Just Between Life & Death
G. L. Dartt
Her mouth was cotton dry when she woke, and when she tried to swallow, her head pounded with a pain that echoed through her temples and down her neck. Her body tingled unpleasantly, pins and needles lancing up and down her limbs, as if the blood flow had been blocked in them and was only now resuming. She must have made a sound, because suddenly, someone was next to her, and a tube was being inserted between her lips.
“Drink,” said an oddly familiar voice, though she couldn't quite place it. The word was spoken in a hushed tone, anxious, almost as if the owner were fearful of being overheard.
She obeyed, swallowing as the cool liquid slipped down her parched throat like a balm, easing the soreness. With an effort, she opened her eyes, blinking in the harsh illumination, her vision fuzzy and unfocused. She made another sound as the tube was taken away, one of protest, and a hand was pressed over her mouth.
“Quiet,” a low voice instructed. “It's not safe here, Captain.”
Captain? Yes, now she remembered. She was Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship—of the starship—of no starship now.
Or was she?
“Doctor?” she whispered, her eyes slowly able to make out the details of the man—no, the hologram—leaning over her. She felt as if she were in some sort of disjointed dreamscape. “Am I on Voyager?”
For a moment, she had the horrified thought that all the memories crashing in on her were nothing more than a series of hallucinations. That she had been ill, and the USS Voyager had never returned to the Alpha Quadrant, nor had she and Seven spent more than a year adjusting to being home in the Federation. But that didn't explain why the Doctor now possessed a goatee, the dark growth granting him a somewhat surreal appearance.
“We should be so lucky,” he murmured ruefully. “No, we're on the homeworld of the Orion Syndicate. You've been drugged by a particularly nasty narcotic known colloquially as 'dream dust', which creates a highly suggestible state. Since your arrival, I've been cleaning the drug out of your system, but I've had to hide that from your captors. I've replaced the drug with a substitute that does not cause the long-term damage to your neural tissue, nor causes catastrophic addiction, but it does mimic the initial state of hallucination and incoherence along with the symptoms of periodic withdrawal: the somnolent state, the dry mouth, the sweating, the headaches, the cramps—”
“I get the point,” Janeway whispered, acutely aware of every one of those symptoms plaguing her now. “Doctor, when I'm under the influence, do I talk?”
“No,” he assured her. “You mumble, but as I mentioned, it's incoherent and disjointed. This grace period of withdrawal is our only window of communication. As I clean out your system, it will become longer each time, but for now, we only have a few minutes of clarity.”
“Grace period?” she echoed, a sense of dread permeating her.
“It will soon be time for you to receive another injection.”
“Don't administer it,” Janeway hissed.
“I have no choice, Captain,” the Doctor told her, glancing over his shoulder with an agonized expression, as if expecting visitors any moment. “They're always present during the treatment, and watch very closely to see that I have a full hypospray, and then they check your vitals to be sure you're—well, 'high' is the term, I believe they use, particularly that Packer fellow. All I can do is lessen the duration of the hallucination period, and limit the harmful side effects and intensity of withdrawal.”
The reminder of being kidnapped by Cheb Packer, the man she had shared a teen romance with, made nausea rise in Janeway's throat, and she jerked convulsively. Blinking rapidly, she stared at him.
“What are you doing here, Doctor?”
An expression of embarrassment crossed the EMH's somber features. “It's a long story. Let's just say I was looking for a job, and accepted the first offer I came across. I didn't check out my employers as well as I should.”
“You're working for the Orion Syndicate?” Janeway slurred in disbelief.
“No, I was working for a frontier colony that needed medical personnel. I didn't know this was the home base of the criminal cartel until they brought you in.” He paused. “I don't think they actually do a lot of their business on this planetoid, Captain. It's more their sanctuary, a place to keep their families safe, and to provide them with a place to run when things become too—complicated for them in the rest of the Federation.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice even more. “In fact, I overheard Duvont, the mayor of the colony, telling your kidnappers that he wasn't pleased they had brought a Starfleet captain to the homeworld, no matter how much use you could be to them.” He paused, looking confused. “I'm not sure what use they expect you to be, anyway.”
Janeway cleared her throat, swallowing back the bile. “Bait,” she said succinctly.
“Bait?” the Doctor echoed, uncomprehending.
“They don't want me, they want Seven's Borg implants,” Janeway managed to choke out. “They're hoping that she'll come after me. The trouble is, they're right. She will.” She glanced around, taking in the room which was painted in a light green, empty of furnishings beyond the bed she was lying in, and a mobile cart of some sort containing medical instruments. “I need to escape before that happens.” She tried to rise into a sitting position, and that was when she realized she was strapped down. “Doctor, release the restraints.”
He looked regretful and panicked at the same time. “I can't, Captain. I'm supposed to keep you 'on ice'. If I don't, they'll take over your treatment, and believe me, they won't be using a relatively harmless substitute.”
Janeway glared at him. “Have you switched loyalties, Doctor?” she murmured with deceptive mildness, “now that you've resigned from Starfleet?”
“Certainly not,” he said, greatly offended. He paused. “On the other hand, Starfleet did want to deactivate me—”
“Doctor.”
He glanced back at her. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “However, trust me when I tell you that you're in no shape to make a break for it. The dream dust has only now begun to clear your system enough so that you can think rationally, but the alternative drug still affects your motor control. You wouldn't even be able to stand up, let alone move around with any competence, but I don't dare stop giving it to you.”
Janeway didn't like that, at all, especially when she belatedly realized she was drooling uncontrollably, but she was beginning to fully appreciate the difficulty of her position.
“I can't stay here,” she protested, hating the weakness in her normally commanding tones, the lack of forcefulness in her voice. She couldn't remember ever feeling so vulnerable or helpless before. The Doctor had been correct about how depleted she was physically.
“I'm aware of that,” he snapped, irritated, “but, I don't know what else to do, Captain. There are only a few ships remaining in port, and those that are, don't belong to the colony itself. They're independents, which means their crews are expected to stay close to their vessels, rather than roam about the facility. We're surrounded by members of the Syndicate, and if they catch us while we're attempting to leave the planetoid, they'll undoubtedly kill us. At least, they'll kill you. Heaven only knows what they'd do to me.”
“Calm down, Doctor,” Janeway urged, trying to think, though she found it difficult with the clouds fogging her mind. “Tell me, is there anything in your pharmaceuticals that will counteract the substitute you're using? Something that could work very quickly if required?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, but without a plan, what good would it do?” He regarded her unhappily. “Your captors drop by frequently, Captain, including Packer. He doesn't do or say anything , but he can stay up to thirty minutes at a time, just standing and staring at you in a most unpleasant fashion. I suspect if the other man, Vicarny, didn't keep him in line, Mr. Packer would be very interested in taking over your 'care'.”
“Undoubtedly.” Janeway paused, feeling her heart pound with unusual rapidity. “Mr. Packer is an old enemy.” She paused. “If the decision is made for him to take possession of me, Doctor, I'm counting on you to make sure I'm dead before I leave this room.”
He stared at her, shocked and horrified. “You can't be serious.”
“I'm very serious, Doctor,” she said coolly. “Trust me, you'd be doing me a favor.”
She could see his throat move as he swallowed, and she wondered if that was a subroutine of his programming, or if he had truly become that. Human.
“I understand,” he said weakly.
She could see that he did, and she was sorry to bring him such distress, wondering if his matrix could survive all these shocks to his system. Still, he had learned a lot on Voyager, and he knew how to think on his feet. His actions during the incident where Seska and the Kazon took over the ship were proof of that. He had also been quite a competent counter intelligence agent when the Hirogen had captured the crew, and trapped them into continually running holodeck scenarios. For a moment, Janeway was shamed that she had ever doubted his sentience, or his ability to adapt.
“Doctor, keep the antagonist to the substitute close by, ready to be used if an opportunity arises,” she instructed. “In the meantime, find out as much as you can about possible escape routes. I need to get to the spaceport.”
“That could be very difficult,” the Doctor said. “This planetoid is in the process of being terraformed, and the entire colony is housed underground, within a huge facility that goes down almost thirty levels into the bedrock. We're in the middle section that's reserved for services such as this medical center, and commercial services such as taverns, shops and restaurants. The spaceport is on the surface, and there are a lot of administrative levels between here and there. Residential quarters fill the levels below us, then at the lowest level, there's the power plant that runs on geothermal energy, tapping directly into the planetoid's core to provide the colony's energy needs.”
Janeway looked at him approvingly. “My apologies, Doctor,” she said softly. “You have been doing your homework.” She paused, feeling dizzy suddenly. Her brief struggle against the restraints had quickly sapped her energy. “How many people live here?”
“I'd guess fifteen hundred to two thousand people. Everyone I've meet has a fierce loyalty to the mayor and his governing council—which means the Orion Syndicate, I guess—and little regard for the Federation. They make no secret of their profound hatred of Starfleet.”
“Wonderful,” Janeway muttered unhappily. “Keep on it, Doctor.”
There was noise in the outer room at the same time the Doctor's tricorder gave a chirp, undoubtedly to indicate someone had just entered the outer emergency area. “Remember, Captain,” he instructed, shooting her a stern look. “You're supposed to be dazed and confused. Don't respond directly to anything.”
“No problem,” Janeway whispered, closing her eyes.
The Doctor straightened and moved over to the other side of the room, preparing a hypospray. He looked every inch the professional when two men finally appeared in the doorway, Janeway observing them surreptitiously through barely open eyelids. One was Vicarny, a small, sparse man who had been involved with the aftermath of her kidnapping, arranging to bring her here. He seemed to be more in command than Cheb Packer had been, and a great deal less antagonistic toward her, but that didn't make him any less dangerous. The other was unfamiliar, a Humanoid whose skin was darkly scaled, almost metallic, with reddish eyes.
Janeway was very grateful not to see Cheb Packer accompanying them.
“Doc, is the injection ready?” the stranger asked.
“Yes, Mr. Duvont,” the Doctor responded with what seemed to be a respectful tone. It was possible that even if the EMH didn't care for the implication of the Syndicate, it was apparent that he did have a genuine liking for the mayor as a person. “I would like to state my objection to this once more.”
“I know, Doc,” Duvont agreed, not unkindly. “Sometimes we must take care of business, and it isn't always pleasant, but it pays the bills.”
“How is she?” Vicarny asked, staring at Janeway. Janeway let her facial muscles go slack, breathing shallowly as she tried to give the appearance of being completely oblivious to her surroundings.
“The 'dream dust' is causing progressive damage to her neural tissue,” the Doctor said. “If I continue to administer it, she'll soon become completely addicted, if she isn't all ready. There are other drugs that will keep her sedated without having to create this level of dependence.”
There was a silence, and Janeway wondered if the Syndicate members were looking at each other.
“That is an option, Vicarny,” Duvont offered finally, in a reasonable tone. “She is a Starfleet captain, after all. We should seriously consider returning her relatively unharmed, or else expect to have every other starship captain take a personal interest in our business until it becomes impossible to function. You know what Starfleet's like.”
“Packer won't like it,” the small man replied laconically. “I think he envisions her becoming his personal slave, and the first step to that is addicting her to the dream dust, which is probably why he chose it. A 'duster will do anything for their next fix. Absolutely anything.”
“Is Mr. Packer's opinion that important within the organization?” the Doctor interjected with great delicacy.
There was another silence, and Janeway waited breathlessly.
“Vicarny and I will take your advice under advisement, Doc,” Duvont allowed, finally. “Packer has proven useful to us in this instance, and that has to be considered. We don't want to get in the habit of rewarding good work with betrayal, but on the other hand, the larger picture does have to take priority.”
“Just don't take too long to think about it,” the Doctor told them, his tone acerbic. Janeway heard him move closer, and she forced herself not to tense as he leaned over her, feeling the cool metal of the hypospray press against her neck. “This 'dream dust' will eventually kill her if I keep administering it in this concentration.”
“That might work, too, Doc,” Vicarny said, obviously quite accepting of that option as well. “That way, Starfleet would never know what happened to her.”
It was not the most encouraging thing she could have heard, Janeway thought, just before the drug plunged her once more into the colorful dreamscape of disjointed images, threaded throughout with a dark shadow of fear and helplessness.
Seven looked around the bridge of Voyager, exceedingly uncomfortable about sitting in Janeway's chair, or even utilizing the starship for her own purposes without Janeway's knowledge. Yet, Seven believed this was the only way to save her spouse. Around the bridge, various members of the covert Starfleet operations group, Section 31, manned the consoles, navigating the ship through the Oriolus Belt. It was in this area that Seven had determined the Orion Syndicate had constructed their headquarters, arriving at that conclusion after assimilating every bit of information, no matter how small, that Section 31 had accumulated on the criminal organization. She believed the criminals had an extensive compound located on a planetoid hidden deep in an asteroid belt that orbited a G-type star, far away from the more heavily trafficked areas of the Federation. Voyager's sensors were now tracking an ion trail through the asteroid cluster, identical to the one used by the vessel involved with Janeway's kidnapping. Built and maintained by the Packer Shipping Company, the match of the ship's signature trace verified her findings, and convinced the others in the Section 31 team that her conclusions were correct.
She glanced sideways at the man occupying the first officer's seat. Lt. Kagan was the senior operative within this branch of Starfleet Intelligence, and a frequent contact of Admiral Hayes. She had been surprised when she discovered his identity, realizing that he was an attaché in Admiral Nechayev's office. It verified her belief that Starfleet had little comprehension of the proper utilization of the skills of its officers; otherwise, Kagan would not have needed to find a place with Section 31, working with Hayes. Once more, Seven felt a strong sense of gratitude toward her mentor who had taken her under his wing not long after she had returned to the Alpha Quadrant. It was probably his kindness and acceptance of her that convinced her to uphold her commission in Starfleet, and it was unquestionably his authority and ties to Section 31 that were allowing her to pursue Cheb Packer to rescue her.
Kagan was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with stern features that rarely showed expression. Most of the team were of the same ilk, quietly and calmly going about their business as professionally as possible. On one hand, Seven appreciated their competence greatly, finding them to be an exceptionally efficient crew, but on the other, she discovered she was missing her friends and family desperately. She would have liked to have recruited the help of B'Elanna Torres or Ro Laren, her fellow crewmates off Voyager, or had the chance to discuss the situation calmly and rationally with Tuvok or Chakotay, the ship's previous security chief and first officer. Despite their obvious skills, none of the Section 31 people were her friends, and she felt very lonely and isolated in a way that she did not completely comprehend.
“Do you understand the plan once we're in reach of the system?” Kagan asked again, regarding her closely.
Seven forced herself not to display any irritation with his insistence on going over this several times, even though she suspected it was a necessary and regular occurrence with other operatives. However, she was not just any other team member, she was Borg, and her eidetic memory had filed the plan of attack away the first time they had undergone a briefing.
“Our long-range probe has determined the schematics of the facility housing the colony, and the best way to approach it,” she recited dispassionately. “We shall transport down to a secure region close to the Syndicate complex, and infiltrate on foot through the access tunnels that are lightly secured. Voyager shall remain in geo-synchronous orbit, and should remain masked to their sensors so long as the cloaking device, installed prior to our launch from Utopia Planitia, remains activated. While I locate Captain Janeway, utilizing a tricorder set specifically for her bio-readings, your team will descend to the main power room to set the explosives which will destroy this complex once and for all.”
“Once you give the signal that you have Janeway's location confirmed, we'll activate the detonation sequence,” he added. “It will be set for only an hour countdown, so you must be back on Voyager before that.”
