Disclaimer:
Paramount Pictures own all things Trek. I make no money from
this story. All characters besides the STV senior staff, are
mine. Do not archive or post anywhere else without my written
permission.
Betareaders:
Thanks to Pol, Snowolf, Jay, Glynis and Saffron. Any mistakes
lingering are purely my own!
Pairing:
J/7
Rating:
NC-17. Same gender love between adult, consenting women.
Violence:
Yes, some. It's an action story.
Format:
Different fonts and background colour describe changes in past and present. I hope
this will work out well in simple html. Let me know if it
doesn't come out right. Thank you.
Summary:
An unexpected attack destroys the most joyous moment, so far, in
Janeway's and Seven's life. The consequences are devastating and
the crew is now held hostage, fearing their captain is dead.
Chapter
3
“He is
hardly breathing.” B’Elanna felt out of breath herself.
Staring down at Harry’s pasty face, she clenched her fists
hard. Her volatile nature, only hampered by her own fatigue,
made her want to grab the young ensign by his shoulders and
shake life back into him. Keep breathing, Harry. You can’t
give up.
“Harry,
we’re right here.” Tom’s voice was soft and gentle, as if
to make up for his wife’s unpredictable nature. “Hang in
there.”
B’Elanna
leaned heavily against Tom. Words. Inadequate. Useless. She
felt her knees give in and she sat down on the bed, next to
Harry’s feet. Unaware of what she was doing, she reached out
and caressed the thin leg closest to her. “This can’t be
happening. Oh, joH'a'!” She broke down in
uncharacteristic, seldom shed tears, unable to hold them back.
Blaming her weakened state, she still hated that the hot fury
manifested itself in this way. “What did they do to him?”
“They
found him hiding in one of the Jeffrey’s tubes, trying to
secure the computer against incursion. They shot him twice.”
Tom’s face distorted with pain. “The Doctor has done
everything he can.”
“He
should be in sickbay.”
Chakotay
walked over to them, placing a warm hand on B’Elanna’s
shoulder. “We’ve told them that, repeatedly. It’s amazing
Harry’s hung on this long.” His voice sank to a low whisper.
“He hasn’t got much longer.”
“Can’t
we smuggle him in there? Sneak him past these bastards? If we
create a diversion …” B’Elanna falterer, her body slumping
against Tom’s.
“You’re
too weak. You shouldn’t have come, honey.” Tom held her
gently by the shoulder. “Let me take you back to bed. You need
to conserve your strength.”
Strength?
It didn’t feel as if she would ever be strong again. B’Elanna
obeyed wordlessly, letting Tom guide her towards the door
leading out to the remnants of a wooden porch. As they appeared
outside, Tom suddenly stopped, gasping at the scene that met
them. “Oh, God, Seven!”
B’Elanna
stared at the unfathomable sight of the proud, statuesque
ex-Borg, walking between two large mercenary like men,
restrained by iron shackles. “Seven …” B’Elanna
whispered. This woman, once the Klingon had strongly disliked
her; now, just as they had found common ground, their love for
technology, as well as physically strenuous games in the
Holodeck, they may never have a chance to find out what could
have come of it. Looking at the tall blonde, B’Elanna knew in
her heart, if something happened to Seven, it would be
devastating for them all. Seven of Nine, Annika Hansen, was too
extraordinary a creature to not be allowed to reach her full
potential. Janeway had seen this from the start; it had taken B’Elanna
several years.
Seven
glanced at them, but did not acknowledge her crewmates. B’Elanna
heard Chakotay mutter a curse under his breath. “In shackles,
damn it. They don’t know she could break lose with a flick of
her wrist.”
“Better
they don’t know.” Tom said coldly. “She’s biding her
time.”
“She may
not have much of that. God knows what that monster is planning
for her. He’s keeping her in seclusion for a reason. Look at
her. She’s still impeccably dressed in her bio suit.”
B’Elanna
looked at her companions. Chakotay had a point. The rest of them
were dressed in worn, tattered civilian clothes.
They
watched Seven enter Voyager through the large opening to Cargo
Bay One. The sun shone on her hair, making her clearly visible
one second. The next, she was gone.
Kingas’
reaction to her rank was disturbing. “They’re going
to come looking for you,” the alien woman sighed. “No
way Masier will stop until he hunts you down.”
Janeway
could testify to that.
The
rebel leader guided Janeway into a tent like structure,
made of sturdy logs and braded and twined leaves. She
appreciated the clever idea, and understood the camp was
hard to detect, and also easily taken down and relocated,
if necessary.
“Here.
