Game Theory

Chapter 11 – The Missing Ten

Seven of Nine stepped back, taking a moment to survey her 'creation'. Before her, standing stock-still in a now fully furnished set of virtual quarters, was an exact copy of the Captain. Seven had started by pulling the default image from the database, but had found it to be a less than satisfactory replica. Whatever algorithm had been used to create it had failed to properly translate the details of Kathryn's body; the true blueness of her eyes, or the upright dignity of her posture. Thus, Seven had spent the past few hours painstakingly correcting these mistakes, using code in much the same way a sculptor would use a chisel to fashion the likeness. Now, examining it carefully and finding it indistinguishable from the real thing, she felt that she was ready to move on to the next phase.

"Computer, slave all my voice commands to the Kathryn_01 model."

"Affirmative."

Seven opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. There was suddenly something disconcerting about the prospect of giving orders to this being which was, essentially, her Captain. It felt…wrong. But it was a necessary part of testing the model's authenticity, so Seven proceeded, putting such distracting thoughts out of her mind.

"Smile," she said, and was greeted with a wide grin. Typing in commands on the padd she was holding, Seven introduced the slight lop-sidedness that was characteristic of Kathryn's signature smirk. As she did, she idly noted how unusual it was that she found this particular feature attractive. Humans tended to find beauty in symmetry, as did the Borg, who sought perfect uniformity. It was therefore strange that this deviation, this…'imperfection' could serve to enhance Kathryn's beauty, not diminish it. Then again, it was in keeping with Seven's other observations regarding her own reactions to Janeway. Based on the most commonly agreed upon metrics for beauty, there were several females on Voyager more attractive than the Captain, and yet, Seven did not find any of them nearly as compelling. It was like Kathryn's appearance and her personality formed some kind of resonant pattern, where the positive aspects of both enhanced each other exponentially. Perhaps Seven would investigate this further at a later date. For now, she had more pressing concerns.

Seven tried out a few more orders, getting her replica Kathryn to walk, rest, and sit. After each exercise, she adjusted the action to more properly mimic the real person. It was a long process, and one that by all accounts was not very intellectually stimulating, yet Seven did not once find the task 'boring'. Being in such close proximity to Kathryn, or at least, a simulation that so perfectly resembled her, and being able to freely observe it, was having a strange effect of Seven's insides. This in itself was useful data, as it was likely she would experience these feelings when addressing the real Janeway, and would need to know how to compensate for them.

Eventually, Seven had a Kathryn model whose mannerisms were an exact mimic of the real thing. She even tried engaging it in conversation; both about an astrometrics report and about a recreational game of Velocity, to check that it responded as expected. As she progressed, however, Seven realised with frustration that there was a fundamental problem with this approach. So far, Kathryn_01 had required many minor adjustments; adjustments that could only be made because Seven knew what the correct behaviours should be. But by the very nature of the experiment, Kathryn_01 would be reacting to situations that Seven had not observed herself. Therefore, it would be impossible to know if 'her' Kathryn was providing relevant data on how the actual Kathryn would act. She needed a way to refine the replica without her own direct input being necessary.

Seven clasped her hands behind her back, thinking intently. From the sofa, Kathryn_01 regarded her with a neutral expression, having been placed into a temporary standby mode. Illogically, Seven found it difficult to concentrate under such scrutiny, and paced over to the window to continue her contemplations.

After a minute of internal analysis, Seven arrived at a solution. It was passable, but not ideal; a fact which sat uncomfortably with the perfectionist Borg.

Kathryn_01's personality matrix could be greatly enhanced with the addition of data about Janeway's inner thoughts and feelings. Seven knew of a place where this information could be found, but it was heavily encrypted and also considered deeply 'private'…the Captain's personal logs. Such a concept would be abhorrent to the Collective, where all information was shared freely, but Seven could understand the necessity. After all, she also harboured feelings that she would rather remain secret, and was thankful that others were not freely able to access them. Using Kathryn's personal files could be very beneficial, but could also be seen as a severe 'betrayal of trust', and would no doubt majorly impact her chances of romantic success were the Captain ever to find out.