“It will not take me an hour to rescue Kathryn,” Seven said, her eyes growing cold.
“We'll err on the side of caution,” he insisted evenly. “The detonators are tamper proof, but if anyone tries, they'll activate immediately. Or you may run into unexpected resistance. Just remember that the longer we can remain undetected, the greater chance this mission has of success.”
Seven raised an eyebrow. “Resistance is futile,” she stated with authority.
He met her pale eyes and smiled without humor, nodding slightly. “I think you're right. I'm glad you're on our side, Seven, and not theirs.”
Seven didn't bother to tell him that the only side she was truly on was that of Janeway’s. Instead, she looked towards the front of the ship, noticing that Lt. Chandler had a firm control of the helm. The Section 31 member was a stoic woman who seemed a little more authoritative than the man who had assumed the role of Seven's 'first officer', and Seven wondered why she was not in command. Seven had never felt particularly comfortable in the role of 'leader', and it probably showed to the others, though they did not display any apparent discomfort with it.
It also felt very odd to look around and see strangers where familiar and friendly faces used to be. Harry Kim should have been the one manning operations, not some grim-faced Bolian, while tactical should have been covered by Tuvok, not a woman with a decided cranial ridge. Seven didn't think she even recognized the species.
Not knowing what was happening with her was a constant ache within her. Seven had dealt with Cheb Packer personally on one occasion. In addition to formulating an opinion about him based on what her had told her about her very first lover, Seven had determined that he was a shallow, even cruel, individual. If he had developed a specific hatred for Kathryn, it was entirely possible that he was causing her great physical and mental discomfort. That thought made it difficult for Seven to function, inciting strong emotion—predominately rage—and a decided need to terminate the Packer individual as soon as possible. However, she knew for this rescue to be carried off successfully, she needed to be thinking clearly and concisely, so she buried the fury deep inside, where it burned with a constant fire.
“Coming in range of the planetoid,” Chandler announced suddenly.
“Status?” Kagan ordered.
“Cloaking device remains activated,” the Bolian at ops announced. “No indication that the colony's sensors have detected us.”
“Weapons systems on standby,” the woman at tactical reported. “Shields at maximum.”
“Establish a geo-synchronous orbit over the colony,” Seven instructed.
“Aye, Captain,” Chandler said. “Establishing orbit.”
Seven flinched at the appellation, even though it was the proper form of address since she was supposedly in command of this mission. She glanced over at Kagan. “Prepare your away team,” she instructed. “I shall meet you in transporter room one. Lt. Chandler, you have the conn.”
“Aye, sir.” Acknowledging her command, Kagan rose from his chair as Seven rose from hers. Meanwhile, another officer took over the helm as Lt. Chandler moved smoothly to take command of the bridge. Seven strode briskly to the turbolift, and requested that it take her to deck three.
She felt the same qualm she always did as she entered the quarters where she and Janeway had lived during their time together in the Delta Quadrant. It had been totally refitted, of course, not resembling the previous decor either in color or the layout of its furnishings, but it was still the same bulkheads, the same deck, the same rooms. She had discovered that she couldn't bear to use the bed, unable to lie there alone as the hours passed in the darkness of night watch, preferring instead to use the sofa in the living area to grab what little sleep she had managed since leaving Mars orbit. She wondered if the only thing that allowed her to function was the thought that when it was all over, she would bring Kathryn back to these quarters. They had provided such a secure haven throughout their time together, and they would reassure her that she was completely safe and loved once again.
She changed out of her Starfleet uniform to the away mission outfit that she had brought with her. It was an ensemble that she had designed back when she had not even been a member of Starfleet, consisting of dark, heavy trousers tucked into combat boots, a black sweater, and a padded vest filled with various supplies that had proven quite useful in the past. She took a last look around the rooms, believing that she would either return with her beloved spouse, or she would not return at all, dying with Janeway in the headquarters of Orion Syndicate. To her, that was also an acceptable outcome. Without Janeway, there would no point in Seven attempting to go on with her life.
The last items she picked up before exiting the quarters were a type-three phaser rifle and a type-two hand-held weapon which she tucked into one of her many pockets.
Down in transporter room one, Kagan stood by with five other members of his team, all wearing transporter buffer belts that held heavy weapons broken down in their molecular form, rematerialized at a moment's notice as needed. This type of ordnance, according to Ro Laren, was carried only by Starfleet's best trained ground troops, and allowed the team to be fully prepared for any kind of resistance. Seven would be on the solo search-and-rescue mission, and had no need of such heavy artillery, going with what she could carry in her vest pockets. She took note that the members of the team were no longer dressed in their Starfleet uniforms, and were instead, wearing dark outfits, similar but not quite the same as her own. Another sign that she had more in common with this branch of Starfleet than others, she thought, and was once again grateful that she had been contacted by them, despite the lack of connection she still felt toward the members. It was similar to when she first joined Voyager's collective, she reminded herself, or when she accepted the assignment to the Theoretical Propulsion Group. Friendships eventually formed in both cases, and she was sure that they would form within this new type of collective.
“Ready?” Kagan asked, offering her an environmental mask which Seven placed over her face. “We'll be materializing close to one of the external ports to the compound. Once inside, we'll use the access tunnels to descend into the facility itself, while you use the maintenance system to search each level for Janeway, giving us plenty of time to set the explosives. As soon as you've pinpointed her location, give us the signal. We'll activate the detonation sequence and you have an hour to clear the compound.”
She really wished he would not repeat everything as if she were a child.
“Understood.”
“Seven...” he began, then paused.
“Yes?” She looked at him curiously.
“If you're caught, we won't be able to do anything for you. In that event, Voyager will immediately break orbit. We're trusting that you will not reveal the existence of the explosives—even if it means that you and your spouse will be killed when they detonate. Wiping out the Orion Syndicate would still be a priority, even if your initial mission were to fail.”
Seven regarded him narrowly, wondering if she should be offended that he thought so little of her discipline, or the chances of her success. “I will not fail,” she said flatly, then nodded at the transporter operator. “Proceed.”
They materialized on the lee side of a rock outcropping, the wind whipping grit and sand into any skin on their faces that remained uncovered by the environmental masks. The howl was too loud for any of them to speak, and Kagan had to use his hands to gesture toward the circular metal hatch embedded in the rock. It had obviously been in this meager shelter in the hopes of providing some relief from the unceasing wind, the atmospheric conditions typical of the early stages of terraforming as massive amounts of air were heated into motion by the devices designed to accelerate the evolution of the small world. Two generations would pass before a world became completely comfortable or 'Earthlike', but the initial procedure of making the atmosphere breathable usually took a decade.
Seven wondered where the Orion Syndicate had stolen the terraforming equipment to switch this tiny, unforgiving world over to a habitable, and even comfortable environment. Other colonies in the Federation had to wait years to turn their worlds, which usually started out as mining operations, into the paradises that others in the inner core systems enjoyed. It outraged her that these rogue individuals would have access to a process that other, law-abiding citizens of the Federation—families with children—had to wait for, perhaps even because the Syndicate had appropriated their allotted equipment.
She was pleased by the thought that there would be nothing left of the facility, or the Syndicate, by the time she and Section 31 were through. The damaged individuals that made up the criminal cartel deliberately chose to live a life of chaos over that of positively contributing to the stability of the Federation Collective. It was nothing more than anarchy, a concept that chilled Seven's personal beliefs to their core.
As a member of the Section 31 team utilized a device to bypass the hatch alarms, allowing the rest to slip inside, Seven made a last check of her equipment before following the others. Within the chamber, the wind was cut off, the incessant howl terminated, and Seven removed her environmental mask with relief. Even through the protective gear, Seven had been peppered with tiny pieces of dirt, and a gritty taste remained in her mouth.
She glanced at Kagan who returned the look grimly.
“Don't forget, Seven,” he reminded her yet again, “Sixty minutes.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, or slap him across the head. She was unsure where the urge came from since it was not something she was in the habit of feeling, but then, she had rarely worked with someone so anal retentive. They moved down three levels, until they were clear of the large spaceport that housed the Syndicate's starships. Seven was appalled at the number of vessels the criminal cartel possessed. Undoubtedly received from the Packer Shipping Company, she thought grimly.
On level four, Kagan pulled back a grill covering the opening of the maintenance tubes, similar, Seven decided, to a starship's Jeffries tube. Section 31 would continue down via these external access tunnels.
“Let's get started,” he instructed.
Seven slipped her rifle over her shoulder so that her hands would be free to manipulate the tricorder, aware that the close quarters would make it more prudent for her to use her Borg enhancements in the event of any opposition. She shot one last look at the Section 31 team who were observing her impassively, then resolutely turned her eyes forward, crawling into the tube, hearing the grill click ominously shut behind her.
“I think I may have found the Doctor.”
Lt. Ro Laren, late of both the USS Enterprise and USS Voyager, currently posted as adjunct to Captain Kathryn Janeway, and now assigned to what was becoming a progressively annoying and futile mission, glanced over at Samantha Cogley.
“How did you do that?” Her brows drew down over her dark eyes. “You haven't left the ship, have you? They strictly prohibit that.”
Samantha rolled her eyes. “Of course not. But we can contact administration, and I've been chatting up the traffic controller who works the day shift. I was talking with him early this afternoon, and he informed me that recently, the colony recruited an honest-to-God doctor. They're very pleased with him, and claim he's knowledgeable in various medical techniques. The problem is, it didn't really sound like the Doctor when he described what the new medical officer looked like. This guy has a beard.”
“The Doctor has the capability to alter his imaging projection slightly,” Ro mused, turning her pilot's chair around. “How the hell did this conversation ever come up?”
The bridge of the DragonFlight was not particularly large, but the two women tended to spend most of their time there. It had taken weeks to track down this mysterious Noiro Belt, and now that they were berthed within the hangar of the gigantic facility, the first ginger inquiries into whether the Doctor was here had been initiated. Ro was concerned, however, that the lawyer may have violated their carefully constructed facade of being thieves on the run. Requiring a haven in which to hide from Starfleet Security forces would not hold up for long if someone started to wonder why the two women were so keen on locating a specific someone.
“Well, it occurred to me that the best way for us to see this doctor was to find out if we were allowed access to medical care,” Samantha said, looking vaguely shifty. “To set that up, I may have given the impression that my 'paramour' was a bit of a beast, regularly in the habit of beating me up, and thus, I might require a bit of medical assistance.”
Ro stared at her. “I'm an abuser?”
Sam spread out her hands, shrugging. “I couldn't just come out and ask.”
“You're right,” Ro said. “Good job, I guess. What did you find out?”
“I think Tads likes me,” Sam admitted with a sort of mock bashfulness that made Ro roll her eyes. “He told me if there were any problem with you, just to call him, and he would arrange for the Doctor to see me immediately.”
“Here on the ship?” Ro asked, suddenly alert.
“No,” Sam replied, and the Starfleet officer deflated, disappointed. “The clinic is in the center of the facility. It's not convenient for someone to get to—or out of—particularly when we're not supposed to be wandering around the colony. We'd have to be escorted there.”
“So, whatever we do, it's going to have to look real to warrant an escort,” Ro said, and then eyed Sam speculatively.
The lawyer drew back. “Not a chance. I'm not going to let you punch me in the mouth just for authenticity.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of some form of makeup,” Ro noted dryly. “Bruising is a result of blood trapped under the skin, and I could simulate that by withdrawing some of your own blood, and injecting it into the appropriate tissue.” She raised an eyebrow. “After all, you're the one that implied the type of relationship we have.”
“Well, that sounds all right,” Sam said reluctantly. “But it won't get you there. They'd probably leave you on the ship, and if I'm reading Tads correctly, he'd want me to stay with him—for my own protection. I'm not sure what good that would do any of us, including the Doctor, other than letting him know we're here.”
Ro, already reaching for the medikit, hesitated. “You're right,” she said slowly as she found a hypospray. “I need to be able to accompany you.”
“Bruise me up,” Sam instructed. “Let me think about it while you make my disguise.”
Ro blinked at the imperious tone, but proceeded to do so, not having any real objection to this idea so far. Withdrawing several cc's of Seven's blood, she injected half into Sam's jaw, making it look as if she had been struck near her mouth. The other half she injected to the side of the lawyer's eye, though not too close, not wanting the swelling to interfere with Samantha's vision.
“There,” she said, with a certain amount of satisfaction when she was done. “You look awful.”
“Thank you,” Sam said, checking her appearance in the mirror. “You are a beast, aren't you? My God, a black eye and a bruised mouth.”
“I could split the lip for effect,” Ro offered helpfully.
“This should do,” Sam demurred. “Now for you.” Before Ro realized what Seven had in mind, Sam had picked up the thin molecular probe from the medikit. The end was pointed, allowing it to perform as a satisfactory blade when jammed into the flesh around the Starfleet officer's midsection.
Astonished, Ro looked down at the blood abruptly seeping from the wound in her side, welling around the tool that protruded from her tunic.
“What the hell are you doing?” she yelped, pressing her hand against her ribs. Her advanced tactical training and well-honed senses had given her no warning—no hint—that the other woman had been about to attack her, and dazedly, she grasped the thin rod before reconsidering and leaving it where it was. Pulling it out would only be painful, and not necessarily good for her.
“Making this real,” Sam said, turning to the communications console. “Don't worry, it's only a flesh wound. I made sure not to hit anything vital.”
“Are you sure?” Ro gritted her teeth against the pain that belatedly was beginning to make itself felt. “What do you know about Bajoran anatomy?”
That made the lawyer pause, and she glanced back at the Starfleet officer worriedly. “You mean it's not a flesh wound?”
Ro hesitated. “Well, yes, it is,” she said in annoyance, gingerly probing the bloody but relatively harmless wound. “That's not the point! There's always the risk of infection.” The last sounded a bit lame, even to herself.
“Oh, quit whining,” Sam remarked, as she dabbed her fingers in some dust, and rubbed her eyes hard, giving them a reddish appearance as if she had been weeping profusely. “You want a way in, I'm getting you in. Now lie back in the chair, and pretend to be unconscious.” Activating the communications system, she arranged her features in a terrified, rattled expression as the screen cleared to reveal the colony's traffic control center.
“Tads, oh my god, you have to help me,” she demanded, staring wildly at the startled young man who had appeared on the viewscreen. “Laren and I were fighting, then she got violent and I—oh God, I think I killed her. You have to get a doctor.”
Ro slumped quickly in her chair, closing her eyes to look passed out, though she was furious that things had been taken out of her hands so quickly. That was a consequence of including a civilian in an away mission, she thought darkly. They were just so damned melodramatic. A little more thought, and they might have been able to find a way to the colony's medical center that did not require Ro to have a molecular probe jammed through her side.
Despite Ro's annoyance, it appeared that the lawyer's plan was working. Sam's latest conquest in the spaceport administration section immediately dispatched an escort to the DragonFlight, and before long, Ro found herself strapped down on the antigrav stretcher hovering in mid-air and guided through the corridors of the spaceport, heading for the central lifts that led to the lower levels of the colony.
Physically helpless because of the restraints, Ro took note of the route through slitted eyes, assessing the facility they were entering. She had also noticed the fact that Sam had managed to surreptitiously secure the ship before leaving, something that Ro hadn't though the lawyer would have had the presence of mind to do. Now, Seven was leaning heavily on a confused, and somewhat disgusted young man as the two women were escorted to the middle section of the colony where the commercial services area was located.
