Game Theory
Chapter 10 – Perdition Protocol
Lights flashed and klaxons blared as another shot impacted on the hull. This time, the resulting explosion was close enough to be felt through the floor of the bridge, and made multiple crewmembers pause in place momentarily. Smoke and sparks billowed from several gutted consoles, filling the air with an acrid electrical tang.
"Lord Admiral, we cannot sustain many more hits!" one of the officers at the helm shouted urgently. "Levels thirty one through one hundred and twenty four are reporting a catastrophic failure of life support in many sections. Secondary batteries seven and ten are down to half strength."
"She'll hold a little longer," Admiral Gundal Hastrok growled, using his one remaining lower arm to rise from the Captain's chair. "Until then, we still have a job to do. Keep punching forward with the assault cannons. We need a brightlance firing solution on the primary control ship."
The Skybreaker's mighty engines flared to life, rumbling in response to the order. On the main viewscreen, the image shifted as the vessel adjusted its course, panning across the array of Black Armada ships which swarmed like locusts on all sides. Crimson bolts lashed across the dark expanse of space, streaking from ship to ship in an overwhelming medley of destruction. Many fireballs could be seen blossoming in the distance; each one signalling the loss of another few hundred lives.
It was the bloodiest non-terrestrial battle of the war so far. The most recent figures put Skyrion losses at around three hundred ships, which totalled at least fifty thousand crew dead or unaccounted for. And no less than a third of those casualties had been in first ten minutes. The entire twelfth fleet had been wiped out in the blink of an eye, utterly annihilated as the Dread Armada tore its way out of warp space and simply smashed right into them; one of The Enemy's favourite tactics. Skyrion ships were designed for conventional space warfare; long range engagements characterised by brief skirmishes and overwhelming salvos of fire. Unfortunately, The Enemy did not adhere to the accepted school of military doctrine. His necrocraft were more like monsters than starships. The largest were equipped with huge, maw-like apparatuses on the front, surrounded by great mechanical appendages which they used to literally tear ships apart. They closed the distance in the blink of an eye, and turned even the most tightly held formation into a nightmarish pandemonium where an attack could come from any direction.
Like what was happening right now.
"Two targets at three one four mark two eight nine," tactical station three called in. "Firing primary weapons."
Muted booms sounded below as the Skybreaker unleashed a tightly-packed volley from its hundred-strong battery of assault lasers. Gundal looked on in satisfaction, watching the shots rip into the two enemy craft which had gotten too close. The attack gutted them like plump kudfish, spilling their innards across the void.
The Skybreaker was the flagship of the Skyrion Imperial Fleet, and the largest vessel in the known galaxy. It had been built during the third Sedition War, in the hopes that its simple arrival in a system would be enough to quell rebellions without the need for bloodshed. Its name was derived from the three brightlances it carried; titanic energy weapons of such colossal power that firing them at a planet would ignite its atmosphere, destroying every living thing on the surface in a devastating inferno. To date, only one of the trio had ever been used in such a manner; to cleanse the corrupted world of Zethrid IV, whose entire population had been irreparably subverted by The Enemy's malign influence.
"Targets down, but docking cradle five reports another wave of boarding craft sir."
"How many guardians left in that section?" Hastrok asked, fearing that he already knew the answer.
"Bio-d tags indicate twenty six combat-ready and a further ten with only minor injuries."
"It won't be enough…not nearly enough," the Admiral muttered. It weighed heavily on his heart, but he knew what his orders must be. "Overload sub-reactor ninety eight. Destroy the entire section. It's too close to the arcum core to risk the Turned gaining a foothold."
"Sir..?"
"Do as I say!" Gundal barked. "Their sacrifice will be remembered. Better to die in fire than to be bled dry in The Enemy's reclamators."
"As you command, Sir," a few key taps later, and another tiny portion of the ship schematic changed from white to red. "Spirits rest their souls."