Seven thought harder, turning the problem over and over in her mind, approaching it from every angle.

The contents of the logs are private because Kathryn does not wish for them to be read by any members of her crew. However, I would not actually be required to view them in order to make use of them. The computer is capable of autonomously evaluating the information and incorporating it into the simulation.

This seemed like a prudent course of action, as it bypassed the main ethical dilemma. Of course, it would still be vital to cover her tracks, but it did not feel like such an 'invasion' of privacy. Seven immediately set to work, sifting through Voyager's file structures on her padd. It would be a simple matter to break the security protocols on the files, and also expunge her presence from the intrusion roster. The only threat came from the fact that if Kathryn were viewing her logs at the time of access, she would be notified of the breach.

"Computer, locate the Captain," Seven ordered as she typed.

"Captain Janeway is in her ready room."

It is unlikely that the Captain would record personal log entries while on duty. No doubt she would wait until she had returned to her quarters.

It would be safest to delay until Kathryn was asleep, but Seven found that she was…'impatient'. She wished to begin her experiments with Kathryn_01 as soon as possible. Deeming the risk acceptable, she proceeded with her plan.

Captain Janeway sat in her ready room, watching the stars race by outside the window. It was good to be moving again. Although the scenery was essentially unchanged, it felt like they were putting distance between Voyager and the terrible attack that had claimed 22 poor souls.

22 more who will never see home again.

Kathryn sighed. She knew that their deaths were not a fault of how she or anyone else acted during the engagement with the Borg. All things considered, they had come through a lot less damaged than they had any right to be. But like everything that had happened in the delta quadrant, she couldn't help but feel that she was at least indirectly responsible. After all, were it not for her decision, they would not be here in the first place. It was an old, worn out battle she had with her conscience. Every tragedy, and there had been quite a few, forced her to replay it. By this point it was more going through the motions than anything else. Ultimately, whether she regretted her decision or not mattered little. They were here now, and what was really important was making the best of the current situation.

That did not, however, change the fact that 22 of her crew now lay dead; many of them atomized along with the cube. No bodies to store for families to mourn over later…if there would ever be a later. Kathryn had not known any of the deceased personally, at least, no more than any other crew members, but she knew their work. Like every person on board Voyager, they had given their all.

That's all any of us can do.

Janeway turned back to her monitor, sighing. An empty personal log entry occupied the screen, waiting to be filled. She had already handled all the official paperwork to do with the deaths; a task that seemed almost insultingly mundane after such an event. Now, all that remained was to record her own feelings on the matter.

There were no official regulations governing when Captains should record personal logs, or what should go into them, but it was sort of an unspoken rule that every major occurrence should have at least one entry to go with it. No doubt back in the Federation, these entries would be used during routine psychological examinations as an aid in assessing her mental wellbeing. Out here, that seemed like a bad joke, but just as she had always done, Janeway stuck to protocol anyway; even the unwritten ones.

And look where that has gotten me. No doubt my 'mental wellbeing' would be classified as distinctly 'unwell'.

Of course, she knew precisely what the cause was, and it was not the consequences of the Borg attack, although those certainly hadn't helped.

Seven…it's always Seven.

Another recurring internal struggle. Janeway was getting sick of them. Her resolve was weary from the constant battering it was receiving from all sides. Yet only thoughts of Seven threatened to break it altogether. Even now, Kathryn had to physically stop herself from rising and going down to cargo bay 2, just to see the young woman's beautiful, serene features once again. She knew that such an act would simply torment her more, like an alcoholic sniffing a bottle of whiskey they weren't allowed to drink, but that did nothing to suppress the urge.

But that was not the real issue. Kathryn had fought her own personal desires for years. In a battle between her heart and her mind, she knew her mind would always triumph, even if some victories were more painful than others. No, the true 'threat', if it even deserved such a term, was the fact that she was no longer sure it was a battle worth fighting at all. Every time she returned to the issue, her excuses appeared thinner and thinner. And after the events of the past few days, they seemed little more than tissue paper.

