Beta'd by LexTenou (character/plot) and LunaFanning (grammar/style/character).
Cover by nicolaruth27.
3: Into the Abyss
Chakotay crouched low, examined the broken branches, and confirmed his suspicion: someone, probably Tom Paris, had come this direction. He couldn't determine how long ago, but the damage done to the natural scenery was not like what the native wildlife would have created. His mouth quirked up in a smile; as if he knew what the native wildlife would do to this habitat. Still, animals were animals, and every planet had its own form of natural selection; those that blended in well and thrived in a given environment survived.
As intruders, they would need to be wary of their impact, he determined. This ecosystem likely had a delicate balance of predators and prey, one that he didn't want to upset. Of course, this would be a nonissue if they found Voyager safely landed and ready for immediate use. Given their luck, he wasn't holding out much hope, despite how loudly he encouraged the crew members.
"Commander."
When her hand landed on his shoulder, he glanced up at B'Elanna with a grim smile. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
"There are several ensigns lagging behind. Requesting permission to hurry them along."
He cocked an eyebrow. "What might that entail?"
She snorted. "I'm not going to threaten them, if that's what you're afraid of. I'm just going to remind them of what's at stake."
"B'Elanna…" He straightened so he could better look into her eyes. "I understand that you're worried about Tom—"
"He's a big boy. He can take care of himself."
"Regardless, he's out there alone, and that can't be easy for you."
"I'm used to this." She folded her arms defensively over her chest. "He follows his impulses, and I'm left to think through the implications and clean up whatever mess he's created. I'm not worried, and this isn't difficult."
Sensing that he wasn't going to sway her—and silently bemoaning her Klingon stubbornness—he nodded. "Request denied. We've been hiking for an hour, and the heat is only getting worse. We should take a break before someone has a stroke."
"But—"
"I'm in charge," he reminded her gently. "I haven't forgotten what's at stake, so you don't need to remind me."
She bit back a growl and stomped to the trunk of a tree while Chakotay announced that they would be halted for twenty minutes. He didn't seem to understand at all, she thought. He continued to assume that Tom was the source of her concern, when in reality he was almost intentionally ignoring who was truly at risk. While part of her was indeed worried about Tom, who was more likely to find trouble than anyone else she knew, the more immediate problem was Seven's failing implants. She shouldn't be surprised. From the beginning, Chakotay had been suspicious, and subsequent years had done very little to soften his opinion. As long as Seven continued to function in their favor, he wouldn't complain, but neither would he worry himself about her wellbeing. She wondered if he knew how similar to the Borg he seemed.
In contrast, although she wasn't initially close with Seven, she was beginning to like the blonde's dry wit more and more. Given enough time, they might become friends. She didn't think Seven had many of those, other than the Doctor, who seemed more like a mentor. There was the little girl, too, B'Elanna considered, but that could hardly be a real, adult friendship. Playing Kadis-Kot and exploring holostories together was one thing; having a sounding board who cared about and could understand emotional issues was another. Thus far, she hadn't seen Seven confide in anyone.
That was reliant on Seven having complex feelings, she realized, but the Borg was becoming more and more human, which meant there was more beneath her bland expressions than most people probably expected. B'Elanna knew she was guilty of assuming there was nothing to Seven in the past, but she wasn't going to make that mistake again, especially if Seven and the captain had something going on like B'Elanna suspected. She shouldn't be so nosy, but she was always a bit more curious than was good for her health.
She supposed that's why she and Tom got on so well. Although he had much less wisdom to temper his decisions, they were both prone to sticking their noses where they weren't supposed to be. A snort of laughter slipped out as she realized just how far she'd come in balancing her Klingon voracity with her human sensibility. Maybe Tom's humanity was rubbing off on her, she considered, which meant that he might be responding to her Klingon nature in return.
While B'Elanna was thinking about him, he, too, was thinking about her. He clambered through the Jefferies tubes and tried to remember the exact curve of her smile, as the image kept him moving even when he wanted to sit and rest. He had diverted from his quest to find a stasis device in order to access the bridge, but the trek there was longer than he expected. Still, if he could reach the bridge, then he might be able to use the consoles there to set up another beacon. He wasn't sure if Janeway was mobile yet, but she'd need something to guide her to the ship until someone got the transporters working once more.
When he pried his way onto the bridge twenty minutes later, he plopped into the captain's chair and stared out at the blank view screen. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he considered just how many repairs Voyager would need to be space-worthy once more and grimaced. His trip from the airlock to the bridge had been filled with debris, so he could only imagine what the rest of the ship must look like.
The amount of work to be done was overwhelming, but he knew he had to get started somewhere. He tapped the console between Janeway's and Chakotay's seats; nothing flickered to life under his fingers, so he stood and headed for the nearest panel that covered the power couplings for the bridge. Although he wasn't quite skilled enough to fully account for solar activity in a tricorder, he was more than used to restoring power on the Flyer when needed. Part of being a great pilot, he thought, was in knowing his machine—not just how to handle her, but how to soothe her troubles, as well.
He halted only once when he realized he needed a few tools. There was a hyperspanner in a compartment along the wall near the turbolift, which he grabbed and utilized. Cognizant that a misstep could fry Voyager further and stymie his progress, he gently worked through potential and actual problems until he was satisfied that he had restored partial power. He returned to the captain's chair and rubbed his palms on his slacks.