In addition to the young male dealing with Sam's wonderfully distracting hysterics, two bored looking humanoids were attending Ro's antigrav stretcher, one of them, a Katarian female who stood alertly, her phaser rifle held at the ready position. Ro and Sam had been informed upon arrival that the possession of energy weapons was prohibited within the facility itself, and Ro wondered why this group could have them. She studied them closer, realizing that all her escorts were dressed in matching dark clothing, badges on their chest and arms indicating that they were some version of security; law enforcement officers perhaps, necessary for maintaining the colony's peace. Full face helmets were part of the ensemble, but these 'constables' were wearing theirs hanging down from the straps around their necks rather than on their heads, indicating perhaps, that they did not consider this a particularly dangerous escort duty. Stripes lined the cuffs and shoulders of the tunics, probably emblematic of rank, and the woman with the rifle sported one more on her sleeve than the two men. Possibly, she oversaw the escort duty, and the way the others tended to defer to her, verified that supposition on Ro's part. The rifle was Starfleet issue, from a decade or so earlier, Ro noted, and more than once, as the barely coherent stream of recriminations and rambling streamed from Sam's lips, the muzzle was raised in Sam's direction, almost as if the constable wanted nothing more than to silence her once and for all. Ro sent a silent message to Sam not to overplay her role, not wanting to see her stunned into unconsciousness by the twitchy officer.
As she lay there, Ro did acknowledge a certain sort of irony existed when a criminal cartel had to maintain a police force to keep peace in their colony.
Remaining very still as the doors slid open, trying to ignore the dull burning in her side, Ro was guided through more corridors toward a large set of doors. Over them, in several languages, Ro read the words 'Medical Center', and from the amount of motion and noise inside, Ro had a sense of complete chaos. She wondered if this was normal for the area.
“What's going on?” Sam demanded of her companion.
“There was a brawl on level sixteen,” the female constable related, forestalling the young man's reply to the lawyer's question. “Why everyone must go crazy just because the fleet came in, is beyond me.” She shot a look of disgust at Samantha. “You picked a hell of a time for a lover's spat, little girl. You and your girlfriend won't see the doc for hours.”
Ro was tremendously pleased. This sort of disorganized confusion would be perfect for them, especially if the doctor turned out not to be the EMH they were seeking. Then, she and Sam could be treated, escorted back to their ship, and they could go about convincing traffic control to arrange a launch window for them with no one the wiser. But if it was the hologram, it occurred to Ro that it might become quite complicated in a very short amount of time. Could they convince the Doctor to leave while there were patients needing medical attention?
Head lolling to the side away from her escort, Ro cautiously opened her eyes again, glancing quickly about the room before closing them again. Judging from what she saw, there were approximately six people requiring treatment, blood in a variety of colors splattering a host of individuals who also boasted contusions and cuts on their faces. The smell of alcohol and unwashed bodies was strong in Ro's nostrils, and she resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose.
“Listen, Sarge,” the other stretcher bearer said, lifting a small black box that was undoubtedly a communications device of some kind. “The chief is saying she needs us down on level sixteen. There's looting going on.”
“Old man Ripley's no doubt,” the woman snorted. “If he wouldn't try to overcharge so many people, his shop wouldn't get wrecked every time there's a fight next door at the tavern. You always have a few drunks trying to get back the money he conned out of them when they pawned their belongings to get drinking money. It's like a vicious circle.”
“Are we joining them, Sarge?” he asked, sounding eager. He obviously didn't want to hang around the medical center when there was more excitement to be had on another level.
The woman hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, Travis, you're with me,” she said to the other constable. “Stan, you stay with our lovers here until they're treated, then take 'em back to their ship. Don't let them start fighting again.”
“Aw, Sarge,” Stan began, prying Sam's arms from around his neck for the fifteenth time. The lawyer was certainly conscientious in playing her part well, Ro noted approvingly.
“You have your orders,” the Sargent told him, then added, not unkindly. “There'll be other brawls, kid. Count on it.”
The two constables disappeared out the door, and Samantha took the opportunity to fling herself onto Ro's chest. Ro grunted as the lawyer landed on her, but fortunately it was covered up by the wailing of her companion.
“Oh, baby, please don't be mad at me,” Sam ranted into Ro's face. “I didn't mean to stick you with that nasty probe. Why do you have to treat me so badly?”
Rolling his eyes, Stan drifted away a few meters, talking to another man garbed in blue, perhaps a nurse or medic of some kind.
“Do you see the Doctor?” Ro whispered in a barely audible voice.
“Not yet,” Sam murmured back, covering the conversation by depositing a rain of sloppy kisses on Ro's face which Ro found completely appalling. It occurred to her that the kind of work she had once wanted to participate in so strongly as a career, included a great deal of personal embarrassment on a recurring basis.
“What's the story here?” a familiar voice suddenly spoke from close by.
Ro forced herself not to react, and to her credit, neither did Sam, though her eyes widened slightly as she leaned over Ro.
“Domestic dispute, Doc,” Ro heard the constable explain. “The girl got herself beat up a little, then stuck her woman with some kind of shiv. I need you to patch 'em up, then I have to escort them back to their ship.”
“Wonderful,” the Doctor said acerbically. He nudged Sam aside without really noticing her, and stared down into Ro's features. There was an instant of complete shock and consternation, but it passed quickly. Ro flicked an eyebrow at the new goatee the EMH was sporting, and then the Doctor looked at Sam, obviously recognizing her for the first time.
“Something wrong, Doc?” the constable queried curiously from behind them.
The Doctor hesitated briefly, then grabbed the stretcher and proceeded to push it through the room towards the rear of the medical center. “This is a serious wound,” he said over his shoulder. “I need to get her isolated as soon as possible. See what you can do about helping my assistant in his triage duties.”
Any protests by the young man were lost in the wake of the Doctor's abrupt actions. Sam scurried after them, and Ro was jolted as the stretcher was shoved through another set of doors.
“What the hell's going on here?” another voice demanded.
“Visiting hours are over,” the Doctor said, with an uncharacteristically harsh edge in his voice. Ro felt a qualm as she noticed the EMH was shielding her from the other's view, and she wondered why. Sam had fallen silent, staring at something beyond Ro's area of vision, and suddenly appeared very small, as if the lawyer was trying not to be noticed. “I need this room for the time being while I deal with this medical emergency. You'll have to come back at another time.”
There was a pause, an ugly hesitation, then with an oath, the stranger strode angrily from the room. Ro had a glimpse of broad shoulders and the back of a dark-haired man, before the doors slid shut behind him.
“I don't know why you're here, but I'm sure glad to see you both,” the Doctor said fervently. He shoved a dermal regenerator into Samantha's hands. “Pull that thing out of Lt. Ro, and seal up the wound. I have other patients I need to attend to, then I'll be back. Some explanations are in order.”
Before Ro could say anything, he was gone. Disoriented, Ro sat up, staring in disbelief at the third person remaining in the room, barely able to credit what her senses were telling her. Bluish-grey eyes regarded her blearily, the drawn and pale features of a familiar face reflecting the astonishment Ro was feeling.
“Does someone want to let me in on what's going on?” Sam asked, arms across her chest, staring at Captain Janeway in complete bemusement. “Because I'm just totally lost.”
Janeway drifted up from the cottony darkness, knowing she needed to wake but finding it a difficult process. She forced herself through it however, steel determination and will providing her with the strength to fight off the beguiling unconsciousness, knowing it for a deceptive comfort, not wanting to be sucked down again.
She opened her eyes, and then wished she had allowed herself the relative ease of unconsciousness since the dim illumination speared into her head like daggers through her pupils, sending tendrils of pain throughout her head. The discomfort seemed to become more intense every time she had a lucid period, and she was beginning to wonder if the actual drug could be any worse than the substitute. She didn't even remember how long she had been here. Had it been a week, all ready? Two? The time was passing in an unconscious stupor, and without being able to differentiate day and night, she had completely lost track.
“Doctor,” she whispered, her voice harsh and seeming very loud in her ears, though she knew she was unable to generate much volume.
“Right here, Captain,” he responded quietly, leaning over her.
“I can't go on this way much longer,” she said, her voice weak. “We need a plan of escape, and we need it now.”
He nodded. “The fleet arrived in port early this morning. That always provides a great deal of confusion, and the crowds move freely between the various levels. This might be our best chance to make our escape.”
She nodded, relief seeping through her—as well as a sick sensation of disorientation. She heaved, and the Doctor was right there to hold a container beneath her head, supporting her shoulders, though all that came up was some kind of green bile. Belatedly, she realized she was unstrapped from the biobed, but that did her little good. The room was spinning, and she sincerely doubted that she could move very far. She was about to order the EMH to administer the antagonist when she became aware of another presence entering the room.
“Well, isn't this a sweet picture?”
Janeway felt another wave of nausea hit, but that was due to recognizing the voice, rather than because of the lingering effects of the drug being administered to her.
“Feeling a little under the weather, Kat?” Cheb Packer went on, moving closer. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with dark hair touched with silver. He was still very handsome, in the way that a once magnificent structure fallen to decay retained the grandeur of what it once had been.
The Doctor gently lowered Janeway back onto the bed, granting her a gentle squeeze of warning on her shoulder. She didn't acknowledge it, but it provided a little comfort in a situation where she felt particularly helpless.
“If you wish to speak to the patient, she needs to be taken off this concentration of the drug,” the Doctor said, moving between Janeway and Packer. “In her present condition, she can't respond to you in a coherent manner.”
“That does take some of the fun out of it,” the man said, in a considering tone. Janeway, however, knew better than anyone how false that inflection was. “She can still feel sensation, can't she? She knows whether she's hot or cold?”
“Of course,” the Doctor said, as Janeway forced herself not to react. She doubted that the EMH had any idea why Packer would ask such a thing. She knew exactly where Packer's mind was headed.
“Then she can feel pain,” Cheb said with satisfaction. “That's all I require.”
Janeway could see through slitted lids that the Doctor was outraged, and the EMH took a step toward the man. “While she remains under my care, you will not touch her,” he said, his voice low and shaking with fury. Janeway almost opened her eyes wide, astonished and impressed with the EMH's fire and determination, the sheer outrage in his tone and manner.
Packer offered him a thin grin. “She won't be here forever, Doc. Besides, you're overstepping your bounds. You're just hired help, remember.”
“So are you,” the EMH reminded the merchant pointedly. “I'm not sure you would wish to get in a contest over whose skills are considered more useful to this facility, and to our employers, would you?” He raked Packer with a particularly contemptuous look.
Packer's face twisted into an ugly mask of anger, clearly insulted by the EMH, and he went so far as to shove the doctor, attempting to use his height and apparent greater weight to intimidate the other, smaller figure. The Doctor must have solidified his matrix to a heavier mass, because he didn't budge an inch, forcing Packer to rebound off him as if he had just attempted to shove a brick wall. The Doctor offered a thin-lipped smile to his startled opponent.
“I am well versed in Human anatomy,” he said threateningly. “I know countless ways to incapacitate you, several of which may turn out to be permanent. Would you care to continue this outside?”
Packer went for the inner pocket of his tunic, and the Doctor immediately grabbed his wrist with an immovable grip, dragging the man's arm away, and using his other hand to pluck the weapon from the interior holster.
“I don't like weapons in my medical center,” he said, putting the small pistol into his coat pocket. “They're also illegal within the colony itself. Perhaps, I should ask one of those constables currently in the outer emergency area to come in here.”
“You're making a big mistake,” Packer snarled impotently, but as with any bully faced with a clearly superior physical opponent, he was backing up even as he said it.
The Doctor was unimpressed. “Or perhaps we should discuss this with Duvont or Vicarny? Neither one seems anxious to waste the valuable resource a starship captain can be, and I take my orders from them. I suspect you do, as well.”
They glared at each other, inches apart. Packer's nostrils were flaring as he inhaled heavily, his anger running high and hot. The Doctor, in contrast, looked exceptionally cool and collected, his demeanor one of composed determination. Of course, as a hologram, he simply had no need to breathe or flush angrily, but Packer had no way of knowing that.
“Doctor!”
A young man dressed in light blue stuck his head through the door. He hesitated at the tableau he discovered, but it was obvious his news couldn't wait.
“Doc, we've got incoming,” the assistant told the EMH urgently. “There was a brawl in the tavern with a lot of knife work. At least four casualties are on their way, with possibly more to come.”
The Doctor glanced at him, dismay shading his features, and Packer smiled narrowly. “Duty calls, Doc,” he prodded. The EMH returned his attention to the man, pushing him back slightly.
“If you lay a finger on her, it'll cost you,” the Doctor said, in an irrefutable tone. “I promise you that.” With a look of disgust, he rudely shouldered past the merchant and strode briskly for the door, not looking back. Janeway wanted to call out to him, plead with him not to leave her alone with Packer, especially when she was so helpless and unable to fight back, but she maintained her appearance of drugged oblivion.
It was difficult to keep her eyes shut and pretend to be barely conscious. She was aware of Packer moving closer to her, the scent of his sweat overlaying the strong cologne he favored, and she forced herself not to tense. It seemed as if an eternity had passed as he loomed over her, and it took what little will power she had left not to flinch back against the linens.
“It is a shame you probably don't understand what's going on,” Packer whispered finally, his voice harsh, an insane and horrible parody of a lover's whisper. He drew his fingers down her cheek and she wondered if she should vomit again, just to make it unpleasant for him. “Soon you'll be mine, and no one will be protecting you anymore. Then, when you're crawling on your belly, willing to do absolutely anything for another fix of the bliss you're in, you'll understand how much you belong to me.”
She wished he would spare her the melodramatic dialog, finding it quite tedious, and realized that her mind was doing its best to distance itself from what was happening. It was a combination of her innate scientific detachment and the Starfleet training she had gone through. Every officer serving on a starship knew that there was always a chance of falling into enemy hands, of being at the mercy of someone who would utilize torture on them to discover information—or simply because it was an unfortunate aspect of their culture. Exploring the galaxy held many forms of danger, and this was far from the first time that Janeway had found herself in a situation of being in the hands of someone who wanted to do her harm in a most unpleasant way.
But it was never easy to accept, and the desire to fight back was strong within her. She had to remind herself to wait for the proper moment. Her life—and possibly the existence of the Doctor—depended on it. She did notice that Cheb was not attempting to harm her physically. Had the hologram's threat really frightened him? But what he was promising to do to her once he had her in his possession, the detailed account of all the horrible and varied techniques for creating the most amount of pain, was enough to make her stomach turn. That he was obviously becoming sexually stimulated by his ranting only heightened her revulsion.
“Then, after I'm done with you,” he concluded, “I'll ask them to give me what's left of your little wife, and I'll do the same thing to her. Or maybe, I'll keep you around long enough to let you watch.”
Almost, that made her react, and only the knowledge that this was not the proper time, kept her from swinging at him. That, and the fact that he would probably beat the snot out of her in her weakened state. Considering what she would do to him were the odds more equal, enabled her to ignore the rest of his explicit and grotesque ranting, even when he described how Seven's body would look in the aftermath of his 'fun.'