It’s not the latest fashion, but I think they’ll
fit.” Kingas tossed her a pair of grey coveralls.
“Thank
you.” Looking down at her uniform, practically torn to
shreds, she made a face. “Is it possible to clean up
my act somehow? I haven’t washed for … I don’t
know how long.” She had tried to keep track of the
days and nights, but after the first thirty days, she
lost count. A strange fever, still plaguing her, had
sent her into a fitful sleep, where she curled, high up
in one of the enormous trees.
“Wait,
let me look at that.” As if reading her mind, Kingas
stared at Janeway’s hands. “You’ve got an
infection.”
“I
know. I couldn’t get the splinters out after I escaped.”
“Why
don’t you take a rain shower and then I’ll tend to
those wounds?”
“A
rain shower?” Janeway raised an eyebrow.
“We’re
not completely uncivilised.” Kingas met the
inquisitive glance calmly. “There’s a contraption
behind my tent. Get undressed and pull the string twice.
You’ll find it cold, but refreshing. There’s an
extra towel on a hook and soap on the shelf.”
Taking
the coveralls with her, Janeway walked out of the tent,
glancing carefully at the men and women sitting around
the fire. It was getting dark and she stumbled over
roots on her way to the back. Exhausted and feverish,
Janeway stepped inside a small cubicle, made out of
twined vines and twigs. Removing what was left of her
uniform, she gratefully stepped out of the dirty clothes,
tossing them along with the underwear on the ground.
Stepping under the hose, she pulled the string next to
it twice. Cold water streamed down her body, making her
gasp as it made every nerve ending recoil in utter shock.
Shivering, she reached for the small piece of soap,
lathering her thin body, marred with countless bruises.
Working quickly, Janeway washed her hair and the rest of
her body. Pulling the string once, the water reduced to
a fine trickle and then stopped.
The
towels did not provide much warmth, being quite small,
but she rubbed herself dry and slipped into the uniform.
It was hardly comfortable, made of a coarse material
resembling ramie fabric.
Returning
to Kingas’ tent, Janeway saw the rebel leader had
pulled out a med kit and was in the process of
sterilising tweezers by holding them over the burning
flame of a candle. “Sit. Hold out your hand. Closer to
the light.”
Tired
beyond belief, Janeway obeyed, amazed at how gentle the
other woman’s touch was as she carefully examined the
infected areas on Janeway’s hands and lower arms.
“This’ll
hurt some.” Kingas pushed the tip of the sharp
instrument, resembling tweezers, deep into one of the
open wounds, making Janeway cry out involuntarily.
Pulling out a long, bloody splinter, pus oozing from the
wound, Kingas looked up from her work, triumphantly. “One
down, at least six more to go. Can you make it?”
“I
think so.” Janeway’s voice was husky as she tried to
remain composed.
Kingas
pulled out two more before the Janeway began to sway.
Quickly, the other woman rose, walking over to the tent
opening. “Mirish? Come and give me a hand.”
A
young girl entered. Tall and muscular, with black hair
hanging in a long braid over her shoulder, she showed
remarkable resemblance to Kingas.
“This
is Mirish, my sister,” Kingas introduced them briefly.
“Mirish, sit behind the captain and hold her arm
still. I’m afraid she’ll faint on me and she may
fall off the chair. We need to get this over with.”
“Of
course.” Gentle arms surrounded Janeway from behind.
Unable to resist, she leaned back into the touch,
feeling the young woman hold her securely.
“I’m
sorry,” Janeway apologised for her weakness.
“No
need,” Mirish replied. “It will be over soon.”
When
Kingas dug for the last splinter, buried deep just below
Janeway’s left thumb, darkness engulfed the captain.
The tent, the light from the lamp, and the two women
disappeared and she sank back in blissful nothingness.
Far
away she heard Mirish’s concerned voice and Kingas’
calm answer, but she was too far gone to care. “Put
her on my bed. She’ll be fine.”
.
“Regeneration
cycle complete.” Seven stepped off the regeneration alcove
dais, clasping her hands behind her back. The same men, who had
escorted her into Cargo Bay two, now held up the shackles at
gunpoint.
Resisting
the urge to roll her eyes at the fragile iron cuffs, she allowed
the man to attach them to her wrists and ankles again. It was
humiliating, to be chained like an animal, but the knowledge
they were no match for her Borg strength, made it bearable.
To
her surprise, they did not take her back to their commander’s
house. Instead they moved her in the opposite direction,
depriving her of the opportunity to see any of the senior staff
again.
“Seven!”