"Spirits…" the Admiral chuckled sardonically, mostly to himself. "The Spirits have long since abandoned this nation, boy."
"Brightlance corridor is almost clear," Prelate Farika, Hastrok's second in command, announced. He was a stoic man of few words, but he was also one of the bravest, most dependable soldiers Gundal knew. He had served as quartermaster on the Admiral's previous posting, and when Gundal had been given command of the Skybreaker, he had immediately requested the grizzled man as his first officer. With the Turned infiltrating every level of their command structure, trustworthiness was an ever-rarer trait these days.
More shots slammed into the Skybreaker. The titanic vessel was taking fire from all directions, and even as it fought off wave after wave of enemy fighters, cruisers, and destroyers, the Admiral knew that it was only a matter of time before it would no longer be able to hold together. The damage they'd sustained already exceeded catastrophic levels, and firing the brightlances would undoubtedly overload the beleaguered main reactor. When that happened, they would have mere minutes to make it to the escape pods. Yet, it would all be worth it if they could just take out the enemy capital ship.
The one, and perhaps, only weakness of The Enemy's navy was its hierarchical control structure. Many of the smaller craft were heavily automated, and relied on the processing power of the capital ships' mainframes to direct them in battle. These dreadnaught-class super-vessels rivalled the Skybreaker in size and power, but if they could be destroyed or sufficiently damaged, it would essentially nullify the majority of the necrocraft in that sector.
At least, that was the theory. It was a feat which had never actually been accomplished. Only a brightlance stood any chance of penetrating the dreadnaught's multi-layered shielding and nullplate hull armour.
"Lord Admiral, collision alert!" the helm reported. "It's the Partisan's Lament. Her engines are offline and she's drifting across our vector."
"How much time until impact?"
"Less than three minutes Sir."
"Correcting our course will delay brightlance firing by another ten minutes while we realign." Farika noted. "I do not think our hull integrity will last that long."
His implication hung in the air.
More tough choices. Gundal sighed. He was weary of them. So many lives had been sacrificed on his orders, and for what? The Enemy was stronger than ever, and with each day, more and more convoys of transports arrived at the inner worlds, bearing refugees from outer-system massacres.
"Hail the Partisan's Lament," he said bleakly.
The main viewer changed to a static-laced image of the allied ship's bridge. In the background, crew could be seen darting in all directions, attending to fires and desperately trying to exact repairs.
"Lord Admiral. This is Captain Yaraxis. What is it you require?" a figure in the centre of the image said, standing from his chair. His voice was strained, and from the way his eyes kept darting nervously back and forth, Gundal could tell he was worried. That was understandable. What Captain wouldn't be, given these grave circumstances?
Hastrok surveyed the man as best he could, given the poor image quality. Yaraxis bore several fresh scars on his left cheek, marring his otherwise youthful appearance. That was good. Any man who took a wound like that in the line of duty was a patriot. And Gundal knew only a patriot would understand what must be done.
"How close are you to finishing repairs to your engines?" he asked.
"We were hit pretty badly in that last wave, Sir. Ripper drones shredded our primary transmission line. I have mender teams working on it now, but it will be at least thirty minutes before we are fully operational again."
"That's no good Captain." Gundal replied, cursing under his breath. "You're obstructing the Skybreaker's firing solution, and we're only going to have this one shot…I'm sorry. Get what crew you can to your escape pods. You have two minutes."
Yaraxis stared at the Admiral for a few long seconds, before finally nodding in agreement.
"Understood Sir. I will give the order to evacuate."
Of course, he knew as well as Gundal that there was no way anyone on the bridge of the Partisan's Lament would make it to the lifeboats in the time remaining.
"End transmission," Hastrok said quietly. There was no sense dwelling on what could not be changed. This war was a far cry from the fables and ballads of old. Here, a hero was defined not by the strength of their blade arm or by their cunning in battle, but by their willingness to die for a cause many had already given up as hopeless, with the full knowledge that their sacrifice might ultimately change nothing.