He really had developed into a sick little individual, Janeway decided, and she wondered where the young man that she had known and loved so many years ago had gone. It was clear there was nothing left of that being in the cruel and vicious person Cheb Packer had become over the years. Was it a progressive thing, she wondered? Something dark inside him that ate away more and more of his soul until there was nothing left? Or had he always been the sort of person whose personality tended to that sort of thing? Certainly, he had been an exceptionally self-centered individual when she had been involved with him as a teenager, a person whose view of the world was shaded primarily in how things affected him versus anyone else, able to twist things around so that he was always the victim of bad luck or timing, rather than because of his own actions. Was this merely an extension of that personality flaw, with his failure to get into Starfleet Academy the start of an ever-increasing spiral down into darkness? Or had he already been on that path, and their conflicts as teenagers simply the first visible signs of his aberration? They had broken up not long after he started displaying his selfishness and manipulation of her so openly, and she had no way of knowing what turns his life had taken after that—other than the fact he had been married several times, all the women ending the unions in preemptive divorce proceedings instead of utilizing the convenient option of allowing the short-term marriage contract to elapse. Perhaps that was a clue. What had those women discovered about Packer once they got past his considerable charm, looks and credits? Did they find they had married a monster, someone who defined their relationship to him as permission to indulge his cruel and demeaning ways?
Perhaps Seven had the right idea all along. Perhaps some people should be terminated simply because they were a menace to the Collective, and incapable of being repaired. Somehow, Cheb had avoided the Federation counselors all these years, and being drawn to the Syndicate appeared to be a natural outcome for him in retrospect.
Janeway's musing was interrupted as she felt a sharp pain on her chest, just between her breasts, and she was unable to keep from crying out, realizing belatedly that Packer had sliced down her chest with some sharp object. Obviously, he had been able to resist only so long before attempting some physical harm to go along with the emotional harm he was attempting, perhaps because she had been so unresponsive to the latter.
“So, you do feel pain, just as the doctor said,” he crooned, his eyes alight as he bent over her. He lifted what turned out to be a dagger to her cheek, pressing the point just under her eye. “I just needed to mark you, Kat—let everyone know that you're mine when this is all over.”
Just then, the doors were flung open and Cheb hastily straightened the sheet over Janeway, slipping his knife up his sleeve, before turning around to face the newcomers.
“What the hell's going on here?”
“Visiting hours are over,” the Doctor said, with an uncharacteristically harsh edge in his voice. Janeway's sense of relief at the Doctor's return was far stronger than she thought it should be, and she inhaled deeply. “I need this room for the time being while I deal with this medical emergency. You'll have to come back at another time.”
There was a pause, an ugly hesitation, then with an oath, Packer strode angrily from the room. At his exit, Janeway could open her eyes, and turn her attention on the people who had accompanied the Doctor into the room. Her heart took a leap into her throat, and with complete bafflement, she watched as the Doctor shoved a dermal regenerator into Samantha Cogley's hands.
“I don't know why you're here, but I'm sure glad to see you both,” the Doctor told the newcomers fervently. He gestured at Ro lying on the stretcher “Pull that thing out of Lt. Ro and seal up the wound. I have other patients I need to attend to, then I'll be back. Some explanations are in order.”
Janeway sat up, pressing her hand against her chest, her palm coming away bloody, determining that Cheb's 'fun' had resulted in nothing more than a superficial cut down the valley between her breasts. She glanced at Ro Laren who was staring back with wide eyes.
“Does someone want to let me in on what's going on?” Samantha asked, arms across her chest, regarding Janeway in complete bemusement. “Because I'm just totally lost.”
“I don't suppose you'd care to tell me how you two got here?” Janeway countered in a raspy voice.
“We were following your orders to find the Doctor,” Ro said, rising to her elbow. She swayed, and Janeway finally noticed the implement sticking out of Ro's side.
“What happened to you?”
“Long story,” Sam said hastily, pressing Ro back onto the bed. “Lie still,” she scolded Ro. “Let me operate.”
“Prophets, that's all I need, a lawyer who thinks she's a doctor,” Ro said acidly.
“Better than a Starfleet officer who thinks she's a secret agent,” Sam retorted tartly, She abruptly yanked the rod from Ro's side, provoking a muffled oath from Ro as she ran the dermal regenerator over the flesh visible through the rip in her tunic. “I could have done this back on the ship. I hope they don't realize that.”
Janeway, feeling woozy, slumped back onto the bed. “After you're done with her, look at me,” she demanded. Startled, Sam finished her ministrations to Ro, then moved over to Janeway, peeling back the sheet to view the shallow slice down her breastbone, blood trickling warm down Janeway's side.
“How did this happen?” she asked, appalled.
“The man who left when you arrived,” Janeway said flatly, a forearm resting over her eyes as the lawyer worked, refusing to watch as she repaired the cut. “He has some twisted ideas of how to treat someone who's not feeling well. He's also the one who kidnapped me, and brought me here in the hopes of luring Seven into the hands of the Orion Syndicate.”
“We had a suspicion this was where they were headquartered,” Ro said, her voice stronger now as she slipped off the biobed and stood up. She looked a bit pale but still quite competent.
“Who was he?” Sam asked, motioning with her thumb to indicate the departed merchant.
“Cheb Packer,” Janeway slurred. “We have to get out of here. Did you say you have your ship here?”
“Docked at berth six,” Ro said, examining Janeway closely. “Captain, can you walk?”
“Right now, no,” Janeway admitted in a shaky tone, swallowing as her stomach rolled. “But the Doctor has an antagonist for the substitute drug he's been giving me in place of the Syndicate's narcotic. As soon as he returns, he can administer it, and we can make our escape.”
“Of course,” Ro said, though her eyes held a touch of doubt.
Janeway wondered if, perhaps, she looked as bad to her adjunct as she felt, and that was the cause of Ro's apparent skepticism. If so, she couldn't allow it to stop her. She couldn't afford to remain in the hands of Packer who was progressively becoming more unstable, and at some point, she doubted that even the threat of Syndicate reprisals could prevent him from doing something completely unspeakable to her. She had to be out of here before that happened.
Or die trying.
Seven hesitated as she heard noise coming from somewhere ahead, drifting down the access corridor through the grill that led to this level's maintenance tubes. The facility was essentially a giant cylinder drilled into the planetoid's surface, much like the Barellan prison had been, and Seven was mindful of the irony of a prison and a criminal headquarters being constructed along the same lines. To avoid detection, she used the exterior tunnels to descend each level before entering the internal maintenance system to scan the interior layout of the facility. She had completed five levels so far, and had just entered level nine, concerned at how much time was passing in her search. Perhaps the sound of conversation she heard ahead of her was not necessarily an obstacle, but rather an opportunity.
Pressing against the rock which made up the walls of the tunnel, carved smooth by a heavy-duty laser drill, she altered her implant, the one attached to her left wrist. The bands of mesh bracing her fingers blurred and raised, becoming serrated blades that extended beyond her fingertips with claw-like curves. Initially a tool used by Seven for cutting through cable and wiring, Seven had learned how to wield the implant as a weapon of some potency, backed up by nanoprobe-enhanced skeletal and muscular strength.
Moving quietly, she approached the juncture where the sound originated. As she crawled into the new conduit and turned the corner, she discovered two men in overalls, working on a panel. She didn't hesitate, lunging toward them with deadly intent. They didn't even have time to turn around before she had snapped the neck of the first one, allowing him to drop to the floor, before grabbing the other one and shoving him up against the wall, her blades pressed against his throat.
“I am seeking a woman,” she said coldly, staring into the terrified eyes of her enemy, who turned out to be a young Human male with dark features, barely into his twenties. “She was captured by Cheb Packer and brought here as a prisoner. Where is she being held?”
He gulped, sweat glistening on his face.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Seven was infuriated by the lie. “You will tell me where she is.”
He stared at her, obviously believing what she said, and managing to look even more terrified if that were possible. “Honest, I don't know. I didn't even know a prisoner had been brought here to the homeworld. Please,” he added. “Don't kill me.”
“You have violated the laws of the Federation, abducted one of its citizens, and threatened all I hold dear. Your termination will benefit the Collective.”
“That wasn't me,” he babbled, the whites of his eyes showing. “I'm just a tech, honest. I don't have anything to do with the business outside Noiro. All I do is make sure the sewage system keeps functioning.”
Seven paused, considering that. It was possible that the Orion Syndicate would require support personnel within their compound, and that those people would not know what the upper echelons would be doing, just as an ensign on deck fifteen rarely knew about the daily routine of the bridge on Voyager. Still, this man was a member of the criminal cartel, and it would be illogical to leave him alive to possibly warn the others of her presence. She began to press her blades deeper into his skin, blood welling around them to trickle over the metal.
“I never did anything to you,” he whimpered in helpless terror. In his eyes, she saw only incomprehension as to why he was about to die, and she paused, suddenly uncertain.
“Where would a prisoner be held?” she demanded. “Speculate.”
At the easing of the weapon against his throat, he took a grateful breath of air. “Possibly in the jail.”
“Jail?” she echoed, not sure if she understood the reference.
“It's near the sheriff's office,” he said quickly, apparently knowing his life depended on the amount of information he could give her. “Who is she, anyway?”
“Captain Kathryn Janeway, of the starship Voyager.” That wasn't quite accurate, since Janeway had given up her command of the vessel to take over the administration duties at Utopia Planitia, but Seven believed her spouse's previous designation would be more recognizable to the average criminal.
The man blinked, dumbfounded. “A Starfleet officer?” he squeaked. “They would never bring someone like that here.”
“I tracked the ship's warp signature,” she told him mercilessly. “They brought her here.”
He blinked. “Then, she wouldn't be held where the colony would know of her presence,” he said, obviously thinking quickly. “They would keep her somewhere in the administration level or—or—yeah, maybe in the medical center where they could keep her drugged and out of sight.”
Seven stared at him. “For someone who is only a sewage worker, you know a great deal about kidnap protocols.”
He paled, though perhaps that was from the loss of the blood trickling down his neck. Dispassionately, she determined that she had not severed any major arteries. If left alone, the wound would clot and heal naturally. He licked his lips nervously as he realized she was staring at his neck.
“I—uh, hear things sometimes in the tavern about how things work.” He trembled in her grasp. “Please, I helped you,” he said softly, pleadingly. “Don't kill me.”
“Where is the medical center?”
“Level twelve. We're on level nine.”
Seven filed that away, then tensed. He closed his eyes, apparently realizing what was coming, and from somewhere inside her, something stayed her hand. Perhaps it was his relative youth, or the knowledge that the facility was to be destroyed in any event, but she decided it was not necessary to terminate him now. Her implant blurred again, becoming simple bands of grey once more, and her fingers moved at the juncture of his neck as she used the Vulcan nerve pinch to cause unconsciousness. Retrieving a belt from the corpse nearby, she bound the technician tightly, then ripped a sleeve from the other's shirt to gag him, before shoving him into the relative concealment of a nearby alcove. The corpse, she left where it was, not concerned about it anymore than she was the open panel in the wall.
Moving quickly, she found the nearest ladder, and began her descent deeper into the complex, bypassing two levels until she was on level twelve. Using her tricorder, the energy output shielded from sensors by a Borg algorithm, she scanned the nearby vicinity for Janeway's biosigns. She suspected that the rest of the Section 31 team had their explosives planted and were awaiting her signal, something she didn't want to give until she was certain she had found Kathryn alive and well. As she crawled through the maintenance tubes, she was careful not to be seen by anyone, particularly whenever she came to a grill that looked out into the central corridors, sliding beneath the level of view.
Of course, by doing that, she never took the opportunity to look out at the various people passing by, though she could hear their voices. She ignored their conversations, intent on getting to the medical center as quickly as possible. The tricorder had triangulated Janeway's bio-readings and had locked on, the green, flashing symbol on the tiny viewscreen causing relief to flood Seven's body. The signal was that of a living being, though perhaps weaker than she would have liked, and she tried to quicken her pace.
As she crawled through the confines of the tube, she made a note of her route, determining the quickest way to return to the surface where they could beam back to Voyager undetected. The medical center appeared to be in the core of the level, near the central traffic shaft that ran the entire height of the facility, more shafts branching off in each level. Seven decided that was a logical location for it, since the proximity to the turbolifts would provide easy access for those requiring the services, though it would have been far more convenient for her had the medical center been located on the exterior ring of the level. She mentally debated the idea of utilizing the traffic shaft to facilitate her retreat with Janeway, using a turbolift or the stairs to take them to the upper level spaceport, and then making her way through the hangers to the closest airlock leading to the surface. After some reflection, she decided it was likely the Syndicate had the traffic areas secured with a variety of sensors and defense arrays. It would make more sense to quietly retrieve her, bring her back through the maintenance tubes, and use the access tunnels to make their way to the surface, where the security system had not been extended.
Unfortunately, she could not request a direct beam out once she found Kathryn. The ship's sensors had determined that the facility had been constructed with iridium, which not only limited her shielded tricorder readings to one level per scan, but also prevented the transporters from operating undetected. Seven found the concept of being reunited with her, only to be unable to convey Janeway the final distance to safety, completely unacceptable. Transporting from the center of the facility would alert the criminal cartel, and it was entirely possible that, just as the Orion Syndicate had illegally acquired the equipment to build the facility, as well as the ability to terraform the planetoid, they undoubtedly had the advanced technology necessary to override a transporter signal, preventing the couple from reaching the ship at all. In fact, Seven reminded herself, that was how Janeway had been captured in the first place, by a remote command interrupting her transport from the Portage Creek Station on Earth, and diverting it from San Francisco to a freighter in geo-synchronous orbit over Indiana.
No, she decided, Kagan was correct. The longer Seven and the Section 31 team remained undetected, the greater the chance of success. She would find Janeway, and take her out without her captors discovering the rescue. When the colony began to come apart around them, then they would know they had conducted their last illegal foray against the Federation.
She hesitated as the tube abruptly branched off into two directions, both leading away from the area where she had determined Janeway was located. Frowning, she scanned the area, realizing that she must have reached the central traffic shaft, and the tubes had to bypass it. Chafing at the delay, she took the right fork, grateful for the padding in her trousers that protected her knees from the metal mesh comprising the flooring of the tube. She tucked the tricorder in her breast pocket, stopping periodically to make sure that once she had cleared the central shaft, she would be moving back toward the medical center. She was glad that she had a device to show the way. There were many cross tubes leading off to unknown destinations, while the conduit she was working her way through was not particularly constructed for easy passage. Obviously, this was not a main channel to the medical center, and she wondered where most of power conduits and energy relays feeding into the area was located. Perhaps from below, but she was not about to make her way back out of the tunnels, go down one level, and try it from there. She would stick to the maintenance tube she was in, and hope it did not become so small that she could not squeeze through.
Finally, she was directly over the medical center, and from her tricorder readings, Seven determined that Janeway was in the room beneath her. Unfortunately, Janeway did not appear to be alone. Additional bio-readings near her revealed that other beings were in the room with Janeway. Seven hesitated, wondering if she should wait until the area was clear, or if she should immediately attempt the rescue, disabling the others with a swift surprise attack. Her tricorder indicated that the number of bodies were manageable odds, but if she were slow to terminate one, or if one escaped, then she would lose what advantage she possessed, and the facility would be alerted to her presence. If she waited until Janeway was alone, she could spirit her out of there without anyone being the wiser.
She considered her options carefully, and decided to wait, at least until she had determined the quickest possible way into the medical center. The solid structure between herself and the room where Janeway was located was so thick that even her enhanced hearing could not detect what conversation might be taking place, and though she knew she could blast through it, that would take precious time.
As she listened to the low murmur, having no indication of what was being discussed, a sudden fear struck her. What if those additional bio-readings were those of Janeway's criminal captors, and they were currently discussing the final disposal of the starship captain? Perhaps Seven's time limit did not come from any signal sent to Kagan in the power plant, but from what was happening to her spouse. It could even be Cheb Packer in there, perhaps torturing Janeway as the Syndicate initiated their plan of luring Seven of Nine to a location of their choice.
