Title: Kiss of the Spider People
Series: Star Trek: Voyager
Author: Singing Violin
Rating: T
Summary: Janeway gets into some hot water with some hostile aliens. Set shortly after "Coda."
Disclaimer: They're not mine (except the aliens), so don't send me money for my story. This one might count as parody, though it's not funny.
Feedback: Yes please.
Archiving: Anywhere.
Chapter 2: Illness
When Captain Janeway came to, the first thing she noticed was that there was smoke everywhere. For a moment, she looked around, struggling to identify her surroundings, and quickly came to the conclusion that she was in a shuttlecraft. And, from the condition of its inside, she surmised it had crashed.
Blinking furiously against the haze that was summoning tears from her stinging eyes, she looked around, sure that there was someone with her in the shuttle. But who was it?
A moment and her muddled mind salvaged the answer … Chakotay. That was who she was looking for.
Frantically, she searched around, coughing every time she inhaled. Finally, she spotted an immobile leg on the floor. She crawled towards it.
But it was too thin, too small to be Chakotay's. To whom, then, did the leg belong?
Drawing closer, she saw short-cropped, blonde hair atop a head that faced away from her.
Oh no. Kes.
Janeway climbed over debris in an effort to reach her, and when she finally approached, she put her finger to the Ocampa's neck.
No pulse.
Oh God.
And Chakotay … he was here too, somewhere.
But she had to save Kes.
She climbed around so that she was standing over Kes, and bent down to breathe into the girl's still mouth.
As she came up for air, she noticed an arm on the other side of the shuttle. An arm that most certainly did not belong to the body she was attempting to revive.
Moaning involuntarily, she started compressions on the body below her, then repeated the respiration.
Kes still wouldn't breathe.
And Chakotay was on the other side of the shuttle …
Climbing again over Kes's body to approach the other, she realized that it, too, was deathly still.
Dead.
Chakotay.
And Kes.
Holding her breath against the increasingly noxious smoke, she found the other body and, as she had feared, it was that of her first officer.
Pressing her fingers to his neck, she learned what she had already suspected.
He, too, had expired.
She cried out in horror. Who to save? Kes, who was like a daughter to her, or Chakotay, who she couldn't imagine living without?
It was too difficult to decide.
Blackness overcame her.
When she regained consciousness, she was in Sickbay, with Tuvok and the EMH standing over her. The Doctor's grim expression confirmed what she already knew.
She hadn't saved either one of them.
"I will escort you to your quarters," said the Vulcan coolly. Was that a note of accusation in his voice? It was all her fault. Her fault that Chakotay and Kes were dead.
As guilt washed over her, she found herself in her bed. She tried to rise, but hadn't the energy.
Someone was standing over her, telling her to get up. She hid under the covers and pressed the pillow over her head.
Nobody was going to make her face the cruel reality she had created.
And then she was wet. Someone had poured water over her … Phoebe …
She opened her eyes, but the creature standing over her was not her sister, but one of the aliens.
She screamed.
Kathryn awoke panting and doubting whether she was really awake this time. For one thing, she was all wet.
But she was on Voyager, her sister on the other side of the galaxy … so who had so cruelly awakened her with liquid torture?
"Computer," she commanded, "who was the last person in my quarters, other than me?"
"Commander Chakotay," it answered blankly.
Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "And when did he exit?" she asked.
"Oh two hundred thirty-seven hours," it replied.
That was before she'd gone to bed.
And that meant there was another explanation. Suddenly, she knew what had happened.
She hadn't wet her bed since she was three years old.
Horrified, she jumped out of the bed, her hand over her mouth and her eyes threatening to dispense the tears that the smoke had evoked in her dream.
She struggled to control her breathing as she looked down at the damning evidence of her latest conclusion.
She rubbed her hands over her face, hoping that when she removed them, the disturbing image would be gone, a vestige of her nightmare. But when her eyes again gazed upon her own bed, the damp area upon it had not disappeared.
Furiously blinking back tears, she pulled the sheets off the bed and threw them in the refresher. She then headed to the bathroom to clean herself up.