His breath caught in his throat as he pressed his now-dry fingers to the console. His anxiety bled away when the screen flickered tentatively to life. His luck was changing, he thought. Hopefully, the rest of his current mission would continue going this smoothly. Cognizant despite his optimism that this good turn might not last, he first ran a status check on Voyager and frowned at the results.
Not only had Voyager crashed, he determined—it had also nearly destroyed most of its major systems. From what he could tell, repair would be no small feat, although he was dead certain that B'Elanna could accomplish most of the engineering requirements quickly and efficiently. He missed her quite badly and swallowed hard at the thought of her. She'd be there shortly, however, so he couldn't sit and mope about their separation. Instead, he needed to set the beacon up to help her find him faster.
With a few determined flicks of his fingers, he began an audio recording. Without wasting time, he barked out their coordinates as best as he could figure them and a short warning that something may be in the jungle. Once that was complete, he set the file to loop on the emergency channel and continued on his way to find a stasis device.
As he passed by Tuvok's normal posting, he spotted a phaser. He nabbed it, just in case they were attacked again. He didn't want what happened to Bronowski to happen to anyone else, himself included. With the weapon tucked into his waistband, he hurried along the dark bulkheads and down the Jefferies tubes until he was once more in the sickbay. As he sorted through the rubble again and found a reasonably undamaged stasis device, he heard a sort of clanging in the room adjacent.
The noise could have been in his imagination, he determined. After all, being alone in a deserted starship was something that could cause his imagination to run wild. The possibility also remained that the ship's rough landing had snapped something mechanical and that something was subsequently knocking around. Still, he didn't want to run into trouble because he wasn't being careful.
He snuck down the bulkhead and pressed his ear to the door; he heard scraping, beeping, and crashing, all of which made him reach for his phaser. On the count of three, he yanked the doors open and threw himself inside. For a moment, he stood motionless at the sight of something large and metallic floundering about the enclosed space. Then, when it spotted him and pointed a sharp tipped weapon at him, his senses returned, and he opened fire.
All in all, Janeway knew she could be in a worse position. Just because she was alone with the woman who was constantly occupying her thoughts—who had only an hour before casually mentioned wanting to have sex with her—didn't change that she wasn't in very much pain anymore or the knowledge that her crew was, for the most part, well.
She sat on the fallen tree trunk, chin resting in her palm, and tried very hard to not pay attention to Seven without seeming like she was trying not to pay attention to Seven. Thankfully, the Borg wasn't as attuned to what subtle differences in her expression and posture might mean, so she didn't need to worry that she was too obvious. This was a boon because she knew she probably had all the subtleness of a peacock hiding on a snowy plain.
If they sat in silence until they were beamed to the ship, then Janeway could avoid making a fool of herself. With that in mind, she clamped down on her desire to make casual conversation and instead invested herself in cataloguing everything she understood about the planet and its environment for her captain's log later.
"What is appealing about the Mergassen Sea?"
Janeway sighed; she ought to have known that just because she was hoping for silence, that didn't mean that Seven would innately understand and comply. "Everything I've heard describes the scenery as very lovely."
"There is lovely scenery in many places," Seven replied. She looked up from her project just long enough to gesture at the trees around them. "This planet, for example, has many qualities that one might think of as lovely."
"I'd be more inclined to agree with you if we weren't stranded here. It's hard to objectively judge the aesthetic qualities of a place when you've crash landed."
"The Doctor encourages me to 'stop and smell the roses,' no matter the situation. Perhaps you should as well."
Seven wasn't sure just what was encouraging her to chat in this manner. Certainly, she had very little desire for small talk in most circumstances, and most of the crew filled her ears with inaner babble than she ever cared to listen to; they were, as she understood, simply nervous being around her, which caused a strange loosening of their tongue. Ensign Kim had been one of the worst offenders, although she had to recognize that his communication stemmed from attraction rather than anxiety.
She wondered if that was the case with her in this moment as well. After Janeway had dismissed her first attempt at a bucket list, she'd worked quite hard on not enjoying the way Janeway carried herself, or how a touch of arrogance twisted Janeway's smiles into a much more interesting expression. As she processed these thoughts, she realized just how badly she'd failed at her task; indeed, rather than deactivate her feelings, she seemed to have upgraded them.
"I suppose we have plenty of time to smell whatever flowers this planet has to offer."
"You will inform me if you need another leaf in order to dull your pain."
"I'm not in pain anymore. Well, not as much. But thank you."
"I'm glad to hear that."
Seven stared down at her lap, wishing that she had good news to share. However, her portable regenerator wasn't cooperating in the slightest; the device needed to recharge just as badly as she did, and there was no way of knowing just what the solar activity was doing to its functionality anyway. Still, she continued trying because she couldn't stand the thought of sitting around and leaving her fate in the hands of others. B'Elanna would do her best, she knew, but the chief engineer was fallible.
"Are you doing okay?"
Seven set her tool aside and ran her hands over the regenerator. "I fear that I will not be able to fix this in time to save my implants from failing."
"Don't give up hope. I'm sure the crew will find Voyager with plenty of time to spare—"
"Presuming they walk at a pace of four miles an hour, they will find Voyager in another hour or so. I will be running low on energy but will not be terminal. However, if the solar activity interferes with the transporter, we may be here for much longer until Lt. Torres can compensate. In that case, I may cease to function."
