Duranium Angel Chapter I : Healthy Competition, a startrek: voyager fanfic

DURANIUM ANGEL …

Pairing : B'Elanna Torres / Seven of Nine

Rating : Mature (M)

Feedback : I took the time to write this, so give me the courtesy of writing back. :)

Author's Notes : This story was started as a response to the "Olympic" Challenge issued on Voq Je Bang. It was completed approximately two years after the Beijing Olympics it was supposed to have been finished for ... Whoops. ;)

Chapter I : A little healthy competition ...

Running a gnarled hand across his forehead, over the dark green tribal tattoo that acted as a precious link between the 24th Century and a people lost to time and space, Chakotay narrowed his eyes as he tried to understand the isometric diagram rotating on the expansive screen dominating Astrometrics. Standing alongside, the Captain of the Federation starship Voyager wore a no-less perplexed look at the unusual craft that had been magnified and broken into its constituent parts by the Computer.

An enormous tritanium disc, with a diameter of some four thousand metres - nine times the length of the intrepid class starship - span slowly in the depths of the black between the stars. An immense protective dome rose upwards and downwards on its ventral and dorsal sides respectively; structural supports arranged like the arms of an eight-point star, splayed outwards from a central point on each dome to anchor to the disc. It sported an appearance more suitable at a glance to one of the "Flying Saucers" from the infamous Doctor Chaotica holodeck programs.

Passing to starboard via a connecting umbilical arm, a smaller circular disc housed sufficient docking arms and landing bays to accommodate a fleet of visiting starships of many different sizes and shapes. Sensors constantly recorded vessels in the process of docking and navigating towards the station, revealing a number of races the Voyager had encountered on its journey through the uncharted expanse of the Delta Quadrant; Sumar, Malon, B'omar, Hirogen, Krenim and dozens of others.

"It's a space park," Chakotay said aloud finally, his head nodding almost imperceptibly. Receiving an inquiring gaze from his captain the broad man's fingers tapped at the LCARS console to the left. "It's a catch-all term for a type of ship that mimicked planetary surfaces and environments to incredible degrees of realism and accuracy - originally for the purpose of ferrying the wealthy across the Galaxy in comfort and luxury. Usually whilst they treaded bare-foot in Katarian mood-grass, or swung between Pineapple trees and gazed out at Alpha Centauri or the Denobulan Nebula through the variable-filter dome."

An accompanying image of a similar, but far smaller vessel appeared in the bottom-left corner of the main Astrometrics display bearing the mark of the United Earth Space Probe Agency – the department which later gave birth to Starfleet. "When the first holodecks came on-line, Space Parks quickly fell out of fashion with the wealthy - passengers and owners alike. After all who'd pay to upkeep a tropical garden, or a mountain tundra on warp engines when a holodeck could be fitted to an existing ship for a fraction of the cost?"

"They ended up being used as cheap alternatives to custom-built hydroponics ships and a few were still plying the space lanes, as flying hotels for the eccentric billionaires who didn't trust photons and force fields to give them a "real" good time. I spent six months working as a waiter on a Space Park owned by a couple of Ferengi; Cloud Nine I think …"

"As fascinating a lesson in your misspent youth as that was, Commander," Kathryn teased with a slight smile, "I'd still like to know a little more about this particular "Space Park". Seems awfully popular with a lot of races … Some old friends and enemies no less. Set a course and send a standard greeting."

Absent-mindedly pressing the soles of her boots against the ship's decking, Janeway sighed wistfully. "If nothing else I wouldn't mind feeling some real grass beneath my feet."

…

Pushing the gel-pack back into place amongst the connectors of the junction, B'Elanna Torres nodded to nobody in-particular and with satisfaction, as the slight whine of synthetic neurons firing and data exchanging gave her proof enough the repair had been successful. Snatching up the PADD displaying the daily repair schedule, the Chief Engineer was able to cross another item from the list of never-ending minor maintenance, not required but desirable to keep the compact starship in the very best working order.