Oh hell, if I'm going down this path, I might as well give the Starfleet shrinks some amusement.

Feeling the need to vent, even if it was just to a computer screen, Kathryn began the recording.

"Personal log, stardate…oh, you know; it's in the file header. So…where to begin? As the official records state, a few days ago, Voyager was ambushed by a Borg cube. No warning; they just came right out of transwarp and attacked. I still have no idea how they found us, but it's not impossible that it was simply a random patrol. Seven of Nine, our resident Borg expert, assures me that nothing about Voyager has changed that might have alerted them to our presence. I'm not sure if that's comforting or not."

Wow, listen to me. Not even 30 seconds in, and already this is turning into just another dry, clinical account of what happened. No, this isn't right. I've written enough of those in the past 24 hours. A personal log is meant to be personal,

"Dealing with death is never easy, and the death of people under your command is doubly difficult. Sadly, it's happened enough out here that I've gotten better at learning to cope with the pain it brings in the long term…but that doesn't lessen the initial impact. I think what shocked me most this time was the suddenness. We were caught completely off guard, and were it not for the swift and decisive actions of our newest crewmember, I fear that we would not have stood a chance. There's something about facing the Borg that is different from facing any other foe. It's not just the knowledge that they outmatch you in every quantifiable way, it's something more…like, with the Hirogen, you know where you stand. You are prey, and you must defend yourself. With the Borg though…for a race with such a simple ethos, they can be utterly inscrutable at times. They think differently. They act differently. Any Captain who has fought them would know what I mean."

No, no, I'm blathering again. This log isn't meant to be about the Borg. Well…that's not strictly true. It's actually about a Borg, or rather, an ex-Borg.

Janeway paused, letting the recording run on and knowing that it would automatically cut out any long stretches of silence. While she waited, she took a sip from a lukewarm cup of coffee that had been sitting unattended on her desk. The low temperature made it less than pleasant, but she didn't want to interrupt her train of thought by fetching a new one.

"It may seem odd, even disrespectful, that in the aftermath of such a traumatic episode, when 22 of my dearly valued crew lay down their lives for their ship, all I can think about is Seven of Nine. I don't deny that it is selfish. Yet no matter how hard I try otherwise, when I look back on the attack, the strongest emotion I feel is relief. Relief, that she was not one of the 22. Call me uncaring, unprofessional, uncaptainly if you like; I've called myself worse. But there you have it. Seven has lost so much already; had a whole life stolen from her by those machines…the thought of it happening again is unbearable. I'd sooner die, hell, I'd sooner be assimilated myself than let them take her a second time."

"In case that doesn't make it apparent enough, I'll say it here for the record: I love her. Believe me, no one is more shocked by that than I am, but in hindsight, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised. She's always stirred feelings in me, ever since that first day she came on board. Sympathy, curiosity, apprehension, happiness, at times anger and frustration, and now…love. It's equal parts poetic and Freudian; the Captain who falls for her greatest enemy. Yet to imply Seven is still Borg does her a grave disservice. Yes, she will carry the scars of what they did, both external and internal, forever, and yes, they have influenced her attitude and beliefs strongly…but despite that, they do not define her. She is so much more than just an ex-drone. She is a person; a beautiful, wonderful woman, and by the time I realised just how far she could come, it was already too late. She stole my heart without me even realising. I took every precaution I could; sealed myself away inside an impregnable fortress of command, and she just walked right in like she didn't even know it was there. How very like her."

"The million-credit question is, therefore, what do I do? A large part of me says nothing, but the fact that I'm still asking myself this question just goes to show that another part of me isn't satisfied with that answer. There are many, many reasons why it would be a bad idea to attempt to pursue a relationship, even working under the incredibly unlikely assumption that Seven is at all interested. But yet, when I think about how she makes me feel, all those objections just seem to recede away. Am I simply blinded? By her brilliance and the fact it's been so long since I've had any kind of company? Or am I finally running out of excuses to avoid doing what I should have done months ago? God, why is this so hard to figure out?"