She attributed the shaking of her limbs as she spread lather over her body to the trauma of her situation. It didn't occur to her that the palsy could be connected to the morning's pre-waking events.
They had laughed at him. Laughed, because he refused to eat anything that could understand language. It limited his diet; he was terribly thin, almost misshapen in his emaciation. Laughed, because he was a tinkerer, and with his eyes continually on output screens, he had never learned the formalities that would have allowed him to rise in rank. Laughed, because he did not pine after Her as the others did. Laughed, because, in fact, he had shown no interest in females at all …
It was time for a Revolution. The arrival of the alien ship had excited him; he knew that, if anyone could save his people, they could. It was a measure of faith he had never shown in his own leaders, but, curiously enough, that didn't seem odd to him.
He had served his queen, as expected. He had made sure to be participating in the mission – after all, they would need a tinkerer to understand the aliens' technology.
What they did not know was that the aliens could offer nothing the tinkerer didn't know already. It was an unwritten rule in the tinkerer community not to share such knowledge with the ruling class. It resided in physical manuals kept under lock and key, awaiting such a time as it would be safe to share. What use, after all, would artificially-created food be, if the thrill of the meal was in the cessation of consciousness?
Those in power still believed what the tinkerers had told them – that such a feat would be impossible, that it defied the rules of nature. The tinkerers could even prove as much – using a simple assumption that, 32768 cycles ago, had been discovered to be false –
He lamented the fact that the alien leader had to be executed. It was a necessary evil. Revolutions, as a general rule, did not occur without the spilling of bodily juices. But he made sure that the aliens were left with information he hoped would help them to defeat his egomaniacal autocrat –
Captain Janeway couldn't seem to sit still. Despite overwhelming and inexplicable exhaustion, she forced herself to pace around the bridge, and when that grew suspicious – as evidenced by the peculiar glances she was receiving from various members of the bridge crew – she retreated to her ready room, where she continued to pace, in between curiously frequent trips to the bathroom.
She kept telling herself to calm down, that what happened this morning was nothing but a fluke – certainly, weirder things had happened on her ship – but in the back of her mind, she knew that something was wrong.
It was when she happened to peek upon the telltale red smear on the toilet paper that she knew, for certain, that there was a problem she had to address. She sighed, resigning herself to a dreaded visit to Sickbay.
The door chimed.
She cursed. Her field trip would have to wait. Washing her hands, she reentered the main room and invited her visitor to come in.
He looked uncomfortable. Probably not as uncomfortable as I feel, she thought.
"Captain," he started timidly, "is everything all right?"
She raised an eyebrow and deliberately deflected his question. "What's on your mind, Commander?"
As she spoke, she approached the coffee table, where she attempted to fill her cup with the beverage that, she mused, she really shouldn't be drinking, as it was undoubtedly contributing to her difficulties. As she poured, her hand shook, and hot coffee sloshed onto the floor while she nearly dropped the cup as the liquid scalded her skin.
Cursing, she replaced both items on the table and grabbed a cloth to wipe her hands. She didn't know what annoyed her more – that she had been so clumsy, or that her first officer had witnessed the whole episode.
Unhappily, Chakotay frowned. "You've seemed a bit ill-at-ease all morning," he admitted. "We were … uh, I was worried."
Noting his slip but not wanting to discover the impetus behind it, she snapped at him, "I'm fine, Commander. Why don't you attend to your own duties, and leave me to mine?"
His eyes lowered to the floor. "With all due respect, Captain, looking after the well-being of this crew's commanding officer is my duty."
Sighing again and struggling against the strange and sudden impulse to cry, she carefully lowered her voice for her response. "To be honest, Commander, I haven't quite been myself this morning, but I'm sure it's just a bit of stress. I was about to take a walk. I have some things to take care of."
He nodded, not quite satisfied with her response, but mollified for the moment. "Would you like me to accompany you?" he asked.
She glared at him. "No – thank you, Commander, but that won't be necessary. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an errand to attend to … and you have the bridge."
"Aye, Captain," he responded, nodding.
"Call me immediately if the aliens return," she reminded him as he was turning to exit.
That elicited a small smile from the tall man. "Will do," he answered.
"What can I do for you, Captain?" asked the EMH as she entered his domain.
