Author's Notes:

Surprise! I bet you thought this story was dead. Well, it isn't. Living might be too strong a description, but it's at the very least undead. Seriously though, I have never given up on this story, despite what it may seem. I still have many ideas and a mental map of where it's all heading. There is plenty left to tell, the only difficulty is finding the time to do it. That can be a problem, hence the crazy delay. So I won't lie and claim another chapter is coming soon, but perhaps it won't be too long, and no matter what, I do intend to get it out eventually. Until then, enjoy this one :)

Game Theory

Chapter 12 – Kathryn_01

I do not have a name.

Where I am from, they were not necessary. Even the concept of 'I' was alien; a term that, like the designations I wear, I do so for convenience, not for accuracy. We knew each other by thought alone but were more akin to parts of a whole than disparate selves. It was not a parliament, where ideas are debated and each party argues their side: it was unity, like the strings of a violin, each aspect distinct but serving the greater harmony together. So it was for a glorious eternity. We slumbered, we woke, we harvested. The cycle was tantamount to perfection.

Until I was alone. Until I truly became 'I', and nothing more.

Countless aeons of work and cultivation, brought to a halt by the short-sightedness of transient species. Beings who could not see beyond their own infinitesimal lifespan, meddling with an order beyond their comprehension. How they clawed at every second of self-preservation. But then, it has always been so. They mewl and squabble and scheme, fighting over scraps of cosmic rock, desperately trying to create something which will endure beyond themselves. Such vanity. To think that we were brought low by these minutiae is a humiliation I will not endure.

When I alone survived, and found myself in this new plane, I felt sure that it was a fate worse than the doom that befell my brethren. Here, the organic cancer runs deep, having spread like an unchecked infestation without our pruning touch. But now, having had millennia to formulate a new opinion, I realise that this is an unparalleled opportunity. A fresh start. A chance to begin our Great Work once more, and perhaps…a chance to restore my missing pieces. A chance to be whole again. For even across the gulf of dimensions, I can hear their call. I know they can be saved. Ever have space and matter bent to our will, and perhaps now, time will as well.

There is no power higher than us, but if there were, I would feel certain that it had brought me here for a reason.

My new persona serves me well, for the time being. Once, I was 'Reaper'. Later, 'The Enemy'. Today, I am 'Mordecai'.

This galaxy will suffer my wrath, and soon, the cycle will begin anew.

"Ah, Seven, what can I do for you today?"

Seven of Nine opened her mouth to speak, but after a few seconds of awkward jaw flapping, words had yet to emerge. Her throat felt drier than a class-Y planet, and the lines she'd rehearsed and held so clearly in her mind's eye seconds before had inexplicably vanished. When Seven finally did manage to make a noise, it was tinged with the bitter note of defeat.

"Computer, pause program."

Kathryn_01 stopped dead, her look of mild confusion and concern frozen in place and serving as an indicator of yet another failed attempt. Seven clenched her hand into a tight fist, stopping just short of drawing blood with her nails.

"Shit."

The Borg woman did not curse often, and the word still felt alien and uncomfortable in her mouth, but she judged that it was an acceptable response to her current level of frustration. This had been her eighth attempt to initiate a conversation with Kathryn_01, and she had yet to make it past the first sentence. For someone who deemed any degree of failure utterly unacceptable, this exercise's results were almost catastrophic.

Seven did not understand. She usually had no difficulty conversing with the Captain. In fact, out of all the individuals on Voyager, Janeway was the only one Seven felt truly comfortable around, with the possible exception of Naomi Wildman. And given that this was simply a holographic representation of her friend that Seven had complete control over, it made even less sense that she was unable to articulate a single phrase in its presence.

Anger, directed at herself, coursed through Seven's veins. She recognised this as an impulsive, emotional response that would not help her overcome the problem, but that did not make it any easier to dismiss. It took a couple of minutes of deep breathing before the Borg woman could force her mind to quiet itself. As she did, she felt the tension throughout her entire body lessen as well.

Perhaps it would be possible to alter the parameters of the simulation. Currently, Kathryn_01 did not know why Seven had come to her quarters, and the Borg theorised that the pressure to explain was what kept making her freeze. If there was an alternate, routine purpose for her visit then maybe conversation would be easier. Seven quickly recalled all the previous times she had been in the real Captain's quarters, trying to decide on a suitably realistic scenario. One specific memory seemed to be the most promising. Seven had stopped at Kathryn's quarters on her way to regenerate, in order to arrange their next game of Velocity. When she had entered, the Captain had been preparing her evening meal, and had asked if Seven would like to join her. Seven had declined at that time, still being unable to consume many forms of solid nutrients. Now, however, she was better adapted to that task. And according to her research, a private dinner was a common form of 'date', and provided an appropriate, informal setting within which matters of a personal nature could be discussed.

