Author's note: Another chapter. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed; I'm glad you like this little tale.
Katharina-B: Is this story going to be J/C? It depends on what you mean by J/C.. There won't be any sex scenes or 'heaving white bosoms' romance or copious amounts of goo between the Captain and First Officer, but like anyone who watched the show I did notice the sparks crackling off the bulkheads. So there will be a little bit thrown in for seasoning, but it won't be at the forefront.
Of47: Glad you like the story. The Stargate author is someone other than me. I've never written anything Stargate; I don't even think I've seen that movie all the way through.
JadziaKathryn: Yep, Janeway can be sneaky in a tactical sense, and she's got a few tricks remaining up her sleeve. Stay tuned.
Under normal circumstances, reaching Bajor would have taken about a week. Normal circumstances required starships in Federation space to go no faster than warp five. Only with Starfleet Command's permission could that limit be exceeded.
These were not normal circumstances. Janeway had ordered a course at warp nine. She'd been used to living without that regulation in the Delta Quadrant. What was Starfleet going to do? Give her a speeding ticket?
Even at warp nine, Bajor was three days away. She had been surprised to be hailed early on the third morning by a runabout, heading towards Voyager at their maximum warp. She had been more surprised to discover its occupants: Colonel Kira Nerys and Dr. Julian Bashir, both assigned to Deep Space Nine.
They'd said they could help but refused to reveal much over comms. Instead, they wanted to meet her aboard her ship. She'd been suspicious; after all, she already had one would-be saboteur in her brig.
Now they were in her readyroom, waiting a moment as Voyager's command crew filed in. Janeway took a healthy pull at her coffee and studied them. Bashir was a tall, handsome man. A little prissy, she thought. Still, his liquid eyes stared burningly at her as if he had something he desperately wanted to tell her.
Colonel Kira was different. Janeway got the idea that Kira Nerys knew a great deal about keeping her mouth shut. She knew the concept; command wasn't easy. She simply waited and watched, her eyes on Janeway's own.
Can I trust these people? Are they working with us or are they working against us? Why would they care anything about Marla Gilmore?
The rest of the command crew filed in and took their seats. Janeway swept an eye around. There's B'Elanna and Seven...it looks like everyone else is here.
She cleared her throat. "Good morning," she said crisply. "As you know, early this morning we had some visitors. I'd like to introduce Colonel Kira Nerys of the Bajoran military, and Dr. Julian Bashir." She nodded to Kira, who cleared her throat and got up.
"Good morning, everyone," she said. "As Captain Janeway said, I'm Colonel Kira, the commander of Deep Space Nine."
"I thought that was Ben Sisko's command," Janeway mused.
Kira's lips pursed. "It was," she said after a moment.
Janeway felt momentarily like an idiot. "I'm sorry," she said, realizing the Bajoran's meaning. "I didn't know he'd...,"
Kira's lips pressed together. "It's complicated."
"He was a good man," Janeway said.
Kira nodded tightly. "The best," she said, her tone short. "Dr. Bashir has briefed me on certain things that happened on the station a few nights ago. We...may be able to help."
She eyed Janeway carefully for a moment, sizing her up. The idea occurred to Janeway that Kira was not sure if she could trust her, either.
"Dr. Bashir?" Janeway prompted.
Bashir got up and looked around the crew. "Approximately eight years ago," he began, "a Nova-class vessel docked at the station. Their crew was given shore leave. One of their engineers was at Quark's bar and cut her hand on a glass." He smiled tightly. "Quark had bought them cheaply. At any rate, she reported to the station's sickbay, and I repaired the cut. It wasn't a big deal then."
"And who was that?' Janeway asked.
Bashir watched her for a moment, clearly wondering if he could trust her or not. Finally, he swallowed visibly. "Her name was Marla Gilmore of the USS Equinox."
"Perhaps you can help us," Janeway observed.
"Captain, I assure you...we're not here to do anything but that. Have you ever heard of a group called Section 31?"
The name meant nothing to Janeway. "I'm afraid not."
Chakotay seemed thoughtful. "I have," he said. She glanced over at him and frowned. He held up a hand. "It was when I was in the Maquis. Occasionally we'd get supplies – weapons, ship parts – things we had trouble getting on our own. I never heard too much about it – I didn't handle the logistics end of things."
Kira leaned forward. "You were in the Maquis?" she asked, and seemed interested.
Chakotay nodded. "Many of us on this ship were," he said.