"Intensify forward shields, and evacuate all non-critical fore sections." Gundal called out. The Skybreaker was already doomed, and waiting to ram the Partisan's Lament rather than blowing it out of the way would give the other ship as much time as possible. All they needed to do was survive long enough to get that shot off.
"Sir, I'm getting something on the long-ranges," the navigator reported. "An unknown object heading this way, too small to be a ship."
The Admiral glanced at his personal monitor. Sure enough, there was a blip moving in from outside the combat zone.
"Perhaps a stray fighter craft?"
"Negative, its movement pattern is too erratic."
"Then a missile?"
"No sir, I don't think…"
"It's him," Farika said flatly. He did not raise his voice, but the silence which followed his words was absolute, save for the dull pounding of guns and the constant hum of the alert. "I'd recognise that signature anywhere. The last time I saw it at was the sacking of Realion."
"T-That's impossible," the navigator replied, his tone indicating that it was more a hope than a fact. "Latest reports place him at least five sectors away."
"Intelligence has been wrong before," Hastrok said, a sinking feeling clawing at the bottom of his stomach. "The Enemy does not obey any known form of logistics projection. He goes where he pleases, when he pleases."
Turning to the prelate, he added in a quieter voice, "Are you sure?"
"I would never make the claim if I didn't know it was true."
"I-Intercept in under two minutes!" the navigator shouted, now with open terror in his voice. Shaking, he rose from his chair and turned to face the Admiral. "S-Sir, regrettably I must tender my r-resignation from your command."
"What are you talking about soldier?" Gundal growled. "Return to your station immediately."
"It's b-been an honour, Sir," the navigator said, giving a trembling salute. Then, in one quick motion, he drew his sidearm, pressed it to his temple, and fired. The crack of the gunshot echoed off the metal walls; a deafening clang that could just as well have been a funeral gong.
Frozen in shock, the assembled crew could only watch as the navigator's body slumped lifelessly to the deck. Grey blood began to pool around his corpse, and several of the other officers' eyes were drawn to their own pistols. They'd all heard the stories of The Enemy's numerous atrocities, and how those he took returned under his command, all trace of who they had once been stripped away.
The Admiral slammed his fist on the arm of his chair, immediately returning attention to him.
"Anyone else so much as thinks about drawing a weapon!" He roared. "And I will send your disgraced corpses back to your families on pikes! We are soldiers! We have a mission, and no one, not even The Enemy himself, will stand between our objective and us! Am I understood!?"
A few frightened nods.
"Return to your posts, and someone remove that coward's body from my sight."
When fear gripped a man's heart, only a greater fear could overrule it. The Admiral knew this, and watched with satisfaction as his ashen-faced crew slowly turned back to their consoles. He didn't know why The Enemy had chosen to make an appearance now, but they still had just enough time to take the shot before he arrived. Afterwards…well….
"Sir, perdition protocol dictates that The Enemy's arrival in a sector should lead to an immediate withdrawal," Farika stated. "Failure to comply could be considered a capital offence."
"That it could," Gundal replied. "I'll be sure to note your objections in my report."
"Just thinking of my career, Sir." The Prelate's tone was utterly deadpan, but Hastrok recognised the acerbic humour behind it. In times like this, it often came down to a choice between laughing and cracking.
"Impact with the Partisan's Lament in twenty seconds!" The helm called out.
Gundal opened a ship-wide channel, "all hands, brace for impact!"
The other ship's foundering bulk filled the screen. Then, with a jolt that made the entire bridge shudder ominously, the Skybreaker struck it head-on. A dull roar from multiple explosions and the shrill screech of tortured metal could be both heard and felt through the floor, and several more sections turned red on the ship schematic. For a few seconds, all that could be seen on the main viewer was fire and static. Then, they were clear, thrusting through the ruins of the Partisan's Lament and shedding debris in all directions.