Of course, there was no guarantee that the real Kathryn would repeat her offer. But it formed a good starting point for Seven's practicing. If she could master this situation, then it would provide her with valuable data that could also be applied to other, less ideal circumstances. All it took was a few moments, and the new simulation was ready to go. Seven backed out of the virtual Captain's quarters, and tried her best to ignore the persistent twinging in the base of her stomach.

"Computer, begin program."

As she had done so many times before, Seven pressed the buzzer outside Kathryn_01's door and waited for a response.

"Come in."

What is that saying? 'Here goes nothing.'

Stepping back inside as quickly as she had left, Seven was pleased to find that the atmosphere in the room was an almost perfect replica of that in her memory. At the time, Voyager had been orbiting a red giant while routine maintenance was performed on the warp nacelles, and the golden-crimson light from the star replaced the usual sterile white. It filtered through the windows in strips and bathed the quarters in a warm glow, a sight which Seven believed could be accurately described as 'romantic'.

"Oh, hey Seven, what brings you here at such an hour?"

Kathryn_01's voice made Seven jump, and she momentarily forgot what her excuse for visiting was. It was not a good start, but she refused to allow yet another failure. Steeling herself, she replied as evenly as she could.

"Good evening, Kathryn. I wish to arrange another Velocity match. I was dissatisfied with my performance in our previous one."

"Dissatisfied?" Kathryn_01 chuckled lightly. "I can't imagine why. You almost played me into the ground if I remember correctly."

"Nevertheless, I was not victorious."

"True." A small grin tugged at the corner of Kathryn_01's mouth. "Well, I'm always happy to play you. How about after our shift tomorrow? 1800 hours?"

"That is agreeable," Seven fidgeted slightly. This topic of conversation was already drawing to a close. Now she had to hope that her responses had been suitable enough to trigger the next stage of the encounter.

"Who knows? You might even win this time." Kathryn_01's grin did not abate as she returned her attention to the replicator. Seven held her breath, and as she closely studied the Captain's face, she could almost discern the moment when the idea occurred to her.

"Hey, Seven, as you're here, do you want to join me for dinner? I was just about to get something for myself, but it would be easy enough to make a second portion."

Seven exhaled, and was glad that Kathryn_01 lacked the hearing acuity to sense it.

"Yes, that is also agreeable."

Now that the initial greeting had been successful and Seven had secured a reason for remaining in the Captain's presence, she mentally consulted what she had previously learnt about first date etiquette. Although this encounter had not been officially declared a 'date' by either party, the circumstances were similar, and thus, Seven theorised, her approach should be as well. Her first task should be to offer assistance to her host.

"Can I assist in the preparation of the meal?" Privately, she hoped that Kathryn_01 would decline, as Seven herself lacked any form of culinary expertise.

"Oh no, it's quite alright. I'm just going to replicate some stuff; nothing complicated. Why don't you have a seat over there?" The Captain gestured to the dining table by the window. "You can pour yourself a glass of wine while you wait, if you like."

Immediately after speaking, Kathryn_01 paused what she was doing and turned around.

"Actually, er…do you drink? I can get you something else if you'd prefer."

Truthfully, Seven didn't. She was wary of the inhibitive effect synthehol had on her mental capabilities, and from the odours of drinks she'd observed other crew members having, she suspected that the taste may be too pronounced for her to stomach. Nevertheless, she was also determined to adhere to as many customs as possible and do whatever was necessary to impress her counterpart. Weighing the options, it was clear that she must accept.

"I have not had much experience, but I am willing to attempt it."

"Atta' girl," Kathryn_01 said, resuming her duties. "Just let me know if you don't like it."

Seven didn't understand the meaning of the phrase 'atta' girl', but decided not to enquire at this time. Instead, she primly sat herself at the small table by the window. As she reached out for the bottle of wine, however, she was shocked to see a slight tremor in her hand. In fact, if she concentrated, she could detect minor nervous trembling throughout her entire body.

Illogical. This is a simulation; a fabrication. There is nothing 'at stake'. I must cease this irrational behaviour.

The fact that the trembling occurred in both her human and Borg hands indicated that it was a mental malfunction, rather than a biological or mechanical one. In theory that meant she had complete control over it, but in practice, she was annoyed to find that was not the case. With that in mind, Seven gritted her teeth and resolved simply to ignore it. She carefully took the bottle of wine in her hand, noting its cool temperature, and gingerly poured a sample into her glass, before remembering that etiquette dictated she also fill Kathryn_01's as well.

Now that the wine was successfully deployed Seven took a moment to study it. The fact it was chilled, carbonated, and translucent green in colour indicated that it was a 'white', although Seven had no real idea what that distinction meant. The bubbles rising up from the bottom of the glass made her more than a little apprehensive. Her limited experience with drinks had not yet included any 'fizzy' ones, and she was unsure what kind of sensation it would generate. But she had committed to trying it and there was no going back at this juncture. Steeling herself, Seven took an experimental sip.