Securing the maintenance cover back in place and crawling from the cramped Jefferies Tube out into the open plan of Main Engineering, the hybrid took the moment of peace granted to her for a deep breath before one of the numerous engineers on duty spied their superior, with an apparent moment of free time. Duly assailing her with all manner of requests, updates and developing situations regarding: EPS conduits, ODN lines, Sonic Showers and Neelix's triggering of the Fire Suppression System on deck two for the fifth time in as many days.

"Lieutenant," Vorik greeted dispassionately as the first of the junior officers to accost her. "Have you decided whether you will be participating in the team that Voyager will be entering in the Calavene Supremacy Games & Theory?"

B'Elanna stifled a sigh, "I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about Ensign." As an engineer foremost and a Senior Officer the time she did not spend in Main Engineering and sleeping was spent glancing at technical schematics between snatched meals and receiving complaints from every other department regarding failures and upgrades. "You're not talking about that floating can we passed a few days ago, are you?"

"We are preparing to dock the ship with the structure," The Vulcan replied with a raised eyebrow in as obvious a state of surprise as he was willing to enter into. "The station is the focal point for three days of intense physical and mental competition between many races to determine the greatest of their number - it should prove to be a stimulating method of spending our shore leave."

B'Elanna rubbed a dirty hand against her ridged brow, letting the sigh run free. There were times when her focus on the Voyager's myriad technical problems and snatching what little rest she could become so entrancing, that the Klingon would find entire weeks rolling by without so much as realising a change in the stardate. Apparently, despite attending two Senior Staff briefings in as many days, Torres had still managed not to pick up a single conversation that had made these events obvious to her.

"I'm not sure I'm keen on wrestling a Hirogen in a pit of Plasma Coolant," She replied sarcastically. In truth whilst a part of her delighted in the opportunity to work out the stress and strains of life in a more grandiose setting than the holodeck, B'Elanna reasoned there was simply too much to do on the ship that would allow her to gallivant off amusing herself. Shore leave or not.

The Ensign shook his head slightly. "The Games are not simply about brute force in alien environments Lieutenant - Each team undergoes a rigorous number of challenges against other teams that test dexterity, adaptability, strength, versatility and many other traits. In addition every participating vessel submits its historical and sociological databases from which native sports or challenges are extracted and added to the Games. In that way all participants will be given the opportunity to compete in something familiar to them."

"Who's on our team?"

"I am glad you have reconsidered," Vorik replied in a tone that did not truly suggest he was experiencing gladness, or any other emotional response. "Apart from myself the ship's other representative is Commander Tuvok. I am open to additional suggestions."

If Vulcans were prone to allow their emotions to the fore, then Vorik might well have felt a little unease at the toothy grin spreading across the caramel features of the Chief of Engineering. Brown eyes disassociated from their surroundings for a moment, as if considering something. "It's for the good of the ship, and the name of the Federation and the Empire, right?"

B'Elanna's smile took an on an altogether more mischievous quality. "I've got one or two ideas …"

…

Although the cobalt gaze did not move from the molecular analysis under way on the console screen, the tone of the response left precious little room for negotiation. "I will not comply."

B'Elanna huffed and blew a lock of raven hair from in front of her eyes, hands on hips and a most indignant look passing over her scrunched-up features. Although she lacked the internal chronometer that allowed the blonde beside her to track time to the second, the Klingon guessed she'd spent fully thirty minutes in Astrometrics and another fifteen in the Cargo Bay. Desperately spent trying to persuade Seven of Nine that it'd be in the interests of her collective to help Team Voyager kick twenty species' worth of ass. Her efforts had not brought much success.

"I have fourteen sub-molecular resonance images of a class four nebula to analyse Lieutenant," the taller woman began by way of explanation. "Once I have completed the analysis I have already offered my assistance to Lieutenant Carey and the engineering team refitting the aft torpedo launcher which will occupy the entirety of the Shore Leave allocated to me. Recreation is an irrelevant distraction."