"Status?!" Hastrok shouted, coughing as he caught a lungful of smoke.
"All forward assault cannons are down. Docking bays five and twenty four are down. Auxiliary shield projectors three hundred and fourteen through three hundred and sixty eight are down," the officer at the tactical station reported.
"The brightlances?"
"Checking now..." The young man's hands blurred across his console as he hastily pulled up damage assessments. "Brightlance two is non-responsive, but the others are still online. If we divert all power from the engines, we should just have enough to fire one."
"Forty six seconds to Enemy intercept."
"Twenty one seconds to firing solution."
A bead of sweat trickled down Gundal's brow. The battle would be decided in these next few moments. A million lives hanging in the balance for the sake of a twenty seven second difference.
It was twenty-six more seconds than they needed.
Staring down the small blip racing towards them on the navigation screen, he allowed his lips to curl in satisfaction.
"Too late, demonspawn. Fire!"
Seven of Nine stood in front of her console in cargo bay two, although it had been many minutes since she had last interacted with it. To the outside observer, it would have looked like she was frozen in time; body perfectly stationary except for the occasional blink. Inside though, her mind was working overtime.
After her conversation with Kathryn in the Captain's quarters, and the rectifying of some misunderstandings, it seemed that her desire to engage the other woman romantically was still potentially viable. However, things had been complicated by recent events. The arrival of Mordecai, and the subsequent Borg attack had 'thrown a spanner in the works', as B'Elanna would say. Kathryn was no doubt deeply saddened by the deaths which had occurred, as well as the damage to her vessel. Seven had observed that such events had, in the past, coincided with periods of 'emotional withdrawal' by Kathryn. She became less available for philosophical discussions, the frequency with which she smiled or laughed decreased, and the faint lines on her face seemed to become deeper and more numerous. All of this indicated that now would be a sub-optimal time to state her intentions to the Captain.
Seven had also discovered, during her study of the Starfleet Captain's Handbook, that there was another potential obstacle. While there were no officially defined regulations governing a Captain's private life, it was strongly implied that Starfleet frowned upon 'fraternisation' between a commanding officer and those under her command. It was unlikely that this passage had evaded Kathryn's notice, given her high regard for Starfleet principles. In fact, it may well be the explanation for why she had not taken a partner before now.
Of course, there were several logical arguments to counter this point. Firstly, Seven was not strictly a part of Kathryn's crew. According to Starfleet definitions, she would be designated a 'civilian advisor'; someone who was expected followed the Captain's orders, but existed outside the regular chain of command. Secondly, there was the fact that the Handbook had not been written with consideration for their present situation. In fact, it clearly stated that Captains should take 'R&R' leaves of at least six months between each deep space mission, to give them time to return to their family, if they had one. Voyager's period in the delta quadrant already greatly exceeded the maximum mission length it would normally undertake. Therefore, it was clear the Starfleet did not expect any Captain to have gone for this duration without an opportunity to interact with their romantic partner. A particular passage even stated:
It is essential that all Starfleet officers take the proper time to attend to their domestic life, and maintain a healthy balance between duty to the Federation and duty to family. Prolonged periods without such rest, while productive in the short term, have been shown to generate subconscious emotional stresses that can seriously impact an officers' long-term ability to function in a command capacity.
Seven was confident that these facts should be enough to convince Kathryn. Nevertheless, they did not guarantee success. While the Captain was usually a logical individual, it seemed that humans often acted quite irrationally when it came to matters of romance and procreation. Such unpredictable behaviour made it difficult to anticipate what the Captain's reaction would be. It was for this reason that she must maximise her chances in every way possible.