"Seven—"
"These are the facts," Seven interrupted. She had no use for sentiment or histrionics, and while she understood Janeway's tone to be one of comfort, she had little use for that either. "The chance that my implants will cease to function is quite high, and pretending otherwise is an unnecessary waste of our energy."
"I'm not going to let you die."
"I'm afraid, Captain, that you don't have much say in the matter."
Janeway firmed her jaw and sat a little straighter. "I promise, Seven, that I'll do everything in my power to keep you going."
"And if you can't?"
"I refuse to entertain that notion." There would come a time when she'd have to acknowledge how powerless she was against the will of the universe, but for the time being, she could pretend to be more in control than she actually was. After all, she was a strong believer in making her own luck.
She didn't want to lose Seven for personal reasons—but she would feel the exact same way about every crew member's life. She set her jaw, determined to convince herself of the truth of that statement, even as she considered the possibilities: if Commander Tuvok and one of her ensigns were on an away mission gone horribly wrong, and she could only transport one of them to safety, she had to admit that once she exhausted all her options, she would save Tuvok. He wasn't inherently worth more, she thought, but finding a chief of security was fairly difficult this far from the Alpha Quadrant.
Had she the choice between Seven and an ensign, she knew she'd still choose Seven. While someone like Ensign Kim could probably take over astrometrics if she did need to replace Seven, there was something irreplaceable about the ex-drone—a role Seven played in Janeway's life that she couldn't quite put into words.
In any event, she wasn't going to let things get to that point. Seven would be just fine, and there was nothing to worry about.
"Are you certain you don't require another leaf? You're sweating."
Janeway rubbed her fingers along her forehead and shook her head. "That's the heat, not the pain."
"The temperature is increasing," Seven replied, her tone doubtful as she thought through the implications. "Perhaps we are nearing the hottest part of this planet's day. It may cool off in the coming hours."
"We can only hope. I appreciate sunshine to a certain extent, but everything in moderation."
"I will monitor the temperature and keep you updated."
"I'd rather you didn't. Save your energy."
Seven tilted her head in acquiescence and resumed her fruitless fiddling with the regenerator. She would obey the captain's order on this occasion, she decided, simply because she may require the energy later to protect Janeway should they encounter trouble. Nothing would stop her from protecting the fiery, injured woman—not even the fiery, injured woman herself. Eventually, however, she had to set her work aside, as horrible, human frustration inhibited her ability to perform at an adequate level.
"Is something wrong?"
Seven shook her head and wished she were more Borg than human, or at least a bit Vulcan. Accomplishing tasks had been a good deal easier when she wasn't so keenly aware of her own failings.
"I require a break."
"Then take one," Janeway encouraged, leaning forward.
Seven understood that pauses were worthwhile in that one could rest, refresh, and restart with better results, but the idea of doing nothing while her implants were failing was torturous. "I find the concept difficult."
"To understand?"
"To accept."
"Believe me, I can empathize."
Seven thought the claim to be a gross underestimation, as she'd seen Janeway work to the point of exhaustion on more than a few occasions. Indeed, there were times when she was worried about Janeway's continued existence; she did not enjoy the feeling that created in her, and she wasn't eager to experience such a terrible knot in her internal organs again.
"Perhaps too well," she finally responded.
"I still enjoy my free time."
"Oh?"
"A game or two of Velocity on the holodeck. A book of poetry in the evenings. A cup of coffee in the morning, before anyone knows I'm awake." Janeway closed her eyes, savoring the memories of her happier moments.
"I see."
"What is it that occupies your off-duty time?"
Seven felt more like a hologram than a human as she was forced to admit that she didn't have many hobbies or interests at all. Even the Doctor had expanded beyond his subroutines, she thought, and yet, she remained bound to the Borg ideal that fun was inefficient and hobbies were irrelevant.
"I regenerate when necessary," she stated finally. "Otherwise, I complete the work assigned to me and browse the databanks. More recently, I have engaged in Kadis-Kot with Naomi Wildman, although I do not find the exercise particularly fun. She is rather easy to beat."
Janeway couldn't stop the bark of laughter that punctuated Seven's statement. "She's a child, Seven."
"Perhaps, but she is an inefficient player regardless of her age. Mezoti was younger than her and infinitely more skilled."
Referring to one of the Borg children who had left Voyager made Seven's throat tighten, but she did her best not to dwell on the disappointment she still felt when she recalled their abandonment of her. The twins had a family, she reminded herself, and Mezoti had a chance to fit in better than she ever had. While she had a good reason for interceding on Icheb's behalf, there was nothing to prevent the younger three children from returning to a normal life.
"Mezoti wasn't exactly an average child."
"Per my experience with children, it is Naomi who strays from the norm."
"You can't judge children against each other—it's not fair to them. It's especially unfair when your point of reference is technologically enhanced children who have accessed the hive mind and knowledge of the Borg."
Knowing that Janeway wasn't criticizing how she was raised but still feeling a bit attacked, Seven glared at the ground. Had she leveled her grouchy expression at the slighter woman, she wouldn't have been able to hold onto her anger; there was something about Janeway that stole the ire from her veins.
After a moment, she added, "I also enjoy music."
"As I recall, the Doctor was thrilled with your vocal talent."
"You would not tell a cello that it was talented," Seven countered. "A cello's sound comes from its craftsmanship and its tuning."
"And also its player."
"Your point?"