Kathryn was about to continue when she heard a chime at her door. Glancing back to the log, she considered pausing the recording, but decided that she had said all she had the energy to say, for now. These confessions were exhausting, and there was only so much wallowing in self-pity she could stomach. Ending it and saving it away, Janeway rose from her chair.

"Come in."

Tuvok entered, security report in hand, and the Captain skirted around her desk to join him. On the screen however, unbeknownst to her, a small red message popped up in the corner.

*WARNING: UNAUTHORISED ACCESS*

Sayuri stood in her living room, looking at the man in front of her, and feeling more lost than a shipwrecked castaway. Where did she even begin?

If only he knew the turmoil he's putting me through, he'd probably short-circuit himself laughing. W-Wait, is that a racist thing to think? I don't want to offend him. But can he even be offended? Don't be stupid, of course he can. He's a person, he has feelings. A-At least, I think he does…

Sayuri shook her head, trying to dislodge all her cluttered thoughts. There was no way she'd be able to make it through even the next few minutes if she kept second-guessing everything she said. Her only chance was to treat Mordecai like she would anyone else, and try and forget about the fact that he was an ancient android with the power to obliterate Borg cubes on a whim.

Easier said than done.

"Please, feel free," she said, gesturing to the sofa. "I-I mean, if you want to…standing is fine too."

"I will do so momentarily," Mordecai replied. "You sit, Miss Yoshida. I will retrieve you a glass of water. Syntehol's diuretic nature means it is important for you to remain hydrated."

Sayuri would have protested, but the room was beginning to tilt rather alarmingly, and she got the impression that she should take the opportunity to sit down gracefully while she still could. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of the embarrassing events in the corridor earlier. Carefully, she lowered herself onto the chair, and also surreptitiously kicked off her heels, which had already proven to be a major liability.

No sooner was she settled then Mordecai was back. He took a seat next to her, holding out a crystal tumbler.

"Here, this should help."

Sayuri accepted it gratefully, taking a deep swig of the refreshing liquid.

"T-Thank you, I think I needed that."

"You are welcome. I modified the chemical composition of the substance when it was replicated to include a fast-acting reagent that breaks down the synthehol in your bloodstream. It should help to clear your head."

Sayuri froze mid-gulp, eyes flicking over to what was still left in the glass.

Of course he did. If anyone could make a glass of water more efficient, it would be Mordecai.

"How do you manage it?" she murmured, not bothering to disguise the awe in her tone.

"It's actually a pretty simple compound, derived from…"

"No, n-no, I don't mean this specifically, I-I mean all of it. Everything. Every time I think I've seen all you can do, you come up with something else. You…you're just the most remarkable being I've ever met."

"I am flattered that you would think so," Mordecai smiled graciously. "As for how I manage 'it', I could ask the same of you. How do you manage to shut down your conscious mind for 8 hours every day? How do you manage to intake a variety of organic molecules, and transform them into the cells needed to maintain and grow your body? It is simply how you function; a fundamental component of who you are. It is your…nature. This is mine."

Sayuri pondered her response. There was so much more she wanted to know, and she realised that she wasn't going to find any of it out if she kept beating about the bush. Mordecai was an android; logical, scientific. Like Seven of Nine, he seemed to appreciate directness. That was something Sayuri was not very good at, but she recognised that this was the best chance she'd had so far to have a truly meaningful conversation with the man who occupied so many of her thoughts. They were alone, off-duty, and there was still enough alcohol in her system to make her a little bit bold.

"What else is in y-your nature?" she asked at last, although it sounded more like a dry whisper.

"I'm not sure I understand."

Of course, right…direct, Sayuri; be direct.

"I-I mean, you seem so, well, human…in some ways at least. You laugh, you smile, you care about the people around you. B-But, you're not." No, shit, that didn't come out right. "I-not that that's a bad thing. Being human isn't that great anyway, heh, but…I guess what I'm trying to ask, if it's not too personal a question is…is this what you are always like, or is it just for our benefit?"