The second stage of Seven's planning, therefore, revolved around ensuring that Kathryn would see her as a suitable mate. Seven had assumed this would be a relatively trivial task. All she had to do was identify characteristics which were considered desirable, and ensure that she displayed them. As always though with human behaviour, what had seemed superficially simple was, in actual fact, deeply complex. During her past few regeneration cycles, Seven had processed every available work of literature in the Voyager database pertaining to romantic coupling; both fictional and non-fictional. Her objective had been to cross reference these sources and extract the commonly occurring variables, creating a short-list of traits that she could focus on. Instead, what she had found was a seemingly endless array of conflicting accounts with almost no meaningful correlation.
The problem was personal preference. Every individual had their own metrics by which to judge a partner's suitability, and these standards were derived from a lifetime of experience, environmental factors, and genetic predisposition. Without an extensive knowledge of Kathryn's history, Seven could not hope to begin quantifying what the older woman's 'ideal partner' might be. It was rapidly becoming clear to the Borg why so many human courtship attempts ended in failure. This vital information was not accessible without breaking several social taboos; an act which would in itself make a person undesirable to their intended mate.
Sighing again, Seven turned away from the astrometrics report she had been ignoring. She had intended to finish her work and begin a regeneration cycle, as she had told Kathryn earlier. Now, that course of action no longer seemed satisfactory. Her present dilemma must be resolved, and currently, the method she was using was not yielding any results. Perhaps there was another way to approach it…
The answer came to her after a moment's contemplation: a simulation. She may not be able to question Janeway directly, but the holodeck could provide an environment where she could trial different methods on a virtual version of the Captain and ascertain their effectiveness. It was common practice during scientific experiments, and should prove equally efficient here.
Mind immediately made up, Seven shut down her console and quickly departed the cargo bay. Now that she had a new plan, she did not want to waste any time. Fortunately, she rarely used the holodeck for personal recreation, so she had a large quantity of hours available. It would no doubt take some time to create a simulation of the Captain that was accurate enough for her needs. It would have to respond in exactly the same way as the real Kathryn, or else the entire exercise would be futile.
The thought of creating this Janeway doppelganger, and then confessing her feelings to it, generated a strange sensation in the base of Seven's stomach. It was difficult to identify. There were elements of 'anticipation' and 'excitement', but also…'nervousness'. Most illogical.
The halls were deserted, with most of the crew either still at the party, back in their quarters, or finishing repairs. Arriving at her destination, Seven keyed in some commands on the exterior holodeck control panel. A set of quarters configured like those on Voyager would be a good location to start in, since that would most likely be where the real conversation would take place. It was also a program already available in the database, so it would remove the need to construct a new environment. Once it was loaded, Seven paused to collect her thoughts, then entered.
She was greeted by exactly what she had expected; a standardly laid-out accommodation lacking any personal items or customizations. It consisted of several large sofas arranged around a low table, with a few smaller chairs and a work desk along the walls. A doorway on the left hand side led to the bedroom and en-suite, and a small counter on the right next to a replicator comprised the food preparation area. Outside the 'windows', a virtual star field hung motionless, their faint light dimly illuminating the neutral greys and browns of the pristine furniture. Seeing a room designed for habitation so empty and devoid of life stirred something in Seven; a small feeling of…loneliness.
Loneliness is irrelevant, she repeated automatically to herself.
Except it wasn't…and that was why she was here.
"Computer, place a privacy lockout on the entrance to holodeck two; authorization Seven-zeta-five."
"Affirmative."
The archway slid shut behind the Borg, before disappearing entirely, fully immersing her in this new world. Seven regarded the room, beginning a mental list of preparations that would have to be made. It was not just the representation of Janeway that would need to be perfect; every detail of the environment had to be kept as close to reality as possible.
"Computer," she began, "simulate warp-factor five…"
Is the mess hall usually this blurry?
Sayuri looked down at her empty glass. It was blurry as well, and was also moving quite erratically.
That's strange…wait, when did I empty it? Did…did I drink it all?…but I only just got it. How many is that now?
