What Price Freedom?
by Christina
Inspired by an original story by Yatokahc, Christina and anonymous

Neelix frowned as he beamed over with the supplies. He'd volunteered to help with the supplies and medical supplies. He glanced around the Borg medical bay, and gagged. He remembered the devastation of his own home, Rinax, years ago.

"Mister Neelix," the Doctor said. "If you are going to be sick all over the place, I shall arrange for you to be transported back to Voyager."

"I'll be fine," Neelix said. He forced himself to concentrate on helping the patients and not what they looked and smelled like. He pulled out his tricorder as he knelt beside a small humanoid alien.

The pale green alien grunted and groaned, but didn't open his eyes..

Neelix wished he truly believed that they would be able to save everyone, as he turned to scan the next patient. He stared at her for a second, then placed his fingers on her neck. He shook his head sadly as the tricorder told him what he already knew.

"So much waste and sadness," a voice said from behind him.

"Yes, it is." Neelix glanced behind him as he stood. "I'm Neelix. You're..."

"I am Sarexa." The Talaxian female frowned at him. Neelix smiled, he hadn't seen a fellow Talaxian in too long. Her expression remained guarded as he stood.

"You are a long way from home," he said.

"I have no memories of Talaxia. Your Doctor said you were a cook?"

Neelix nodded. "I'm cook, morale officer, ambassador, agriculturist...medical assistant."

"He suggested that we talk with you about feeding the survivors. Any ideas?"

Cooking for about 150 had been challenging, but he'd never tried cooking for over 200 times that amount. He again glanced around the medical bay, then at the very skinny Talaxian female in front of him. "We have to keep the meals simple, a broth maybe. What food stuffs do you have?"

"A few containers, it's not much."

"And replicators?"

"Damaged, though perhaps not beyond repair. Your engineer seems to think they may be repairable."

"Excellent, excellent." He quickly calculated just how much food stuff he would need. "But perhaps we should first inject you?" He held up the hypospray. She took two steps back, a look of panic on her face.

"Is it Borg?"

"No, it is Starfleet technology. It's just some basic minerals and vitamins."

"Good." She bent her neck so he could administer the medication. "Now, I shall take you to our replicators."

Icheb glanced quickly at the sickbay door as it opened. The visitor was Naomi. "I'm sorry." He'd forgotten about their study session.

"That's OK," she replied. "You're busy. Any luck?"

He shook his head. "Not really."

"Can I help?"

As much as he enjoyed her company, Icheb didn't want her exposed to the pathogens. The Doctor had inoculated him against the plague, and he was working behind a level 10 bio-force field. He noticed her annoyed look. He wondered how he'd upset her this time. "I have had to neglect my duties in astrometrics."

She smiled at him. "Sure thing. You are still trying to incorporate the Zornon tech that Lieutenant Torres was working on?"

"The polar divergence is too great." He entered some numbers into his PADD. The Zornon tech was one of several projects he'd had to neglect recently.

She chuckled. "Icheb, you could just say it doesn't fit."

He grinned at her. "It's more complicated than that."

"I'll see what I can do."

He heard her mumble something else as she left. The numbers didn't show much promise. Icheb stared at them a second, then contacted the EMH over on the Trefla.

The Doctor responded quickly. Icheb quickly explained the negative results. Without using the nanoprobes, there weren't many expedient ways to generate new tissue. There was a silence, then the Doctor spoke. "I expected this. Access the databank on the Vidiians. File name Pel. I have never fully indexed it. She once assisted us with another medical mystery."

Icheb nodded. He didn't know the file or the name Pel, but he did know about the Vidiians. Perhaps Naomi could help him with this project. The Doctor continued speaking. "The Vidiians did some remarkable medical research-for the wrong reasons. They have extensive knowledge on tissue and organ transplants and repair."

Icheb activated the computer. The Pel file was extensive. It would be hours to just skim through it. He tapped his combadge. "Icheb to Naomi. I could use your help after all."

"Commander Chakotay," the Vulcan, Sakat said as they walked away from the other seven members of the Treflan council. "We wish to thank you and your captain for helping us."