"You're implying that you're an instrument that's been built with the right parts and ignoring that a cello doesn't make music by itself. In the wrong hands, it's downright awful to listen to. You have a beautiful, Borg-enhanced voice, but you also possess the complementary musical talent."
The compliment warmed Seven considerably, although she still thought the idea of her as talented was nonsense. "Thank you."
"I can tell you don't really believe me." Janeway wiped at the sweat dribbling on her forehead and wondered if Seven's earlier prediction about the heat declining would come to fruition. She could definitely use even a slight break from the beating of the sun, or at least an ice-cold drink. "I suppose you don't have to."
"I have yet to fully understand that aspect of humanity."
"Which one?"
"Humans are too content with subjectivity. What you understand from your limited perspective is enough, so you don't strive for objective perfection and complete understanding."
"It helps to know that there's no such thing as objective perfection, in so far as real, obtainable goals go."
"This is inefficient. If every individual has a different opinion on what is acceptable, then how can humans ever achieve anything great?"
"We've done plenty great," Janeway responded with a bit more bite than she intended. She softened her tone as she added, "And all because of our varied perspectives. As the saying goes, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. We follow what matters to us personally, and no matter how inefficient we are, you can't deny the greatness of our accomplishments."
"What is it you find beautiful?"
Janeway realized that she couldn't simply spit out the word 'you,' so she thought briefly before responding. "There's romance in the expanses of space. I can write reports for Starfleet, but they can't understand what it meant and how it felt. The experience is… special."
"Unique."
"Exactly."
"I also find myself attracted to that which is unique."
"Oh?"
Clamping down on the feelings she knew Janeway would not affirm or return, she nodded and turned back to her work. She knew Janeway wanted an explanation to continue their conversation, but Seven couldn't think of a single thing to say that wouldn't either completely change the subject or unnecessarily humiliate her.
Harry entered the cave, aware that trepidation was slowing his movement more than he would have liked. He followed the sound of voices down several tunnels; fear hammered in his heart at the occasional silence, especially when he found himself at a fork between two paths, but without fail, the chattering returned. He ducked his head and entered a small room, illuminated by glowing orbs embedded in the walls. After but a moment in the space, he identified the source of the noise that had lured him in.
"Naomi Wildman?" He peered at the little girl and turned his attention to the stocky boy sitting beside her. "Icheb?"
"Harry Kim," Icheb replied, the Borg implant that followed the arch of his nose glinting in the unnatural light.
"What are you doing in this cave?" Harry glanced around. "Did a robot come through here?"
"They do sometimes." Naomi smiled at him, and he smiled back.
"Have you been able to communicate with them?"
"I tried to talk to one, but it didn't even notice me. I followed it," Naomi explained. "It didn't even care."
That hopefully meant that the robots weren't dangerous. Harry let out a relieved sigh and moved on to his next concern. "Are either of you injured from the transport?"
Naomi nodded. "Icheb said his arm was broken."
"Her statement is correct." Icheb lifted his right arm slowly for Harry's appraisal.
Having never been trained in medical matters, Harry had no idea how to tell the extent of an injury. That was for the best, he thought, because he also didn't know much more than how to run a dermal regenerator along a scratch. Seeing as the injury was probably a lot worse than that, and they didn't have medical supplies, his input wouldn't be helpful in any form.
"You seem like you're handling it well," he offered.
"To do otherwise would be inefficient."
When Icheb lowered his limb once more, Harry rubbed the back of his neck and considered his options. The crew was out there somewhere, but he didn't want to move Icheb too much without having a destination in mind. Naomi, too, seemed content where she was, and he was no good with kids.
"What were you two planning to do?"
"Naomi wishes to find her mother. I was going to help her as soon as I felt strong enough."
"It might be best if you two stayed here. That way I'd know where to find you again."
"But my mom—"
"Will want you to be safe and secure for when she finds you, okay?" He set a hand on her head and totally missed the disgruntled look she gave him. "Icheb, can I count on you to make sure she stays put?"
"I can be responsible for myself." She shook her head until he removed his hand and glowered at him.
"You're still a little girl."
"I took care of myself until now."
"Naomi—"
Without waiting for him to speak again, she darted into the dark tunnels; before Harry could sprint after her, Icheb grabbed his shoulder and held him back.
"She'll come back."
"She shouldn't be alone."
"And you shouldn't underestimate her."
Harry rubbed his temples and nodded. "Fine. But if Ensign Wildman complains, I'm sending her to you."
Icheb nodded stiffly. "What will you do now?"
"I'd like to find Voyager, but I think my time would be better spent investigating these robots. As long as there's no dampening field, the crew should be able to lock onto our comm badges when they have transporters back online."
"You may require my assistance." When Harry looked doubtful, Icheb stood a little taller and added, "I have studied the layout of these tunnels. I can guide you."
"Fine. But… I'm in charge, okay?"
Icheb inclined his head and awaited his orders.
B'Elanna sighed with relief as Chakotay gave the signal to keep moving. She was on the verge of returning to her cantankerous and contrary ways; as a Maquis, she'd had no qualms about complaining to the captain about his decisions, and only Starfleet regulations kept her tongue properly in check. However, she knew that if she backslid, so too would the commander. Her criticism could be checked with a physical rebuff, especially if he didn't have time or resources to sort through her demands.