She peered around, making sure there was nobody else present, then cursed herself for being so self-conscious. "I think I have a UTI," she admitted.
The Doctor raised a holographic eyebrow, and it seemed to her that she was being mocked. "Last I checked, Captain, I was the doctor. Why don't you hop on the biobed and let me diagnose you?"
She rolled her eyes but did as he suggested.
"Now, what are your symptoms?" he asked harshly.
She really didn't want to answer, but she quickly rattled them off like a laundry list, with as little affect as possible. "Fatigue, muscle weakness, frequent urination, blood in the urine …"
"Hmm," the bald hologram mused as he began scanning her while she waited patiently. As he examined her, he grabbed her arm. "How did you injure your hand, Captain?" he asked worriedly.
"Oh," she responded offhandedly. "I spilled some coffee on it a little while ago. It's nothing."
"Hrmph," the Doctor answered. "Aside from the fact that you are ignoring a borderline second-degree burn, there is also the matter of this laceration, which presumably was not caused by a coffee spill."
"Laceration?" she asked bemusedly. "What are you talking about?"
He held up her hand so she could see it clearly, pointing to the angry red line that marred its surface. "I am referring to this," he clarified. "Now, do you have an explanation?"
She thought for a moment, not remembering, but then recalled the incident. "Oh, the aliens have some sharp claws. One of them scratched me slightly as I confiscated something from him. It's really nothing to be concerned about. I'd rather you focus on the infection. It's been annoying me, and the sooner I can get back to the bridge, the better …"
"Captain," the Doctor scolded as he passed a dermal regenerator over her hand, "all of your injuries are my concern. Now, if you would please, lie back and relax while I analyze these scans."
Janeway glared at him, but, as she was particularly exhausted, did as he bade while he disappeared into his office. A lone tear trickled down her cheek and into her ear, and she hastily wiped it away.
When the Doctor returned, he looked rather alarmed. She sat up quickly, and he peered at her warily, contemplating whether to order her to lie back down, but ultimately allowing her to remain erect in anticipation of more arguments if he didn't.
"You have lost fifteen percent of your body mass since I last examined you, Captain," he observed.
Quickly, she attempted to find an explanation. "I suppose I haven't had much time to eat lately," she admitted, "and it's difficult with rations in short supply and Neelix's cooking not exactly – "
The EMH cut her off. "This is much more than can be explained by a few skipped meals, Captain. My scans show there is an enzyme in your system that is breaking down your body even as we speak. Your toxicity levels are off the charts, and that would explain your frequent urges. Your body must necessarily eliminate the waste byproducts of the process."
Her eyes went wide. "Can you counteract it?"
The hologram frowned. "At the moment, I don't know how. But if you'll remain here in Sickbay, I can analyze the compound and monitor your condition simultaneously."
She shook her head as she hopped off the biobed. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but I have work to do. Let me know when you've found something."
The EMH grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving. "Wait, Captain," he chided. "You may be able to help in the investigation. It seems logical that the enzyme was delivered via that injury on your hand; you said the alien scratched you?"
"That's right," she answered, puzzled as to where he was going with this.
"Is there anything you know or can find out about the aliens that would help us to understand what this chemical is and why it was introduced into your system?"
"For all we know, Doctor, it was an accident," Janeway warned. But the problem was now a curiosity and her mind immediately took it to task.
After a moment, she mumbled, "Pleasure to eat you …"
"I beg your pardon?" asked the Doctor.
"When we first met them, they said, 'It will be a pleasure to eat you,' and I assumed it was a problem with the translator, but what if it was a literal interpretation?"
The Doctor looked confused, but Janeway was quickly getting excited at her revelation. "What if it is their habit to eat living beings? Then perhaps the enzyme in my system is some sort of … digestive fluid. Spiders, they wrap their prey and inject it with venom, which breaks it down so that they can eat it later."
The EMH's expression was inscrutable. "That would fit the observations," he admitted, "but why would they inject it into a living being?"
"I don't know," she answered, "but I intend to find out. Preferably before this thing kills me," she added dryly.
The Doctor sighed as she practically ran out the door.