Seven's lips drew back over her teeth, a snarl of fury and hatred as she began to search the area for an entry point, frantic now that her thoughts had turned to the idea that Kathryn was being harmed while Seven waited, oblivious, in the ceiling above her, only a meter or so away. Her tricorder hummed, beeping in a barely audible tone as it detected a thinning in the mesh not far away, and Seven scanned the section quickly, determining that it was a panel of some sort, granting access from the interior of the medical center to the maintenance tube she was crouching in. She ran her fingers around the edge of it, trying to find a latch which would allow her to open it. Unfortunately, it appeared to be on the underside of the hatch, inaccessible from this crawl space. Awkwardly, she slid her rifle around, adjusting the settings so that it would vaporize the panel, but hesitated once again, reconsidering.
She must not allow her fears to dictate her actions, she reminded herself sternly. If she went in there without proper consideration, she could end up being captured or killed. That would not do Janeway any good at all. Seven was normally more judicious in her actions than this, but when her was involved, it was extremely difficult to think clearly. In this case, with so much riding on it, it was imperative that she act with forethought.
Swallowing hard, she lowered the rifle and checked the tricorder again. She was glad she did, because there was an increased number of bio-readings, indicating that others had entered the room. Dismayed, she tilted her head, listening hard, hoping that the panel would be less soundproofed. There was still nothing but soft murmurs, which could be regular conversation, or actual shouting that was being muffled by the insulation in the wall construction. Seven had no way to tell until she broke through.
In an agony of indecision, she waited, then came a sound that chilled her to the bone, a cry of some kind, possibly one of pain, and in an instantly recognizable voice. She slapped her communicator, the device tightly shielded from sensors, and programmed to shoot a highly secured transmission to the comm badge belonging to Lt. Kagan.
“I found her,” she said. “Initiate detonation sequence.”
“Acknowledged.”
She carefully aimed the muzzle of her rifle and blew out the panel barring her way.
“Tell me, Lt. Torres,” Nechayev said coolly, resting her hands on the rail just aft of the command chair. “Have you considered a career in Starfleet Intelligence? You may be responsible for uncovering the biggest scandal the Federation has ever witnessed.” There was a certain shame and bitterness in her voice, lightly flavoring what had undoubtedly been meant as a compliment by the admiral.
B'Elanna was too worried about her friends to grant that the attention it probably would have deserved under other circumstances. “No, thank you, ma'am,” she responded absently. “I prefer the comfort of a nice, quiet engine room.” She glanced around the bridge of the USS Enterprise, torn between being amazed to be there on Starfleet's flagship, and wishing the Sovereign-class vessel would move a little faster. “How much longer before we reach the Oriolus system?”
Sitting at the operations console at the front, the golden-skinned Lt. Commander Data, raised his head. Obviously, he had overheard the women's conversation. “We will reach the outer rim in one hour, twenty-four minutes.” Neither Captain Picard nor Commander Riker, sitting anxiously in their chairs, seemed to disapprove of the android's providing the information, though it was somewhat unsolicited.
Tom Paris, at the helm, glanced briefly over his shoulder as he worked his board “We'll get to them in time,” he said reassuringly. “Don't worry, B'Elanna.”
“I hope so. The alternative just isn't acceptable,” she responded with a trace of the old interaction between them, slightly acerbic, but grateful for his presence, nonetheless. Seeing his face, and knowing that at least two other people on board were fellow crewmates from Voyager, made B’Elanna feel a little less alone in what was becoming a much larger situation than she ever expected it would be. She did wish Ro wasn't on a mission tracking down the Doctor, however. Ro would have appreciated being involved in the final act of this little drama.
“It was a smart play to put a transmitter on Seven,” Riker offered approvingly, glancing back at her. The Enterprise first officer seemed to know B'Elanna was becoming more worried the longer the journey took. “It made tracking Voyager a great deal easier, particularly since they've somehow appropriated a cloaking device.”
B'Elanna exhaled slowly. “I'm not proud of what I've done. Seven is my friend, and I know better than most that she isn't a bad person in any way. Hayes just has her so confused and twisted around after so many months, that she doesn't know whom to turn to when things go wrong. The only person she honestly trusts is in the hands of the Syndicate, and Kahless help anyone who gets in her way while she rescues Janeway.”
“Particularly when she is being assisted by Section 31,” Captain Picard agreed in his deep voice. His features were stern as he regarded the fore viewscreen, the stars streaking past, but obviously not fast enough for him. There was a tension in his compact form, a firmness to his jaw that B'Elanna did not think was normal for the starship captain. He lifted his head. “What’s the status of the other vessels?”
“The USS Hood and USS Gorkon remain steady in triangular formation,” Paris replied professionally. “Aft port and starboard.”
B'Elanna took a deep breath, wondering if three starships would be enough to handle what they would find. If this was, indeed, the headquarters of the Orion Syndicate the small task force was approaching, things could become quite complicated before it was all through. No one knew what kind of defense capabilities the criminal cartel possessed, what form of weapons they might be able to draw upon, whether they had ships, or had mined the asteroid belt, or were surrounded by killer satellites. All they had was a location, a thin beam of transmission somehow maintaining its integrity as the small device B'Elanna had planted on Seven continued to operate, apparently undetected by anyone.
Unless it had been detected, B'Elanna reminded herself grimly. It was entirely possible that Section 31 had discovered the tiny transmitter and had removed it to lay down a false trail. For all the Starfleet officers on the Enterprise knew, they were following a shuttlecraft leading them on a wild goose chase while in another part of the quadrant, Seven and Section 31 were contentedly wiping out the Orion Syndicate without any concern that they would be interrupted.
Aw 'Nik, B’Elanna thought. What have you gotten yourself into now?
“Lt. Torres, would Seven have been able to pinpoint the location of the Syndicate so quickly?” Captain Picard asked, glancing over at B’Elanna.
B'Elanna nodded. “Trust me; if they were there to be found, she would have done it—especially once they had taken Janeway. There's no place in the universe that Seven can't find her.”
He studied her with a measured calm. “Is that something you know, or are you merely speculating?” he asked, needing to be sure.
“I know,” she said with certainty. “I've seen it.”
“I'm forced to agree with the lieutenant,” Nechayev offered, her face grim as she regarded the fore viewscreen. “There is far more to Seven of Nine than I initially realized—or perhaps could recognize. There's also the possibility that Section 31 already knew where the location of the cartel's headquarters was, and is merely allowing Seven to think she's discovered it. They've chosen this opportunity to target it, using it as a recruiting technique. Once Seven has participated in one of their operations, she'll find it difficult to say no to them in the future. In either event, there's no question in my mind that once Seven and the Orion Syndicate encounter each other, the result will be catastrophic, not only for them, but possibly for Starfleet, as well.”
Picard dipped his head. “I knew she would be a formidable operative for them. Perhaps I'm just thinking that I should have handled this better.”
Nechayev stared at him. “It would have been preferable had you come to me about your suspicions of the admirals in Starfleet Command in the first place.”
Picard offered her a dark look. “There was no way of knowing that you weren't the admiral involved,” he reminded her quietly. “Admiral Hayes was very good at confusing the issue.” B'Elanna glanced away, not wanting to see how the captain's words impacted the admiral. She suspected that Nechayev was still stung over how easily Hayes had manipulated her and Paris.
“Captain?”
Picard turned his attention to the front of the bridge. “Yes?”
“Sensors are detecting traces of several ion trails through the asteroid belt,” Data reported. “One is identical to the trail detected in orbit over Earth, when Captain Janeway was kidnapped. It's registered as the UFP Sooner Strike, a freighter belonging to the Packer Shipping Company fleet.”
There was a sense of relief that eased some of the tension on the bridge. Obviously, B'Elanna had not been the only one assailed by doubts as they followed the faint trail of her transmitter.
“Yellow alert,” Picard instructed.
“Raise shields,” Riker said. “Drop to impulse.”
“Dropping to impulse,” Paris responded. “The Hood and the Gorkon have moved to five thousand meters on starboard and port, also dropping to impulse.”
“Hood and Gorkon have raised shields,” Data added. “Both vessels have brought weapons systems online.”
“Tactical,” Picard requested.
The officer covering the tactical station raised her head. “Phasers activated,” she said crisply. One of the new young breed that populated so much of Starfleet in the aftermath of the Dominion War, she was at least five years younger than B'Elanna, but possessed the two gold pips of a full lieutenant. “Photon torpedoes loaded.”
“Stand by,” Riker said, in a slightly cautioning tone.
B'Elanna stifled a small grin. The young lieutenant had seemed the slightest bit eager, and it was apparent that she was still learning how to fit into this seasoned crew who had been together so long on the flagship. Paris, on the other hand, seemed to have fit into the bridge with little problem. His time in the Delta Quadrant had gone a long way in maturing the young man.
B'Elanna discovered she was clenching her fists, aware that she wanted something to do. It was difficult to be standing on the sidelines as nothing more than an observer. Spotting an empty station, she moved over to it, taking a seat and bringing the console online. It was a science station, but she could channel the engineering systems through the touch pad. She could do nothing more than monitor them, of course, but at least she was at a station and no longer felt so left out.
Nechayev quietly took a seat in what was normally the ship counselor's chair, to Picard's left. Here, the admiral would be able to see what was going on without requiring updates from Janeway. B'Elanna brought up the chart of the Noiro Belt, and glanced at the fore viewscreen, seeing the large chunks of asteroids floating against the starfield through which the three vessels had to carefully navigate.
“Captain, we're being hailed.”
B'Elanna noticed that Picard offered a start of surprise.
“By whom?”
“The signal originates from the Noiro Colony,” Data responded. The android tilted his head, then turned his chair so that he was facing his captain.
“It's a Class One general distress call, Captain.”
B'Elanna felt her heart start to pound. What had Seven gotten herself into now?
“I still don't understand what possessed you to take a job with the Orion Syndicate,” Samantha Cogley said, staring at the Doctor.
The EMH sighed as he injected Janeway with the antagonist to the substitute drug he had been administrating. Immediately, Janeway felt an easing to her nausea and her headache, exhaling audibly with relief.
“I told you,” he said with forced patience to the lawyer, “I didn't know that's who was hiring me. I thought they were just a colony on the fringes of the Federation in need of quality medical care.”
Ro regarded him evenly. “That seems like the sort of thing you should find out about your employer before you sign on,” she suggested, and Janeway was struck by the thought that the stoic Bajoran was teasing the EMH.
The Doctor shot her a dark look, and resumed his attention on Janeway, scanning her with a medical probe as he checked the readings on his tricorder. Janeway regarded the other two, feeling more and more like herself with every passing second.
“Am I to assume that the DragonFlight is close by?” She pulled the sheet closer around her, the only garment she had.
“Berth six,” Ro told her. “If we can somehow disguise two of us as constables, maybe we can escort you back there with no one giving us a second look.”
“She's only a little larger than I am,” Sam offered. “Shorten and darken her hair a little, have her put on my clothes, and she could take my place, while the Doctor and I could dress in the uniforms of the constables.”
“Better yet, I'll dress as a constable, since that won't require extensive makeup that we don't have,” Janeway corrected dryly, somehow not surprised Sam would immediately come up with an unnecessarily complicated plan. She was also quite certain that the clothing the lawyer was wearing was nothing that she could ever be persuaded to don. Samantha's taste in clothes ran to the very latest trends, and were considerably more—daring than Janeway's own personal preferences, with glaring colors that hurt one's eyes.
“You just want to carry the gun,” Samantha grouched, shooting an admonishing look at Janeway.
“Actually, I just prefer to be in a uniform,” Janeway told her honestly.
“Big surprise,” Samantha noted. She paused, then glanced at Ro. “Where will we get constable uniforms, anyway?”
“There are still a few constables outside,” the Doctor said. “They're taking statements from the witnesses from the tavern brawl before escorting the main combatants to jail. If we could lure two of them in here, I could sedate them, then Janeway and I could take their place. The others should believe that the two officers are simply escorting you two back to your ship, and not pay it too much attention.”
Janeway nodded, sitting up gingerly. When the room didn't begin spinning around her, she judged that to be a successful step in the major task of standing up.
“It sounds like an acceptable plan. We'll worry about how we'll get clearance to launch once we reach the ship.”
“That vessel has quite a few surprises in it, Captain,” Ro said. “As last resort, I think we can probably blast our way out, regardless of their docking clamps.”
Janeway took a breath. “At this point, I'm not sure I would object to that even though it would leave a big hole in their hangar, and expose their colony to the surface.” She made a move to stand, regretting it immediately as her body screamed in protest.
Ro's gaze darkened with concern, and she reached out to support Janeway, putting a hand on her shoulder as the Doctor scanned her again, his face concerned. “I know it may not seem like it, Captain, but the antagonist is working,” he said reassuringly. “You'll be unsteady for a while, but you are regaining control over your body.”
She nodded. “Let's see about getting those uniforms.”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow and pocketed a couple of hyposprays. Nodding briefly at Ro, who took up a position on the inside of the door, he exited into the outer emergency room. Sam and Janeway moved out of the way and Janeway discovered she was clutching weakly at the sheet as she leaned against the wall for support. She flinched as the door abruptly opened. Two constables stepped through, one a male, approximating the build of the Doctor, the other a woman, a little larger than Janeway, but undoubtedly the best choice he could find.
“They're right over there,” he said, pointing at Janeway and Sam in the corner.
The constables took a step toward the women before the male faltered. “Wait, she's not the one—”
Before he had finished his sentence, the Doctor had jammed the hyposprays against their necks, injecting them with a strong sedative, while Ro stepped forward to catch the female, the EMH supporting the unconscious male, lowering them both to the floor.
“Quickly now,” Janeway instructed. “Undress them.”
The Doctor looked a little uncertain, but Ro and Sam didn't hesitate, bending over the two forms and stripping the uniforms from them, leaving them in only their undergarments. The somnolent forms were stashed in a nearby closet, where they wouldn't wake for several hours, while their garments were quickly handed to Janeway and the hologram. The Doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably as he accepted the uniform, and immediately went over to the corner, his back turned pointedly to the women as he changed.
Janeway rolled her eyes, wondering where the Doctor had developed such an archaic sense of modesty, particularly during a crisis, particularly when dealing with other Starfleet officers who had long since gotten over the taboo of coed nudity during their time at the Academy, and particularly since he was only a hologram. Of course, the Doctor had never attended the Academy, and chances were, his matrix was displaying Dr. Zimmerman's inhibitions, of which, Janeway suspected, the scientist had many. Besides, hadn't the EMH proven that he was far more than a hologram by this time? She began pulling on the uniform, still a little weak and needing to pause every so often to rest. Ro regarded her worriedly, though she was doing her best not to make her scrutiny of Janeway too overt.
The Doctor had finished changing long before Janeway, and he fidgeted uncomfortably as he waited. A quick glance out the door seemed to increase his nervousness, careful to poke only his head through the narrow opening.
“Can we hurry up things here?” he requested impatiently when he looked back. “The outer area is pretty much cleared out now that the other constables have taken the brawlers away, but someone else may stop by with a hangnail or something. I'd like to be out of here by then.”
“Stay calm, Doctor, and shut that door,” Janeway advised him as she tucked the dark shirt into the trousers, and fastened the heavy belt around her waist. It contained a communications device, a baton, and a disruptor of sorts that looked to be Cardassian issue of several years ago. Straps running from the belt crossed over her chest and fastened at the back, Janeway needing a few moments to figure out how they attached. “Put on your helmet.”