Oh god, that still sounded awful. It's like I'm calling him a fake or something.

"You are asking if I truly feel emotions, or if I simply put on an imitation?" Mordecai replied.

Sayuri nodded, removing her opportunity to say something else stupid and hoping she hadn't just mortally offended him.

"It is a valid question. However, what you must understand is that I am unlike the machines you have in this universe; androids that parrot humanity but can never quite reach their goal. My race is ancient, and although I have limited memories of my old home, I do know that I had existed for millennia before crossing over. And although we are not organic, we also evolve with time. I do not know if I had these…feelings at the point of my creation, or if like your Doctor they emerged through interaction with my environment, but I can assure you that they are as real to me now as yours are to you."

Sayuri swallowed nervously, Mordecai's words unintentionally hitting very close to home. Her own feeling were something best left buried.

"How about a game, since we're in the mood?" the metal man suggested. "It's one I've played before. We take it in turns asking questions and answering truthfully, and you lose when you are unable or unwilling to answer."

What?! Oh my god, no, this is a bad idea, a bad idea. He'll rumble me in an instant. There's no way I can…

"Ok."

Sayuri had to resist the urge to clamp her hand over her mouth. What possessed her to agree to that? She had no doubt that Mordecai would know immediately if she answered any of his queries untruthfully. All she could do now was pray he didn't ask anything that would expose her.

"Since you just went, would you mind me going first?"

"Go ahead," Sayuri squeaked.

Mordecai paused, clearly weighing his options. Sayuri wondered if he could tell how anxious she was. Could he see her laboured breathing? Hear her wildly beating heart? Smell the nervous sweat that was beginning to pool under her arms? She desperately hoped not; she'd already embarrassed herself more than enough times that evening.

"What is your biggest fear?" Mordecai said eventually.

What? Well, okay, I guess it's a reasonable question; a kind of 'getting to know you' type thing. Alright, alright, just be calm.

Sayuri opened her mouth, about to come out with something obvious like 'the Borg' or 'never seeing home again', but she stopped herself short. It was true that both of those things scared her; terrified her, in fact, but they did not seem like fitting answers. They were not the kind of fears that haunted you day in and day out. The Borg were the stuff of nightmares, but it was easy enough to put them to the back of your mind when they were not around. And there were nights when the thought of the monumental distance between her and her family was enough to make her weep, but during the day there was little time for that kind of dwelling. So what was her biggest fear, really?

The answer was as obvious as it was depressing.

"People," Sayuri whispered sadly.

Mordecai's momentary silence was the closest thing to surprise the young woman had ever seen him express.

"I know," Sayuri said, with a trace of bitterness. "How pathetic is that? B-But it's true. I…I never know how to act…what to talk about. When I'm with others, I-I'm always afraid that I'm boring them, or that I'll say something wrong. I don't know how some people manage it so easily…"

"You do not bore me. On the contrary, I find our conversations elucidating."

"Really? H-How can you? You know so much more than me about…well, as far as I can tell, everything. What can I possibly say that would be interesting to you?"

"There is more to conversation than the exchange of knowledge. I value your perspective as much as your insight. We are different, and we see things in different ways, yet this is not a bad thing because together we can see more."

Together? No, no, stop that Sayuri….just wishful thinking.

"I'm glad you feel that way," she said, sensing the beginnings of another embarrassed blush creeping up her neck. Eager to draw attention away from that, and forget the melancholy her last answer had brought on, Sayuri searched around for another question to ask. There were many possibilities, but she didn't want to waste this opportunity on something trivial. Her idle musings on the materials Mordecai was made of or what he used as a power source could wait.

In the end, one burning query fought its way to the top of her mind. It was something she almost didn't want to ask, for fear that any answer would be enough to shatter her delicate fantasies. Yet if she didn't, she knew that she would regret it. Steadying herself, Sayuri took the plunge.

"My turn then. I…I was wondering…that is…have you ever loved anyone? I-I mean, do your people, you know…have partners?"