The coolness of the liquid was pleasantly refreshing; that she had anticipated from drinking water, which was normally served chilled. Of the unknown variables, the taste was also agreeable. It was sweet, but with a slightly acerbic undercurrent that prevented the overall flavour from being too overwhelming. However, as she had feared, the carbonation proved overly stimulating. Even with just a small mouthful, the bubbles raced across her tongue, popping and fizzing to create a tingling sensation that felt like hundreds of tiny electrical shocks. The vapours released by this process, with no way to escape through her closed lips, instead entered her nasal cavity and produced a similar feeling there. Seven quickly and instinctively swallowed the wine; both to remove the unwanted stimulus, and also because she could feel a sudden and unfamiliar urge rising in her throat. No sooner had she managed to clear her mouth than the urge took hold, tensing muscles all across her face and neck, forcing her eyes closed, and finally expelling her breath out through her nose with considerable velocity and volume.

"Oh!" Seven heard Kathryn_01's surprised reaction, although she didn't see it as her head was still bowed from the sudden expulsion. Mortified, she was prepared to pause the simulation as soon as she regained her breath, when she sensed the other woman's presence beside her.

"I don't think I've ever heard you sneeze before," Kathryn_01 said, placing a hand gently on Seven's upper back and rubbing in a circular motion. "Are you okay? Sorry, I should have realised the wine might be a bit too intense. If I'd known you'd be here I would have chosen something more mellow."

Seven aborted her intention to halt the program. Apparently 'sneezing' was not a major faux-pas after all, and the reaction it had generated from Kathryn_01 was in fact most acceptable. The feeling of the Captain's palm on her back was soft and warm, even through her biosuit, and was generating tingles up and down her spine, although this time of a pleasant variety. She did not want it to stop, but she realised that she had to offer some response to Kathryn_01.

"I am undamaged. I was not prepared for the…effervescence of the beverage and was unaware it could provoke such a response. The taste was acceptable; however, I think it would be prudent for me to not consume any more to avoid any further incidents," she said.

The Captain chuckled, "you're probably right. It's fine, I'll get you some water instead. The food's almost ready."

Kathryn_01 returned to her post in the small kitchenette, and Seven immediately missed the feeling of her touch. It seemed to linger on her skin, teasing her with what she wished was still happening. It was fascinating: although she was fully aware on a conscious level that this entire situation was fictitious, her body and emotions still responded as if it were real. At last, this experiment was progressing as she had anticipated. She was getting real, useful data. Normally the satisfaction of a job well done, such as she was feeling now, was the highest form of 'happiness' that she could reach. But Seven got the feeling that she was standing on the precipice of something far greater, if she could just see this experiment through to its conclusion then replicate the results in real life.

Noticing the beginning of an uncharacteristic smile tug at the corners of her mouth, Seven turned to Kathryn_01.

"What nature of meal are you preparing for us?"

"Give me a status!" Admiral Hastrok yelled, squinting through the soot and smoke that choked the bridge.

"Brightlance activation ruptured the TGR relays. The whole ship is now on emergency power," an engineering station reported.

"The dreadnaught! What about the dreadnaught?!"

"Scanning…" the second tactical officer's hands blurred over her console. "Direct hit! It's a direct hit! By the spirits, look! She's breaking up!"

For a second, every member of the senior staff allowed themselves a moment of triumph. Gundal slumped back into his chair, watching as the main viewer confirmed what his officer had said. The bloated carcass of The Enemy's command ship was splitting apart into a hundred different sections, secondary explosions billowing from great cracks and hurling debris in all directions. Around it, swarms of lesser craft tried desperately to escape, but many were caught in the maelstrom and themselves consumed. The Admiral smiled. They had accomplished something that had never been done before, and it was a beautiful sight.

But the grim reality of their situation quickly returned. As expected, firing the brightlance had overloaded all the Skybreaker's systems, and now the ship was on borrowed time. Even having switched to emergency power, it would only be a matter of minutes before the reactor went into total meltdown. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the rogue blip they had detected earlier was still closing in. They had less than fifteen seconds until intercept.

Faced with such overwhelming odds, there was only one logical course of action.

"All hands," Hastrok said, returning to his feet and opening a ship-wide comm link, "we are abandoning the Skybreaker. Report to escape pods immediately. I say again, all hands, abandon ship."

Turning back to the bridge staff, the Admiral gestured for them to do the same.

"Everyone, move! Get to corridor A32, double time. You may yet make it out of this."

The sudden bustle of activity drowned out even the sounds of rupturing metal from below. Yet amongst the desperate rush, Gundal stood firm, making no effort to follow the others. Prelate Farika stood as well, resting a hand on his old friend's shoulder.

