A Call from the Dark Side

This is the fifth story in the series after 'Distress Call', 'House Call', 'Call to Arms' and 'Call me Kathryn'. All stories in the series feature a relationship between two women with some sexual scenes. If you don't like that, don't read this.

In addition, this story is rated 'M' for good reason. Do not read this if you are of a sensitive nature or are easily spooked – you have been warned!

Chapter 1

Part 1

The hour was late and Engineering was deserted, with just a few members of the night shift carrying out routine maintenance and keeping things ticking over. As was usual the lights were dimmed, the blue light from the warp reactor casting long shadows across the floor. A couple of crewmen shared a joke, but their low voices were drowned by the constant hum of the engines. On the second level, a sleepy security officer continued her patrol, neither expecting nor anticipating anything out of the ordinary. The scene was completely normal, a routine night shift, and what happened next would have shocked even the most experienced officer to the core.

Part 2

"Look, I'm just saying that if I had been playing, B'Elanna and I would have won for sure," Tom Paris was saying, three disbelieving expressions disagreeing unanimously with his confident statement.

Torres, Paris's long-term girlfriend and Voyager's Chief Engineer (in Tom's mind that was the correct order of priorities) snorted into her brandy. "No offence, Tom, but Harry and I played just fine. We were beaten by better opponents, that's all."

"Harry plays too cautiously," Paris declared, waving his own glass in the air. It was a good job it was mostly empty, a fact noticed by Captain Janeway, the host for the evening. "Now with me, we'd win because we're, y'know, on the same wavelength, we can anticipate each other's moves-"

"Oh, you're absolutely right," grinned B'Elanna, "I would definitely anticipate you barging in front of me then putting the ball into the net. Or falling over. Or – what was it last week? Accidentally letting go of your racket and dropping it onto the other side?"

The young helmsman's face was sheepish, his manly pride most definitely wounded. "Still would've won, though," he muttered, albeit with a smile.

From across the table, Seven-of-Nine and Janeway exchanged knowing glances. The Captain rolled her eyes, not for the first time that night, as her partner began to speak. Her tone was careful, measured, but carrying a note of amusement which all four people recognised, for they had spent a great deal of time together over the past days and weeks. "You are mistaken, Tom. Statistically, taking into account previous tennis matches, you and Lieutenant Torres would have had an eighty percent chance of losing the match."

"A one-in-five chance of winning? No way, Seven, come on! Have you seen my backhand recently?"

The light banter continued as Janeway rose from her chair and crossed the room, making for the small kitchen area. Already Seven was talking about improving the 'cooking facilities', even though the two women had been partners for less than two months and were a long way from sharing quarters. Yet Janeway, somehow, didn't disagree. On average, the young ex-Borg spent over half of their off-duty hours (for the Captain had ensured that they worked the same shifts) in Janeway's quarters, and this was increasing each week. They talked (though not yet about everything), played, laughed, made love, debated, cuddled and slept together, and as far as Janeway was concerned, it was good.

The conversation had shifted when Janeway returned to the table with a bottle of brandy in one hand and a bowl of ice in the other, and she set them down with care as she listened to her partner speak. Settling down in her favourite chair, she almost unconsciously reached out a hand for the younger woman, finding comfort in the touch when her hand was gently grasped.

"There is no such thing as ghosts, Tom," Seven was saying, this time with a serious expression that reflected the altered mood. Janeway grasped her partner's hand tighter. "These stories are merely fictional tales, designed to provoke a reaction of fear."

"But what if they are real – nobody's disproved it-"

"One cannot disprove the existence of something," Seven interjected coolly. "However, given that there is no evidence for such a phenomenon, it has to be assumed that what you call 'ghosts' and 'spirits' are not real." Seven stood, walking towards the bedroom area where the spacious bathroom was located.

Torres smiled and held up a glass, her eyes meeting Janeway's. "There are some spirits I do believe in! If I may, Captain?" The engineer reached questioningly for the brandy, and Janeway laughed.

"Of course, B'Elanna. And, as I've told both you and Tom, call me Kathryn when we're off duty and seeing each other socially. I have enough problems with Seven in that department!"

The Borg inclined her head graciously in recognition as she entered the bedroom. It didn't feel right to her, calling the Captain 'Kathryn', even when they were in bed together, but she was trying.

Around the table, the officers continued to chat, Janeway more reflective, Paris somewhat argumentative and Torres happy to play Devil's Advocate. It had been a pleasant, relaxed evening, with good food, drink and discussion.

When all four comm badges beeped simultaneously, the mood turned on a sixpence.

Part 3

In Engineering, at 00:05, the lights went out. Power to every system cut out simultaneously, and darkness descended like a blanket, even the warp core ceasing to emit its characteristic glow. Faced with this unusual yet not particularly worrying situation, the young security officer peered uncertainly into the gloom, and was about to call out to the engineers working on the floor below when she felt a band of constriction tighten around her neck, her shout strangled.

Part 4

"Janeway to Tuvok, report."

"Captain, this is Tuvok. There has been an incident in Engineering. Lieutenant Torres should also attend. I have secured the area and I await your arrival."

For the Chief of Security to have been called out at such an hour, the incident must have been serious, Janeway knew, and without hesitation she stood. Torres was at her side instantly, having heard the message relayed over the Captain's comm badge. Together they left Deck Two and entered the turbolift, both women with their own imagined scenarios playing through their minds, neither of their visions even approaching the horror that awaited.

Part 5

The body lay upon the cold deck, touched by no-one, for upon the arrival of the Doctor it was clear that she was dead. Ensign Harper, a young, bright woman who never had a bad word to say about anyone, was no longer alive. Around her neck was a thin, red mark that appeared to have been caused by a cord drawn so tight that it had broken the skin, a tiny trickle of blood staining the neck where it had oozed from the cut. Engineering crew, security personnel and others stood quietly as the Captain entered.

One look was all she needed. "Clear the area," Janeway said, her tone soft yet commanding, and she was obeyed instantly. Torres remained by her side, along with the Doctor, Voyager's holographic Chief Medical Officer, who bore a sombre expression.

"A few minutes, Captain, that's all," he stated, answering Janeway's unspoken question. "I'll collect whatever evidence I can. I'd like some help, if that's possible." It wasn't a request.

"I'll send Tom Paris down," answered Janeway, her voice low and calm. "Keep me informed."

The Captain's words lingered in the air as the Doctor began his work.