Sayuri was intensely aware of Mordecai's eyes on her. He hadn't looked away since the conversation began, yet she got the impression that he was studying her with more intent now. What could that mean? Did it even mean anything?

"Love…such a fascinating concept. A mechanism by which organic species are incentivised to reproduce and continue their genetic lineage: yet such a description seems insufficient, don't you think? I do not possess this evolutionary drive. My kind do not reproduce sexually, nor do we form romantic attachments to each other. In truth, we do not even possess gender. I chose this masculine appearance arbitrarily, and could just as easily become 'female' if I wished. But that is an aside. Your question could be rephrased to become 'Does love transcend organic impulse?'. Is it simply an advanced form of the desire to mate, or is it something more; something which can be experienced by any sentient being independent of these urges? This I do not know, but to answer your specific query, I do not believe I have. Not before. My positions in both my previous existence and the past of this one were not conducive to such emotions. As for now, well…who knows what the future holds? Many surprises, I am sure."

Sayuri considered his answer, taking a moment to mull over what he was actually saying. She did not really know what sort of response she'd expected, nor what sort she'd been hoping for, but the one he'd given at least left some room for hope. An impossible hope to be sure, but then, it always had been.

Why am I such a sucker for lost causes?

"Now my question," Mordecai continued, "and I feel confident that it will secure me victory."

Sayuri had almost forgotten that they were actually playing a game, having become so preoccupied with her own thoughts. What had Mordecai said earlier? That you lost when you were unable or unwilling to answer.

Her nervousness returned full force, manifesting as an almost physical pain in her chest. What did he have up his sleeve? And had he seen right through her this whole time?

"Ask away," Sayuri put on her bravest smile, but knew that it fell miserably short.

"Do you remember the last ten minutes?"

…what?

For the second time that evening, Mordecai's question came completely out of left field. Was this some kind of test? Did he still think she was drunk?

"Er…" Sayuri's mind worked overtime, trying to find the hidden trick to such an obvious inquiry. In the end though, she came up blank, and was forced to simply offer a "yes, I-I do."

Mordecai leaned forward in his chair, metal lips parting in a broad smile.

"If that is so, then how do you explain the object on the table?"

Sayuri followed his prompt, eyes being drawn to the coffee table that should have just had her glass of water on it. Except now, there was something else. It took Sayuri a moment to realise what she was looking at, but when she did, she had to stifle a small shriek.

Resting on the glass tabletop was a standard replicated kitchen knife, coated in a layer of red liquid that could only be blood. More than that, it was fresh, still shining brightly and dripping steadily from the razor-sharp edge.

"H-How?" Sayuri glanced from the macabre scene to her companion, aghast at the sight. "M-Mordecai, what is that? Is this a joke? You're s-scaring me."

"It is no joke," the synthetic replied, reaching out and snatching up the cutting implement, "and you are right to be scared. You see, you actually lost the game earlier than you think, because your answer to my very first question was incorrect."

"I..what...?" Sayuri was suddenly finding it very hard to concentrate. Her ears were ringing, filled with that strange buzzing sound which slithered across the back of her skull and was growing ever louder. The pain in her chest seemed worse too, going beyond mere nerves, although she was certainly beginning to feel incredibly uneasy. Mordecai's gaze was now totally fixed on her, his piercing blue eyes purpling to a darker hue.

"I asked you what you feared most? You answered 'people'. That is not correct. The answer you should have given, was me." Mordecai held out the knife, offering the handle to Sayuri. "Take it. You have held it before, just minutes ago. If you want proof, I suggest removing that dress."

Almost on autopilot, Sayuri weakly reached out and took the offered blade, grasping it limply in one hand and noting that the handle already felt warm from body heat. Mordecai's words scared her, but she was having difficulty focussing on them for long enough to truly understand their implications. If only this throbbing in her head would cease.