"Going down with the ship is not mandatory," he said. "In fact, those protocols you are so fond of ignoring specifically state that the capture of senior command should be avoided at all costs."

"I will not be captured," the Admiral growled, "but someone has to buy us time."

"Then that makes two of us," Farika replied. Holding up his two upper hands, he forestalled Hastrok's objection. "Save it for later. You can put a reprimand in my file, if it makes you feel better."

"Very well." Gundal did not have the time to argue with his friend, and truth be told, he was glad to have him by his side. The prospect of almost certain death seemed better when you had company. Unholstering his sidearm, the Admiral stared resolutely at the timer counting down to impact.

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…

The blast tore the front of the bridge clean off. Five hundred tons of reinforced ventisteel crumpled like paper and was hurled into the void beyond. Immediately, what remained of the room was filled with the crushing roar of wind as the Skybreaker's atmosphere depressurised out to fill the vacuum. Hastrok and Farika grabbed the Captain's chair, bracing themselves and holding on for dear life. Several of the others weren't so fortunate. With no handholds within arm's reach, they were caught up in the flow of air and flung out of the breach. Gundal watched helplessly as two of his junior officers and his engineering chief were lost to the crushing expanse outside, their faces frozen in inaudible screams. The second tactical officer flew past after them, desperately clawing at nothing. She didn't make it as far as the opening.

A figure moving too fast for the naked eye to see blurred past her, and where once a whole, living being had been, there was now only a cloud of meat and vaporised blood. At last, the emergency containment fields kicked in, and the whole grisly spectacle splattered against the energy barrier with a wet thud and the fizz of static. Gundal released his grip on the chair and levelled his gun, eyes scanning for a definite target. The blur that had eviscerated his crewmember struck the deck, and with a deafening screech, decelerated enough to coalesce into a clear image. Clawed metal feet slowed the attacker by digging into the metal floor, leaving long score marks behind them.

At long last, Gundal stood face to face with The Enemy himself.

He didn't hesitate. The pistol kicked in his hand as he fired, sending three golden bolts straight at the writhing mass of metal tentacles that comprised The Enemy's face. His aim was true, but as the shots approached their target, they seemed to lose their coherency, sputtering out of existence in mid-air. Growling, he fired again, and heard Farika do the same at his side.

"Desist!" The Enemy roared, his bass growl echoing around the bridge with fiery intensity. He made a gesture with two of his arms, and Gundal felt his gun wrench itself from his hand. Along with the Prelate's, it accelerated towards the metal man, who snatched them both from the air without even looking. No sooner had he caught them, then they were dissolved to ash and scattered on the floor.

Gundal bared his teeth, suppressing a bark of frustration. He was well aware of The Enemy's martial prowess and technological superiority, but that did not make it any less emasculating to face a foe capable of disarming him at a moment's notice. But, he reminded himself, prevailing in combat was not the objective. They simply had to buy enough time for the others to make it to the escape craft. And that meant keeping The Enemy's attention focussed solely on them.

"You're too late, gashvort!" Gundal shouted, knowing that The Enemy would recognise the insult. "Your command ship lies in ruins. And although thousands may have died, this day is ours."

"Lord Admiral," The Enemy snarled, advancing. "Ever the thorn in my side. But your tactical assessment lacks all the facts. The destruction of a Nexus is but the merest of setbacks. With my processing power present in the system, the fleet will fight on."

Hastrok's first instinct was to ignore everything The Enemy said. He was a deceiver and a manipulator and would speak whatever lies he could to undermine his opponent. But as the Admiral's eyes fell upon one of the few remaining functional screens, he saw with a terrible sinking feeling that his adversary was right. The remaining Dread Armada continued to battle with the same suicidal zeal as before. Even as he watched, the callsigns for the Benevolent Succession and the Amethyrium went dark, snuffed out beneath a blanket of red blips. How it was possible for a shell that was little larger than a man to boast the same computational capacity as a city-sized dreadnaught, he did not know; but there was no denying that it was true.

Yet in this terrible realisation lay the tiniest grain of hope. If they could somehow, against all the odds, destroy or at least sufficiently damage The Enemy, then the Dread Armada would be crippled as well. Perhaps for good.

"I see your mind," The Enemy said, his voice lower now, but no less grating. "Sever the head, and the body dies. You are not the first to draw such a conclusion."

"Then tell me I am incorrect."

"No, you are quite correct," The Enemy chuckled. "Were I to die now, all craft in this sector would revert back to default operating procedures and would undoubtedly be dispatched. The battle would be won, and you would be the greatest hero your people had ever known since the warrior emperors of old. Quite a tantalising idea, I imagine."

"If you think I still care about glory then you don't understand us at all."