"It's a vital tool for blowing off steam!" B'Elanna retorted in frustration. "You might think I'm ill-tempered and prone to arguing but if it weren't for the mental challenges of my job and the occasional holodeck battle program, I'd probably have killed by now. I need this – I need to compete and I only compete to win which I think will be that much harder without you. Quite frankly we need the help."

Seven's blue eyes broke from the console display to fix themselves on the diminutive engineer. "You need me?"

The ramrod-straight posture and aloofness were unchanged but B'Elanna had spent many years, as a necessity in the Maquis, learning to become a good reader of the subtle hints a person gave to indicate their mood and feelings. The slight softening of the taut jaw line and the narrowing of the eyes betrayed Seven's interest in the personal nature of the Klingon's request. This could be exploited – for the good of the ship no less.

"You're probably the strongest and most intelligent person on this ship," B'Elanna began evenly and carefully so as not to sound unnecessarily buttery. "I'm asking you personally to help – Please join my team, Seven."

A silvery implant rose as one with a brow, "Your team? I was under the impression Ensign Vorik had put forward the suggestion to form a team."

"The Vulcan helped," Torres muttered flippantly, "But I'm the team captain – I've got the passion and the drive. You, Vorik and Tuvok are my muscle. One of these Calavene will be holding a meeting in the Mess Hall later tonight to explain the finer points of the Games & Theory. If all goes well, I want to begin our physical training tomorrow morning – Can I count you in?"

Never above bending others' preconceptions of her, B'Elanna's lips parted in a brilliant smile that seemed to overpower the hesitation still on the face of the blondewho acquiesced almost immediately, and with little attempt to defend her position. "I will comply Lieutenant."

"How about Captain?" The Engineer suggested with her most serious face. The disbelieving look in reply reminded the Klingon her wiles and people-skills would only stretch disbelief so far. "I'll settle for B'Elanna then – deck two, nineteen hundred hours!"

…

The Calavene as a race were broadly humanoid in the vaguest sense - standing on average some seven feet in height and sporting elongated forearms, legs seemingly tapering to thin joints that supported the entirety of their slight weight. While there were both female and male, the only true way to tell the two sexes apart was the shock of electric-blue hair that cascaded over the shoulders of the former and the complete baldness of the latter.

Their faces were devoid of any unique features that allowed foreigners to tell one Calavene from another individually - depressions in the sides of the head where ears might be in humans and two entirely black orbs for eyes were the only two distinguishing facial marks. Their flesh, where exposed under a flawless white one-piece tunic, was a pale blue that created a stunning contrast against the predominant grey and silver of the Voyager's superstructure.

"I thank your Captain for her hospitality," The ethereal voice sang softly, with the slightest metallic buzz courtesy of the translation collar worn around the neck which translated the melodic harmonies of the Calavene native tongue into Federation Standard English. "I would also like to thank your ship's crew for supporting the Calavene Games & Theory and those of you that will be entering to represent your Federation, Empires, Alliances and Peoples."

The Calavene folded her lithe arms together upon her lap. "I have been told of your story and your journey to home – It is regretful we have nothing to assist you in such a noble endeavour, save the chance to bring your own talents and skills to a stage that will record your names and commit you to the history and pride of what you call the Delta Quadrant. I have received a final list of those who will form your team, headed by the Captain, B'Elanna Torres of Engineering."

The Vulcan contingent of the Federation team exchanged raised eyebrows whilst the assembled crew traded frowns, smiles and barely suppressed chuckles. Kathryn rolled her eyes in good fun at the merry shake of her First Officer's head – both well aware that when pared with the contained Tuvok and Vorik, it was inevitable the Lieutenant would appear all the more driven and passionate. Seven of Nine remained unmoved and with her cobalt eyes still firmly on the Calavene.