She followed her own advice, placing the helmet on her head and pulling down the dark shield, the one-way transparency covering her face almost to her mouth, obscuring her features adequately. She had barely accomplished this when the door hissed open, and Cheb Packer, along with five other men, all large, all carrying nasty batons, entered. There was a frozen moment of shock and consternation, with Cheb looking around in outraged confusion, while the four would be escapees tried not to look excessively guilty.
“What's going on here?” the merchant demanded.
“We're taking these two back to their ship,” the Doctor responded, and Janeway, weak from the jolt she had received at seeing Packer and his goons, noticed that the EMH had pitched his voice so that he didn't sound like himself. She made a mental note to congratulate him on his quick-thinking once this was all over. In the meantime, she kept her head down, letting the others do the talking.
“Where's the Doctor?” Cheb demanded, going over to the bed and ripping at the bedding, as if expecting that the EMH, or perhaps Janeway, would be hiding amid the linens. “Where's the woman who was here?”
Sam put her hands on her hips. “The Doc wheeled her out of here after treating me and my sweetie,” she said, injecting a bit of sauciness in her tone.
Cheb took two steps toward her, grabbing the lawyer by the arm and twisting it. “Where'd he take her?”
Sam somehow maintained her impertinent smirk, though the hold on her biceps had to be painful. “How the hell would I know?” she retorted. “He mentioned something about transferring her to a 'safer location'.”
He stared at her, and the Doctor stepped forward, tapping Cheb on his shoulder with his baton. “We need to get these two back to their ship,” he said, affecting a bored tone. “You know the rules about independent traders.”
Janeway was amazed by the composure of her companions. A cold trickle of sweat was running down her spine, and her knees felt like jelly. It was taking all her willpower to maintain a casual posture, to look as if she were just another constable doing her job.
“Maybe he took her to Duvont,” one of Cheb's men piped up. “You said that the doc didn't like how you were treating her.”
Cheb shot him a poisonous look and released Sam, who sauntered past him. He glared after her as the four moved towards the door. Just a few meters more, Janeway chanted to herself, seeing freedom beckon before her. We're almost at the door.
“Stop.”
Janeway felt her heart pound as the four paused just before they reached the exit. Cheb moved around in front of them, staring at Ro, who regarded him evenly.
“Don't I know you?” he demanded.
“Don't think so,” Ro told him laconically.
He frowned, looking puzzled as he searched her face, some minor detail obviously plucking at his memory. Janeway felt her heart pound unpleasantly in her chest, remembering that Ro had been seated next to her during Packer's trial on one occasion. Would Cheb have taken note of Ro's face enough to recognize it now, or had he been too caught up in his legal difficulties?
“We need to get these people back to their ship,” the Doctor insisted.
Uncertainly, Cheb glanced at him, then started to step aside, obviously unable to place Ro. Janeway went to move forward, and abruptly, Packer brought his baton back and slammed it across Ro's ribs, knocking the Starfleet officer to the ground. The Doctor froze in horror, and Janeway grabbed for her disruptor. Unfortunately, Packer had anticipated that move and knocked Janeway's hand away, grabbing for the weapon himself and shoving the muzzle up under Janeway's jaw.
“Nice try, Kat,” he said, reaching up and ripping away her helmet. “You must think I'm as stupid as the rest of the fools you deal with.” He motioned to his men, who quickly relieved the Doctor of his weapons and shoved their prisoners back into the room. Two men grabbed Ro, who was still curled in a fetal position clutching her midsection, dragging her over next to the bed, and flinging her down against the floor.
Cheb's eyes glittered as he pushed Janeway against the wall, a smile playing over his lips. “So,” he murmured, the bulk of his body pressing intimately against her, the muzzle of the disruptor digging cruelly into the soft underside of her chin. “Thought you could slip one past me, Kat? I guess you haven't been getting the dream dust as planned. You look far too mobile.”
Despite the terror sending icy tendrils through her stomach, Janeway managed a bored expression. “If you're going to kill me, Cheb,” she said, with a casualness she was far from feeling, “just do it. Don't bore me to death with your inanity.”
He drove a fist into her stomach, a short punch that drove the air from her lungs, and for an instant, blackness edged her vision. She slumped against the wall, aware of a commotion going on around her, and finally understood that Ro had broken free of her captors. Ro had lunged at Cheb, bringing him down with a flying kick that connected with his belly. She was unable to follow up on it as the other men jumped on her and dragged her back away from Packer. Wheezing, the merchant finally got to his feet, an ugly expression on his face.
“Watch her,” he snapped, motioning one of his men to guard Janeway. Janeway was hauled unceremoniously to her feet, the straps of her outfit yanked down over her shoulders and used as a makeshift binding around his arms. She ignored her manhandling, staring at Cheb who had gone over to where Ro was being restrained.
“Don't,” she demanded, suspecting what he would do to Ro.
He shot her a glare. “You'll hate this worse than anything I might do to you,” he said slowly, as if understanding something for the first time. “She's one of your people, one of your crew.”
Janeway made a step toward him, yanked back by the straps around her torso by the man guarding her. Horrified, she watched as Cheb stood before Ro, who had been forced down onto her knees in front of the merchant, immobilized by two of his men grasping her shoulders. Ro stared up at him impassively, her jaw set, her eyes dark with scorn for this being who would dare confront her, a survivor of the Cardassian internment camps, a product of Starfleet training and Maquis tempering.
“You'll be sorry for that,” Packer promised her viciously, grabbing her by the hair and yanking it cruelly. “By the time I'm done with you, there'll be nothing left but a carcass for the scavengers.”
Ro didn't so much as blink, not granting him the satisfaction.
He glared at her. “Duvont and Vicarny might get a little upset over my taking Kat,” he told Ro, obviously wanting to elicit some reaction from her. “But you're nothing to them, just a Starfleet officer in the wrong place, at the wrong time. No one's going to mind when I take you apart piece by piece.”
Janeway noticed that his men seemed to blink and stir uneasily at this, whether at the revelation that Ro was a Starfleet officer, or that Packer was planning to take Janeway away from Syndicate custody. Nearby, the Doctor appeared unable to comprehend what was going on, staring at the scene in front of him in horrified confusion, before moving toward Cheb and Ro, shaking off his guards as if they weren't there. Janeway didn't think the hologram was capable of actual violence, but his programming had no restrictions about moving where he needed to be.
“Stop this,” he demanded imperiously. “You're not going to kill anyone.”
Cheb raised the muzzle of the weapon he had retrieved from Janeway and pressed it against Ro's forehead, the metal cutting into the skin and sending a trickle of blood down Ro's face, gathering along the ridges of her nose. Fearful, the Doctor hesitated.
“Watch me,” Packer told the EMH coldly.
“No,” the Doctor shouted furiously, impotently, afraid to move any closer. “Let her alone.”
“Doctor, please don't,” Janeway said, playing one final, desperate card, improvising madly, seeking any advantage, no matter how small, knowing that time was running out for all of them so long as Cheb had the upper hand. “You're an innocent in this. I couldn't bear for you to be killed for the sake of us in Starfleet.”
Packer turned his head to Janeway, an unpleasant smile playing about his cruel mouth, and with deliberate intent, he lifted the weapon and fired at the Doctor, the merchant so intent on enjoying Janeway's reaction to his callous killing of a bystander, he didn't immediately notice that the disruptor bolt had no effect on the hologram. It passed through the Doctor's matrix to barely miss two of the other Syndicate members who dived for cover, striking the wall between them in a shower of sparks. Janeway began to fight against her guard, as Ro took her cue to begin struggling, attempting to take advantage of the momentary surprise of their captors.
Then, from above their heads, a portion of the ceiling blew apart, and six feet of enraged blonde Borg dressed in black dropped through the smoking and shredded opening. Pure and absolute fury radiated from the ice blue eyes that were focused directly on Cheb Packer.
Seven took only an instant to assess the situation, surprised to see Ro Laren, the Doctor, and Samantha Cogley present, but not allowing it to cause her any hesitation. She promptly blasted one of the men holding Ro as she dropped to the floor, intent on freeing the most combat skilled individual who could assist in the rescue. Then she had to dive and roll, dodging the disruptor bolt that flared toward her from Cheb Packer. The deadly red beam barely missed her as it splashed against the wall, scorching it and causing the paint to bubble and blister, leaving an ugly streak of black across the mint-green surface. She noted that her allies had apparently taken advantage of her unexpected arrival to turn the tables on their captors, Samantha ramming her elbow into the man holding her and pulling out of his grip, while Ro kicked out, swiftly sweeping the legs out from under Cheb Packer, sending him crashing to the floor, the weapon skittering away from him.
Seven felt her lips draw back over her teeth in a snarl, but she couldn’t go after the merchant immediately. Instead, she turned her attention to her spouse, struggling in the hands of another Syndicate member, seeming unable to put up much of a struggle. It probably did not help that Janeway was twisted up in a webbing of some sort around her arms, apparently hampering her as much as the man's grip on her wrists. Seven leaped across the room, past the Doctor who was grappling weakly with two other men, his programming inhibiting his ability to fight, and slammed the butt of her rifle into the shoulder of the man holding Janeway. He released Janeway who fell to the floor, still tangled in the straps, and shook off the blow, reaching out for Seven, grappling for the rifle. Seven released her weapon, surprising her opponent, but before he could raise the muzzle between them, her left hand had shot out to snare his throat, squeezing with devastating force, feeling the bones and cartilage give way to the crushing strength of her Borg implant.
He gagged and died, and she allowed him to drop in his tracks. She made an abortive move to retrieve her rifle, but had to turn to face the rest of the battle and her next opponent before she could grasp it, sensing rather than seeing the attack in time. She was barely able to brace herself as a large man shoved her back, having left his conflict with the Doctor to leap on her. It was difficult for Seven to keep track of what else was going on in the close confines of the room as she dealt with this new problem, blood spurting within her mouth as the Humanoid slammed his fist across her jaw. His species was obviously a product of a high gravity environment, much stronger and faster than the average Federation member, on a par with Vulcan or Klingon. Seven quickly found herself on the defensive from a series of blows that struck her stomach and chest, trying futilely to intercept most of them with her forearms. She had a brief regret that she no longer possessed the abdominal implant that would have protected her from the worst of the assault. As it were, the stiff, forceful punches drove the air out of her lungs and forced her to retreat.
She was brought up short by the wall, running into it with an impact that made her grunt. Desperately, she managed to catch the next swing on the outside of her left arm, allowing the implant extension to absorb most of the blow. With her right hand, she stiffened her fingers and drove them into his belly, with little effect. It was like jamming her fingers into stone, and she was slammed by another blow that jolted her to her bone marrow. Shaking her head to clear her vision of the blood streaming from a cut over her right eye beginning to swell shut, she felt the first tendrils of uncertainty feather through her. It was possible that she was outmatched physically, and she found it impossible to send the command from her cranial implant to alter her hand mesh into a much-needed weapon, or even dig her type-two phaser out of her vest pocket. He wasn't allowing her a second to recover, not granting her an instant to focus her concentration on anything, but defending herself with her hands.
He knocked aside her feeble attempts at striking back, and wrapped her up in a grip that lifted her from the floor, his massive arms tightening around her. Seven was unable to breathe, and for a disbelieving moment, she felt the reinforced bone of her ribs creak and begin to compress, squeezing her internal organs. A red shade began to cover her vision, edged with darkness as consciousness started to slip inexorably away.
Suddenly, there was a respite, a loosening of the man's grip, and Seven gained a brief second to regain her senses. She managed to raise her hands and slam them brutally together on his ears, causing him to release her and fall to the floor where she gasped for breath, looking up at the combatants looming over her. She was horrified when she realized from which direction the interruption of her battle had originated, shocked to see that Janeway had finally freed herself from her bonds, and had promptly jumped onto the back of Seven's assailant, pounding on his head and shoulders with her small fists, her face altered into that feral expression of hatred and fear that Seven had witnessed only once before. Janeway's attack, as sincere and furious as it was, was much like a tiny dog attacking an elephant, and the man bent over to flip Janeway easily off his back, sending her skidding across the room, brought up short by crashing into the other wall, where she lay still and unmoving.
But Janeway's reckless leap on the man was all Seven had needed, and with fear for her enhancing her reaction, she altered her implant and raked the man's chest with all four cutting edges, dark blue blood spurting from the furrows she left. He appeared startled, looking down at his chest for a second, before his face twisted and he lunged at Seven once more. Seven had learned her lesson, and had no intention of coming within reach of those bear-like arms. She danced out of his way, slashing at him with her hand, opening more cuts and wounds that bled profusely.
He growled, a mindless, animal response of pain and hatred, lurching after her with only one intent in his eyes, that of destroying her. She backed away, looking for an opening that would allow her to finish him. He lunged once more, then stiffened as the energy beam from a weapon struck him, making him glow briefly with an aura of red, before he disappeared completely. Seven looked over and saw Janeway lying on the deck on her stomach, her head raised, a Cardassian disruptor dangling weakly in her hand as if she had used the very last of her strength to pull the trigger.
Seven inhaled deeply, her heart thumping painfully in her chest as she glanced around. Ro was on top of Cheb Packer's back, maintaining a strong grip on his wrist as she had his arm twisted behind him, keeping his face mashed against the floor, not allowing him any leverage with which to get up. Across the room, the Doctor was staring somewhat blankly at his hands as he stood over a motionless form at his feet, almost as if he were unable to fathom how it had all happened. Only Samantha still seemed to be in trouble, and Seven sprinted across the length of the room, driving her shoulder into the lawyer's assailant, her momentum slamming him into the wall. She heard something crack, and realized she wouldn't have to follow up in her attack as he looked at her with surprised eyes already shading over with the dimness of death, the light of life leaving his body with a breath that brought crimson bubbling over his lips and flowing down his chin as he slumped in her grasp.
Distastefully, she dropped him, then turned and looked over at Sam who was staring at her in astonishment. “Seven?” she said. “Where did you come from?”
“I am here to rescue the captain,” Seven said, as if it were obvious, moving over to help Janeway to her feet. Janeway swayed, apparently still weakened from her ordeal. “Kathryn?”
Janeway blinked, then looked at her spouse as if realizing for the first time who had been the one to intrude on the situation. “Annika?”
Seven felt her breath catch in her throat, and she carefully put her arms around her, wanting to sweep her up in an embrace that would never be released, but afraid to tighten her grip on a body that suddenly seemed so fragile. Janeway exhaled with almost a sob and hugged Seven tightly—fiercely—about the waist, trembling briefly in her arms.
“I am here, Kathryn,” Seven whispered, closing her eyes as the emotion threatened to overwhelm her. “You are safe now.”
Janeway inhaled sharply, then drew away, her hand resting on Seven's chest as she composed herself with a visible effort, grasping for the remains of her command persona. Her eyes were grey as she glanced up at Seven. “Your timing is impeccable, my darling,” she said softly. “As always.”
Seven dipped her head in acknowledgment, not trusting her voice to respond in any verbal fashion. Janeway glanced around, apparently taking stock of things.
“Lt. Ro?”
“I have him,” Ro responded through gritted teeth. Despite her comment, she was having difficulty maintaining her hold, which was completely unlike Ro. Seven decided that it was possible the security officer had been injured. “I could use a little help.”
Seven immediately went over to where Ro was pinning Cheb Packer to the floor, her implant altering once more into her cutting blades.
“Seven, no!”
Janeway's voice was a whip, and Seven hesitated, looking back at her spouse in amazement. Janeway's jaw firmed, and she lowered her head, her eyes flashing with authoritative presence.
“Secure him,” Janeway ordered sternly. “He will return with us to face Federation justice.”