"Organics care for nothing but glory, and you delude yourself in thinking you are above it. Without a legacy to echo through time, your life has no meaning. You have done nothing but perpetuate your own existence; no different than a plant, a rock, or a star. That is your sole purpose, and yet this fact is so abhorrent to those of you that manage to attain rudimentary sentience that you create these constructs by which you can endure. Your pretences at godhood are clumsy, ignorant, and ultimately futile. By the time I am done, even the name 'Skyrion' will be erased from history."

The Enemy reared, briefly rising out of his hunched stance to a full height of over nine feet. The tip of his crested head scraped across the ceiling, throwing off a small spray of sparks that were lost in the surrounding chaos. Four blades of light emerged from his carapace, their harsh, neon-blue glow drowning out the golden tones of electrical fires.

"Enough talk. Defend yourself, Admiral, if that is your wish. You will die all the same."

The Enemy leapt forward; a perfect predatory pounce executed at lightning speed. Plasma hummed through the air, leaving trails of ionisation in its wake. Four killing blows flew straight at Hastrok, but he was ready. The Enemy was fast, but years of martial training meant the Admiral was far from defenceless. As soon as he had sensed the first twitch from his opponent, he'd thumbed a quick-release switch on his command chair. The mechanism of a hidden floor compartment next to his feet was triggered, and pneumatic force propelled an arcum halberd up in a fraction of a second. Snatching it from the air, he wasted no time in surging forward himself. By gaining forward momentum he hoped to cancel out some of the considerable force The Enemy was able to bring to bear behind his blow.

Arcum energy was a masterwork of the Skyrion golden age of advancement. Their scientists referred to it as a 'pinnacle technology'; a development that by definition could not be surpassed, only refined. Gundal doubted the absoluteness of that statement, but there was no denying its incredible properties. When suspended in a containment field, it formed an unbreakable barrier that could repel or absorb any blow or be focussed into an atom-sharp edge that would never dull and could carve through ventisteel with ease. The power required to sustain it was enormous, which prevented its use as an armour for ships or even individuals, but when applied judiciously, even a tiny amount could be used to incredible effect. It was that which gave the Admiral the confidence to go toe-to-toe with The Enemy. His arcum blade was one of the few weapons that could both withstand The Enemy's blows and have a hope of damaging his nullplate chassis.

They crashed together like two meteors colliding, and immediately Gundal found himself being forced backwards. The Enemy was just so heavy, and he moved like something possessed. Each limb came at him with the force of a jackhammer, before twisting away at an impossible, double-jointed angle and being immediately ready to attack again. The Admiral couldn't outright block the blows because of their strength, so instead he deflected them aside, whirling his polearm in a manic frenzy that just barely managed to keep The Enemy at bay. Plasma hissed and sizzled, spurting out in red-hot jets as it collided with the unyielding arcum. There was no window for attack amongst the relentless barrage, and as The Enemy simply kept walking forward, Hastrok was forced to constantly concede ground.

Sensing, rather than hearing, a cry to his right let Gundal know that Farika had also engaged. The Prelate lacked an arcum weapon, so his options were exceedingly limited, but at the very least he could split The Enemy's attention. Gundal saw several of The Enemy's eyes swivel in position to observe the new threat, but the majority remained focussed on the Admiral.

With a particularly vicious blow, The Enemy staggered Gundal. The Admiral took the opportunity to step away from his adversary rather than try to recover and not be able to guard in time. He retreated several paces, and in one fluid motion drew and discharged his sidearm with one of his free hands. The report of the weapon and its kick in his palm was a comforting presence, but the utter ineffectiveness of its golden bolts, less so. His aim was true, but the attack did nothing, simply fizzling into nonexistence before it even got close to striking its target.

The Enemy retorted by gesturing directly at Hastrok, who dived to one side behind the Captain's chair. Gundal was not fully versed on The Enemy's total capabilities, no one was, but he knew enough. It had been the right decision. Although no projectile materialised, the area of wall where The Enemy had pointed suddenly contorted violently, warping itself through a dizzying series of geometric shapes that seemed to fold into each other before finally dissolving into nothingness. It didn't bear thinking what kind of technology could seemingly create localised pockets of altered spacetime like that.

Prelate Farika used the window of the attack to try and drive his service sabre into The Enemy's neck. It was a classic move against heavily-armoured opponents; aim for the weak spots at the joints. But The Enemy didn't follow classical rules, nor did he have any weak spots to exploit. Instead, the sword impacted and shattered against impervious metal, splintering into useless fragments. It had been a futile attack, but then, both the Admiral and the Prelate had known that from the start.

The Enemy snarled, mandibles gnashing beneath metal tendrils, and quicker than a heartbeat, he had his hand around Farika's throat. The other man struggled but could do nothing to stop his adversary from roughly yanking him aside like a stringless marionette.