What's h-happening to me? Wha…I…did he…take off…yes, take off the dress…that's what…God, please, just make this noise stop…

Using her free hand, Sayuri reached up and grabbed the top of her garment. She felt dazed, completely disoriented by the cacophony in her mind. What she was doing made no sense, yet complying seemed easier than trying to think about why she should not. Without any trace of the self-consciousness she'd exhibited earlier that evening, Sayuri tugged her dress down almost to her waist. As she did, she felt a fresh stab of searing pain across her ribs, exacerbated by the cool air striking her exposed flesh. Instinctively, she glanced down, and was met with a new horror shocking enough to cut through her stupor.

Sayuri's chest was covered with long, gory gashes, some of them recent enough to still be oozing blood. They had been inflicted seemingly at random, staring just beneath her collarbone, going down over her breasts, and ending just above her navel. This explained the pain she had been feeling, and there was no doubt that the knife she now held was what had created them. Sayuri stared at her shredded skin with a nightmarish detachment, unable to believe what she was seeing. Trepidation rapidly morphed into a very real fear, chill tendrils shooting throughout her body from the pit of her stomach.

"M-Mordecai!" she cried, voice rising in panic. "What is this? H-How…help me, please…"

The metal man stood, appearing taller than he had done when they'd entered earlier. A presence seemed to fill the room as he rose, choking the air with a sort of static charge and cloying at the ambient light, making it seem pale and distant. Amongst this gathering miasma, Mordecai's eyes shone brighter, the cool blues and purples of before giving way to a rich ruby red. They now looked less like eyes, and more like bloody welts in the fabric of reality. Sayuri withered before the glare. She did not know what was happening, but it was clear that it was very wrong, and that she was in great danger. Desperately, she tried to move, but her body and her mind felt disconnected, as if she was watching events unfold from someone else's perspective and was powerless to intervene.

In less than a second, Mordecai was there, towering over where she sat. Sayuri could see her own fear-etched features, twistedly reflected in his chrome visage. Lazily, like he had all the time in the world, he reached out towards her face. Sayuri whimpered, but could not muster the presence of will to back away.

M-Mordecai, what are you doing? Why? I…I thought…

His fingers alighted on her cheek, and an immediate, searing pain spread from the point of contact. Sayuri could not tell if his skin was colder than ice or hotter than fire, but it burned all the same. This time, a tortured scream escaped from her lips; a long, loud wail of terror. Struggling against the fog clouding her senses, Sayuri tried to rise…to fight back… but all she succeed in doing was slumping weakly off the sofa, falling to her knees. Mordecai kept an iron grip on her, scolding her flesh with his white-cold touch.

Through the pain, Sayuri felt a deeper presence… infinitely more terrible than the mere physical discomfort she was experiencing. It was like the edges of her consciousness were brushing against something vast; something beyond the scope of human reason and comprehension. A great leviathan of intent. The sheer scale of it left her reeling, feeling like a mote of dust caught in the gravity well of a red giant. Sayuri was torn between total panic and rapturous awe as the sensation consumed her, mingling with her hurt in fractals of agony and ecstasy.

Mordecai's pupils blazed, capturing Sayuri's own and tearing right through them. Suddenly, she could feel him inside her; an utterly alien presence infecting her core. Yet she could not look away. One part of her mind raged against the intrusion, but it was small; overthrown by emotions which were not her own. Her fear and feelings of betrayal were stripped away and discarded, replaced with feelings of love and obedience. Yes…yes, she loved this being before her…this God, so ancient and wise. She was nothing compared to him; less than nothing. Dirt. Unworthy of his blessing.

No…no! I…am…

"You are mine now, Sayuri Yoshida," Mordecai intoned, his voice transformed into a low, base growl. Each word was a razor, slicing chunks off Sayuri's sanity. "All that you were, are, or will be belongs to me. I will reshape the contours of your existence as I see fit."

An impulse travelled along the synthetic's arm; not physical, but mental. A thought, an intention, directed straight into Sayuri's shattered brain. Without hesitation, she grasped the knife firmly in her hands. Yes, she was eager to please her new master; to prove her devotion to him was absolute. She would show that she was not afraid.