Seven took a breath, unwilling to comply, but she knew that once the immediate battle was over, Janeway had a specific set of protocols when dealing with prisoners, none of which included immediate execution. She didn't understand it, but she was forced to respect it. She looked at Ro, seeing a bit of sympathy in Ro's dark eyes, but the officer did not say anything, also prepared to live with Janeway's directives as she released Packer into Seven's custody. Seven exhaled audibly, and found some straps lying on the floor, using them to bind Packer's hands behind his back, ignoring the man's cursing until irritation finally made her slap him sharply across the head with the mesh of her implant.
“You live at Kathryn's whim, not mine,” she hissed into his ear as she finished securing the last of his bonds. “Were it up to me, you would have been terminated at DS9. Do not try my patience.”
That served to silence him for the moment, and she yanked him upright, shoving him unceremoniously across the room to fall at Janeway's feet. He looked up at Janeway, and Janeway stared sternly down at him, her hands on her hips, looking as imperious as any queen who had just been presented with a petitioner.
“For your own sake, Mr. Packer,” she said, in her best Starfleet command voice, formal, and as cold as the deepest reaches of space, “Do not speak. Anything you say can and will be used in a Federation court in the case Starfleet will bring against you.” She paused, and her eyes grew darker. “There is also a very good chance that if you open your mouth at this moment, I may be forced to forget I am a Starfleet officer, and allow Seven deal with you as she has wanted from the moment she first met you.”
He cowered and Janeway looked away, dismissing him from her attention, leaving Ro to pick up Seven's phaser rifle to guard him. Seven followed Janeway's gaze to the Doctor, who appeared to be in a state of shock. Concerned, both women moved over to him.
“Doctor?”
The EMH's mouth moved, but nothing came out of it. Seven gripped him tightly by the arm and gave him a little shake. He blinked, the blankness dissipating somewhat, and his vision clearing as he looked at her.
“I think I killed him,” he whispered.
Seven glanced down at the man on the floor, assessing his condition dispassionately. He was certainly quite dead, and the angle of his neck indicated how the hologram had terminated him. She was impressed, though realized that for a hologram, this might be the sort of thing that could cause a fatal loop within his matrix programming. It was amazing he was still on his feet at this point.
“You did what you had to do, Doctor,” Janeway said in a forceful tone, reaching up to grab his chin, forcing him to look at her. “You acted to protect yourself and your patients.”
“I'm a Doctor,” he said, his face crumpling. “I do not take life.”
Janeway focused all her considerable command personality on the hologram. “I am not saying that this is not an extremely difficult situation for you,” she said compassionately, but firmly. “But we don't have time for this. We need to get out of here. Frankly, I'm surprised we don't have the entire security force down on us by now.”
He shuddered, closing his eyes, then managed to get a grip on himself somewhat.
“This room is sound-proofed,” he explained weakly. “Part of the reason why you were kept here.”
“Ah,” Janeway said flatly. “So, no one could hear my screams.”
Seven took a step toward her, abruptly realizing what her must have gone through, and Janeway glanced at her, an expression of ruefulness in her eyes, as if regretting what she had said.
“I'm all right, Seven,” she said, patting her reassuringly on the chest. “We have a few moments leeway before we make our escape. Do you have a route secured?”
Seven nodded. “Voyager is in orbit, and once we've reached the surface using the access tunnels, we can request an immediate transport.”
“Voyager?” Janeway stared at her. “Voyager is here? Why wasn't it detected by the Syndicate?”
“It is cloaked,” Seven said, with a hint of pride. “We installed the device at Utopia Planitia.”
“What? Where the hell did you get a cloaking device?”
Seven opened her mouth to respond, when Packer abruptly lunged to his feet, driving his shoulder into Ro's midsection and knocking her down before making a dash for the door, shouldering easily past Sam when the diminutive lawyer tried to stop him. Ro was unable to bring the muzzle of the phaser rifle around to target him in time as the door slid automatically shut after his exit, just as it had opened at his approach, enabling his escape. Slamming the rifle onto the floor in frustration, Ro cursed in a half sob, her other arm pressed tight to her ribs.
“Damn it, we should go after him,” Janeway said, starting in the direction of the doorway.
“No, Kathryn,” Seven said, reaching out for her, impeding her progress with more success than Ro and Sam had managed with the merchant. “We must vacate the premises immediately.”
“We can't afford to let him escape to warn the others,” Janeway insisted, trying to pull away from her spouse.
“We must leave,” Seven insisted. “Now, before the plasma explosives detonate.”
The starship captain stopped dead, turning around to grab Seven by the arms. “What plasma explosives?”
“The explosives the rest of my rescue team placed in the power plant, which will destroy the colony's geothermal core, and by extension, the planetoid itself.”
Janeway grasped Seven's biceps tighter. “My god, Seven,” she said, her voice more horrified than Seven had ever heard before. “There are children in this facility.”
Seven blinked, and the Doctor could see that hit her with the power of a phaser blast. “Children?” she echoed uncertainly. “But—this is where the leaders and operatives of the Orion Syndicate are headquartered.”
The Doctor felt a fluctuation in his matrix, a sense of dismay and horror which added to his current disorientation. “It's also where they keep their families, Seven. That's why it's so hidden and protected. That's why they recruited me as their doctor, to look after the medical needs of a colony.”
“Regardless of what the Orion Syndicate has done, regardless of what their parents have done, those children are innocent,” Janeway said, furious. “We cannot sacrifice innocents for the sake of punishing the guilty. It's better they get away than do that. What kind of Starfleet officers are involved in such an operation?” She looked around, picking up the Cardassian disruptor which she jammed into her holster. “We have to disarm those explosives.”
“We cannot,” Seven said weakly. “The gravimetric detonators are protected against any interference. They will initiate the detonation sooner if any attempt at disarming them occurs.”
Janeway turned white, while the Doctor suspected he didn't look much better. “We'll have to evacuate the colony somehow,” he said. “How much time do we have?”
“The detonators were set at 60 minutes when I informed Kagan I had determined your location.” Seven tilted her head, apparently checking her internal clock, a look of astonishment crossing her face that so much had happened in so little time. “That was 13.5 minutes ago.”
“That leaves us 45 minutes,” Janeway said grimly. “Doctor, get to the administration area, convince Duvont to send out a general evacuation and distress call to any vessels in the area. Ro, you and Sam go with him, then make your way to the DragonFlight. Seven and I will try to make it to the power plant. Maybe there's a chance we can figure out a way to delay the detonation, if we can't forestall it completely.” She shot them all a look. “Move!”
There was no one outside the door, and the Doctor realized that wherever Packer had run off to, he hadn't managed to raise any kind of immediate alarm.
“Hurry,” he told the women. “We can take the lift to main administration. With any luck, Duvont will be in his office.”
Ro nodded, moving stiffly as she leaned on Sam. It was obvious to the Doctor that she had broken or cracked ribs, while contusions discolored her features. Samantha didn't look much better, considerably disheveled in her scrap with the Syndicate members. Of them all, only the Doctor was uninjured, but then, he was a hologram, and his matrix rarely altered. He didn't even sweat.
But apparently, he could kill.
For a moment, the Doctor felt the same sort of disorientation and dissolution that he had when he had heard the crack of bone in his opponent's neck, and saw the astonished expression cross the man's face as he died under the EMH's hands. He hadn't meant to squeeze so hard. He had only been trying to keep the man from going after Samantha. Faltering, the Doctor had to reach out and put his hand against the wall to support himself.
“Doctor?” Ro asked, looking at him closely.
“I'm all right,” he said, somewhat more harshly than he intended, and he stared at the doors as they slid shut and the lift ascended to level four. He knew that this wasn't the time to deal with what he had done, personally or professionally, and with Janeway's words providing a margin of comfort to his shattered psyche, he concentrated on doing what had to be done. After this was all over, then he could fall to pieces if that was what was required.
The lift opened to the section where the traffic control and the colony's main administration offices could be found. Above his head, three levels contained the spaceport, with their massive hangars and ship berths. How many could be evacuated using the vessels that were currently in port? One hundred? Two? There were almost two thousand people in this colony, and the odds of being able to evacuate them in less than thirty-five minutes were astronomical indeed.
As they entered the control center, the Doctor spotted the colony's mayor immediately, talking intently with a couple of technicians. Their attention was taken by something on one of the various viewscreens, and everyone appeared very concerned.
“Mayor,” the Doctor said. “I need to speak with you.”
Duvont glanced back, raising an eyebrow when he saw how the Doctor was dressed. “Sorry, Doc,” he said, obviously distracted enough by the data on the viewscreen that not even the sight of his doctor in a torn and tattered constable's uniform could grab his attention “I don't really have time to talk. I have three Starfleet cruisers on a direct approach vector for the colony.”
The Doctor raised his eyebrow in surprise. “That's not all you have.” His tone was apparently edged enough that Duvont immediately focused his gaze on him, an odd expression creasing his scaled features. “Seven of Nine's rescue team has mined the power plant with explosives. You have thirty-five minutes to evacuate the colony.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Duvont said, staring at him. He glanced at the two women who were standing near the tactical console. Ro was studying the readout with interest over the shoulder of the technician manning the board, though she continued to lean heavily on Sam.
The Doctor reached out to grasp Duvont by the shoulders, knowing he had little time to convince the mayor.
“Listen to me,” he said, putting all the forcefulness of his personality matrix behind his words. “You wanted to lure Seven of Nine into a trap using Captain Janeway as bait? Well, it worked, only she's using her own timetable rather than yours. She just broke into the medical center to rescue her spouse, while the rest of her team installed explosives in the power plant and activated the detonation sequence twenty-five minutes ago, set for a sixty-minute countdown. Now, I can spend what precious time we have remaining explaining how I know all this, or you can run around trying to verify this, or you can even waste those minutes fighting those Starfleet vessels out there, one of which, I might add, you don't even know about, because it's cloaked and came into orbit hours ago. Or you can issue an immediate evacuation order, and try to get as many people out of here as possible. Either way, this colony is going to be destroyed in thirty-three minutes.”
Duvont stared at him, and the Doctor hoped that the man he had come to know over the past weeks was more the mayor dedicated to the well-being of his people, than an Orion Syndicate member. Then the mayor looked over at his staff who were all staring at him with varying degrees of shock and horror.
“Duvont, I think he's telling the truth,” one of them said shakily. “I just got a call from a maintenance worker. He said he was attacked more than two hours ago by a tall blonde woman who killed his partner and demanded to know where a Starfleet captain was being held. He's just now managed to get free.”
“Starfleet captain?” someone else said, horrified. “Who would be stupid enough to bring anyone from Starfleet here?”
The Doctor noticed that Duvont winced perceptibly at that, and shook his head. “I knew this was a bad idea from the start,” he muttered to himself.
“I can't get through to anyone in the power plant,” another of the technicians reported. “I know it's after hours, and the fleet's in, but there should still be a night crew assigned to cover the monitoring system.”
Duvont stared at her unhappily, hesitated for another few seconds, then dipped his head. “It's a raid, people. Issue the evacuation order. Traffic control, initiate pre-launch for every vessel in dock through their slaver device, whether they're ready to go or not, set at twenty-five minutes from now. Send a message to Vicarny on the Blue Nebula, tell him the whole thing's gone up in smoke, and that he shouldn't come back this way in the future. There's no point in trying to make arrangements for an exchange with our Federation contacts now. Apparently our initial target has taken it completely out of our hands.” He swallowed hard, his eyes haunted. “We'll never be able to get everyone out in time.”
“Contact the Starfleet ships out there,” Ro said urgently. “Every vessel is fully equipped for emergency evacuation procedures. They can use their cargo transporters to beam up large groups of people. No matter what you think about Starfleet, you must know they won't harm non-combatants, least of all children.”
He hesitated, then nodded, and indicated that the person at the communications console should do as Ro suggested.
“Mayor, I can't initiate launch for one of the alien vessels,” another woman said. “The DragonFlight.”
Ro lifted her head. “That's our ship. The navigational computer can't be overridden. I'll go up and launch manually.”
“How do we know you won't just take off?” Duvont asked harshly.
Ro straightened as much as she was able with her injuries. “Because I'm Starfleet too,” she said flatly. “And we don't operate that way.”
His eyes grew dark. “God, is anyone here not from Starfleet?”
“Next time, don't kidnap a Starfleet captain,” Ro told him without sympathy. “We take care of our own.”
He blinked. “How did you find her?”
She flicked an eyebrow. “Skill,” she said, not indicating that it had been purely accidental. She looked at the Doctor. “Come on, let's get to the spaceport. The DragonFlight can hold approximately 60 people, but only if we get them secured in time.”
“Take the express lift to the hangar,” Duvont instructed, gesturing to the doors across the room. “Otherwise, you'll never be able to get through now that the evacuation order's been issued. Launch is at T-minus twenty-three minutes.”
“Come on, Doctor,” Ro said, jerking her head at the EMH. “You're with us.”
The Doctor hesitated, looking at the mayor, and Duvont gave him a little shove. “Go on,” the alien said roughly. “You can't help us here, but you might be able to help the rest. There's going to be a lot of injuries with those who do manage to get out. These ships will be launching hot and hard, without enough blast webbing for everyone.”
The Doctor nodded, and followed the women who were already limping for the lift. There was no doubt in his mind that the mayor would remain until as many colonists had been evacuated as possible, probably dying in the explosion that would destroy what to him, was the embodiment of all his hopes and dreams, a world where he and his kind could live in peace, away from Federation bureaucracy and regulations. Sparing a moment of mourning for all the chess games and conversations they had shared in the past weeks, for the kindness Duvont had shown the Doctor who had been lost and alone in this strange place, the hologram looked back just once. Duvont was not paying any attention to the departing medical officer, concentrating on organizing the evacuation, then the lift doors slid shut, cutting off the Doctor's view.
“So many are going to die,” the EMH said softly.
“Maybe not,” Ro said, putting a hand on his shoulder, attempting to reassure him. “This is a Syndicate facility, after all, and I'm sure most people here are used to making quick getaways. Besides, if there are three Starfleet vessels coming into orbit, then they'll be able to transport hundreds with their heavy transporters.”
“But there's so little time,” he insisted.
“Then, we can't afford to waste any,” she told him firmly as the lift doors opened and they stepped out onto a catwalk that ran along the walls which made up the main hangar. On the floor, throngs of people seethed, directed by black-clad constables who were loading them onto vessels as quickly as possible. Fortunately, there was no access from the floor to the catwalk where the trio were, and that made it easy for them to hurry to the dock where their ship was berthed. A constable stood working at the door panel, frustration etching his face, as behind the barrier manned by more constables, frightened colonists awaited their turn at boarding the vessel.
“We can hold 60,” Ro told the man who looked at her suspiciously, then moved aside as she accessed the hatch. “More if it's mostly children.”
He nodded, then waved at the constables manning the gate.
Ro plunged inside, helped by the Doctor and Samantha to the helm. The EMH glanced around the ship in confusion, wondering where Ro had acquired the vessel.
“Doctor,” Ro snapped, initiating the launch sequence, her helm coming alive under her fingers, lights making the touch pad glow. “You and Sam pack as many people in here as you can, get them sitting down or braced somehow. We’re blasting out of here hot and fast.”
“I understand,” the Doctor said, glancing at Sam. “Just before Lt. Ro has to seal the doors, I'll deactivate my form, and you take my mobile emitter. That will make room for a few more.”