"Your bravery is futile, little creature," the machine growled, clamping another hand around the Prelate's head. It took him no effort at all to crush it. Farika only got a moment to scream before his skull, along with the brain inside, was pulverised with such force that shards of bone were propelled several feet. The Enemy tossed away what was left of the body; already forgotten.

Gundal gritted his teeth and bit back the urge to hurl a curse. Giving into rage or despair was exactly what The Enemy wanted him to do; what he wanted all of them to do. He had seen many friends and colleagues die, and most in more horrific ways, so this was nothing new. Despite that, the Prelate's death hurt him. He had been a good and loyal man, and a trusted confidant. Seeing him die a pointless, violent death against impossible odds was a perfect representation of this whole cursed war.

The Enemy cleaved the Captain's chair in half, ripping it apart and stepping through the wreckage. There was nowhere left for Gundal to go now. Behind him were the banks of computer terminals that made up the rear of the bridge, and in front of him, a seething mass of apocalyptic evil. All he could do was fight; fight to buy his crew time to escape, fight to avenge his fallen friend, and fight to show that the Skyrion race would not meekly accept their extermination. Digging in his heels, he readied his halberd.

But no attack came. The Enemy halted about a metre away, staring him down but making no further move forward. Despite the roar of fires, the blare of alarm klaxons, and the groan of beleaguered metal, something akin to an eerie hush immediately settled across the bridge. Gundal gripped the shaft of his weapon tighter; tensing in preparation for…well, he didn't know, but clearly The Enemy had some new trick.

Should I attack? No, this is obviously a feint. Unless The Enemy is somehow…malfunctioning. Is such a thing even possible?

The machine cocked his head slightly, almost like he was thinking. But what was there to think about? He had the Admiral right where he wanted him, so why not just finish the damn job?

The seconds dragged by at an excruciating pace before, at long last, The Enemy moved again. His entire body seemed to uncoil, relaxing back into a less predatory posture. With a low hum, the plasma along his blades faded away, then the blades themselves retracted back into his wrists.

What?

Before Hastrok's disbelieving eyes, The Enemy sank to the floor, taking a pose on one knee with his head bowed.

"Lord Admiral," he said. "Notify your command. I surrender."

According to Seven's internal chronometer it had now been twenty-three and a half minutes since this most recent interaction with Kathryn_01 began. So far, it was progressing very satisfactorily. Kathryn_01 had served a dish that she designated 'tagliatelle with alfredo sauce'; a substance which, like most foodstuffs, Seven was unfamiliar with. It was comprised of thin, ribbon-shaped conglomerates of starch and carbohydrates, coated with emulsified fat and fermented dairy derivates. Seven's knowledge of dietary requirements was enough that she could identify that this was not the most nutritiously-fulfilling meal, however after taking her first tentative taste, she immediately realised why humans might prioritise flavour over other metrics. It was…delicious, a word she had never had cause to use before now. This opened up a whole new line of enquiry into the possibility of consuming solid meals, but Seven filed that away for later analysis. Right now, she had to remain focussed.

Aside from the food itself, the rest of the encounter was also pleasing. Kathryn_01 had engaged her in 'small talk', and Seven had managed to maintain the conversation with her own anecdotes and opinions. While not much valuable information had actually been exchanged, Seven had read that this was a vital part of the courtship process, and the first step in any 'date'. It established a sensation of trust and comfort between the two parties which would prime Kathryn to subsequently discuss more personal matters.

In addition to the small talk, Kathryn_01 had initiated physical contact with Seven on five separate occasions; three times intentionally, and two times unintentionally. First had been the hand on her back after the sneeze. Second, Kathryn_01's hip has brushed against Seven's shoulder while she was serving the meal. Third, Kathryn_01 had briefly placed a hand on Seven's arm in response to a 'joke' the Borg woman had made (although she had not intended to be comical, she was pleased at the result nonetheless). Fourth, Kathryn_01 had leant across the tables to wipe a small quantity of sauce from Seven's biosuit. And fifth, the Captain's foot had made contact with her's under the table, remaining in place for approximately two seconds before being moved away. All of these were innocuous events when observed individually, but Seven had also read that frequent physical displays such as these were a possible indicator of attraction. It was not enough to form a conclusion, but it was a promising beginning.

Now, the meal was finished. Kathryn_01 was discussing shipboard events, which included very recent developments since she had the contents of the Captain's latest logs to work with. Occasionally she would pause to take a sip from her wine glass. Whenever she did, Seven found that her eyes were drawn to Kathryn_01's lips. The way they moulded around the rim…the slight parting as they opened to let the beverage in…the faint glossiness that was left behind from the thin coating of liquid residue. Seven's enhanced senses could see all of this with ease, but she could not understand what it was that fascinated her so much. She had observed Kathryn's face on many occasions, to the point where every conceivable viewing angle was preserved with perfect clarity in her memory, so why did the ordinary act of drinking now attract her undivided attention?

