Pairing : B'Elanna / Seven
Rating : Mature
Feedback : I took the time to write it, so do me the honour of taking the time to respond when you read it.
Chapter V : A merry chase, indeed ...
Dusting the metallic shards which still clung stubbornly to the sleeves of his uniform, the ever stoic Vorik impassively regarded the chaos which had enveloped Main Engineering. Shadows danced across the diagonal struts which held the upper tier from the lower, exploiting their free reign in the absence of functioning overhead lights. Only the drifting ribbons of colour visible through the magnetic constriction elements of the warp core bade the darkness not to enter, stifled by the damage inflicted and a muted reminder of former power.
Crossing to the nearest station not either buried beneath smouldering wreckage or shattered into razor-sharp fragments of glass, the Vulcan familiarised himself with the state of the ship or rather, what systems continued to report any functionality.
B'Elanna-Seven sighed; a mixture of fatigue and intense frustration stemming from two occupants and their mutual irritation of the damage yet again inflicted on the starship. Surveying the blasted remains of the warp field monitor which stood as little more than a mound of blackened and twisted components, the ex-drone watched her colleagues—beginning with Vorik—scramble and pull themselves to standing.
Placing a hand on the rail surrounding the warp core itself, B'Elanna-Seven patted the painted metal. "She's taken a beating from the quadrant's best, worst and ugly and still comes back for more."
*It is a vessel with finite abilities and limited capacity to endure—if such capacity is overcome, Voyager would be destroyed irrespective of any belief in the supernatural, or supra-inanimate. Your skills whilst impressive cannot deny the inescapable facts of reality.*
B'Elanna twisted Seven's forehead into a frown whilst tapping idly with a single hand on a station nearby, "Looks like there's one casualty of the rock-dodging not so easily replaced with a new gel pack or weld."
Seven would have raised an eyebrow to meet hairline, had they responded to her nervous system's commands. *Elaborate.*
"Your sense of humour," the engineer replied with a grin the full lips baring it were not used to. "Such a waste, and I really thought I might be rubbing off on you."
Any retort was delayed by the intervention of Vorik, as he paused before the ex-drone with a curt nod and no hesitation in accepting the odd situation of his superior being displaced in body to her rival and usual tormentor. "I have dispatched available repair teams Lieutenant, however a considerable number of engineers are in Sickbay and unable to discharge their duties."
Admitting to not only her own fatigue, but that of her mental companion despite the ex-Borg's insistence that she was operating within normal parameters, Torres decided on killing two birds with one stone. "I'll head to Sickbay and check on our personnel—you're in charge until further notice, focus on the primary systems and do your best to clean this place up."
Vorik opened his mouth to question the logic of placing cleanliness above functionality, but thought better. Challenging a temperamental Klingon in the body of a former Borg drone was most definitely not logical.
The Doctor would have rubbed his eyes in weariness, were the eyes and the weariness they suffered from anything more than photons reinforced with tactile force fields. Surrounding the primary observation bed each lesser biobed stood occupied with the wounded and unconscious; plasma burns, broken bones, internal bleeding and a myriad other complaints amidst the groaning and sighing.
The scene had been replayed countless times amidst countless battles and The Doctor had carried out his programming to the letter in each. Wounds were healed, trauma reset and the terrible dangers of an existence in space negated until the next impending disaster; a circle of encounters and their consequences played out until the latter overcame the former and all was lost.
Pressing a hypospray to the pale neck of the prone Nicoletti, and satisfied the monitor mounted above her head on the bulkhead signalled well for her recovery, the hologram stepped gingerly over the slumbering injured strewn across the floor for want of available biobeds. Retreating to the relative serenity of his office, Voyager's Chief Medical Officer retrieved a padd from the desk and studied its contents.
Contained within his computer-generated hand lay the sum of information known concerning Seven and B'Elanna's current fusion in one body, and the total progress made towards their division back into two utterly separate and unique individuals. Casting it back down to the tabletop The Doctor bemoaned the poor progress he had made. The few treatments explored as options discounted as too far-fetched or simply unable to guarantee the recovery of two personalities, rather ensuring only one as simulations had suggested.
...
...
"Penny for your thoughts, Doc?"
The Emergency Medical Hologram traced the interruption to the head of Ensign Kim, peering round the bending bay windows of the office which looked out on to the rest of the Sickbay and the patients filling it to over-capacity. "You should be in bed Mister Kim, before someone else takes it and relegates you to the floor. As you might have noticed, space is at a premium."
