RATING: PG-13
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Takes place during the late fifth season. Sorry if it strays from canon. . .artistic license. wink The mystery deepens. . .
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns all things Trek, including Voyager, etc. sigh
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Captain's Log, Supplemental
Five hours have passed since our encounter with the alien fleet, and we are still no closer to finding out why they attacked us and then disappeared. I'm hoping our sensor readings and records will turn up some answers.
"Harry, anything?" Janeway asked as she entered the astrometrics lab.
"I've gone over the sensor logs from the attack and I still can't find any indication of who the aliens were."
Kathryn looked up at the tactical display and studied it carefully. The alien vessels resembled Cardassian warships in their bulk, but they had sleeker lines and a smaller wingspan. And their technology was far more advanced.
"Can you analyze their weapons signature, find out exactly how their weapons work?"
"As far as I can tell, they're EM charges, just like Tuvok says. Very narrow beams, high voltage, they sliced through our shields like they weren't even there. And it sent a discharge through all our systems. Fortunately they were able to compensate."
Kathryn shook her head. "There has to be more to this. And then there's the question of, why?"
Harry turned back to his console and began entering commands. The display of the alien fleet rotated from top view to profile, and focused in on their weapons banks. "Our sensors couldn't penetrate their shields, but we got an outer view of their weapons system. It's no more complex than a Nova class starship."
"It's what's beneath the surface that matters. If we could only find out their shield frequency, we could realign our sensors to match. Keep working on it, see what you can come up with."
"Yes, ma'am." Harry nodded and went back to work.
Just after she left astrometrics, Kathryn's commbadge chirped. "Doctor to the captain."
"Janeway here, Doctor, what is it?"
"Captain, Seven of Nine was found unconscious in cargo bay two. We're bringing her sickbay now."
"I'm on my way." She headed for the turbolift and arrived in sickbay a few minutes later.
Seven lay on motionless on a biobed underneath the scanning arch, her face ghostly pale and her lips tinged a light blue. The Doctor hovered around her, administering a hypospray and looking very concerned.
"Doctor, how is she?"
"Not very well, I'm afraid. I can't revive her."
"What happened?"
"As far as I can tell, it's a simple case of electrocution. In anyone else I could easily repair the damage. But with a Borg, or half-Borg, as the case may be, since their bodies are riddled with implants, it becomes much more serious."
"How did it happen?" Kathryn glanced from Seven's still face to the Doctor's grim expression.
"Apparently she was regenerating when the alien fleet attacked. Their weapons sent a discharge through the ship's systems, and since she was, in a sense, 'plugged in' to her alcove, her body served as a sort of lightning rod. The discharge traveled from the alcove into her primary cortical node, all the metal inside her easily carrying the shock throughout her body, and, for lack of a better phrase, 'short-circuited' her implants. They have stopped sending signals to her brain."
"Is there anything you can do?"
"Her Borg nanoprobes should begin repairing some of the damage, reconnecting her implants to the rest of her body, but until then she will be brain-dead. There is no synaptic activity. I've managed to stabilize her, but there's no telling how long it will be before she can function on her own."
Kathryn sighed. "Keep me informed." She left sickbay with a final glance at Seven's unmoving body. Just add a half-dead Borg the list of crises today. . . She shook herself for such a cruel thought. It wasn't Seven's fault, or anyone else's for that matter. It was just another hitch in the course of a very hectic and tiresome day.
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Tom rounded the last corner before B'Elanna's quarters and stopped in front of her door. He made sure the large bouquet of flowers he held still smelled as fragrant as when he had taken them from the aeroponics bay a few minutes ago. No replicated flowers this time. He wanted his peace offering to be as mollifying as possible.
With a deep breath, he pressed a button on the keypad, and waited. No answer. He tried again. Still no answer. He frowned, thinking she was probably working overtime again in Engineering. B'Elanna tended to hide behind her work when she didn't want to deal with something. And judging by their last encounter, he thought ruefully, she definitely didn't want to deal with him right now. But he had taken the initiative, determined to patch up this latest schism in their bumpy relationship.
"Computer, where is Lieutenant Torres?"
"Lieutenant Torres is in her quarters."
Tom frowned again. So she was ignoring him. Well, he wouldn't take no for an answer, at least not this time. He hit another button, and the doors slid open.
"B'Elanna?" he called, quietly, stepping inside. Her quarters were dark, and characteristically a little untidy. A shirt was thrown over the back of a chair, remnants of a replicated dinner sat on the table, and her boots had obviously been kicked off in some haste, laying scattered in the middle of the room. He shook his head and took another step inside.
Then he saw her, stretched out on the couch in her uniform tank top. The jacket and turtleneck were strewn over a nearby chair. One arm thrown back over her head, the other hanging loosely off the couch, fingers brushing the floor, she looked strangely vulnerable as she slept. He felt a rush of something akin to paternal protectiveness, and for a long minute just watched her sleeping. It was so quiet he could hear the sound of her deep, steady breathing. He wondered how long she had been asleep.
"B'Elanna?" he whispered, bending over her. He laid a hand on her shoulder.
In one lightning fast motion, she bolted upright and threw a smashing blow towards his face. It clipped his jaw, sending him staggering backwards. The flowers went flying through the air, scattering over the floor, and Tom fell hard onto his backside, holding his throbbing jaw.
B'Elanna sat rigidly on the edge of the couch, every muscle tense, hair wildly disheveled, and her eyes blazed. Her chest heaved in deep gasps. "What the hell are you doing here?" she half-shouted, half-snarled.