She tried to recall. Since Seven had abruptly left, there'd been no one for her to talk to, so she'd distracted herself with sipping her drink just for something to do. The idea had been that anyone looking her way would just think that she was maybe waiting for a friend to get back or something, and not actually just being a total loser. Sayuri didn't know whether it was working, but she did know that it had led to her downing quite a few more cocktails than she would usually have.
Is…is this number ten or eleven? Wait, do I count the one that I spilled all over that poor guy's shirt? No...no, I didn't drink that one. Eleven then…or maybe twelve.
Oh dear, I think I may be a little bit drunk.
This hadn't gone well at all. Sayuri had been hoping that a bit of liquid courage would help her muster up the nerve to talk to Mordecai. Unfortunately, she seemed to have skipped right over that stage, and gone straight from the shy recluse stage to the can-barely-walk-unaided stage. Even standing still, she was having to steady herself against a convenient chair.
It's not my fault really. If the room could just stop spinning for a second maybe I'd be able to take a few steps without falling flat on my face.
She really ought to go back to her quarters, but that felt like admitting defeat. After all, she'd gone to all the effort of getting dressed up; it really would be pathetic if she then left without even exchanging a single word with the person she was there to see.
Who am I kidding? If he wanted to speak to me, he would have done so by now.
She'd been lurking so long that the party was beginning to wind down. There were less people on the dance floor and quite a few were departing, probably hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before their shifts started. In spite of that, Mordecai was still surrounded by an unassailable crowd. There had been a point earlier where it had almost looked like he might be left alone, but then gamma shift had come in, and of course, they'd all wanted to talk to the hero of the battle.
What a bunch of hypocrites. I bet they were all terrified of him before. Then he goes and blows up some Borg and suddenly he's the most popular guy on the ship.
Sayuri winced. She'd been having these dark thoughts all evening, and she really didn't like the direction they were taking. Maybe it was the synthehol, or maybe it was just plain old jealousy, but she'd found herself intensely disliking the people Mordecai was talking to. It was a massive overreaction, she knew; most of them were pleasant enough, and it wasn't their fault that she was too cowardly to join them.
Maybe I should go, before I end up hating everyone on the ship.
Yes…yes, maybe that was for the best. She'd probably just embarrass herself if she tried to speak to him now anyway. There was always tomorrow. Or the day after. Or the day after that…
With one last, sad look at Mordecai and his group of admirers, Sayuri set her glass down and headed for the exit. As she'd expected, it was a rather tricky task, compounded by the heels she was wearing. She would have taken them off, but she got the feeling that trying to bend over might not be the best idea right now. Instead, she stuck to the wall, leaning on it for support and following it until she reached the automatic double doors.
The lighting in the corridors was harsh and bright after the dim illumination of the mess hall, but the quiet was a welcome relief. As the noise of the party receded, the only sound left was a faint, high-pitched buzzing that was almost inaudible.
Sayuri kept up her strategy of hugging the bulkhead, staggering along as best she could. It was fortunate that the hallways were largely empty, because she had a sneaking suspicion that she looked ridiculous.
Nothing new there then.
Now that she was away from the rest of the crew, her grim mood turned inwards. The entire evening felt like it had been a huge joke at her expense; the kind that you laughed along with even though you knew it was directed at you. What was even worse is that she had walked right into it. She'd made the effort, thinking that it might somehow give her a chance. But seeing all those other women smoothly flirt with Mordecai had been a brutal reminder of her own inadequacies. And like some kind of masochist, she'd just stood there and watched. What did that say about her?
It says that I'm an undesirable idiot.
Glancing up, Sayuri realised that she actually didn't recognise where she was. She'd wandered in an aimless direction, lost in her brooding thoughts. Had she taken the turbolift already? She couldn't remember. Squinting, trying to get her swimming vision under control, she looked around for a panel where she could access a floor plan. Eventually she spotted one, on the other side of the corridor a little way down.
Okay…easy does it.