A young voice called out, making Seven’s heart twitch and skip
several beats.
Naomi,
dressed in unfamiliar garments, ran towards her, stirring up a
small cloud of dust from the thin layer of find sand on the
tarmac. The girl was completely unaware of the guards aiming
their weapons against her.
“Return
to your mother, Naomi Wildman!” Seven raised her voice,
sounding as stern and intimidating as she could. “Do not
approach me again.”
The
little girl stopped only a few metres away. “Seven?”
“Go
back.” Seven pulled back, almost stumbling within her
constraints. “Comply.”
Samantha
approached her daughter carefully. “Don’t shoot. She’s
just a child. She doesn’t understand.” Her voice was low,
pleading. “I’ll take her with me.”
Seven
saw the man to her left begin to squeeze the trigger of his
disruptor rifle. Turning to him, she shuffled her feet, managing
to place herself between him and the girl. “She knows no
better. Let us continue.”
Hesitating,
the Sidior shrugged, nudging her with his weapon. “Move.”
Not
daring to even glance at Naomi who was sobbing Seven’s name
behind her, the ex-Borg squared her shoulders and resumed
walking. She heard Samantha console the little girl, hoping she
could explain to Naomi why Seven could not let on how much the
girl meant to her. It would give Masier more leverage.
Seven
frowned. They seemed to be heading for the tree line at the far
end of the compound. Were they taking her into the jungle?
Janeway
kept to the outer perimeter, staying low, the heavy disruptor
cannon boring into her shoulder. She knew this operation could
have been safer, if carried out in the dark, but as things
progressed, they had to act in broad daylight.
At
a distance, she saw the barracks where the mercenaries kept her
crew. It was impossible to know how many had survived, and she
feared many lived had been lost during the two months she had
been separated from them.
A
sound to her right alerted Janeway, sending her to her knees,
hiding. Placing the disruptor cannon on the ground, she stayed
low, sheltered by some barrels, trying to figure out what was
going on.
“Captain.”
Kingas’ voice was close, approaching from behind. “Team
Darga called in. Masier is moving the Borg woman.”
She’s
my fiancée, damn it! Biting
her tongue, Janeway nodded briskly. She had only confided on
person regarding the nature of her and Seven’s relationship.
They operated on a base of mutual trust, but a small, insistent
voice told Janeway to play it safe and keep certain things on a
need to know basis.
The
Darga team was another group of semi-organised rebels, which,
just like Kingas’ crew, lived in the jungle and fought the
mercenaries. They kept in touch via an analogue comm system,
making it harder for the enemy to track them. The rebels
normally worked in independent cells, joining forces only when
necessary. This was such an occasion.
Where
the hell are they moving Seven? And why?
Looking at Kingas’ serious face, Janeway once again had a
feeling the rebel knew more than she cared to reveal.
Waking
up to a world of a little less pain, Janeway carefully
moved her fingers and wrists, relieved to find the
aching had receded. Looking around, she found
someone--Mirish?—had placed her on a narrow cot in
Kingas’ tent. It was empty and from the light
filtering through a small crack at the entrance, Janeway
surmised she slept through the night.
Rising
on unsteady legs, she walked towards the opening,
pushing the flap of the tent away. Janeway stepped
outside, stunned to see the camp almost abandoned, only
two older women left as far as she could see.
“Where
is everybody?” Janeway motioned towards the empty
tents.
“We
have a breakfast stew ready for you, Captain.” One of
the women reached for a wooden bowl, scooping up an
aromatic, but indefinable substance from a black cast
iron pot. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
Janeway did not care where the food originated from.
Using the spoon the woman gave her, she ate quickly,
forcing herself to not let the sweet taste bother her.
She had been hungry for a long time, surviving on the
strangest of plants. Once she soothed the worst of her
hunger, Janeway directed her attention to the women
working quietly at mending a leather harness.
“Thank
you, this was just what I needed,” Janeway began. “Is
there anything I can do to help?”
The
woman smiled briefly, but shook her head. “No,
Captain. Kingas left word. You’re not to be disturbed.
You should rest.”
“I’m
rested,” Janeway lied. “My name is Kathryn.”
Turning
to face her fully, the older woman bowed her head
regally. “And I am Konas, Captain.”
Realising
Konas was not going to chat informally with her, Janeway
still moved closer. “You, Kingas, and Mirish … you’re
not Sidiors, are you?”
A
hard, almost impenetrable expression shadowed Konas’
face. “We are Samariors. Most of the Sidiors have
Samarior blood in their veins, but they choose to ignore
it when they imprison our people. They hunt us down.
