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.
Author's note: Sorry it took so long to get this one out. The start of term (and other things) interfered. I dedicate this chapter to Cheshire, without whose "blood and sweat" it would be exactly as it is, because I didn't ask for her help, or anyone else's. (If you don't like it, and think it can be fixed, please let me know.)
Chapter 4: Implementation
The first thing of which Kathryn became aware was that she was very, very cold. It occurred to her that extensive contact with the metallic floor upon which she lay was not aiding her body's efforts to adjust its temperature, so she struggled to sit up. Her stiff muscles protested, and she reached out an arm toward the nearest object for leverage.
The texture she encountered was unfamiliar, and instinctively, she looked over to observe what she'd grabbed.
She bit her lip in an effort not to scream as she belatedly realized it was a body – specifically, the body of one of the aliens, minus its head. If she were correct, this was where the food got stored before consumption …
That would explain why she was so cold. This must be some sort of refrigeration chamber – and, she realized, the presence of one of their own would seem to suggest that they were cannibalistic. She gulped, attempting to stifle her automatic revulsion at the concept.
Why was her mind so slow? She blinked, attempting to focus. Surveying her surroundings, she attempted to locate an exit, lest she too become as headless as the body next to her when the aliens returned to retrieve their meal.
Come on, Kathryn. Get up, off the floor. Stand up. That's it. Your legs will hold you …
Shakily, she stood and began to carefully walk around the edges of the room, her hands against the wall for two purposes – first, for the support, as without it, she knew she would shortly be on her knees, and second, so that she might immediately know if she had found an egress.
At last, she saw what appeared to be a door, but could not open it. She willed her muddled mind to attack the problem logically, although her foremost urge was to curl up on the floor and go back to sleep, imagining the enveloping warmth of Chakotay's arms as he cradled her before placing her in that box …
Focus, Kathryn. You're never going to see Chakotay again if you don't get out of here. This appears to be some sort of biometric lock; the body …
She approached the gruesome pile once again and gingerly broke off a piece of one of the limbs. As she'd expected, it was brittle, but when the piece detached into her hand, a small bit of vile white liquid squirted out onto her, and she wrestled the sudden urge to retch at the sight. Bringing it back to the door, she waved it over various panels, hoping that one would identify the body and open the door.
Finally, she detected a soft clicking noise, and she pushed again at the door, finding it opened easily. Apparently the dead crewmember hasn't been removed from the duty roster. Cautiously, she stuck her head through the opening and scouted for guards.
Finding none – why would anyone guard a refrigerator? – she tiptoed out and began to wander quietly, searching for a wall panel or any other source that might be able to tell her where exactly on the ship she was.
She'd memorized the schematics, but without a starting location, she'd never find the engine room …
The rest of the ship was not much warmer than the chamber in which she had originally found herself, but it was warm enough that she began to shiver, and she made no attempt to repress the involuntary shudders, as she knew she needed them to stay alive.
Occasionally, one of the aliens would pass, and she would duck into the nearest dark corner. Each time, she managed to elude them, but with every close encounter came a growing sense that her time was running out – in more ways than one. She wished she had brought some water …
Finally, she found what appeared to be a map, and located herself in the bowels of the ship. Thankfully, she had only about half a kilometer's worth of shafts to traverse on the way to her final destination. She located a wall panel, and, again using the dead alien's limb, watched it pop open. Ducking inside, she replaced the panel and began to climb.
It wasn't a long journey, but several times she had to stop, taking deep breaths, as her head was spinning and she feared she might faint – and fall to her death. And it wouldn't be fake this time …
The thought of perishing alone on the alien ship was enough to spur her onward even as her ailing body protested. At last, her perseverance was rewarded and she found herself in the fabled engine room from which, if she had studied correctly, she would be able to disable the main computer.
The only obstacle: two alien guards, looking particularly menacing.
Before she could disable the ship, she was going to have to disable them. And she didn't even have a weapon … she couldn't risk bringing one along, for fear the aliens would confiscate it and discover the ruse …
Why would anyone arm a corpse? Sounds like a Klingon thing to do – make sure they are defended in the afterlife. Except the Klingons believe the dead body is just a shell. Arming the soul would be more an ancient Egyptian thing, perhaps …
Kathryn forcefully snapped herself back to reality, but her mind instantly wandered again. An image suddenly came to her of a historical advertisement for spray-cans of bug repellant, and she bit down on her tongue to suppress the giggle that threatened to escape as she imagined a generous squirt causing the guards to collapse and roll onto their backs, their numerous legs poking awkwardly into the air.
Oh my, I'm delirious, she realized with muted alarm, then thought again of her current predicament. Kathryn Janeway has gotten out of much more difficult situations. You can figure this out.