The young bridge officer grinned—or would have if the dermoplastic bandages nurturing the plasma-scarred tissue beneath permitted such a movement—and shrugged. "I wasn't sure if we'd get breakfast in biobed or not. How's Susan doing?"
The Doctor's eyes passed over the occupant lying unconscious upon the farthest biobed, the lines beneath his eyes tightening with the almost imperceptible effort of recalling patient information.
"Ensign Nicoletti took a severe and concentrated impact to the pelvis which caused a near total shattering, twisting the left thigh joint out of alignment and driving bone chips into the Hamstring and Quadriceps muscles respectively; causing serious tears within. The damage was worsened by internal bleeding, and second degree plasma burns to the upper legs."
Harry's grin had faded rapidly as the grim prognosis was announced, his gaze fixed upon the young engineer who had only an hour before joked and small-talked the stifling boredom of the forward deflector control into a tolerable activity. The diagnostic clamshell which normally began beneath the shoulders and ended at the waist was extended, so that it did not terminate until just above exposed ankles. From the shell a number of conduits ran, supplying energy for the anti-gravitic field which prevented the newly fused bones from being pressured by the ship's gravity plating.
The young man lowered his head at the true revelation of the injuries, his brow furrowing in sympathy for the bubbly woman and what seemed a dark future. "Will she walk again?"
"I've carried out the bulk of the emergency surgery necessary," The Doctor began. "However to restore normal function will entail multiple reconstructive surgeries over a period of months, coupled with intensive physiotherapy to relearn the art of walking. It'll be a long path ahead Ensign and on a ship as small as Voyager, it might seem to Miss Nicoletti as though the entire ship has passed her by—she'll need a friend Mister Kim."
Harry nodded, "I suppose I'll consider myself reassigned."
"Very good," The Doctor enthused, "Now back to bed before I begin threatening to use sedatives."
...
...
B'Elanna-Seven exited the turbolift with just enough hesitation to allow the doors to fully open and prevent a barrier. Striding down the corridor of deck five the tell-tale signs of battle, which so usually failed to imprint upon the lithe young woman, were manifested as obviously as any other member of the crew operating in Main Engineering. Strands of blonde snagged free of the loose ponytail, framing an alabaster face impugned with the streaks of coolant and lubrication fluids from one-too-many conduit breaches and overloads.
Her efficient dress bore a gash along the shoulder from which the slightest visible trace of crimson wept, unnoticed by the striding figure. Yet Seven's pace slowed, as though reaching her destination despite Sickbay being many sections ahead or as if unsure that the very next door might open to reveal a bustling medical bay despite both B'Elanna and the ex-drone recalling precisely the layout of deck five. The word beyond the unfocused and organic cobalt eye began to swim, losing the clarity and resolution forever provided by the occular implant which submitted to none of the weakness of its biological twin.
B'Elanna shook Seven's head and her own by virtue of their sharing, trying to overcome the nausea which had accompanied a bout of intense dizziness. "Someone reinitialise the inertial dampeners," she mumbled.
*The stability of the ship is not in question,* Seven replied internally though her voice seemed slurred beyond normalcy. *I believe my, our lack of regeneration is having an adverse effect on energy levels. We must restore power levels at our earliest opportunity.*
B'Elanna shuddered at the thought of any more time spent in Cargo Bay Two; "Can't we just eat a mountain of banana pancakes?"
Seven found that the Lieutenant's emotions were now easily detectable upon her changing moods, and felt the strong wave of desire and affection, not to mention hunger at the mention of the flavoured foodstuff. *Unfortunately `banana pancakes' whilst desired by you B'Elanna, will not provide energy to my Borg implants which cannot sustain themselves on confectionary.*
"They might not keep a cortical array powered, or an artificial limb energised, but they taste so good Seven! In fact we've got plenty of replicator rations to spend on proving my hypothesis and introducing your stomach to their delights."
The occular implant rose, ordered upwards by the ex-drone over the Klingon Hybrid's nominal current control. *I do not believe you have any replicator rations remaining to speak of considering your willingness to bet and traditionally lose them in Ensign Paris' juvenile wagers. Therefore I must assume you are referring to my replicator rations.*
"What's mine is yours and what's yours…" trailed off the Chief Engineer, Seven's full lips curling in a devilish smile, "… is mine. It's very rude to deny your guests …"
*Such social protocols were not designed for co-habitation of bodies,* Seven interrupted. *However since you have access to my eidetic memory as well as possessing control of my vocal processors and visual cortex you can successfully pose as me for the purposes of utilising my rations. Therefore I have little recourse but to consent.*
"I can access your memories?"