"We have completed analysing the relevant portions of your historical and sociological databases kindly supplied by Captain Janeway. The Calavene Games & Theory are a unique blend of physical and mental tests, designed to tax the limits of endurance and capability from species across the Delta Quadrant; this cycle thirty four races will compete for the glory and recognition of victory."

"Each team will face trials of the body, and trials of the mind - the four members of every team will be randomly allocated a challenge of mental or physical acumen. The object of every challenge is to excel to the best of your ability. While the mental tasks all bare a uniform standard in terms of their content and methods of resolution, the physical challenges are composed of a randomly selected number of sporting contests validated and accepted from a pool of all competing species. As a result I am pleased to inform the Voyager that the strategy game of Chess, and the sport of Parisie Squares have been added to the Calavene Games & Theory Pool of Competitions."

"At least two members of every team will compete in challenges derived from their home worlds or ships. Those that are selected to compete in foreign sports or challenges will be provided with a comprehensive library of tutorials, and also the relevant equipment and practise space required to excel. We shall draw the challenges of the teams and their members tomorrow afternoon and so we request that the Federation team petition your Chief Physician to release your medical records to us."

Janeway felt the protective tug of command push her to interrupt. "What are the records required for?"

"Forgive us," The Calavene acquiesced with a gentle nod. "Unfortunately despite the purity of the purpose of the Games & Theory, less scrupulous peoples have often taken it upon themselves to improve their chances of victory. It has become necessary for the Calavene to analyse each competitor's base genetic profile and physical characteristics to assure the spirit of competition has not been damaged by those that would seek to gain an advantage."

Kathryn nodded, satisfied. The fragile, lithe female rose upwards gracefully from its perch upon the seat and spread her elongated limbs widely. "We look forward to welcoming the first team from your Alpha Quadrant, and the United Federation of Planets. May you bring success and honour to your ship with your efforts."

As the Calavene moved away and towards the exit to the Mess Hall alongside Chakotay and the Captain, the four members of the newly-formed Federation Team gathered in a small circle about the milling numbers of the Voyager's crew slowly filtering back to their stations and assignments.

"Chess is a highly logical game," Vorik began in a tone that passed as pleased for those hailing from the dusty world of Vulcan. "I would be satisfied should either myself or Commander Tuvok be selected to compete in such a competition. I was Academy Chess Champion during my Third and Fourth year."

"We cannot be sure of securing our natural mental and athletic pursuits," Tuvok cautioned with a particular glance towards B'Elanna, who still sported the grin that had broken out on her features the moment Parises Squares had made it to the selection arena. "It may be that Lieutenant Torres is selected to participate in Chess and Seven as our representative in Parises Squares."

The Klingon's nose wrinkled in obvious distaste as she considered the possibility. "Give me an EPS tap to strip down any day over a black-and-white board. Squares is mine, besides – I'm sure Seven's preference is with chess, right?"

"I have no preferences," The blonde replied flatly, draining the enthusiastic smile from B'Elanna's face.

"Of course you don't," She replied with a sigh, quickly changing the subject. "I believe we're due in holodeck two for some blood, sweat and tears."

A raised ocular implant, shimmering above the artificial blue eye that regarded her with confusion, only served to return the toothy grin to the engineer's features. "If you're extra careful Seven, it'll just be sweat and tears."

…

B'Elanna could feel tears mixing with the salty sweat that ran from he forehead into her eyes, stinging them with enough irritation that she to clench them shut repeatedly – fumbling with a fingertip to clear her vision as she struggled not to slow her pace to a jog and then from there down to one knee on the dirt track. Raven locks stuck tightly to the side of her face, as the Klingon's chest rose and fell in thundering breaths as even the benefit of a third lung struggled to keep taut leg muscles from cramping under the strain of the run.