Instantly, she knew what to do. The answer was in her left hand, in the form of the macabre object she held …
She was beautiful when she was furious. Absolutely lovely, and entirely menacing. Her grace betrayed none of the ferocity he knew her to be capable of when thus provoked.
He was afraid for his life, and it excited him. He bowed down in deference before her, awaiting her instructions.
"You will accompany me to the chamber from which the theft took place," she ordered.
Moments later, they stood side by side at the scene of the crime. The very fact that she had insisted upon participating in the investigation signaled that she had lost her faith in his abilities, and inside, he withered at the realization.
She crouched down – had he ever seen her crouch before? – and examined the body that still remained in the corner of the room.
"Why has this not yet been consumed?" she asked.
He was quick to reply in an effort to conserve whatever cycles he had left to live. "We were waiting for the end of the negotiations," he replied calmly. "This and the other were to be a feast of celebration."
She gave a gesture of casual dismissal. "Someone has snacked," she observed, lifting a partially-severed limb to demonstrate.
He recoiled slightly at the accusation – nobody stole from HIS pantry! – but acknowledged that, indeed, her observation was correct.
"I shall make sure that the responsible party is located and brought to you immediately," he promised, hoping that she would not see that the failure was indeed his and punish him accordingly.
As quietly as possible, Kathryn crept towards the first guard, keeping low to the ground and in the shadows. She approached it from beneath, and when she was nearly directly under it, she reached up with the sharp point of the limb and stabbed it in the belly…
It screeched and fell, a weapon of some sort clattering to the ground at its side, and the other one instantly turned to investigate the noise.
Kathryn was ready, however, and had already retrieved the weapon, hoping she knew how to use it. She aimed … and fired.
The second guard collapsed. She breathed a sigh of relief.
But no doubt, the scuffle had been detected and others would arrive at any moment. She ran into the alcove where the mainframe was stored, located the target of her mission, and began to work as efficiently as possible.
Only once did she lose concentration, when the sound of dripping water roused her … had they detected her so quickly? She poised to escape, but happened to glance down and realize that she herself was the source of the noise – she'd lost control of her bladder, which apparently wasn't aware of her dehydration –
Furiously blinking back tears in an effort not to drain any more of her bodily fluids, she resolved to ignore the shame and fear and continue her task.
When she was sure that all the necessary circuitry had been rewired, she tapped her communicator and ordered a transport to her quarters. I'd better get cleaned up before I face my crew. If she'd been successful, the shields would be down and the transport would work; otherwise –
She felt the familiar tingle of the transporter and breathed a sigh of relief as she materialized, overwhelming fatigue settling upon her like a thick fog as she relaxed into the relative warmth of the climate-controlled air. She began to make her way towards the bathroom, but to her dismay, her legs collapsed beneath her. Her arms reached out automatically to brace against something – anything – that would allow her to remain upright, but they met only the open air, and a moment later, she found herself sprawled awkwardly on her living room floor.
Her heart pounded and her stomach lurched as she realized that rising again was beyond her current capabilities …
It occurred to her that there was something that needed doing before anything else, something that luckily could be done from where she lay. She tapped her communicator once more, requesting a secure comm link.
"Janeway to bridge," she called, using the last bit of energy reserved within her to keep her voice steady and commanding. "The mission was a success. As soon as our guests have departed, get us out of here, maximum warp."
"Aye, Captain. The aliens have just left," answered Tom Paris. He then added, "It's good to hear your voice."
Despite her pain – despite everything – she smiled. "And yours, Lieutenant." Then the upturned corners of her mouth fell again, the slight glow fading from her face as fast as it had appeared, as she realized that this could have been the last time they would hear each other speak …
At that thought, she felt bile once again rise in her esophagus and, lacking the energy even to lift her head off the floor, she rolled onto her side and allowed the warm, acrid liquid to flow effortlessly onto the carpet. She stared in odd fascination at the shape it formed as it oozed out of her mouth.
It won't be long now, was the quiet warning in her head as her eyelids drooped uncontrollably. Knowing that her crew, at least, would be safe in a matter of moments, Kathryn Janeway allowed herself to close her eyes. I only need a minute. After I've rested a bit, I'll get up and resume my duties …
If she was angry before, she was irate now. Her usually calm and collected demeanor was tense and threatening as she tailed him through the tour of the engine room, where the intruder alarm had sounded.
One of her guards was dead, the missing limb stuck into his underbelly … the other had been stunned, but had recovered, now standing at attention, albeit looking slightly groggy.
She entered the inner chamber, and her olfactory organs immediately twitched at the unfamiliar stench. "What is that smell?" she asked, her voice dripping with accusation.