*Indeed, any particular moment, conversation or incident is stored within my cranial implants for later recollection. In the Collective artificial memory centres were the first neural implants to be cultured for pre-adolescent drones; without them recalling the complex instructions any Borg might receive would be impossible, and the ability of the Hive Mind to bestow specialist knowledge on any drone requiring it would be hampered by the finite memory of the particular assimilated species.*
*It seems that as the duration of time spent within my cortical array increases, your consciousness is expanding so that it is able to exert influence over the other implants which make up my cybernetic systems. I am also discovering that your base thoughts and raw feelings are detectable to me, almost a current which I can feel and gauge—our thoughts are becoming one.*
B'Elanna narrowed piercing cobalt eyes, "Was that a joke?"
*I believe your own humour is infiltrating my consciousness; Borg do not make jokes.*
"Borg also don't sing `You are my sunshine', play Velocity, take social lessons from a Hologram or scare poor Harry half to death with offers of `copulation'."
Receiving nothing in the way of comeback, B'Elanna declared a victory and negotiated her way through the fatigue which had clouded the senses and onwards towards the end of deck five, and Sickbay. Concentrating on the task at hand, both Seven and the Chief Engineer dismissed the fate of the ship Voyager now closed upon.
* … How do you know myself and the Doctor sang?*
B'Elanna grinned, "It's an underground classic Seven—Tom still whistles it when he's in the sonic shower in the mornings."
Seven's retort never found expression, as a corridor-ringing chirping heralded a ship-wide announcement; "Senior officers report to the briefing room."
On this occasion the Klingon curses flowed freely at another interruption, and within the recesses of Borg technology and human neurons, Seven of Nine pondered with passing interest whether her body was now growing comfortable with the diminutive Lieutenant and her emotionally-charged ways. Comfortable after having spent over a decade as a mere vassal for the Borg Collective and afterwards, what remained of Annika Hansen.
...
...
Tal Celesse poked her head through the open doorway of Sickbay, despite the frame being more than wide enough to step through. Narrowing her eyes, she searched the dozens of unconscious, murmuring, talkative or resting patients filling Voyager's infirmary to the limit. Stepping inside fully the doors behind swished shut soundly, as though taking the very first opportunity to close.
Tal almost succeeded in standing on Crewman Angelo Desoto, formerly of the Equinox, unconscious and prone beneath a thick blanket on the floor for want of biobed space. Muttering an apology wasted on his sleeping form, she gingerly picked a path through the strewn injured, casting a glance at Voyager's acting Chief Medical Officer who sat deep in apparent thought in the relative isolation of the office against the far partition.
Finally her eyes settled on the primary biobed, though the extended clamshell meant identifying the occupant from Tal's current angle was impossible. She traced the device atop the bed, her eyes widening as she took in the chair and the figure sitting aside, and recognised the distinctly Asian features of the ship's youngest bridge officer.
Her surprise was swept away as her negotiation around the perimeter of the bed revealed the head and shoulders of the occupant. Almost all sense of decorum stolen, the young Astrometrics officer ran forwards to the prone form of her friend beneath the layers of medical technology labouring to ease her wounds.
Harry rose to his feet almost automatically, not wishing to intrude upon the moment of reunion, and partially because of his discomfort in unpleasant social situations. "Glad you're unscathed Tal—wish we could say the same for Sickbay."
Snapping herself back to reality, Celesse nodded stiffly, "Astrometrics suffered a few trivial injuries sir, nothing serious."
"At ease," Kim replied, understanding the time for protocol was not now, and glancing at Nicoletti. "She probably saved my life, or at least staved off permanent disfigurement on my part. Reacted quicker to a plasma conduit blowout and got us clear enough to appreciate the pain super-heated plasma can inflict."
Tal could see the angry red of the twisted scar tissue peaking beneath the dermoplastic strips regenerating her superior's face. For a moment she felt guilty at having escaped with nothing more serious than a little loss of balance following extended periods of turbulence.
"You know …" came a voice struggling for volume; "I was about to come looking for you … just as soon as I can find my shoes."
Celesse grinned as she leaned on the biobed, and the blinking eyes of the now-conscious Nicoletti. "Here we are having negotiated a class one asteroid field, taken damage and casualties, and you're sleeping! Trust Suzie to find a bed even amidst rock-dodging."
