Disclaimer: Only the story is mine. Everything else belongs to Paramount. kicks Paramount But they've abandoned their characters and stuff and did really nutso things to them, so I delete Paramount. I'm not making any money off this, so leave me alone, Paramount minions! I wrote this story, which was my very first ever Voyager fanfic, in August, 2000. It was not beta'd. This story contains a relationship between two women, so if that offends you, please read something else.

Code: T/7.
Genre: Romance, Drama
Rating: PG-13


Ghosts, Chapter 7


Naomi woke up to her fifth day of imprisonment. Her stomach growled ravenously, reminding her that she hadn't been fed since she had been captured. A small hose snaked into her cage, from which she could drink and wash. A bucket sat in the corner that she realized quickly, much to her horror, was to be her only bathroom facilities.

She hadn't made any noise since coming here, afraid of what was waiting for her in the dark. She used the bucket, then filled it with water from the hose and dumped it through a small grate in the floor. She hosed out the bucket some more and dumped that water, too. It had become a routine, to keep her mind off her isolation. She had developed many routines.

After the bucket was clean, she washed her hands with the hose, then drank from it. She searched every inch of the cage for any way out, any loose links and, as usual, found none. She looked for anything that might contain food and again, it was a fruitless search.

But still, everyday, she maintained her routine.

Next, she began reciting her alphabets. Terran, Katarian, and finally Vulcan. She liked the sound of the Vulcan alphabet and had asked her mother to teach it to her after hearing only part of it once. She had enlisted Lt. Tuvok to help her with pronunciation. He had said she did an acceptable job. Her mom assured her that this was high praise.

Each one she recited in her head, whispering them out loud, stumbling over the thirty-seventh letter of the Katarian alphabet every time. She drew the letters on the ground in front of her with her finger, erasing the invisible marks with her thumb. Once this ritual was complete, she began her next and favorite: fantasizing about how she would be rescued.

And on her day went. Never did she hear from the bug people who kept her locked in the cold cage while her nose ran from a cold she had caught and her stomach growled for the food she was missing. Her eyes began adjusting to the dark she seemed permanently thrown into and her ears strained for even the slightest sound. But alone she was, and lonely, too.

Perhaps that's why she deviated from her routine that evening or morning or whenever it was—time being so hard to tell in a place that never got lighter or darker. One thing that she had noticed about her cage was that it was suspended above the ground. Now, she didn't know how high it was, only that it was held up in the middle so that the cage tilted whenever she moved from one side to the other.

She began thinking that maybe if the cage fell, it would land with enough force to open the door or crack enough links for her to squeeze through. What she would do when out, she had no idea. She tried not to think about what would happen if the cage were so high off the ground that the roof would collapse and squash her if it fell. But one fear that lay heavily on her mind was that the ground below her might be full of water and when she landed, the cage would fill up and she would drown. Certainly the room sounded like it was full of water.

Naomi decided to chance it. She walked up to the wall of the cage and began climbing. Once she reached the ceiling, she jumped off and braced herself for impact. She landed hard, but as soon as she landed, she began jumping up and down as hard as she could. The rusty clang and squeak of chains greeted her efforts and began echoing, revealing that her room might be a lot bigger than she had thought.

"Hello? Who is out there and why are you making so much noise?" Naomi froze at the sound of another little girl's voice. After a moment, it was joined with the sounds of at least half a dozen other little girls' voices. Over the din, the first girl's voice rose in a tone that was very familiar to Naomi. "This is unproductive! Only one girl should speak at a time! Otherwise, none of us shall be heard! The girl making the racket, if you are a girl, should speak first since I spoke to her first."

In the silence, Naomi almost couldn't find her voice. But she forced one choked, hopeful word out: "Mezoti?"


Seven had a small room in the corner of Cargo Bay Two that the captain had suggested she store personal items in. She had taken that suggestion. She was rifling through those items this morning, trying to sort out feelings that had been waking her up at night. Her personal items were few, but they were very personal.

She kept her favorite tools in here as well as a few things that the children had left behind. There was the clay sculpture that Mezoti had made of her, so flawed and childish—it was her most precious possession, though none on Voyager knew that she had it. A couple of almost identical drawings by Azan and Rebi were hung, side by side on the otherwise bare gray walls.

The Borg influences were strong, but they brought a small smile to Seven's face, especially Azan's entitled, "Breaking Off From The Hive Mind," which depicted small geometrically shaped pods breaking off from a honeycomb in pairs and groups and a few by themselves. Rebi's seemed cluttered, but made from the same basic shapes, showing enlargements of sections and entitled, "Mechanics of Art."