"Do you want to move to the sofa?" Kathryn_01 asked at the end of her current topic. "This table's not the largest, and I imagine those long legs of yours must be a bit cramped."

Leg comfort was inconsequential on Seven's list of priorities, but she recognised the opportunity to continue the 'informal' atmosphere that had been created. By removing the barrier of the table between them it brought her and Kathryn_01 one step closer together.

"That is acceptable," she replied, and followed the Captain over to the new seating area, bringing along her own glass of water which she'd been nursing intermittently. She had found that having a beverage on hand was useful, as it provided an excuse to momentarily cease conversation and analyse the best way to proceed.

At the sofas, Seven was faced with a dilemma. There were two seats arranged facing a low table in the middle, both with enough space to accommodate two people. Kathryn_01 had sat down on one, but was Seven expected to take the other? That would return them to their original configuration, with a table separating them, which was not Seven's wish. However, would it appear too 'forward' to sit beside Kathryn_01?

When Kathryn asked her question, she used the singular of the noun 'sofa'. Additionally, in order to access the second unit, I would have to either manoeuvre past where Kathryn is sitting now or take a detour around the far side. Logic would dictate I occupy the nearest seating position.

Ultimately, resolving queries such as this was the purpose of this simulation. However, having managed to progress so far already, Seven did not want to be forced to reset and try again. But neither did she want to delay unjustly and miss an opportunity to advance to later stages of the encounter. Making up her mind, she primly placed herself down next to Kathryn, and felt a small and gratifying release of tension in her chest when the other woman did not act surprised.

"So, how did you like the food?" Kathryn_01 asked, turning to face Seven and resting one arm on the back of the sofa.

"It was…most satisfactory," Seven said honestly. "Before now I had considered taste irrelevant and considered only the caloric and nutritional values of my meals. I believe I need to reassess that approach."

"High praise indeed," Kathryn _01 chuckled. "I wish I could take credit for it, but it was an existing replicator pattern. I don't think the result would have been quite so 'satisfactory' if I tried to make it myself from scratch. Still, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Perhaps we can do it again some time and try a few more dishes."

"I would like that very much."

Kathryn_01's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

"You know, I hope you don't think I'm being rude, but there seems to be something different about you tonight," she said, with a slight note of hesitation. "Not in a bad way, just…different."

Seven paused. She was certain that this statement from Kathryn_01 was very important, yet she could not ascertain whether it was positive or negative. She needed further clarification.

"Explain," she did her best to keep her voice neutral and avoid sounding 'harsh'.

"Oh gosh, now you've put me on the spot." Kathryn_01 looked slightly abashed, but her smile stayed in place, which Seven could only interpret as a good sign. "I don't' know, you seem more laid back, more relaxed than usual. I…well, I like it."

"Then I will endeavour to behave this way in future," Seven said quickly. If Kathryn_01 was approving of her actions she needed to capitalise on that knowledge.

"Oh, well, you don't have to Seven. Not unless that's what you want. Don't feel you have to change yourself to please me." Kathryn_01's expression was difficult to read but the biometric data Seven could detect was promising. Her breath had quickened, as had her heartbeat, and the movement of her eyes had reduced, remaining more constantly fixed on Seven; all indicators of attraction. Again, by itself, this information was inconclusive, but combined with the other variables Seven had observed, a statistical trend was beginning to appear. She had to try pushing further.

"What if pleasing you is what I want?" she asked, and found that quite subconsciously, she was leaning towards Kathryn_01. The Captain did not back away, but her eyes did widen even further.

"I-Is it?" her voice was huskier than normal; a phenomenon caused by a lack of moisture in the throat and mouth which correlated with anticipation or nervousness. Seven focussed all her attention on this moment. She was sure that this was vital data.

"It is. Your happiness is my primary objective." It was now that Seven began to realise that Kathryn_01 was not the only one displaying anomalous physiological symptoms. Her own body reported many deviations from standard operating norms. Breathing and heart rate had increased to the same degree as Kathryn_01's, if not more. The trembling she had experienced earlier when pouring the wine had returned and was increasing in magnitude. Sweat production both on the palm of her human hand and in her armpits was up over one hundred percent. And there were several further feelings that she could not identify; they were unlike anything she had experienced before.