Kira seemed pleased somehow. "Seems we have things in common," she said enigmatically. Janeway tried to remember what she knew of the Bajoran woman. She'd fought in the Bajoran resistance. That was probably it. She would approve of a fellow warrior against the Cardassians.
"So Section 31 provided covert assistance to the Maquis?" Janeway asked. "I'm sorry, I don't see the relevance of--,"
"Captain Janeway," Bashir said softly, "they may have done that, but that's not what they are. Please...I can see you have doubts. I can tell by the look on your face." He stretched his hands out to the crew in an imploring gesture that would've seemed hammy if it had not been so serious.
"Section 31 is the Federation's secret police," he said. "The Federation's equivalent of the Tal Shiar or the Obsidian Order. They are very dangerous. They tried to kill our friend Odo. Their mission is to identify threats to the Federation and...deal with them. They have no morals, and they answer to no one. We've had dealings with them before. They're ruthless, and they have backing in Starfleet. Captain, please...we're not here to misdirect you. "
Janeway took a moment to absorb that. The idea was abhorrent to her. An agency that answered to no one? Then they could do anything they wanted. That was not the Federation she had sworn to defend. She shook her head.
"The Federation doesn't condone things like that," she said slowly.
Kira smiled coolly. "Oh, yes, they do," she said. "They kidnap. They murder. They create diseases. We know. We've seen it."
As horrifying as the idea was, it did make sense. Someone had managed to kidnap Marla Gilmore, steal from her ship, secrete an intruder aboard her ship. The logical scientist that she was could see the links between what had already happened and what they were telling her. The morally upstanding idealist that she was could not abide the idea.
"And...you believe this group...kidnapped Marla Gilmore?" she asked.
Bashir nodded. "A few nights ago one of their operatives – a man calling himself Kilbourne – kidnapped me from my quarters and brought me to a small ship." His eyes burned at her. "Marla Gilmore was on that ship, along with a blond man wearing captain's pips, a dark-haired man wearing commander's pips, and a bald black man. I know it was her. I managed to sneak back a hair, which matched her medical record on the station."
Janeway tilted her head. Ransom? Burke? But they were dead. Not even a Federation secret police – and her mind still had problems accepting the idea of such a thing – could bring back the dead. Noah Lessing was recuperating a few decks below her, in quarters near sickbay. He would recover, but he wasn't going to be leaving Voyager anytime soon.
"She was unconscious. They brought me there to examine her. I believe she was being interrogated. Section 31 did the same thing to me, in a holodeck aboard their ship. Perhaps it was a holodeck, I wasn't sure. She is in their hands. What we don't know is why." He stood and stretched out his hands imploringly again to the crew of Voyager. "As a doctor, I can tell you she is in poor condition – underfed, drugged. They're using some sort of cerebral stimulator on her. If she remains in that situation much longer the damage will be irreversible. She's your crewman; she's my patient. We must work together," Bashir continued.
Colonel Kira watched Janeway for a moment. Janeway found herself noting the differences between the two. Bashir was overly emotional, but he seemed on the level. Kira was a cooler customer. She would have her own secrets and not give them up so easily. But the outraged idealist in her own makeup found it easy to sympathize with Dr. Bashir.
"Captain, that's all we've got," Kira said. "We've put our cards on the table. How about you?"
Janeway nodded slowly. "Marla Gilmore did serve on the Equinox. We found it in the Delta Quadrant. She, along with four others, was transferred to Voyager when the Equinox was destroyed."
"But what does she have that Section 31 would want? Who destroyed Equinox?" Bashir seemed almost comically urgent.
Janeway sighed. "More or less, we destroyed Equinox. They were performing criminal experiments on alien life forms. Their captain, Rudy Ransom, had found a way to create...fuel from the corpses. The result was an...enhanced warp device capable of great speeds.. She redesigned the warp core to use the new fuel."
Bashir made a face. Kira seemed unaffected.
"I understand, also," Janeway said archly, "that Deep Space Nine is currently under quarantine," she said. "Is Section 31 responsible for that, too?"
Bashir exhaled. "Probably. The disease affects Vulcans and Romulans. It's quite deadly. " He waved a PADD. "I have some information here on it. Suffice it to say that it's extremely virulent and almost always fatal. Section 31 knows about it, even if they didn't engineer it themselves. They told me to scrub down the sickbay with strong disinfectant. They have created diseases before. I can't prove it. Believe me, I wish I could."