The way the boys carefully wrote their names and titles below each piece showed the most individual personalities. Azan wrote thick and wide, while Rebi wrote a little more childishly and didn't put a 'hood' over his a's. Both styles were distinct and imperfect. Seven stared at the signatures as tears began to form in her eyes. She missed the children. She sifted through all the art they had given her, watching how their styles had developed. How Mezoti never got the details quite right, how Rebi's pieces always seemed cluttered.

Then she came to Naomi's pile. It wasn't very big, just a few drawings that she had done with the borg children, only a few more recent than that. But she noticed how much talent Naomi had. She drew whatever she saw and she drew it very well. One piece in particular caught her attention. It was of Arynlliana and done in oil-based paint—Naomi's favorite medium.

Seven felt the tears well up in her eyes and threaten to fall and she dropped the pictures back into the storage crate she kept them in. If anything, she was now more determined than ever to rescue Naomi Wildman, whom she would always remember as being the first person on Voyager to seek out and gain her friendship. She would not fail.


Seven girls. Seven stories, all ending in the same place—this Ssckerellon prison. From there on in, all the stories were the same. Huddling in the dark with no food or people, just a hose and a bucket. But now that the voices had been freed, it was like a dam breaking. The voices echoed off the walls to mix into an unintelligible din. Naomi and Mezoti struggled to separate their conversation from the rest.

"So what happened to the twins?" Naomi asked.

"I do not know. It appears that only female children have been abducted."

"Either that, or they're hiding the boys somewhere else."

"That is plausible." Naomi's eyes were closed to help her concentrate and her head leaned against the wire mesh. She was beginning to lose the initial excitement of finding not only other people, but also her best friend in favor of the depression of their collective situation.

"You haven't changed at all, have you?"

"I suppose not. But it has been only seven months and four days since I left Voyager. You do not sound different, either."

"Do you know what happened to your, er, foster parents?"

"They were killed," came the soft reply.

"I'm sorry." Naomi opened her eyes and examined her hands. Neither she nor Mezoti spoke for a while. Naomi let herself be lulled by the dull roar of voices when suddenly she heard the hiss of a door opening. All the voices in the room stopped.

"Larvae," called a guttural voice. Naomi flinched at the word and made a face at the images it invoked. "I bring food." Immediately, the voices in the room began to crescendo with cries of hunger and calls for food. Naomi watched as the grate in the floor opened and a dull green sack appeared. A moment later the grate closed.

Naomi examined the contents. There was a loaf of bread, a few roots and leaves, dried and salted meat and a sculpture of pure sugar in the shape of a leaf.

"Why?" Naomi heard Mezoti ask. "Why now? Why are we being fed now?"

"For passing a test."

"What test?"

"Discovering each other."

"How were we to know that we were being tested?"

"That is not our concern. You will only be fed for passing tests."

"Will we be told that we are being tested?"

"No."

"That is illogical. How are we supposed to pass tests that we don't know exist?" A hissing laugh was the only reply. Naomi glared at her food.

"You call this food? This is supposed to make up for starving us?" Naomi's heart raced at her own boldness.

"You will eat it."

"And if we don't?"

"Then you will die."

"We have various nutritional needs. Not all of them are met with what you have provided us," Mezoti chimed in.

"We will tell you what you need. Meanwhile, you will eat what is given to you or you will starve." With that, the nameless Ssckerellon left. Naomi bit into a root and immediately bit into the sugar to get the bitterness out of her mouth. She sighed and tried the bread. It was edible and she set about trying to figure out how to make a root sandwich with sugar sculpture. She just hoped that she could keep it down.


B'Elanna stared at the doors to Cargo Bay Two. She held a bouquet of roses in one hand and a gift in the other. The wrapping paper glittered silver and blue while the bow just sat all dark, contrasting velvet. Her hearts pounded hard against her chest and she growled at them, afraid that Seven would be able to hear their frantic rhythm.

She stepped into the Cargo Bay and froze. Seven was singing, abusive to her voice, her head thrown back in beatific abandon. Her hair was down and her eyes closed as she poured her heart into singing. B'Elanna almost dropped her gifts as her arms fell to her sides, forgotten. Seven was wearing B'Elanna's favorite biosuit. Though she'd never admit it, she felt that the blue made her look softer somehow, more real.