Just ahead of the ailing engineer the impossibly lithe figure of the ship's former Borg drone continued to set a healthy pace – long blonde tresses normally pinned in a tight coil now loosely bound in a utilitarian ponytail, fluffing slightly in the breeze of the exercise program's holographic weather. Long legs, shapely but hidden beneath a loose two-piece shorts-and-top that did nothing to accentuate the younger woman's curvaceous figure slowed to a walk, as Seven directed her gaze behind and deduced the Lieutenant was in need of a brief rest.

"Why are you stopping?" B'Elanna forced through gritted teeth in an impressively strong voice for someone struggling to find their breath. "We're only halfway through by my mark …"

"We are not yet a third of the way along the course," Seven corrected coolly. "You are attempting to force your body beyond its tolerances, Lieutenant. You must rest or you will cause damage to yourself and impact the chances of success for our team."

The hybrid would have grinned if the act didn't draw precious energy to muscles she couldn't bring herself to use. Over the course of the last five or six hours, B'Elanna had watched the younger woman become increasingly understanding and then approving of the athletic and physical conditioning they were undertaking. Apparently taking to sprinting and weight-lifting only to "make up the numbers" the ex-drone had embraced the archery and velocity practice and had been literally bustling with energy, until the Klingon had over-enthusiastically suggested marathon training.

Torres straightened her aching back as mocha cheeks tinged themselves red. "Don't you ever get tired?"

"I do not have unlimited reserves," Seven replied as she slowly lowered herself to the gravel-strewn ground and began to stretch herself. "My spinal column, pelvic assembly and femur bones are all derived from a duranium-cinocilium alloy. My endocrinological implants allow for the superior management of adrenalin and-"

"Okay! Okay I get it! You're super-Human, you're super-Klingon! You're some sort of Bionic Woman!"

B'Elanna ignored the raised eyebrow, instead focusing on massaging her own tired muscles and not the long legs of a certain blonde. Long legs stretching to angles that elicited dubious thoughts regarding how supple a person might be and utterly alien when applied to someone like Seven, who had no concept for the distracting thoughts playing on the Klingon's brain. "I still can't believe Vorik and Tuvok went to a sauna instead of pounding the dirt with us …"

"You are mistaken Lieutenant – The Commander and the Ensign will be running a similar marathon to the program we are using, however they have chosen to begin their training with a traditional Vulcan cleansing exercise. They will be running in the considerable heat of their native deserts …"

The engineer's ridges furrowed. "Steam yourself like a prune and then run in a desert until you're sick? And people say Klingons are sadists! Vulcans just hide it better. I suppose we should probably call it a day – Computer, end program."

B'Elanna felt the gravel and rough ground beneath the soles of her trainers melt into the holodeck grid painted upon the decking, with only the slightest lurch of dissolving photons. Taking the smaller of the two doors into the changing facilities the Chief Engineer tapped the release code into her locker door and pulled a towel, duty uniform and PADDs to the floor in a tangle of clothing, isolinear chips and curse words. Seven retrieved her own towel without a chaotic display.

"I've got no idea what to take with me to the habitat," The Lieutenant grumbled as she collected her toiletries. "It's been a long time since I spent the night anywhere other than the Delta Flyer collecting Dilithium or a sleeping next to that uppity EPS regulator on Deck Four, just waiting for the little bastard to go off-line …"

The blonde who had been listening, only superficially, to the diminutive woman's ramblings suddenly span on the flat of her heels and regarded the engineer with barely restrained unease. "Elaborate."

"You didn't hear about that?" Torres replied with a nervous smile and the slightest shiver as if the temperature in the changing room had dropped several degrees in a single second.

After the initial briefing with the Calavene, there'd been a minor stream of communiqués between B'Elanna in her capacity as Team Captain and the enigmatic member of the organising race who had been assigned to facilitate Voyager's entry. They'd been informed of a change in entry rules, stipulating all registered teams were required to billet in the habitat's living quarters. She was sure she'd informed Vorik and Tuvok.