Sayuri drew the blade across her chest once more, parting the surface of the skin with ease. Fresh pain assaulted her senses, making her twitch and jerk, but she did not recoil. It was pain in service of something greater, and that made it beautiful. Exultant.

"Soon the others will join you," Mordecai said, smiling as Sayuri cut another laceration, deeper than the first. "The process has already begun. It is simply a matter of time. But enough of this. You are no use to me dead. Not yet."

Another small exertion of will, and Sayuri dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor, landing in an ever-growing pool of blood.

"We must bide our time. For now, you will forget all that you have seen. When I leave, you will retrieve a dermal regenerator, mend your wounds, and clean away this mess. Then you shall retire to your bed, and sleep soundly until morning. You will remember nothing of this evening except a pleasant conversation, and will attribute this to your intoxication."

"Ye-s," Sayuri croaked breathlessly.

Mordecai removed his hand, and gradually the room seemed to return to normal, although the ephemeral buzzing lingered.

"Good girl."

After several minutes without being contacted, Seven's pulse finally returned to a normal level. It appeared that her retrieval of Kathryn's logs had been successful and undetected. Now, she had a set of copies securely stored on a private server and protected behind unbreakable Borg encryption codes. Seven felt an unwelcome pang of remorse for the 'theft', but knew it was a necessary part of her strategy. She rationalised it by reminding herself that Kathryn's long-term happiness was her primary objective, and that would surely 'make up' for any minor misdemeanours she performed now.

Seven also had to resist the urge to open the logs herself. It was odd that the guilt she felt for taking them did not completely quell her desire to view their contents. But Kathryn had taught her that such an act was not acceptable, and even if she would never find out, Seven found the prospect of disobeying her distasteful. She would proceed as she had originally planned.

"Computer, integrate the contents of directory KJ_L.2058381 with the personality matrix of the Kathryn_01 model."

"Processing," the cool, female voice replied. Seconds ticked by, during which time Seven tried, unsuccessfully, to dismiss the trembling sensations in the pit of her stomach.

"Integration failed. Unable to resolve source file inconsistencies."

That caught Seven's attention. How could there be inconsistencies in Kathryn's personal logs?

"Explain," she stated impatiently.

"Data in entry 382.593 contradicts data in entry 995.194."

Seven frowned. This did not make any sense. Why would Kathryn contradict herself in her own recordings? Perhaps the issue was actually some artefact of the computer's interpretation. The easiest way to find out would, of course, be to view the files directly, but she had already decided that was not going to happen.

"Computer, what does the inconsistency pertain to?" she asked, hoping that she may be able to find the source of the problem without requiring details.

"Please clarify."

"What type of contradiction is present?"

"Entry 382.593 states that the Captain would never form a romantic attachment to a member of Voyager's crew. Entry 995.194 countermands this statement by inference."

Seven heard the words, but it took her a few seconds to grasp their significance. When she did, however, they hit her like a truck. This was vital data.

"Computer, what is the timestamp of the second log entry?" she asked quickly.

"Log entry 995.194 was recorded today at 2114 hours."

That was mere minutes ago. Kathryn must have finished the entry seconds before Seven extracted the files. She mentally chastised herself for allowing her impatience to get the best of her and almost jeopardise her plans, but she quickly moved past it to focus on this new revelation.

It was unsurprising that Kathryn had previously stated that she would not become romantically involved with a crewmember. She had still been engaged for the first part of their journey back to the alpha quadrant, and would therefore not have wanted to be 'unfaithful' to her partner. What was of relevance now was the fact that she had seemingly changed her mind. Questions raced through Seven's head, almost faster than she could process them. Had the computer interpreted the data correctly? What had caused Kathryn to change her mind? Why now? Had it been triggered by a particular individual, and if so, who? Did Kathryn intend to act on her feelings?

Enough.

Speculation was inefficient. There was a method which would yield far more useful results.

Seven turned back to the couch where her replica Captain was waiting patiently.

"Computer," she said, swallowing down a nervous lump in her throat. "Resolve the inconsistency using the latest log entry and initialise the Kathryn_01 simulation."