Her companion looked baffled. "I …"
It was then that he noticed a small, yellowish puddle on the floor and extracted his instrument to examine it, surmising that it was the source of the odor. She looked on disapprovingly, but allowed him to work unfettered by further admonishment.
"The DNA in the sample belongs to one of the aliens," he remarked, astonished.
She fixed him with an impenetrable gaze. "I can think of two possibilities," she prompted, as if expecting him to immediately surmise what she had already concluded.
He stared blankly at her, and she gestured again with disappointment in her underling before supplying the answer.
"First, the intruder was also the thief, and took the body with him, dropping some of it along the way."
He looked unconvinced. "I agree; it is unlikely. But the other possibility is that our corpse was not as dead as we were led to believe."
Just then a communiqué sounded. "The alien ship has departed," someone informed her.
"Chase them!" she ordered immediately.
"We can't … engines are down," the voice responded.
"Then fire!" she tried. "Make sure they don't get away!"
"Many apologies," she heard. "Weapons, too, have been disabled. With all due respect, we are lucky they did not fire on us before making their escape."
She turned to her companion. It occurred to him that if it were possible for a body to spontaneously combust, she would have done so. As it was, he crouched as low as he could onto the floor, heedless of the pungent fluid soiling his leg-hairs …
Chakotay was glad to be finally rid of the aliens, at least for the moment. As he made his way back to the bridge, he fought the inner feeling of filth brought on by the entire charade. He'd stalled them as much as possible; they'd returned to their vessel to consider his offer and, presumably, formulate a counteroffer of their own. But he sincerely hoped he would not have to resort to the distribution of faulty technology in order to escape from these detestable creatures …
It wasn't fair, he knew. Kathryn would have wanted – he nearly shuddered at his instinct to think of her as deceased – Kathryn would want him to respect them, to give them the benefit of the doubt – but from his dealings with them so far, he couldn't help but simply despise them. It didn't help that they'd made him go through a funeral for the captain – though it was a ruse, it was still one of the most unsettling experiences he'd ever had, especially after his recent experience with her after he crashed that shuttle …
Images from the strenuous day streamed through his mind. Most of them were of Kathryn. Kathryn on the couch in her quarters, waking at his touch. Kathryn, negotiating with the aliens. Kathryn in his arms as he placed her in the coffin … she'd been so pale and limp, looking almost sickly.
He paused in his tracks.
Sickly … Kathryn … oh Gods …
Suddenly it all came together. Why the aliens were not surprised at her "death," how realistically she had fainted, her hurry to carry out the plan without examination of an alternative … they'd done something to her. He was sure of it. And now she was alone on that alien ship … would she survive? Or was his subconscious urge to refer to her in the past tense a forewarning of what was to come?
He nearly screamed her name at the thought, but suppressed the urge, remembering that he was not alone. As the turbolift doors opened, he forced himself to remain calm as he walked out onto the bridge, tailed by the Vulcan security chief, who thankfully had been – apparently – lost in thought himself, and thus had not noticed – or at least, hadn't given any indication of noticing – the commander's unease.
Vulcans, too, can be discomfited under extreme circumstances.
Lieutenant Paris stood to relinquish the bridge to his commanding officer. Only then did Chakotay notice the moving starfield on the viewscreen.
Before Paris could take more than a few steps towards his usual station, Chakotay spoke, forcing the helmsman to turn around. "Lieutenant," the commander asked, "what is our current heading?"
"Eight six three mark one four," answered Paris. "The captain ordered us to – "
"Wait," Chakotay interrupted. "The captain is back on board?"
Paris looked puzzled. "I thought you knew," he answered. "She commed to say – "
Again, Paris was cut off, this time when Chakotay ordered the computer to locate Captain Janeway. Tom shut his mouth, but remained standing, frozen, awkwardly awaiting further instructions before deciding in what direction to move.
"Captain Janeway is in her quarters," the computer responded calmly.
Chakotay tapped his comm. "Chakotay to Janeway," he called.
There was no response.
He looked at Paris, then turned to Tuvok, then returned his gaze to the helmsman. "There's something wrong," he whispered to no one in particular.
Acute Vulcan ears picked it up, prompting the owner of the ears to respond. "I concur," he stated. "I believe – "
Chakotay suspected the Vulcan had come to the same conclusion he had – he must have been thinking about something in that turbolift – but he didn't have time for debate.
"I'm going to find her," he stated. "Tuvok, you have the bridge."
Finally, Paris returned to his station. But he, too, was worried now; Chakotay had paled as if he'd seen a ghost. The captain had sounded fine when she gave the orders a few minutes ago, but he had to admit, her lack of appearance on the bridge was suspicious …