Kira paused and appeared thoughtful. "So...do we know what their purpose is?"
Bashir looked over at her. "Another Section 31 operative named Sloan once told me that they had identified the Romulans as the next likely threat to the Federation."
Tuvok cleared his throat. "If that is the case, then I have a likely theory as to what they intend to do with it. If I may, Captain?"
Janeway nodded hurriedly. "Of course."
Tuvok rose and walked over to the LCARS panel. His fingers nimbly skipped over its controls as he entered something. A display of the Romulan Neutral Zone appeared on the display, indicating Romulan defenses.
"Currently, there is no proof for this theory," he began. "Nor will there be, if Section 31 has done their job properly. Nonetheless, it does fit the facts."
He gestured. "The Romulans are aware of any Starfleet vessel that comes close to the Neutral Zone. On their side of the border, they have heavy fortifications. We do not know everything about Romulan frontier defenses, but there is sufficient known information from which to construct a hypothesis."
He indicated the Romulan patrol ships and sensor arrays. "The current theory is that the Romulans monitor Starfleet space to a point of five light years on our side of the Neutral Zone. If a fleet was massing, they would have knowledge of it three hours beforehand. Even in a worst-case scenario, they would have half an hour's notice even at maximum warp. Romulan border defenses are capable of being brought to full operational capacity within fifteen minutes."
He created an icon of a small ship on the Federation side of the border.
"We know that Ms. Gilmore's enhanced warp device was built, and has been tested, only on a Nova-class starship. We also know that the Nova class shared certain design parameters with the Defiant class. A Defiant class starship can be, and has been, cloaked. It is not unreasonable to assume that a Nova-class ship can be, as well. Cloaked Klingon ships have, with great care, made it to Romulus undetected before. Therefore we know a cloaked vessel can pierce the Romulan security net."
"The Nova class is a science vessel. It is unlikely the Romulan Star Empire would consider one to be a great threat even if they did notice one nearby. Romulus itself is not far from the Neutral Zone."
He did some quick calculations. "Captain Ransom's confession contained the fact that they had traveled ten thousand light-years in less than two weeks. If we assume that fact to be correct, then...,"
Janeway found herself vaguely irked; she had thought his vile experiments only gave him a slight boost. Perhaps she'd been mistaken. It didn't matter now. Tuvok had a fine strategic mind; he knew what he was doing. His tactical sense was rarely off.
He stepped away from the panel.
"Assume a start point five light-years from the beginning of the Neutral Zone. Let us also assume that the vessel possesses a cloaking device. I cannot now conjecture of any other way it would get past Romulan security forces. The atmospheric sampling equipment on a Nova-class vessel could easily be modified to spread a virus through the atmosphere. I assume sixty seconds for that, and it could be less. These figures are assumptions, but...,"
He pressed a single button. The ship icon described a straight shot for Romulus. It then turned and headed for another planet, then another, and finally a fourth. Then it returned to Federation space. Everyone in the room observed the panel with wide eyes.
Tuvok's voice was dry. "My figures are merely assumptions, and thus may be subject to error. Nonetheless, a ship equipped with enhanced warp would be able to attack Romulus, the three largest Romulan colony planets, and return to Federation space in twelve minutes, thirty-six seconds."
Janeway stared at the panel in open horror. "A sneak attack. They'd never have a chance," she breathed. "What if they simply attacked Romulus itself?"
"A viable strategic option. An attack on Romulus itself could be accomplished in two minutes, forty-three seconds."
"The plan is efficient." That was Seven. "The Romulans would certainly detect the presence of mutagenic particles. They would be unlikely to detect them until after the attack had taken place. By that time it would be far too late."
Bashir stared at the screen and then flinched in nausea. "And a few days later, millions...perhaps billions of Romulans start dying. Leaving the Federation triumphant in the quadrant."
"I should emphasize, Captain," Tuvok said. "This is not proof. This is merely a theory which happens to fit the facts we have, along with reasonable conjecture."
Janeway stood and tottered a moment. Could anyone connected with the Federation do this? Her Federation? The idea was almost impossible to grasp. This was a war crime of such magnitude it boggled her mind and made the coffee in her stomach turn sour to even think of it. If she'd doubted Bashir and Kira before, she couldn't now. They looked as horrified as her crew did.
"No, Tuvok," she managed through numb lips. "I don't even want to take the chance that you're wrong."