They send the young, the strong, to a place from where
we know they will never return.”
“How
long has this been going on?”
“When
the Great Ice settled on the Soderian Sea, the Sidiors
migrated to our nation. This was more than four live
lengths ago.” Konas shrugged, the hatred mellowing in
her eyes. “They thought they conquered our nation, but
they received more than they sought after. They still
don’t know how to handle the …”
Konas
stopped talking, raising her head. A sudden noise made
Janeway flinch and assume a defensive position. Kingas
and her crew emerged between the trees, dirty, a couple
of them bleeding, but with broad grins on their faces.
“We
did it,” Kingas triumphed, sitting down next to
Janeway on the fallen tree trunk. “We scouted close to
the compound and conducted a full hour surveillance of
it. They’re moving a lot of the technology off the
ship, but as far as I could see, they’re still keeping
the crew in the barracks.”
“Did
you get close enough to do a headcount?” Janeway held
her breath.
“No,
Captain, impossible. Too dangerous. We saw people moving
about in civilian clothes, but we’re sure they’re
your crewmembers. They look like you.”
“These
mercenaries have learned their tactics.” Janeway
huffed. “Separate the crew from their leader. Make
them doubt if she’s alive. Strip them of their
uniforms and their rank insignias; make them a homogeny
group, this way, blurring the chain of command. I can
only hope that my next in command hasn’t let that
happen.”
“Masier’s
men are the worst of them all. There are mercenary units
all over the nation, but his stands out as one of the
best trained … and the cruellest.”
“Physically
cruel? Mentally?”
“Both.
Masier is not only famous for messing with your head. He
also has an intimidating physique and has a reputation
for shooting first and asking questions later.”
Janeway
knew this was no exaggeration. What little she had seen
of Masier that first day, when they were tractor beamed
to the planet’s surface, Janeway knew he was a callous
type, if there ever was one. The way he had looked at
Seven bothered her. She knew instinctively it did not
bode well. “Has he ever raped anyone?” Janeway’s
eyes narrowed. He won’t
survive me, if he has.
“I’m
not sure he’s above doing something like that, but it’s
unlikely, given his reputation. Nah, he’s more of the
type to beat the crap out of someone.”
One
of the older women extended a hand towards Janeway,
handing her a steaming mug of something similar enough
to coffee. “We need to eliminate him.”
Kingas
smile was broad as the Sidior flashed perfect, sharp
teeth. “Well put, Captain, if a little stiff. I’d
say we have to shoot that monster like a dog, if we’re
going to have a chance to rescue your crew.
“You’re
going to help me?”
“We
think this is a golden opportunity to rid ourselves of
the Masier problem finally.” Kingas smile turned feral.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
Janeway’s
lips curled back in a snarl. “Perhaps not, but, oh, I
can guess.”
Seven halted when she saw
a group of four mercenaries meet them at the far end of the
tarmac. Glancing back at the two escorting her, she raised an
eyebrow. “Where are you taking me?”
“It is time,” the
older of her guards muttered. “Just keep walking.”
“I will not comply.”
Seven squared her shoulders. “I demand to know my destination.
Why are you removing me from the compound?”
“You’re hardly in a
position to ask questions.” The guard motioned with his chin
while shoving the muzzle of his weapon in her lower back. The
searing pain was unexpected, almost making Seven’s knees
buckle. Regenerating in this erratic pattern, and on a conscious
level without proper rest or replenishing, was obviously taking
its toll.
She resumed walking, now
escorted by six bulky aliens. In between the tall trees, Seven
could see the path was rarely used; it was narrow and forced
four of the men to bring out sword like knives to cut down
smaller branches to make way. There was something in the men’s
demeanour, something guarded and resolute, which indicated they
were not comfortable with where they were going.
Two of the mercenaries
kept an eye on the terrain around them. Using her enhanced
vision, Seven saw their weapons were set to kill. Wondered what,
or who, they were afraid of running into; she scanned her Borg
memory of the planet, but to no avail. As far as her knew, there
were no larger predators around.
After about an hour, the
men stopped. Two directed their disruptors at Seven while the
rest of them did a quick search, before nudging Seven towards a
set of tall rocks. Pressing against one of them, it swung aside
soundlessly.
Taking an involuntary
step back, Seven stared down what looked like a marble lined
tunnel. More than three metres high, and just as wide, it
reached as far into the rocks, as she could see. Using her Borg
enhanced vision; Seven detected an unfamiliar energy reading
from deep inside this structure. Disturbed by the data filtering
through, she realised it originated from something she, or the
Borg, had never come across before.