But perhaps not Seven of Nine.

"It's another anti-cheating measure," B'Elanna began hesitantly as she fished through the PADDs strewn about the floor for the one containing the transmission record. Snatching it from the tiled floor and handing it to the lanky woman, the hybrid did her best to focus back on the towel and her sweat-dampened hair.

"Unacceptable," Seven surmised as she read the contents of the pad at lightning speed. Seeing the questioning glance forming on her self-declared Captain's features, the ex-drone moved quickly to clamp down on the intense wave of unease – almost nausea – she felt at the prospect of spending time away from the safety and reassuring hum of the Cargo Bay. Better its comforting green light than a throng of strangers and the unknown. "I will require daily regeneration to remain in peak physical condition for competition."

"You don't have to stay in the billet all day and night," B'Elanna replied – not entirely convinced Seven's sole problem with spending her nights on the habitat stemmed from regeneration issues. "You just have to meet a curfew, 2100 hours I think, every evening. You can return to Voyager between bouts and training to regenerate."

Torres felt the urge to push deeper, to attempt to uncover the source of the younger woman's discomfort but knew that if Seven was not willing to discuss it, any pushing would only drive her further away from participation. "Is that a problem?"

The blonde dipped her head in the negative, suppressing the entirety of her bad feeling almost instantly and brutally. "I will comply."

…

The remainder of the day had passed almost instantly for the ship's Chief Engineer – the morning subsumed in conference with Joe Carey, who would assume Acting Chief of Engineering during B'Elanna's absence on the Space Habitat. A capable and skilled officer who in testament to his willingness to accommodate his shipmates dutifully sat through an unnecessary and in-depth briefing, regarding all on-going maintenance procedures and planned repairs.

Despite the fact that he himself had personally added the majority of the tasks to the engineering roster list, he nodded enthusiastically even when Torres crossed into talking as if he were a fresh-faced ensign on his first deep-space tour.

The afternoon had been equally quick in passing while working with a slightly stressed Commander Chakotay, whose desk had been piled almost to the height of a man with PADDs containing leave requests, duty reassignments and all manner of creative ways for the crew to excuse themselves from their duties and attend the Games & Theory as spectators. The inundated XO had remarked almost hopelessly that if he'd granted a third of the requests, Naomi Wildman would have to receive a field commission to Lieutenant and a Bridge posting.

Consulting the computer for the location of the rest of her team as she swept into her quarters to pick up her hastily packed bags, B'Elanna was hardly surprised to find the Vulcan contingent waiting in the Transporter Room as if they'd had nothing more important to do all day but wait for the Klingon to be late. Hastily pulling open each bag to double-check the contents, Torres paused long enough to grab Toby the stuffed Targ from his perch on the pillow and stuff it under a pair of exercise shorts – stealing a glance about her as if the ship's crew had assembled in her bedroom to mock.

Throwing one of the bags over her shoulders and taking one in each hand, B'Elanna took a step towards the door when her eyes fell upon the stack of engineering report PADDs and crew evaluations. For a few moments she hesitated as to whether she was casting off work too quickly. Perhaps a few reports or upgrade requests would make her feel a little less guilty.

Turning towards the glass coffee table the Klingon sent the PADDs crashing to the carpet with a well aimed foot that cleared the desk. Bursting into a wide grin, the engineer swung on her heels and departed the quarters without the slightest concern at leaving anything other than work behind.

…

Seven of Nine felt herself take an involuntary step back as a chilling breeze assaulted her features the moment the transporter's Annular Confinement Beam dissipated, to leave the four-man team's reassembled molecules some two thousand metres from the starship Voyager they had been within barely a moment before. Casting her cobalt eyes around the blonde could see they stood on a small square of polished white marble, barely twenty feet squared, and surrounded by a rolling meadow of green grass that seemed to stretch as far as any eye could see.