Even if Tuvok had a chance of being right, she had to stop this. Marla Gilmore was the key to it all. It wasn't just about her anymore; it was about the lives of billions of innocent beings. Janeway glanced over at Chakotay. He looked as pale as she'd ever seen him.
"We can't let this happen," he said simply. His eyes held hers for a moment, adding the silent phrase and I know you won't. She sighed. He'd always been a source of strength for her. Right now she needed it.
"We won't," she said resolutely, and stood. "Chakotay, please see that Dr. Bashir and Colonel Kira are given appropriate quarters. For now you'll have to stay on Voyager. I may need you. After that, report to the bridge."
They nodded. The bridge crew filed out to take their positions. Tom relieved the ensign at the helm and glanced over at her.
"Take us to warp nine point five," she ordered. "Harry, if anyone hails us, don't answer. If anyone gets in our way, we may have to open fire. It depends how deep this Section 31's influence runs in Starfleet."
In a way, it was nice to have a name for her enemy. That was easily drowned out by the horror they had seen in the readyroom. The thought of something like that happening made her ill. An image arose in her mind; piles of corpses ten meters high littering Romulus, while men like the one in her brig cheered and celebrated.
Marla was the key. They'd kidnapped her to build them an enhanced warp device. They needed that device to pull off their attack. Had she built it for them already? Was a small, unassuming Nova-class ship already surveying some planet not far from the Neutral Zone?
The answer occurred to her even as she sat in her chair and watched the stars streak by. No. They'd brought Dr. Bashir in to examine her, and they'd been drugging her and doing God only knew what else to her. They wouldn't be doing that if she was cooperating. There wouldn't be any reason.
Had Marla Gilmore made the right choice this time? How much longer could she hold out? Had she recovered her morals, or would she give in as she had before?
She tapped her combadge. "Janeway to--," she cut herself off, remembering Seven wanted to use her human name now. "Janeway to Hansen."
"Go ahead."
"Can you use the Astrometrics lab to detect the presence of a Nova-class ship?"
Seven took a moment to answer. "I can adjust Astrometics sensors to seek out the standard warp signature of such a vessel," she said archly. "I will also seek out the warp signature of the Equinox."
"Do it. Keep me posted," Janeway ordered. She turned to Tom. "Mr. Paris, I've changed my mind. Bring us to warp nine point seven five."
"Aye, captain," Tom said, and keyed in the change. Under his breath, he added, "Yee-ha."
Janeway smiled despite herself, knowing she hadn't been meant to hear it. Then she remembered her purpose, and her stomach clenched. For a moment she considered the grim facts. She'd once considered Marla Gilmore to be stained like the rest of the Equinox crew. A mass murderer who had sold out her principles in the name of her own survival. Now, it wasn't about the lives of the scattered survivors of one Nova-class ship; billions of lives hung in the balance of Marla Gilmore's morality. Had Marla learned from the example of Voyager as well as Equinox? For that matter, could she – could anyone – hold out in the hands of experienced and pitiless interrogators?
"Keep holding out, Marla," she whispered to her absent crewman. "Just a little bit longer. The cavalry's on its way."
She couldn't take much more of this.
Rudy had been true to his word. For the past three days, she'd been confined to her quarters. 'Reduced rations', too, was a threat that was carried out. On other ships, reduced rations would have been a punishment on the mid-range of things. A crewman on reduced rations would typically be fed something tasteless and meager; they might feel hunger but not suffering. Basic nutrition was there, though. On Equinox, where rations were often meager or completely nonexistent, it meant something else. For the past few days, she'd been given a tray with a scoopful of tasteless mush. That was it.
It was worse knowing that for once, Equinox had food. She'd heard crewmembers pass by her quarters talking excitedly of it. Burke had parked himself outside her door with whatever sort of barbecued meat they'd gotten. The smell had been wonderful and torturous at the same time. She had lain down on her bunk, cramming her face into her pillow to try and muffle that sadistically glorious smell.
That was Burke, and she had learned to expect little things like that from him. Noah had been sort of reclusive; he hadn't come by very often. Perhaps he was afraid of Rudy. She was a little hurt that he hadn't supported her, but there were far and greater problems.
Rudy was the hardest. He would occasionally come in, his craggy face troubled and sympathetic. He wasn't overtly cruel to her; his cruelty took a different course than Burke's petty torments. He would ask her to obey his orders so that he could set her free. He told her how he understood how hard it was, how none of them liked what they were doing. He was very good, she had to give him that. He knew her weak points. She'd always been the quiet, responsible one. She'd always done what she was told. She'd always striven for the approval of her captain. Her time on Voyager had been a terrible punishment because she didn't have it and knew she never would get it.