She listened to the words pouring out of the speakers and out of Seven, feeling her heart in her throat, her eyes aching from the beauty in front of her, from the anguish that poured out of the lush lips to her ears. She swallowed and listened:

"This is my place to hide from everything
This is my place and time for everything
None are made before their time
And now you know: this could never be justified
Now you know: I could never be satisfied
Now you know: you can't love me if I can hide
Now you know: that this little child is terrified!"

Seven moved her body in a way B'Elanna found entrancing. As the music pounded through her body B'Elanna found herself walking towards Seven. Seven turned her head to see B'Elanna and shock colored her features before she began pulling herself together. She snapped at the computer to end the music program and it immediately complied.

In the sudden silence, B'Elanna stood, unsure what to do or say. "Hello, B'Elanna."

"Hi." B'Elanna was still stunned by the picture forever burned into her brain of Seven in her moment of total abandon. Suddenly, she felt embarrassed. "Am I intruding?" she asked, afraid that Seven would ask her to leave.

"I was... engaging in recreation." B'Elanna smiled at the answer. Seven raised her borg eyebrow at B'Elanna's limp arms. "Who are the gift and flowers for?" B'Elanna immediately snapped her arms up and held out the gifts.

"Happy Birthday," she said quickly. Seven's eyes widened.

"How did you know?" Seven took the presents reverently.

"I just looked up a few things," she mumbled. "Um, the reason I—that is the flowers, uh..." Seven raised her eyebrow again as B'Elanna stammered. "Look," B'Elanna said, falling into a more forceful approach. "I wanted to know if you wanted to have dinner with me tonight."

"That requires flowers?" Seven asked, puzzled.

"No, um, the, uh, the flowers are a present, but for another reason than your birthday."

"I don't understand."

"I'm trying to ask you out!" B'Elanna blurted, then blushed. "Just forget it." She turned and tried to retreat from the room when Seven's voice stopped her.

"I would like that." B'Elanna stopped and turned around hopefully.

"Shall I come for you at nineteen-hundred hours then?" Seven smiled.

"I will be waiting."

"Great," B'Elanna smiled, then fled from the cargo bay. Seven set the roses down, then gently unwrapped the gift, stroking the bow and ribbon. She liked how soft they were. Perhaps she would replicate a dress out of similar material.

Inside was a portable device with two wires leading to small speakers. She read the card: 'For away missions and times when you just need music. I added a couple songs to help you think of me.' She looked at the display and scrolled through the selections she had for music. It was all of her favorite songs and a few that she didn't recognize.

She looked at the doors B'Elanna had just exited and smiled, clutching her new possession to her chest. "Thank you," she whispered.


Naomi covered her ears. One of the bug people had come into the room without saying anything. The girls had waited quietly for any indication of what was coming, but none of them had any idea. It had grabbed Mezoti. Tears ran down Naomi's cheeks and she added her screams with her friend's. She had no idea what was happening, only that it had said, "I have a test for you." Then Mezoti started screaming.

The screams eventually stopped, but Naomi's ears rung with them long afterwards. She called to Mezoti, but received no response. She started crying, then screaming at the Ssckerellon, "You ugly monsters!" It was the worst insult she could think of. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Silence filled the room until Naomi heard her own grate being opened.

Terror began to grip her until she saw—Mezoti! "How did you get out?" Naomi hissed. Mezoti's eyes were haunted and her eyes swollen from crying. She lifted her arm and Naomi choked back a sob. Her hand was gone and two assimilation tubules writhed loosely from her wrist. "I thought the Borg couldn't assimilate the bug people?" Naomi whimpered.

"They can be assimilated through—" Mezoti stopped herself. "Don't think about it. We must escape."

"How? Where do we go?"

"The ground is not far down. Let us start with freeing the other girls, and move on from there." Naomi nodded.

"Are you going to be okay? Won't you bleed to death?"

"My nanoprobes have stopped the bleeding. If we get medical assistance in the next day or so, I may even be able to have my hand reattached." She indicated a pocket on her dress and Naomi saw a bloody bulge in it. She quickly looked away. "This species obviously has no set of morals as we know them. Most species would draw the line at harming children, but obviously, Species 1013 has no such line."

"Yeah, even the Hirogen didn't hunt me with the rest of the crew, they put me in the brig."

"Come on. We don't have a lot of time." Naomi followed Mezoti, hoping that Voyager would get there in time to save them all.


To be continued...