Shuffling along, Sayuri positioned herself across from the console. That was simple enough; the problem came when she tried to switch to the opposite wall. The synthehol was messing with her depth perception; one moment it seemed like she could reach out and touch the far side, the next it was like she was perched on the edge of a vast chasm. After a few abortive attempts, she managed to push off from where she was leaning. Only once it was too late, however, did she realise that she may have used a bit too much force.
Sayuri stumbled, teetering on tiptoes for a moment, before she finally overbalanced, sprawling in a heap on the deck. Her right shoulder took the brunt of the impact, causing a sudden pain to flare up down the length of her arm.
It wasn't a severe fall by any means, but it was one disgrace too many. Lying there, smarting from the shock and nursing her bruised shoulder, tears welled in her eyes. Her entire night had been a pointless disaster from start to finish. She just wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. Would anyone even miss her if she did? She had no family, no friends, and no partner, and it seemed doubtful if she ever would.
What's even the point of existing if you have no one to share it with?
Sayuri hugged her knees to her chest, sobbing quietly into the hem of her dress. By this point she didn't care if anyone else was around…it wasn't like their opinion of her could get any lower.
"Miss Yoshida, are you okay?"
Oh please, no…
Of course, there was one person she would have given anything to avoid seeing her in this state; the person who had arrived just now. What had she done to make the universe unleash all its cruellest ironies on her?
"M-Mordecai?" she whimpered, looking up at the metallic figure looming over her.
"You appear to be distressed. Are you hurt?"
"N-No," Sayuri mumbled, struggling to prop herself up off the floor and wincing as pain shot through her arm. "I-I mean, yes, but it's not bad. I j-just…fell."
"Allow me to assist you," he replied immediately, offering her a hand. Gingerly, Sayuri took it, letting the android effortlessly pull her to her feet. It took a few moments of swaying to balance on her heels again, but by using Mordecai's rock-steady limb as a handhold, she was able to perch herself up once more.
"Now, what is troubling you?" he said, a look that could possibly be concern on his features. "Are you upset because your garment has malfunctioned?"
"Wha-…malfunctioned?...I don't…" Sayuri looked down in confusion, and let out a small shriek. The dress she had on was one of those fancy strapless ones that couldn't be properly worn with a bra, and it seemed that when she'd fallen it had become…dislodged. Now, her whole chest was completely exposed. How had she not noticed?!
Oh God, is it possible to die of humiliation?
Absolutely mortified, she quickly tugged it back into place; but the damage had already been done. Nothing escaped Mordecai's gaze, and if he'd pointed it out to her, he must have seen everything. That thought alone was enough to bring fresh tears of embarrassment to Sayuri's eyes, and she had to bite her bottom lip to stop it trembling.
"I-I-I-I'm so s-sorry," she sniffled, not even really sure what she was apologising for. "I'm such a mess."
"A mess? I do not understand. What makes you say this?"
"Well, j-just look at me!" Sayuri wailed, giving up on her futile attempts to stop crying. "I stand in a corner a-and get drunk by myself, t-then I stumble all over the place like an idiot and…and then I flash every p-p-passer by."
"There was no one else present when you had your accident," Mordecai reassured her, "and if you just give me one moment…"
He paused for a second, deep in thought.
"There. I have deleted the image from my memory. Now it is as if no one saw at all."
"You…y-you can do that?" Sayuri said tremulously, wiping away some tears from her chin before adding a shy, "thank you."
What I wouldn't give for a power like that, she thought, remembering every episode from her own life that she'd much rather forget.
"Were you headed back to your quarters?" Mordecai asked.
"Y-Yes, but I think I've gone the wrong way. I was trying to check the floor plan, and…well."
"Then I will assist you in this as well. Come, use my arm for support."
That brightened Sayuri's a mood a little bit. Clutching Mordecai's arm, perhaps a tad tighter than she really needed to, the young woman allowed herself to be led slowly back down the corridor. She didn't want to get her hopes up too much, but maybe it was still possible to salvage this evening in some small way. In spite of that though, she had to ask:
"W-What about your…friends, at the party? I-Is it okay for you to just leave like this?"