"The best bed in the house," Kim quipped. "Poor old Maloney is lying over there on the floor, padd in hand, contemplating how best to expand Sickbay so the next time he's levelled by a structural support there's going to be a bed for him to recuperate in."
Susan frowned at the plasters adorning the operations officer, "How's the face sir?"
"Harry is fine," He replied, grinning. "I don't know—I think it makes me look more seasoned, more gnarled, and more dangerous. Maybe Tom will let me play Captain Proton now."
Positioning himself between Harry Kim and Tal Celesse, The Doctor consulted the monitor mounted upon the side of the bed. Moving away to a storage rack, he retrieved a hypospray and loaded a cartridge before pressing it to Nicoletti's neck and injecting the medication.
The engineer managed a smile, "How's my favourite Emergency Medical Hologram? I hope putting me back together hasn't been too much trouble?"
The Doctor for all his recent ponderings and doubts returned a thin smile. "Always a pleasure to welcome you to my Sickbay Miss Nicoletti, even when you've been throwing yourself at plasma conduits."
The call for senior officers over the communication system interrupted the conversation, and reduced those present as Kim excused himself with a good luck wish, and a nod to The Doctor who would remain despite the summoning to care for the high volume of patients.
"He's cute," Tal began with a pseudo-innocent tone. "Working the old Damsel in Distress angle?"
Nicoletti scoffed, "If all it needed were some distress I'd have told him my cat was stuck up a plasma conduit—shattering my pelvis is just overkill. I see not a scratch on your fair skin Miss Celesse, were you in bed whilst the rest of us played Velocity with the bulkheads?"
"I was on the bridge actually, drinking in the atmosphere of command and the subtle pressures of the upper echelons of Starfleet."
"I suppose that's better than soaking up any plasma," The Doctor interjected, "As our own Ensign Nicoletti has yet to discover can have a negative impact on your social life."
Susan's face straightened slightly, "Is it going to be disabling Doctor? Will I have to request dispensation for more rations to replicate new, shorter, uniforms? Can you save my feet? Anything to make sure Tal doesn't get my shoes."
"Humour is an excellent weapon in the pursuit of recovery, though I don't think we'll be calling for the laser scalpel just yet. The damage to the structure, nerves and blood supply of your pelvic region is considerable, and the reconstruction work on the upper legs alone many weeks of surgery even before any thought is given to physiotherapy, but it's treatable and I'm confident that before the year is out you'll be able to rejoin Lieutenant Torres' motley band of engineers."
Celesse baulked and shuffled her feet uneasily, "A year?"
The Doctor sighed, "Had this been a starship in the alpha quadrant then Miss Nicoletti would find herself transferred to a suitably equipped starbase for treatment at the hands of an entire team of surgeons and physiotherapists. As it stands we're fifty thousand light years from such help and in a Sickbay never designed for such a scenario. The only tool to assist other than my own program may be the interactive Starfleet Medical programs stored on the holodeck, but I can't hazard a guess at their effectiveness yet."
Tal laid a hand on Nicoletti's shoulder, "I'll pass word round the departments that you won't be available for the holo-swimsuit championships and that your wardrobe is available for rent. I'm due in Astrometrics—looks like my brush with command glory was short-lived. I'll check in on you at the end of my shift."
She turned, pausing as Susan called out—"Don't touch my shoes Tal, or The Doctor will have two pelvises to mend."
...
...
The stars twinkled, still and insignificant in the vast blanket of the cosmos which stretched beyond any Human ability to capture and understand. Unlike the superluminal, the Impulse drive conveyed no sense of vast speeds when measured against the ancient orbs of light amidst the black, Voyager creeping in astronomical terms towards its target.
Captain Janeway regarded all this from behind the safety of the expansive windows dominating the briefing room. Though her gaze remained to the outside from the head of the room, the hiss of opening doors betrayed the imminent beginning of the meeting. Turning back and placing hands upon the surface of the teardrop-shaped table, she nodded as Chakotay, Tuvok and Kim took up their seats.
Entering last and a moment after Tom Paris had been relieved to attend, Seven and B'Elanna arrived though the door to admit them opened and closed in sequence only once. Similarly, only a single chair was occupied and the extra seating normally occupied, now empty, was not lost on those assembled. Sensing the oddness Janeway moved to begin.