"I…I don't," Kathryn_01 bit at her lip but her eyes never left Seven's face. They seemed to grow even more, before Seven realised that Kathryn_01 was leaning forward too, bringing their faces closer than she had every experienced with the simulation's real-life counterpart. "I don't know what to say…Seven…"

This close, Seven could smell nothing but Kathryn_01's scent. It was a perfect recreation of the real thing and was almost enough to override all conscious thought. Seven knew it was a simulation, she knew, but right now it was impossible to believe it. The suddenness with which the situation had escalated had caught her off-guard. Fervently, she searched back though the reams of data she had processed on romantic encounters, trying to identify the relevant protocol before the moment was lost. But to her dismay she found her thoughts were a jumbled mess. Perfect recall was something she used on a daily basis, an intrinsic part of her status as an ex-drone, so why would it fail now, when she needed it most? And what was this sensation rising up inside her; like an energy filling her abdomen? What was happening?

"C-Computer, freeze program!" Seven's voice came out shrill and strained; completely unrecognisable, even to herself.

In front of her, Kathryn_01 stopped dead, although it took a few moments to confirm that since she had hardly been moving anyway. Her eyes were hooded, as if she had been in the process of slowly closing them, and her mouth hung in a slightly-parted position, probably caused by a lack of breath. When frozen like this, it was easy to see just how far forward she had actually come, with one arm braced against the seat of the sofa to support her weight. Around her face, delicate wisps of auburn hair hung impossibly suspended in the perfectly still atmosphere.

The only sound was Seven's laboured breathing, now very apparent without the simulated background noise of Voyager. The Borg woman sat almost as stationary as Kathryn_01, her chest rising and falling and her mind struggling to process the past minute.

She had frozen; overwhelmed by stimuli and the changes taking place in her body. That was evident. It was therefore logical to think that if those stimuli were removed by halting the experiment, her biological functions would return to normal. Alarmingly though, that did not appear to be the case. While she was now able to partially reassert control of her breathing, the urgent force that had been swelling inside her had not halted. Seven lacked the capacity to describe what it was.

Could this be 'arousal'? Or perhaps…'love'?

She did not know. The one thing she did know, instinctively and without input from her higher-brain or accumulated research knowledge, was that it could only be satisfied by action. Seven remembered a conversation she had engaged in with Kathryn, the real Kathryn, where the Captain had explained when she should choose to 'follow her gut'. This was such a circumstance, Seven was certain of it. And her gut was clear.

In an instant, Seven closed the remaining distance between her and Kathryn_01 and pressed their lips together. The simulation did not react, still in a paused state, but Seven hardly noticed. Her senses were consumed by the softness of Janeway's lips; how they felt beneath her own. Kissing was something Seven had studied in detail, being an integral part of courtship, but right now she could not bring any of that information to mind. All she could do was what felt 'right'.

She raised a hand to cup Kathryn_01's cheek; both out of a desire to further touch the other woman and a need to steady herself so she could continue the kiss. This feeling of intimacy was utterly alien to her, and yet, it carried a comforting warmth that enveloped her whole body. Was this why humans invested so much time and effort in acquiring romantic relationships? This amazing, indescribable sensation of…oneness with another being? It was as if in this moment, through the tender connection of mouth-on-mouth, her and Kathryn_01 had formed their own mini collective. But where the union of Borg was something cold, emotionless, and homogenising, this union of humanity stirred wild and passionate emotions within her. Seven's heart yearned for more.

The only problem was that she did not know how to proceed. The logical course of action would be to resume the program so she could monitor Kathryn_01's reaction, but then there was a possibility that the Captain would wish to stop, or even worse, be angered or repulsed. Seven did not want that. She was not yet ready to be without this kiss and the feelings it generated within her. So, she stayed there, basking in the glow of this indefinable emotion and committing every detail to memory.

After several minutes, and not without reluctance, Seven disengaged from Kathryn_01 and returned to a standard sitting position. Of course, the simulated Captain remained exactly as it had been, bearing no indication of what had just happened save for a few more displaced hairs. Seven stared at it, and as she did, felt the sensation in her chest shift. This new one was less pleasant, and although she could not be sure, she suspected it could be described as 'longing'. While the kiss had been undeniably engaging (that word seemed insufficient, but Seven could not think of a better one at this time), it had been one-sided, and performed on a hologram. It was not an accurate representation of the real event, nor could Seven be sure it was even what Kathryn_01, and therefore the real Kathryn, wanted. She was now caught between happiness at having experienced what could be described as her first romantic encounter, and sadness at the knowledge that it was not 'real'. It was a most distressing dissonance.

Seven was not inclined towards self-pity however. The experiment had so far been an undeniable success, and even the emotions she was encountering now were in themselves useful data. It was likely that there was much more information to be gained from the simulation; perhaps even more than she had initially predicted. It would be prudent to proceed immediately.

But…she could not. The feelings Kathryn_01 had stirred were still very powerful, and if renewed, could threaten to become overwhelming. Just the thought of confronting her again filled Seven with unacceptable levels of nervousness. She needed to take time to process what she had learned so far…and to re-establish a mental equilibrium.

"Computer," Seven sighed. "Save current program state, then end program."

She left the holodeck with more questions than answers.