorrak?
Something had happened. Something frightening.
The ugly face peering down at her, which had hardly any proper muzzle at all and was stripped of its
beautiful fur, was still somehow familiar. Comforting. She could trust the owner of the unsightly face.
Keela launched herself upward into the stranger/friend's arms, sobbing.
Fresh horror ripped through her as she realized that somehow she had been transformed from her
proper, graceful feline shape into this bizarre and alien one. The thing's paws went around her, warm and
strong. It uttered words she knew and did not know "Kim to Voyager.
Emergency medical beam-up now.
"I'm afraid I'm at a loss to explain this," said the Doctor. His brow furrowed. Clearly, it irritated him.
Kim fought back a wave of irritation of his own. It had moved him more than he cared to admit when
Seven of Nine had reached for him, tears-tears! wet on her face, her eyes wide. He had gathered her in
his arms as they beamed back to Voyager and gently placed her on the diagnostic bed himself. She was
still looking about with terror on her beautiful face, whimpering.
"Is it the same thing that happened to her before with the Raven?" asked Harry, his eyes glued to the
image of the proud and competent woman caught in the grip of something he couldn't understand.
"If it were," replied the Doctor crossly, "I'd know what it was, wouldn't I? There are some similar
symptoms-the agitated hippocampus, for example, Fortunately, this time the patient is crouched in a fetal
position on the diagnostic bed, not slamming security guards into bulkheads and breaking through closed
shuttle bay doors."
Kim didn't say anything, but silently, he thought he'd prefer the latter. Seven's anger, her arrogance,
her-her Borgness-he understood, to some extent.
This, he didn't. And it scared the hell out of him.
Then, even as he watched, something passed over her face. Her body straightened out, relaxed. Her face
settled into its usual expression, a combination of calmness and near-disdain.
"Doctor." Not a plaintive call from a frightened patient, just a blunt statement.
"Yes, Seven." The Doctor replied in kind.
"I am in sickbay?"
摘要：

StarTrek-Voy-016-SevenOfNineBy:CHRISTIEGOLDENPROLOGUETAmMKVRIISstaredATTHESCREENAMDDRUMMEDHISthreefingersontheconsole.Nothing.Onlytheblacknessofspace,punctuatedbythetwinklingofafewstars,methisgaze.Hefeltablacknessofhisownrisingwithinhim;despair,mixedwiththedarkindigooffear.Hiscolleague,Imraak,theele...

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