There were still whispers about how he dealt with the Maquis crew members who chafed under Starfleet protocols. He was so even tempered, she considered, until the exact moment when he unleashed his anger. Like the sting of a scorpion, however, his attacks were short lived. Once his purpose had been served, there was no more. She appreciated his control and sometimes wished that she too could manage a measured release of her tension like that. Instead, when she blew her lid about some slight or another, she couldn't quite tamp back down on her rage without outside assistance.
Before Tom that meant fighting until someone knocked her on her ass. Now, though, the sound of his voice was enough to break through her frustration and bring her back to herself. That he wasn't there with her in that moment was pitiable, and she hoped nothing occurred to cause her to lose control.
The heat in combination with the flagging ensigns might be sufficient, but she was smart enough to realize that attacking someone during this hike would not only halt progress but waste precious time and energy. She'd save her fury for later, when she could release her aggression in a safe manner—preferably on Tom, who somehow wasn't intimidated by her ferocity. She supposed his lack of fear came from an agreement early on, which enabled him to curtail any activity he deemed too rough with only a word.
She endured a break every hour for the next three hours and chafed each time Chakotay insisted she stay with the group rather than letting her barrel ahead. The crew was already scattered, he argued, and he couldn't let them split farther apart. She supposed he had a point and recognized that he had full authority for the moment, but she didn't have to like any of what was transpiring. When they finally spotted Voyager in the distance, he couldn't stop her from sprinting at full speed.
Spotting an ajar airlock, she changed her trajectory and skidded inside, barely avoiding knocking into Neelix, who stood with his back to the outside world as he listened attentively to Tom. Tom's wild gesticulation petered out the moment he spotted B'Elanna. He pushed past his audience, pulled her into his arms, and hugged her for several moments before leaning back to kiss her. She sank against him, relieved to have found him again.
"I need to get to the transporter room."
"I'll get you there," Tom promised. "Did you run into trouble?"
She stalked deeper into the ship, pausing only to tip her head in Tuvok's direction. He seemed rather unimpressed with their passionate reunion, but then, reading his mien was something B'Elanna consistently struggled to do.
"Chakotay and a bunch of the crew are right behind me. They'll fill you in," she told Tuvok before turning her attention to Tom. Together, they hurried down the bulkhead. "The captain is with Seven back at the river bank where you left her. She was too injured to walk, and Seven's power is going to run out soon."
"Didn't she regenerate before we were beamed down? And what about her portable regenerator?"
"She told me she'd been working on a project that consumed her attention." B'Elanna frowned, unsure of what might be so important that Seven could just ignore her own needs. "We've been planet side long enough that her emergency recharge isn't cutting it anymore. She needs her alcove up and running."
"I was able to get some power flowing to the bridge. I bet I could get power restored in a few other areas."
"Like Cargo Bay Two and the transporter room?"
"Your wish is my command. I'll start with the transporter room, so you can get started faster."
While Tom fiddled with the power grid, B'Elanna leaned against the console. She wanted to talk to him and share her worries, but she didn't want to distract him from his work. Just once, she thought, she wanted a week or so of peace and quiet. Unfortunately, the Delta Quadrant didn't seem inclined to provide much of a vacation, not to mention Janeway had a predisposition for attracting trouble.
"I'm having a little trouble."
"Anything I can do?"
"No." Tom leaned closer. "Just cross your fingers that we're running out of bad luck."
She thought the human idea of finger crossing was ridiculous, but she lifted her hand for his benefit and did as he asked. He shot her a grateful look over his shoulder, and she supposed that a bit of conversation might relieve some of his stress and help him focus.
"I'm glad you're okay."
"Me, too. About you, I mean."
"What were you telling Tuvok and Neelix about when I ran in?"
He narrowed his eyes, but she wasn't sure if this was to help him see more clearly or if the topic disgruntled him.
"There was this robot near the sickbay. Like, straight out of one of my holoprograms or something. But real."
"Did it attack you?"
"It started to, but I stunned it with my phaser. Or I tried to. I think I fried it."
Realizing what had occurred, B'Elanna sighed. "You couldn't have known. Something about the suns jacked up the phasers' effects."
"I wish I'd known, but I don't know if it would have changed anything."
"Maybe not—"
He singed himself and yelped, cutting off her response. A moment later, the lights flickered on and the console thrummed to life. She kissed his cheek, extremely proud of him and excited to get to work on her own project. He touched her shoulder briefly as he hurried past her.
"Get her here," he whispered. "I'll get her alcove working."
"I'm on it."
"So, are you ever planning on elaborating?"
Janeway felt a bit more at ease now that temperature had cooled a few degrees. Over the past few hours, Seven had been nearly silent, which had been in accord with her original desire, but she found the quiet hard to maintain for too long. Part of her worried that this may be her last chance to speak with the beautiful blonde, and she wanted to soak in every moment in Seven's presence.
"On?"
"What sort of unique things you're attracted to."
"No."
"Hm?"
"I am not planning on elaborating."
Narrowing her eyes, Janeway turned her attention to Seven. She hoped that a sharp look would reveal something about Seven's attitude, but Seven was an expert at masking her feelings and appearing as if nothing were amiss. They'd spent enough time together that Janeway could sometimes pick up on subtle changes, from the slight furrow of Seven's brow to a tightening of Seven's jaw, but at the moment, Seven was implacably calm.
Frustrated, Janeway grimaced. "Well."