"I don't want to delay us anymore than necessary, so I'll keep this brief. The ship we're tracking hasn't used the time we spent negotiating the asteroid field wisely—travelling at warp three and making no obvious attempts to evade us. All that's stopping us ending this chase is our own damage; how're the repairs?"
"I have completed re-calibrating the phaser targeting systems," Tuvok began whilst consulting a padd. "The secondary tactical processors are once more functional."
Janeway nodded, "We're prepared for a fight if it comes down to it then, but we won't be doing any fighting until we close the gap on them—status of warp drive?"
The young woman occupying the dual roles of Chief Engineer and Astrometrics Officer leaned back in the chair slightly, frowning in an act understandable in the personality of the former but utterly alien to the stiff and coordinated movements of the latter. "We'll need to replace at least one deuterium injector port, and there's some thermal damage to the reaction chamber—ordinarily I'd say we'd need four, maybe five hours."
B'Elanna-Seven pre-empted their Captain's complaint, "Considering our current situation and the limits we've pushed it to in the past, we can probably give you warp four now."
"There's no indication the ship we're chasing is capable of anything more than its current speed," Chakotay added. "We could probably stretch protocol without too much lasting damage beyond a headache for the engineering team."
The Captain nodded at her first officer's summary, "Protocol wasn't designed to deal with displaced consciousness, and how to correct it. B'Elanna, Seven, if you can manage it I'd like your expertise in Engineering. Commander Tuvok will lead an away team once we've overcome any defences encountered. I'm not ruling out a peaceful resolution to this, but from what I've seen so far I don't think talking will get anything done."
Murmurs of agreement rose from around the table until curtailed by a nod from Janeway. "Tom, make your course an intercept, warp four. All hands to battle stations—dismissed."
...
...
Though pained from the exertions of the asteroid belt previously, the starship Voyager dutifully acquiesced to the will of her fragile human crew and left far behind the scowling stars relegated to streaks against faster-than-light flight. Only the unheeded reminders of the Computer, ignored by those whom had visited the limits of the technology and returned with the knowledge of its ability, interrupted any operation.
Janeway's hand flittered over the command console as the view screen displayed the rapidly disappearing sector previous to their course. From her master systems overview the rapidly closing distance towards their target was evident, though protocol and the ways of starship command demanded audible briefings.
"The vessel is slowing to sublight speeds Captain," Tuvok announced as he ran through a final tactical diagnostic.
A frown passed Harry Kim's features, "I'm detecting an overload in their propulsion systems … Their warp field has collapsed. Doesn't look like a normal deceleration; some sort of power imbalance. Could be a ruse, Captain."
"Slow to impulse Mister Paris," Janeway ordered whilst scrutinising the sensor information. "Red alert—raise shields, charge Phasers and load photon torpedo launchers."
Tuvok nodded, "Shields nominal, all weapon systems standing by."
Chakotay added a frown to the collective feeling of unease, slowly standing from his chair and crossing down to the helm level. "Harry, any sign of offensive capabilities?"
"Sensors can't penetrate their hull Commander," came the frustrated response. "Metallurgical analysis isn't even coming up with a partial match; it's deflecting anything of detailed resolution. I'm picking multiple openings in the hull plating consistent with launch tubes—possible torpedo launchers."
"Confirmed," Tuvok added. "What may also be disruptor emitters; however sensors cannot achieve sufficient resolution to clarify. The power levels of the alien vessel are fluctuating, with the entirety of the energy spike confined to their warp drive."
Janeway regarded the view screen. The ship visible was barely half the comparable length of Voyager; as though the manta-ray of Earth's oceans given technological form, plates of near-invisible metal curving to form triangular wings swept upwards in permanent vestiges of attack. Where the light of the local system's sun caught the metal it glinted dully, along the axis until the last of the mysterious starship tapered to a tail point. Under slung beneath the wings and sculpted directly to the metal elongated warp nacelles hung impotently, flickering.
"Life signs?" The Captain asked fearing she knew already the answer.
Tuvok shook his head from behind the command chair—"Inconclusive."
Chakotay turned to face Harry, "Transporters?"
Kim's hands flew over his systems monitor, "I'm not detecting any deflector system in operation Commander, and I've got a confirmed transporter lock."
Captain Kathryn Janeway rose to join her first officer as she had done so many times before; narrowing eyes to regard the oddity which had lead Voyager on several light years of chasing. "Tuvok, take an away team and see exactly who is home."
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To be continued ...