She tried to sleep. Sleep had always been the best physician on Equinox. Their EMH had been a prototype, and his medical skills left a bit to be desired. But sleep offered her no rest; terrible visions invaded her mind and she woke up sweating and more exhausted then when she'd first gone to sleep.
She felt awful. Her bunk was a nightmare factory, but there were times she could barely muster the strength to rise from it. Her arms were lead. Her legs were brass. The world spun when she tried to stand. Sometimes it would fade out for her entirely and she would find herself on the floor of her cold, dank quarters.
In some dim corner of her mind, she knew it shouldn't be this way. Marla Gilmore knew a great deal more about going without food than she ever would've wanted to know. You felt spinny, and dizzy, yes, but not like this. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with all of this.
But for the most part, she was cold, hungry, exhausted, and heartsick. Her reserves were exhausted; she had nothing left to draw on. She couldn't explain why it was that she still refused to build the device. Eventually, she would cave. She had caved before, obeying Rudy's orders with only an attempt to avoid thinking about how it would be used.
In the memories that she could still muster, she could remember Seven restrained on a table, with the EMH above her, singing with macabre glee as he prepared to open up her head and pull...something out of her brain. Marla couldn't remember what it had been. She did remember a sort of horrified admiration for the former Borg. She'd been so brave, refusing to the last to give Rudy the codes.
Somehow, she wanted to be like that.
But Seven apparently had a bravery implant that Marla did not have. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak. Even the spirit had taken a beating, when you came down to it. Eventually, she knew she would give in. Despair did it. Equinox knew Despair quite well. It might not be on the roster, but it was surely there, walking the battered decks with the crew. Rudy might be captain, but Despair ruled even over him. Once, Equinox had tried to play by the rules for as long as they could, but Despair had convinced them otherwise. It hadn't been good enough for Captain Janeway.
With what seemed the last of her strength, Marla rolled over on her bunk and stared at the battered, scarred ceiling. Her vision fuzzed in and out with her heartbeat. Her stomach rolled and retched and screamed for food. More than anything, she just wanted it to be over.
"Uhhh...if anyone is out there," she mumbled, "I've tried...really...I've tried...everyone here hates me now...I don't want to kill anyone anymore...but I can't do this anymore. If you're out there...please...help me. I can't do this myself anymore."
She wasn't sure to whom her plea was addressed. Rudy? Captain Janeway? Starfleet Command? Q? God? It didn't matter. She had no more strength to carry on. The Borg were right; resistance was futile.
She'd tried. She'd held out as long as she could. Did that mean anything? She hoped, somehow, that it did. Someone, somewhere, ought to see that she'd tried.
Her eyes drifted closed and she slipped into a hazy state somewhere between shock and sleep. The sound of her door opening pulled her out of it. She looked over and blinked slowly. Rudy stood there, observing her without a word. His expression was pulled in and guarded.
"Marla," he said gruffly.
She rolled away from him in a last futile gesture. He crossed the room and sat at the foot of her bed. She couldn't bear to meet his eyes. She hated that feeling. She was unworthy. A disappointment.
"Marla, please. Listen to me. Do you think this is easy for me? I hate seeing you like this. I can't understand why you persist in fighting me." He leaned over her and put a fatherly hand on her shoulder.
"Rudy, I...I just can't," she said.
"I could understand that if we were killing any more aliens. We're not. We've got everything ready to go. If you feel sorry for those aliens, at least let their deaths mean something."
Oh, he was good. He didn't taunt the way he sometimes did. He sounded calm, rational, and understanding. He wanted to help her. He wanted to give her a positive way to look at it. And damn if he couldn't come up with a counter for every defense she might raise.
"Mean what?" she asked. She supposed she ought to come up with something better. A heroine in a holodeck novel would have. Seven would have. But her mind was simply too foggy and dense to provide much.
"A way home for us," he said. "Marla...Max wants me to put you off the ship for not cooperating. I don't want to do that. We're more than a crew on this ship. We're a family. Come back to us. I know it's hard. I know you want to hold onto that dream of being on Voyager. But you have to face facts."
"I don't want to be a murderer," she managed.
"You won't be," he said, and reached under the bed for something. Marla smelled barbecue and her stomach growled audibly. He held a chunk of meat impaled on a skewer out to her.