"I have upset you."
"No."
Seven considered the simple word. When she was freshly severed from the Collective, she would have accepted a person's word at face value; the Borg had no reason and no capacity for lying to one another, and she had yet to understand that humans were a more deceptive lot. The more time she spent with Voyager's crew, however, the better her understanding. There were a multitude of reasons to lie, she discovered, although she still wasn't clear on which were acceptable.
Whatever the reason, Janeway was lying to her.
Seven wondered what she'd said to so offend her companion—and if this was an acceptable time to lie as well. She wasn't very imaginative, but she had been cultivating her ability to stretch the truth. Deciding that Janeway's sudden dissonance had to be related to their most current conversation, Seven dove back in.
"You wish to know what I find attractive."
"You're allowed to have your secrets."
"People." Seven waited a moment and then glanced up. When her gaze met Janeway's, her heart beat a bit faster. "People are quite unique, which presents a challenge."
"I see."
Seven couldn't decide if she'd detected a hint of disappointment in Janeway's voice. To remedy the situation, she tried adding a few more personal details, hoping that some form of vulnerability would placate the older woman. "I enjoy my position in astrometrics because the work varies but is, in general, predictable. Interactions with others, however, are difficult, as I am never properly prepared for the response I'll garner." This conversation, she thought, was a prime example.
"Interactions are a little like science. You have a message, and you generate a hypothesis about the proper way to deliver it. The next step is to test that hypothesis, collect results, and evaluate."
Seven thought this was simplifying matters, but she didn't want to chase the argument down that rabbit hole. Instead, she said, "Accepting that to be true, every person I have interacted with has much more experience than I, and thus more results to draw on when generating future hypotheses."
"The Doctor gave you a few shortcuts, didn't he?"
"They proved moderately successful, but as a hologram, he is almost as limited as I."
"He's come a long way from how he used to be."
"Do you think he has survived our descent?"
"I prefer to think he has," Janeway replied with a small frown. The thought that they might be without a doctor and without an emergency medical hologram so far from home was chilling—Tom Paris, for all he was good-natured and possessing of bedside manner, simply wasn't sufficient when there were heavy casualties.
"I prefer to think that as well. He has become a friend."
Janeway had her suspicions that the connection between Seven and the Doctor was deeper than friendship, but the very idea that Seven could be involved with someone else made her grit her teeth in displeasure. She had no claim on Seven, she reminded herself. If Seven wished to pursue something romantic with the Doctor, she had no right to complain.
"I'm glad. Do you still feel isolated among the crew?"
"Having work to complete makes me feel more a part of our Collective."
"That's not quite what I was asking."
Seven's ocular implant shifted up her forehead. "There are few people who feel comfortable addressing me outside of a working environment."
"Other than the Doctor, do you feel that you have friends?"
"I have studied several accounts of human friendship and compared those details with the information the Borg collected on platonic relationships in assimilated species. I do not believe any of my acquaintances qualify."
"I thought of myself as your friend."
Seven was silent for several moments; she didn't want to claim Janeway as her friend, she decided, because that would categorize the stockier woman in a way that didn't ring quite true. Janeway was much more important to her than a friend, but she couldn't admit that. Naomi had once dubbed her a 'best friend,' but she had yet to do proper research regarding what the duties of such a person were. She supposed that Janeway might occupy that position for her; however, she felt the terminology still too foreign to confidently apply.
"You are."
She wondered who Janeway's best friend was. Without expending much energy, she narrowed the crew manifest to either Commander Chakotay or Lt. Commander Tuvok, both of whom were commonly in the captain's company. They were both privy to Janeway's thoughts—Seven abruptly cut her thoughts off as her throat tightened. The physiological reaction puzzled her, even as she easily identified the emotion as jealousy. There was nothing to be jealous of, she thought.
Eager to move away from this topic that seemingly generated unpredictable, negative emotions, she brushed the feelings aside for future analysis and said, "The weather is finally becoming temperate."
Janeway bit back a laugh; she was minutely aware that Seven had become uncomfortable with their previous dialogue, although she couldn't deduce why, but she hadn't expected Seven to default to the most basic of all small talk.
"Yes, thankfully. My internal clock isn't quite keeping up with this planet and its suns, but I'm assuming we're closing in on some sort of nightfall."
"According to my chronometer, the time is currently eighteen hundred fifty-two."
"Earlier than I thought, but…" Janeway trailed off; she'd never been one for this sort of conversation, and she hadn't practiced the necessary skills for sustaining one. She much preferred the deeper sort of talks she usually had with Seven—ones that required her to evaluate her humanity and critique aspects of herself. Those conversations were challenges, on which Janeway thrived.
Striving to finish Janeway's thought, Seven said, "Due to the exertion of the day, you may feel more exhausted than you normally might under other conditions."
"Right."
Janeway hadn't felt this awkward since she was a young woman whose interest had been in chemical interactions rather than personal ones. There was just something about Seven that kept her off-balance. Although she felt comfortable in Seven's presence, she also felt pressure to be better than she was—as if Seven's valuing of her work was most important.
"Are you tired?"
"A little." With a small sigh of defeat, Janeway nodded and made the decision she thought Seven was angling their conversation toward. She'd prefer to rest while nobody but Seven was around rather than later, when there was a chance crew members might need her guidance. She watched Seven and hoped that nothing occurred while she was unconscious, as she didn't think she'd be able to forgive herself should Seven encounter danger. "I'm going to nap a bit. Wake me if you need or hear anything."