"You understand we can cure the plague, but at this moment, we can't do anything about the damage the plague caused. At least not without Borg technology to repair and regenerate the damaged limbs and skin. You must restore the regeneration chambers and stop ripping out of implants."

Sakat shook his head, before responding. "We understand this all too well." He emphasized the word 'we'. "It is others who let fear rule them."

"They have reason to fear the Collective," Cretia said. "Even Yersa thought this was true."

"Yersa understands their fear," Sakat said quietly, "she wants them to move past their fears."

"There is a real good reason for that fear," Cretia retorted.

Chakotay listened carefully. It seemed to be an old discussion. "Have you tried reason? Perhaps even guidelines or laws?"

"We have tried," Cretia said as she placed her hand on Chakotay's arm. "But Yersa is correct, we were forced to be Borg-some are leery of any rules."

"Or anything Borg," Chakotay shuddered involuntarily. He took a step away from Cretia, her hand fell to her side. "And Yersa?"

Cretia shook her head sadly. "Her eventual death will leave a void, many will try to fill. It's something the council has debated."

"I understand. We can help you with saving your people, but we can't put together a government for you."

Cretia frowned as she again placed a hand on his wrist. "Yersa and Sakat believe we cannot replace the control of the Collective with a dictatorship."

"And what do you believe?" Chakotay asked.

"We have to save ourselves. We must do what it takes." She held up both hands, showing the damaged fingers. "Look at this. This is no way to live."

"There are many different beliefs," Sakat said, "As to what kind of government would work best. There are those who support a dictatorship and those who believe in anarchy. And even some who want to reactivate our neural links to create a common consciousness. They believe that only order and control will keep us alive."

Chakotay grimaced at the memory the Vulcan's words produced. Riley Frazier had also believed that reestablishing the Collective link was the only way. He briefly wondered if they had found the order and peace she'd craved, or if the real Borg Collective had found them. He quickly pushed that memory away when Sakat motioned toward another an aisle.

"And the greatest tragedy," Sakat said, "Is that we can't save ourselves." They started walking across a catwalk.

Chakotay stared at the pile of corpses. Cretia turned away. "We couldn't save them," she whispered. "They're all dead. And we will be soon." She closed her eyes and started to cry. Chakotay hesitated, then placed an arm around her.

"We'll do our best." Chakotay tried to keep the revulsion from his face as an unbidden thought entered his mind. They had to help these people survive.

"And if you can't?" She whispered between her tears as she leaned against him.

He pulled back quickly and removed his arm. She straightened up and looked at him. "I am sorry. I did not mean to cause you discomfort." Her voice was calm, but something caused him to take a step back.

B'Elanna snarled something in Klingon as she closed the link and turned to find the nearest victim. There was no one in sight. This brought another round of snarling. Her crew had learned during the past few months to disappear when she was in a bad mood.

She was stuck on Voyager, having to listen to second-hand reports about progress from the Trefla. Carey was convinced that they could restore the central core. She reached for her combadge. "Torres to Carey."

"Yes, Lieutenant?" There was perhaps the barest hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Did you confirm that the primary circuit nodes are shut down?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. Seven is here."

"Very good. Torres out." She again closed the link. She knew she should be pleased with the competency of her crew. She tapped her combadge again.

"Torres to Carey."

"Lieutenant Carey here. Yes, Lieutenant, I have been able to download the data you requested."

For some reason she laughed at his answer to her unasked question. "Thank you."

"I'll transmit it to you when I have a chance."

"Very good. I'll leave you to it."

She imagined him muttering something about if she would stop contacting him, he would get some work done. She now had to sit in her office and wait for that information.

"Ensign Vorik!" She stood slowly. "How are the recalibration tests going?"

"They are progressing as expected," Vorik responded from the catwalk.

She grabbed her PADD; her shift was over, and she was hungry. She started to walk toward the double doors. "I'll be in the mess hall." She had an urge for a leola root casserole. Or maybe even pickled leola root.