"Here," he said sincerely. "Take it. It'll give you strength."
Marla's hand shook. She knew what it was: a trap. If she took it she would be obligated. It would be her impaled on that skewer, writhing and helpless. Rudy knew all the tricks. All the same, she wanted to eat. She wanted to live. She wanted to be somewhere warm and safe. Was that too much to ask?
"Just take it," he said warmly. "It's all right."
Despising herself for being so weak, she took it with a trembling hand and raised it to her mouth. The taste was exquisite. It was soaked in rich tangy sauce and a little bit of spice. The meat was thick, but almost ready to fall off the bone. She tore at it, wanting to devour it like an animal. Forcing herself to eat slowly but met with only limited success.
Rudy smiled tolerantly. "Better?" he asked.
It was, but not much. She still felt like she'd been in a wrestling match with a Hirogen. Rudy helped her to her feet and she staggered.
"Wha...what are you...," she couldn't finish the sentence. The cabin whirled and spun crazily. She was a doll in his grip. He didn't let her fall.
"I'm paroling you, for now," he said gently, and half-carried, half-dragged her out of her cabin to the turbolift. She flinched when she saw it.
"Rudy, no, please," she pleaded. "We can't...,"
"Yes, we can," he said. "The security grid is on. It's safe."
Fear of the turbolift had been ingrained in her during the long siege of the life forms. The motion of the graviton lift made her nauseated, and she thought for one horribly long moment that she might vomit all over her captain. His arms were strong and supportive around her, but the pressure made her already teetering stomach only worse.
She knew where he was taking her, but she was powerless to resist. Her reserves were gone. She had nothing more to draw on. She couldn't have stopped him, no matter how badly she wanted to. When they arrived in Engineering, she flinched to see Max and Noah standing there.
Rudy got her installed in her new chair. Noah reached forward with a hypospray which he pressed to her neck. She tried to pull away from that, but her arms seemed to be made of bricks. After a few moments, she found she felt better. Her thoughts came a little more clearly. An idea occurred to her.
"Have you been drugging me?" she asked, her bloodshot eyes firm on Rudy's.
An expression of shock crossed his face. "No," he said. "Only whatever the doctor has suggested. This is a side effect of being in coma for so long."
Max watched her emotionlessly. She could sense his veiled malevolence, but he didn't do anything. He just watched her. Maybe seeing her finally reaching the reserves of her strength amused him somehow. She didn't know. She was exhausted and weak and dizzy. All she wanted was for it to stop.
He surprised her by limiting himself. "Marla, you've got to face facts. We're doing okay. The ship is doing okay. You're not." He raised his palms up to the darkness.
"Max is right," Rudy said. "Marla, the doctor's program has been destabilizing. It's because we kept him on twenty-four hours a day while you were in the coma. We have to get home. You have to get home. Your systems are breaking down; that's why you feel so terrible. We can keep you going with medication for a little while...," he shook his head and looked deeply troubled. "If we don't get you home soon, then...well, then you'll just keep feeling worse and worse, and eventually you'll die."
The news sank into her. Somehow, it did not seem a surprise. She'd suffered all through her time on the Equinox. Why should this be any different?
Despair roiled her stomach again. The idea of living as an invalid on this ship, constantly feeling sick and dizzy, was frightening. The idea that it was her fault that their EMH was offline showered her in guilt. Her eyelids fluttered. She slumped doll-like in the chair, only able to sit up because Rudy was helping to prop her up.
Rationalizations marched in tight formation across her brain. These people had taken care of her for weeks. The Federation wasn't here. They were alone and on their own. Voyager was hunting them and would kill them if they found them. The aliens were already dead and processed into fuel. Refusing to build the device wouldn't bring any of them back. She was dying.
Against all that lay only her belief that what they had done was wrong and should not be repeated. She'd tried to hold out. She'd tried as hard as she could. But her reserves were exhausted. She had nothing left, and no one was going to relieve her. For a long moment she despised herself utterly. Why couldn't she be strong? Seven of Nine had been willing to sacrifice her life to protect what she believed in; why couldn't she muster the bravery to do that? Then she remembered that Seven hadn't done that. What had happened to her, anyway?
The pressure of her crewmates's eyes drove thoughts of Seven from her mind. Silent tension grew unbearable. And finally, Marla did the only thing she could. Tears rose to her eyes and her head lowered.
"All right," she said in a watery tone. "I...I'll build it."