"Yes, Captain."
Seven realized she had failed somehow as the conversation ended; if she had performed adequately, she might still have Janeway's undivided attention. Instead, she had lulled Janeway to sleep. Janeway scooted down to the ground and leaned against the tree trunk, and Seven watched her expression ease as Janeway gradually fell asleep. The fierce woman looked much smaller when she curled against herself, and Seven felt a protective instinct surge through her. She hadn't gotten their conversation correct, but she could definitely provide Janeway a safe environment in which to rest.
Rather than work on her regenerator, she deemed securing the perimeter more essential. She stood and paced to and fro, eyes constantly scanning the environment for signs of life or danger. Every ten or so feet, she cast her gaze on her sleeping companion, checking first to ensure that Janeway's breathing was consistent and normal and then wasting a moment observing Janeway's unguarded features. Without a command mask to harden her face, Janeway looked more akin to a child than a spaceship captain. The vulnerability was breathtaking, and Seven wondered if she would ever again see this side of her captain.
She paused as she noticed that her thought hadn't been hyperbole—she was indeed struggling to suck air into her lungs. Her human hand lifted to her throat and pawed helplessly at something that wasn't there, as if an invisible force was choking her. The panic she felt derived from the lack of oxygen, she finally figured out; a wave of nanoprobes took over her response and guided her to the ground. If she relaxed, she could get enough oxygen to perpetuate her existence, and she could form rudimentary words.
Hating to disturb Janeway and knowing she ought to deactivate without unduly distressing her captain, Seven still couldn't stop herself. If this was the end of her life, she didn't want to spend her final moments alone. She sputtered out a raspy, "…help…"
B'Elanna slammed her hand down on the console, and a dozen different expletives darted through her mind. The damn thing refused to do as she requested, and she was on the brink of disassembling and rebuilding the transporter per her own specifications. She'd been close on a number of occasions, but each time, she'd found a small deviation that could scramble the atoms of her target. Although Seven could die without her alcove, B'Elanna had no interest in committing murder and hastening Seven's demise.
"You okay?" Tom appeared at her shoulder. His work in Cargo Bay Two hadn't taken long, especially after Chakotay's crew had flooded the ship's interior. While he was ever cognizant of how urgent their mission was, he also felt a semblance of relief knowing that he was toiling alone. The thought of fixing everything himself was overwhelming, but now Voyager's future felt a little brighter.
"I can't do it."
"You can," he corrected. While he respected B'Elanna's brilliance, he also recognized that she sometimes worked so hard on a problem that she missed something important. He, too, was prone to such an issue—although he was much more at risk as he had a tendency to let new tasks gobble up his attention, whereas B'Elanna only lost herself in something particularly difficult. "What's giving you a problem?"
She pressed her middle finger and her thumb to her temples and closed her eyes. This felt hopeless, but Tom was creative—he may see a solution she was too stressed to have noticed. As she explained every step she had taken thus far, he folded his arms over his chest and sorted through the possibilities.
"So the problem isn't the solar activity but the crash."
B'Elanna stared blankly at him. "I've been working around the interference, but I hadn't stopped to consider that. I can't believe it—"
"Worry about it later. For now, just get that transporter working."
Janeway awoke slowly at Seven's gasped plea. Her dream had been quite pleasant, and despite only resting for twenty or so minutes, she felt refreshed. She yawned and rubbed the corners of her eyes, unaware that anything was amiss. After she sat upright, however, she couldn't miss Seven's crumpled form in the dirt in front of her. She scrambled forward, not bothering to stand in her hurry to reach Seven's side.
"Seven, what—"
"Implants," Seven managed. She was shocked to feel moisture on her face, as she didn't think she had the energy to produce tears. Her confusion dissipated as her eyes focused on Janeway, and she noted that she was not the one crying. She wished she could lift her arm to brush the tears from Janeway's cheeks. She was apprehensive about deactivation, but she was more upset that she had caused Janeway sadness.
"Try to hold on." Janeway wiped at her tears, ashamed that she'd let her strength lapse. If she had been awake when Seven fell, she knew she would have been more emotionally prepared; as the situation stood, however, she still felt as though she were dreaming. "Lt. Torres will have the transporter up and running any minute now, I know it. You will continue to live, and that's an order."
Seven managed a weak smile, but she decided that saving her breath was worth more than verbally assenting. She closed her eyes to better conserve energy and obey Janeway's order. Her nanoprobes worked hard at keeping her body alive, so she stopped fighting to maintain control. Her best shot, she realized was in letting go of control.
She recalled how Janeway had initially stripped her of control and thought fondly of how far both of them had come since the moment in the brig. She'd felt broken then, but her lack of control had been to her benefit. If she hadn't stopped fighting, she never would have experienced the wealth of emotions swelling in her chest. She never would have learned love or cared as deeply as she did. Now, however, she didn't think anything good would result from her giving in. She was just too tired, she thought, and there was no fight left. She relaxed as Janeway pulled gently on her shoulders and tugged her into a warm embrace. Despite her weakness, she managed to grip one of Janeway's wrists, and the connection served as an anchor.
Janeway frowned down at her charge and wondered just when she'd lost control of the situation. While she recognized that she had been impotent from the start regarding Seven's current degradation, she had no idea when she'd begun caring this deeply for the other woman. The idea that Seven might die in the coming minutes tore at her emotional core.