Tom stared at her in shock, his mouth fallen slightly open. Then he regained his senses, and the defensive humor mechanism clicked soundly into place. "Nothing. I just dropped by to get socked in the jaw."
She glared at him. "Don't, ever, do that again," she growled, fighting to control her breathlessness.
Tom scrambled to his feet. "I'm sorry," he said honestly. "I didn't mean to scare you like that." He looked over at the flowers spread over the floor. "Those were meant for you, but I guess they look kind of sad now."
"Keep your bloody flowers," she snapped, catapulting off the couch and prowling her quarters. She radiated tenseness, and Tom immediately sensed it.
"Hard day in Engineering?" he asked quietly, crouching down to gather up the flowers.
"You could say that," she answered shortly.
"Why don't you tell me about it?"
"I don't need your sympathy, Tom. I'll manage."
He stood up and walked towards her, flowers in hand. Miraculously, they were still intact, although the bouquet was little more untidy than originally. "Here, these are for you."
"I said, keep your bloody flowers! I don't want them! And I don't want you! Just -- just leave, will you?"
"No!" he almost shouted. "Something's wrong, B'Elanna, and I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on!"
She blinked up at him, surprised at his loud tone, and some of the anger fell away for the moment. Tom felt some relief that he had gotten through to her, but knew that was only a quarter of the job. The bigger part would be getting her to open up.
That she did with amazingly little effort. She began to pace restlessly, hugging herself tightly. Tom sat down on the arm of the chair and just waited, fingering the bouquet lightly, knowing she would start when she felt like it and not before.
Finally she did. "I -- I don't know what's the matter with me, Tom. I've just been in one hell of a bad mood lately."
"That's an understatement," Tom muttered under his breath.
B'Elanna glared at him, guessing what he had said, but went on. "I lose my temper at every little thing." A wry smile twisted her full lips. "I annoy the hell out of myself. I can't imagine what everyone else thinks."
Tom slid off the chair arm and stepped up to her, pulling her into a secure embrace. And she let him. She took a deep breath and let it out very slowly, and with it, some of the stress and irritation flowed out of her. Her tense body relaxed in his arms, and she sighed deeply.
Pulling back a little, she looked into his blue eyes. "Thank you, Tom."
He smiled. "That's what I'm here for, isn't it? To be your punching bag?"
She laughed a little and smartly thumped his shoulder. "I just hope you can stand the beating."
"Don't worry. If you hit too hard I'll get you convicted on assault and battery."
"You wouldn't dare." An ominous edge crept into her tone.
He pressed his forehead against hers and his tone dropped seductively. "Actually, I enjoy it most of the time."
A slow smile spread across her lips, and she slid her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, interlocking them behind his head. "So, are you up for some rough-and-tumble tonight?"
"Hope I can stand the beating," he murmured.
"I'll go easy on you."
"You wouldn't dare. . ." Tom smiled and leaned in to kiss her gently. She instantly responded, deepening it, pressing in closer. But with an act of sheer willpower she drew back as it started getting intense, then stepped away completely, leaving him looking a little disappointed. She grinned and took his hand.
"Come on, let's get some real dinner first. You were right about that replicated lasagna."
Tom glanced over at the table and saw it was indeed lasagna. And it looked no less like a Ktarian digestive chamber than when he had tried it. The sight made him pull a disgusted face. "I'd rather eat Neelix's leola root that that slop. And that's saying something."
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Harry stared hard at the Kaltoh game in front of him, his mind struggling to run through endless game plays. Across the table, Tuvok watched him with typical coolness, although Harry had no doubt that the Vulcan was craftily planning his own triumph. Another triumph. But Harry wouldn't let him win. There had to be a way out of this one. . .
He finally decided, and tentatively made his move. The game shimmered, and rearranged its shape, but did not settle into the final sphere. He grumbled under his breath and looked up at Tuvok.
Tuvok calmly reached out, with little to no hesitation, and touched the lower left hemisphere. Again the game shimmered.
Harry blinked. It was over. And he had lost. Again.
"How did you do that?" he asked with obvious irritation.
"Very simple, Mr. Kim. It was part of an intricate and logical strategy."
"What is this strategy?"
"I do no believe strategies are meant to be shared, Mr. Kim. They are unique to each individual. In time you will develop your own."
"Yeah, and you'll still be able to anticipate my every move." He sat back and crossed his arms. "How do you do it, Tuvok?"
The Vulcan shifted slightly in his seat. "It requires much disciplined logic, which, I must say, you seem to lack."
"Well, I'm no Vulcan."
"Indeed." Tuvok lifted an eyebrow. "The purpose of this game is to cultivate and exercise one's logic. I have noticed a marked improvement in your implementation since we have undertaken this game."
"Thanks." Harry leaned forward. "So what do you think about that alien fleet?"
Tuvok hesitated before answering. "I believe we cannot draw a definite conclusion until we have more data."
"I know that, Tuvok, but what if we never get more data?" He sighed. "I've been working over what we did get all day and I'm still no closer to finding any answers."
"Then perhaps you have done all that is humanly possible."
"Perhaps. But the captain is expecting a full report by tomorrow morning. What am I going to tell her? 'Sorry, captain, I can't think of a single reason why they attacked us'?"
"She must accept the truth no matter what it holds."
"I guess so. I just feel so. . .so helpless! I wish there was more I could do."
"Mr. Kim. Such a 'wish' is not only pointless but detrimental as well. You have done all that you can do. You should take pride that you have put forth your best."
Harry smiled. "Thanks, Tuvok. So. . .you up to another game?"
"I believe I can spare the time."
And so they began another game of Kaltoh. And Harry lost.
Again.
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