"I excused myself when I saw you departing," Mordecai explained. "I wished to speak with you sooner, but it was difficult to withdraw from the discussion in a polite manner. Many of the crew were quite persistent in their attempts to converse with me."
His words spread warmth through Sayuri's whole body. Had he really wanted to talk to her? Her? Even when he had the entire ship to choose from? She couldn't imagine why, but she was immensely grateful all the same. Of course, now she had to try and make the most of it. She'd spent so much time obsessing over whether or not he would come and see her, she hadn't even considered what she would say if he did. As they walked, Sayuri desperately wracked her brains, trying to think of something to start a conversation.
"What do you think of them…the crew, I mean?" she said at last, her voice still a little frail from her recent weeping. It was pretty lame, but it was better than awkward silence.
"You humans are tenacious, and your spirit is not easily broken. The Borg attack cut this ship deep, but it has already begun to heal. Such fortitude is a rare trait. It is not difficult to see why your species has prospered so readily."
Mordecai looked at her, his sapphire gaze magnetically drawing her in.
"What of you, Sayuri Yoshida? What opinion do you hold for your fellow crewmembers?"
Sayuri heard the question, but found it difficult to reply right away. She found herself lost in Mordecai's dazzlingly blue eyes; so deep and wise, like they had witnessed every sight under every sun. Something about them was utterly captivating, and rendered her speechless for a few long moments. All she knew is that, when she looked into them, her whole world seemed to realign. It was like the disparate parts of her fragmented, lonely life somehow reassembled themselves into something beautiful and whole.
And there was that noise again; that shrill whine that tingled across the back of her skull and raced down her spine. It was a strange sensation…almost alien, yet, oddly reassuring as well. Sayuri didn't know what to make of it, but figured that maybe it was something to do with her inebriated state. Blinking heavily, she put it out of her mind, and instead focussed on trying to answer Mordecai's query.
"Er, well, I-I don't know really. They seem nice, but…but I've never really felt like a part of them. I'm not the best at making friends…"
"You have managed with me quite satisfactorily."
"I, um, well…" Sayuri flushed, turning away to conceal the silly grin that statement brought to her face. "You're d-different."
"Different how?"
Somewhere, this conversation had gotten away from Sayuri. She felt like a swimmer who'd accidentally been taken into deep water by a gentle yet firm current.
"Y-You're genuine," she replied eventually, hoping it was a sufficient answer. "I feel like I can just…be myself around you."
That wasn't quite the truth, but there was no way she was going to admit her attraction to him now. Not after making a complete drunken fool of herself.
"I am glad," Mordecai said simply.
The two lapsed into silence again, but this time it felt more comfortable. Sayuri snuck the occasional sideways glance at the android, trying to figure out what was going through his mind; although deep-down she knew it was a fruitless exercise.
I wonder what he thinks of me? Am I really his friend? Can a being like him even be friends with us?
These questions swirled around in her head until, before she knew it, they had arrived at her quarters. Looking at the threshold, Sayuri suddenly found herself hoping that this night she would have given anything to end a few minutes ago would continue for just a while longer. Gathering her courage, she turned to Mordecai.
"Do…do you want to come in? We could talk for a bit, i-if you want."
Yes, because talking is definitely something I'm capable of doing right now. This can only go well.
The android nodded his head graciously, and Sayuri gulped. She remembered the last time they had been in this situation, their plans had been cut short by the Captain summoning them to the bridge. Although it had been frustrating, she wouldn't deny that a small part of her had actually been relieved at the interruption. Now though, there was no Janeway to save her.
How is it possible to want something so badly, yet at the same time be so terrified of it happening?
Feeling like she should run the length of the ship and then keep going into open space, Sayuri nevertheless steeled herself once more and followed Mordecai in.
Really, what's the worst that could happen?