Until this moment, she'd thought of herself as an island of sorts, but she was rapidly discovering that she was a peninsula, connected to the crew through her attachment to Seven. There were regulations regarding a captain's involvement with a crew member—nothing restricted such a relationship, but she could not impair the ship's function. She needed to isolate herself, she realized, as she would sacrifice most anything in that moment to prolong Seven's life even a few hours longer. This was a weakness, and she was simply lucky that what she felt for Seven hadn't been exploited.
"My favorite part of Earth is autumn," she murmured, trailing her hand along Seven's jaw. "Where I grew up, the leaves turned the most beautiful colors you've ever seen when the weather got colder, and my mom would make spiced apple cider." She paused for a moment when her voice felt too thick to continue. Her hand, however, continued its repetitive journey, as if Seven would slip away the moment she stopped. "I'm sure she'll make you some when we get home. She'll like you. It's hard not to. You'll like her, too, I bet. And my sister.
"She's feistier than I am. To be honest, she's part of the reason I am who I am. Without her, I'd probably still be stuck mourning the past instead of looking to the future. Most of the crew is intimidated by me, I know that, and most people I know on Earth are as well—but Phoebe was never afraid to kick my butt and shake some sense into me—"
Janeway stuttered to a stop when Seven's grasp on her wrist slackened. She'd hoped her talking would keep Seven in the moment and away from deactivation, but nothing seemed to be going according to plan lately. Making a split second decision, she bent down and pressed their lips together—she couldn't let Seven go, especially if she hadn't tried to fulfill some aspect of Seven's bucket list. Beyond that, she wanted Seven to feel safe and cared for, no matter what. For several seconds, Seven's lips moved firmly with her mouth. After a moment, however, Seven went slack in her arms.
Finishing her latest and final tweak, B'Elanna ran a system scan. After Tom helped her realize what she'd missed, she'd worked with a fervor she hadn't known she was capable of. That paid off when she read the report and determined that she had the power to complete one emergency transport. Uncaring that she might damage the system further, she scanned the planet for Seven's comm badge. The precious seconds that small task took grated on her patience, and the moment the transporter locked on Seven's coordinates, she initiated the beam. She confirmed a successful transfer and then sprinted from the room.
Dodging past other crew members who roamed the ship cleaning debris, she hurried down the bulkheads. The ship had been trashed, she noted. She hadn't paid much attention when Tom had initially guided her through. The poor ship had taken a beating and would take a good deal of effort to fix. Nothing in the Delta Quadrant was easy, she thought as she made her way to Cargo Bay Two, where Tom was waiting. Even her relationship with him was constantly tested by the dangerous environment.
"Well?"
Tom stood by the Borg alcove, where Seven dangled limply. He wished he had better news to give her, but Seven's prognosis didn't seem positive. She had a heavy frame, and he had struggled against the planet's natural gravity to get her into her alcove to start her regeneration cycle. "I don't know. She wasn't breathing when she landed here, and she couldn't stand on her own. I got the alcove to accept her, but I don't know."
B'Elanna brushed past him and tapped a few commands into the panel by Seven's side. The information she brought up was neither positive nor negative—if the Doctor were around, he could have provided more in-depth feedback, but the panel could only confirm that a drone was positioned for regeneration. Even if this worked, B'Elanna was mildly worried about serious, long-term damage. "It's trying to charge her."
"We'll just have to wait and see." He set a hand on her shoulder.
She leaned her cheek against his hand and nodded. Understanding that standing around would be wasting valuable time, she commanded the computer to alert her to any changes in Seven's wellbeing and shifted off the dais. For the time being, she needed to restore the transporter permanently, so they could recover the rest of their wayward crew.
Janeway watched the sparkle that signaled Seven's transport and let out a dry sob. Feeling empty and alone without Seven, she wrapped her arms around her midsection. With a heavy heart, she considered the possibilities; if only Lt. Torres had succeeded a minute or two earlier, she thought. She backed up against the tree trunk, sucked in several deep breaths, and began to compartmentalize everything that had happened over the past few hours. She was alone and her crew was in danger, so she tamped down on her feelings, which threatened to overwhelm her.
She might be waiting for rescue, she rationalized, but when she was transported back to Voyager, she'd be expected to take control of the situation. Chakotay had done well in returning the crew to the ship, but she wouldn't let him remain in command if she was able. She would need to rely on the numbness spreading through her veins if she was to make difficult decisions in her crew's best interest. Within ten minutes, she was fairly certain she wouldn't feel anything more—at least not until she was securely locked into her personal quarters once they were back on their way toward the Alpha Quadrant.
She couldn't afford to shut down like she had after the death of her father or during Voyager's trip through the dark expanse of nothingness, even if that's all she wanted. This wasn't fair, she thought. She hadn't signed onto a multi-year expedition into deep space, where the burden of captaincy was permanently pressing down on her with no way to escape. Any other person on the crew would be allotted the proper mourning period to deal with his or her grief—but she was an exception.
She rubbed at her eyes and acknowledged her fate. She had agreed to this the moment she'd accepted the fourth pip on her collar. Before this point, she had thought herself strong enough to conquer all obstacles, and she'd known with total certainty that she'd get her crew back to the Alpha Quadrant. Now, however, she felt painfully and awfully human.