Her ocular implant identified the limit of the artificial dusk that was settling on the interior of the upper protective dome, but the illusion of distance was impressive.

The same white marble was laid in walkways that crossed the rolling hills between the clusters of buildings that rose upwards, some simple one-storey structures arranged as semi-circular suburbs but others were shining ceramic-composite towers rising high up towards the "sky". The size of the habitat was such, that the same towering spires that seemed to sprout from the very far side of the dome seemed almost impossible to pick out with any detail – as large as the gnarled, orange-blooming trees that were scattered around the foreground.

"An impressive biosphere," Tuvok noted finally with an agreeing nod from Vorik who had already deployed his tricorder to "savour" the experience. "I am detecting no evidence of artificiality, and no holographic signatures. The habitat it is a genuinely cultivated environment."

Stepping into the small square of marble and waiting politely for the Vulcan ensign to complete his scan, despite the scowl from B'Elanna that he would do so without first acknowledging the alien's presence, a Calavene spread her arms apart in what seemed their traditional greeting. "Welcome to our habitat, Federation Team of Voyager."

The Klingon narrowed her eyes, scrutinising the features – or lack of them – on the female's face. Such was the apparent similarity between all Calavene of the same sex, that Torres was unable to say whether it was the same representative who had visited the ship, or not. She supposed it did not really matter.

"We find a part of our connection with the organic; who we are is lost when we move through the void between the stars," She continued with the same metallic buzz of the translation collar the team had encountered previously. "Our starships consist of as large a habitat as can be fitted to meet their functions – we wish to walk with our feet upon the grass as often as possible when we cannot be on our world."

Although Seven had already analysed the Calavene on the thermal, gamma-wave and normal visual wavelengths thanks to her ocular implant, she noted the widening of Lieutenant Torres' eyes as the hybrid took note of the fact the almost-ethereal, lithe alien representative wore no shoes, or any other adornments bar the translation collar and one-piece white tunic. The blonde found the use of such large spaces inefficient.

Comfort was irrelevant.

"As is our custom all teams are split between their genders during their stay – Commander Tuvok and the ensign Vorik; Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres and Annika Hansen."

The Klingon`s brown eyes quickly shot to icy blue orbs, that seemed to lose what little feeling they traditionally held. The correction was delivered in as stiff a monotone as B'Elanna had heard since the tall woman's separation from the collective. "My designation is Seven of Nine."

If the cutting tone of the correction had wounded the representative, the female showed no signs of reaction. "We apologise," She almost-sang. "Your medical records did not include an alternative name. We will correct the error immediately."

Ever the consummate team captain, Torres moved to change the subject. "Do you have a name? Something we can call you by – something a bit more personal?"

Although the representative had no mouth by which to smile, the slight cock of her head and the way what seemed to count as the Calavene's eyes shimmered conveyed to B'Elanna a smile, or a smirk. "There are no names amongst the Calavene. We are too similar in the physical to differentiate between more than our genders. We are unique in spirit, not body."

Clasping her hands together once more the graceful female considered the request further. "I have been assigned as your personal representative and no other Calavene shall deal with you, unless it is a matter of security, or emergency and they are closer to your then-physical location than myself. If you require me simply request it of the Habitat and she shall make the necessary provisions."

"Your habitat's central computer," Seven clarified. Her ocular implant rose upwards in confusion as the Calavene shook its head almost imperceptibly. "Our habitat, as with all our vessels, think and feel as you do. Each of our race takes a time from their lives to become a ship, or a station, and enjoy the opportunity to swim through space as if in the water of a river."

"Curfew for competitors is approaching," The Calavene added after a moment's pause and the slightest glance upwards, as if communing with someone not in the Voyager Team's presence. "Are you ready to retire for this evening?"

"We are," Tuvok spoke for the Vulcan contingent. B'Elanna glanced towards Seven and receiving a nod, shrugged her own shoulders in agreement. "Lead the way."

…

To be continued ...