“Understood.” Her young features pinched and white, though she did as she was told, and did not hesitate as the first of the refugees began to enter the ship. The Doctor turned his attention to guiding the smaller women and children in finding places wherever they could, even putting them on the floor of the head. Every five minutes, Ro made a shipwide announcement of the time remaining until launch. With one minute remaining, the Doctor picked his way through the people sitting all over the deck to discover Samantha holding two young girls on her lap, all three strapped into one of the chairs. The lawyer looked up at him, managing a weak smile.
“Two more have been jammed in here.” He looked into her eyes, and patted her shoulder. “We'll be all right.”
“Sure,” she said, though her voice wasn't entirely convinced.
He reached over and touched his emitter, fingering the controls that deactivated him, and slipped into nothingness, not knowing if he would ever be activated again.
Seven made a move to pick up the pistol that the Doctor had left behind, not wanting to leave any weapon for their opponents, believing it to be a tactical error.
“Leave it,” Janeway instructed shortly, already moving toward the door. “Let's go.”
Seven hastily scooped up her phaser rifle and followed her out into the corridor. They hadn't gone very far before they heard a general announcement over the speakers instructing everyone to move to the escape pods and the upper level spaceport, indicating that the Doctor, Ro and Sam had been successful in warning the colony's governing body about the impending explosion. Launch would take place at T-minus twenty-five minutes, five minutes before the scheduled detonation. The corridors began to fill with frightened people, primarily women with young children, moving with purpose to the main traffic shaft as dark-clad constables maintained an orderly evacuation. Pain beat at her temples as Seven saw the havoc she had been partially responsible for, and she wondered how Section 31 could not have known this was a fully functional colony with families. Then, with a sick realization, she decided that they probably had, and felt mortification and guilt cascade over her. Seven was naive, but she was not stupid, and she was beginning to realize how much she had been manipulated, both by Hayes and the Section 31 team.
Facing a tide of upset and agitated Humanoids surging toward her, Janeway took refuge in a doorway.
“We'll never make it this way,” she said, her jaw set in frustration.
“I traveled through the maintenance tubes and access tunnels.” Seven paused. “They are not guarded, and provide complete access to the facility from top to bottom.”
“Show me where,” Janeway snapped.
Seven took a breath and led her to the nearest emergency door, pulling it back and allowing Janeway to proceed her before following her in. They utilized the tube to head for the external channels surrounding the facility, coming out finally to the stone tunnel. There were a few members of the Orion Syndicate moving through these corridors, maintenance workers smart enough to realize they could reach the upper levels quicker this way, but none of the criminal cartel bothered to stop the two women as they passed, too intent on getting their families to safety.
“How the hell was all this managed, anyway?” Janeway asked as they descended the ladders to the lower levels, bracing hands and feet outside to slide down as quickly as possible.
“Admiral Hayes arranged for the Section 31 team and myself to use Voyager for this mission,” Seven explained woodenly.
“Section 31?” Janeway echoed, frowning as she thought about that. “Nechayev's told me about some covert operations group in Starfleet Intelligence—” She shot a look up at Seven. “God, Annika, don't tell me they actually exist, and that you're mixed up with them.”
Seven's jaw tightened. “They offered to help me rescue you when Starfleet wouldn't,” she told her defensively. Then, she remembered that she had not actually asked anyone in Starfleet to assist her, other than those members in Section 31.
“If rescuing me meant destroying this colony, then I'm not surprised Starfleet wouldn't help you,” Janeway responded hotly. “Damn it, Annika, you know I would never have wanted to be saved at the expense of all these lives.”
“The survival of any members of the Orion Syndicate was irrelevant to me.”
They dropped to the lowest level of the tunnels, and Janeway paused a second to glare at Seven, her features angry and unforgiving. “Life is never irrelevant, Seven, regardless of whom it belongs to,” she said in a harsh tone. “We've discussed this before, more times than I can count. Why would you even consider this a viable plan of action? Have you learned nothing about what being a member of Starfleet is all about? What I'm all about?”
Seven faltered, hurt filling her chest. “I did what I thought was best.”
“Your best wasn't good enough, Lieutenant,” Janeway said furiously, turning and striding away.
Seven hesitated, shame filling her, understanding that she had disappointed her in a most profound way. Dipping her head, tears stinging her eyes, she moved after Janeway quickly, still needing to protect her, even now.
The colony's power plant was located on the other side of the facility from where Janeway and Seven entered the level from the access tunnel. The area also contained the main sewage treatment plant and the rest of the life support systems. Corpses littered the floor in various areas, and while Seven had known that Section 31 would not allow anyone to stop them in their task, she hadn't really considered what that meant. Before her knowledge of exactly what this colony consisted of, Seven might have viewed these bodies as necessary casualties in the execution of the mission, might even have approved of Section 31's efficiency in dispatching them quickly and professionally. Now, she realized that she was not just encountering the remains of her adversaries, she was looking at the relatives of some of those children that she had seen, perhaps even their parents in some cases, and for the first time, she understood why Janeway insisted on feeling compassion for those she dealt with, even those who considered themselves her enemy.
As they passed each body, Seven was aware of Janeway's mouth growing a little tighter, the lines around her eyes, a little deeper. None of the colonists had been armed, and their wounds clearly were a result of Section 31's phasers set to kill. The only being on this level who might have been able to put up a fight was one constable who lay in frozen rigor mortis near a doorway, the woman's weapon not even drawn from her holster, an expression of complete surprise on her frozen features.
“This was a massacre,” Janeway muttered at one point.
Seven did not respond. For the first time in her life, Seven was understanding that the cost for successfully and efficiently carrying out a task was sometimes too high. Understanding why Janeway insisted on acting with mercy and compassion whenever possible, for no other reason than to prevent a scenario such as this from ever happening.
“In here,” Janeway said, stepping over a dead technician as she entered the room. She paused, looking around, her face going pale. “Oh, my God.”
Seven glanced around, seeing the greyish clay of plasma explosive plastered extensively throughout the large power generators, littered with tiny, hair-trigger transmitters, keyed to a large box located on a console in the middle of the room. It was obviously the main control panel for the power plant equipment, and the rectangular device resting on it was the main detonator, boasting a digital readout which displayed a series of numbers, counting down with horrific rapidity.
00:14:52—00:14:51—00:14:50—00:14:49—00:14:48...
Janeway took a slow, deep breath, regarding the readout as if she would view a poisonous reptile, coiled to strike. When the numbers reached 00:00:00, the device would send out a signal to each of the tiny transmitters scattered throughout the level. The resulting explosion would travel along the geothermal tap to the molten core of the planetoid, causing it to destabilize, resulting in a complete and catastrophic eruption, shattering the surface crust and destroying everything on or in it, including whatever remained of the Orion Syndicate facility.
“We must leave,” Seven said firmly, assessing the layout at once. “We cannot disarm these explosives without prematurely setting them off. We barely have enough time to return to the surface through the tunnels.”
Janeway ignored Seven, warily moving closer to the device, examining it a closely as she dared without touching it.
“Perhaps there's a way to isolate the main trigger,” she said, a touch of sheer desperation in her tone. “Prevent the signal from going out.”
Seven hesitated, then removed a tricorder from a pocket in her vest. Carefully, she scanned the detonator, making sure she had her scan shielded, so that it would not activate any failsafe circuit within the device.
“There is not,” she said finally. “Any energy field would be construed as tampering by the device's detection grid. We must leave, Kathryn.”
“Think of something,” Janeway demanded.
Seven shot her a hard stare. She may be ashamed of how she had gone about this rescue, but there was one priority that had not changed. Janeway’s safety was still paramount to her.
“Kathryn, I did not come all this way just to watch you die in a futile attempt to stop what is unstoppable,” she scolded. “We must contact Voyager.”
Janeway's face was like stone, furious and frightened all at the same time, though perhaps only Seven could detect the trace of fear edging the stormy grey eyes.
“That solution isn't good enough,” Janeway said flatly. “We've been in impossible situations before, Lieutenant, and still succeeded. This is no different. There must be some way to put a shield of some kind around that detonator to prevent the signal from reaching the explosives.”
Seven stared at her, then took a deep breath, beginning another scan with her tricorder, furious at her for being so illogical, yet aware that this was very much who Janeway was—very much the woman that she had fallen in love with, and loved now beyond life itself—even when she was angry and baffled by her decisions.
“Perhaps,” she allowed finally, very reluctantly, “I can set up a modulating frequency aimed at the digital counter itself, instructing it to recycle constantly at the same second. However, there is no way of knowing how long the tricorder will be able to maintain it.”
“Do it,” Janeway ordered.
Seven exhaled audibly and set to work. She had to be extremely careful not to interfere with the connection between the timer and the detonation sequence itself, which would result in the immediate acceleration to zero. She needed to somehow insert a command to the timer's base programming, causing the timer to increase by one, decrease by one, then repeat the same instruction indefinitely. The problem was finding a way to insert the code without the security features recognizing that the counter was being tampered with. The other problem was that a countdown was the absolute simplest instruction that could be imprinted on any device, making it practically tamper proof.
“Ten minutes,” Janeway said, rather unnecessarily since Seven could see the readout as easily as Janeway. Seven suspected it was merely Kathryn's way of contributing to a situation she could do nothing about. Standing by, waiting for someone else to carry out a task, was an extremely difficult experience for Janeway at the best of times. Here, when everything was about to be destroyed, it was probably intolerable for her.
“Kathryn, I will stay and do this,” Seven offered quietly. “You must leave. I will contact Voyager and instruct the Section 31 team to beam you out.”
Startled, Janeway looked at her, and then her eyes softened. The disappointment and outrage she had been displaying eased somewhat.
“I'm not going anywhere without you. I know you can do this, Annika. I believe in you.”
Seven swallowed, feeling tears sting her eyes, which she blinked away immediately, not having the time to wallow in emotionality.
“It is entirely possible I will fail,” Seven said huskily as she continued to work. “In that event, I will not consider it a complete failure if you have reached safety.”
Janeway shook her head. “We're both leaving here together, one way or another. Besides, I'm not any more anxious to land in Section 31's hands than I was to be in the hands of the Orion Syndicate.”
Seven paused long enough to glance at her spouse, and Janeway dipped her head, her eyes dark.
“One way or another,” Seven agreed softly. She took a deep breath and refocused her attention on her tricorder. Finally, she had the sense she was getting somewhere, and carefully, she made the final adjustments to the frequency.
“I believe I have it, Captain,” Seven said, easing the tricorder down onto the top of the console next to the detonator. She paused and regarded Janeway. “If I am incorrect, however, initiating the signal will result in immediate detonation.”
“Wait until we're down within the final five minutes,” Janeway instructed. “That way, at least the colony's ships will have launched.”
“I understand.” Seven watched the counter, mesmerized by the numbers which were flicking without pause, an indication of how much life they had left. Dimly, she felt Janeway's hand on her elbow, and she looked over at her. Janeway was regarding her evenly, and there was nothing else for Seven to do but to kiss her at that moment, leaning over to press her lips against hers. Janeway did not hesitate either, her mouth welcoming Seven's kiss, the soft lips parting beneath Seven's readily as Janeway slipped her arm around Seven's neck, hugging her tightly. For a precious moment after the kiss, they stood, heads bent, their eyes closed.
“Seven, about what I said earlier—” Janeway began softly, regretfully, but the rest was lost as, above them, the colony's vessels flung themselves into space, recklessly launching from their berths to claw through the thin, still forming atmosphere to the safety of vacuum with a deafening roar, carrying the most valuable cargo the Orion Syndicate had ever attempted to transport from the facility. Around Janeway and Seven, the walls vibrated and swayed from the simultaneous launch, a few ceiling panels shaking loose to crash to the floor a few feet away, barely missing the two women who refused to move or even flinch, though they did cling to each other a little more tightly.
They waited about thirty more seconds, wanting to be sure the vessels were clear of the atmosphere and would be able to take some cover in the asteroid belt, then Janeway lifted her head, looking at Seven.
“Initiate the signal,” she ordered quietly.
Seven pressed the tricorder's touch pad, sending the signal to the counter. For a brief instance, nothing happened, the counter continuing the countdown.
At least, it did not detonate, Seven thought dimly, hearing the blood rush in her ears. Then, she saw the readout on the counter, mirroring the one on the tiny viewscreen of the tricorder.
00:04:15, 00:04:14, 00:04:15, 00:04:14, 00:04:15, 00:04:14, 00:04:15......
Janeway's breath exploded from her. “You did it,” she said, her voice elated. “The rest of the colonists will have time to escape.”
Seven felt dizzy, her heart pounding in her chest. “We must go. I do not believe the Orion Syndicate would be pleased with us, regardless of our stopping the countdown. Additionally, the signal is very precisely aligned. I do not know how long it will hold.”
“I agree,” Janeway said, picking up Seven's phaser rifle and handing it to her.
The couple turned for the door, and Seven was aware of movement there, but before she could react, a disruptor bolt took her high in the chest, just below her collar bone, lifting her from her feet and slamming her to the floor. The phaser rifle went flying across the room, sliding under a large piece of equipment, and there was an instant of blankness for Seven before she could focus again, unsure how or why she was suddenly lying on her back, looking up at the ceiling. With an effort that took an enormous toll on her, she shifted her eyes to the doorway. Inside, she could feel her left lung collapse, and her cranial implant went into overload as it dispatched a flood of nanoprobes through her system in a desperate attempt to repair some of the damage before it resulted in a complete termination of her lifesigns.
“Did you really think I'd leave without saying good-bye, Kat?” Cheb Packer said to Janeway, aiming his weapon at Janeway. Seven realized it was the one they had left behind in the medical center, and decided that she would not allow her spouse to dictate tactics any more, regardless of her senior ranking. Neither Packer nor Janeway were looking at Seven's form collapsed on the floor, as if Seven were already dead and forgotten, leaving only the two of them to face each other in this confrontation.
In what Seven knew would be the final conflict between her and this individual.
Shock edged Janeway's vision, acutely aware of her crumpled on the floor somewhere behind her, but not daring to glance back to determine her injuries, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on this new threat. She would not allow herself to consider the fact that perhaps Packer had just killed Seven.
“Take your weapon out slowly and kick it over here,” he demanded.
She paused, then the tightening of his finger on the trigger made her gingerly remove the disruptor from her holster and lower it to the floor before she kicked it over to him. He didn't pick it up, apparently content simply to have it out of her possession.
“I should have let Seven kill you when she had the chance,” she rasped, damning herself with every breath for having allowed this man yet another chance at harming her and herself.
“You should have,” he agreed, grinning faintly. He glanced over at the tricorder. “Nice,” he complimented. “You managed to delay the detonation of all these explosions, I see. We might have a chance of getting out of here, after all.”
“How?” If only she could keep him talking, perhaps she would find an opening, and the opportunity to turn the tables. “Didn't you hear the vessels launch?”
“They'll send someone back when the explosion doesn't occur as planned. If not to check it out, then to rescue Duvont. Knowing that bleeding heart, he would have stayed behind while everyone else escaped.” He gestured with his weapon. “Let's go.”
Janeway wanted to laugh, but it would have been bitter indeed. “I'm not going with you,” she said, continually surprised at his tenuous grasp on reality.
“Move, or I'll kill you, bitch.”
She shrugged. “You'll kill me anyway,” she pointed out, suddenly feeling oddly detached, as if this were happening to someone else. Perhaps her system had finally reached its limit and was no longer bothering to send a jolt of adrenalin into her system, considering it a waste of time. “It might as well be here and now.”
He seemed somewhat stymied at this and frowned, glaring at her. “Then I'll carry you out of here,” he growled, lowering the weapon, going so far as to jam it into his belt.
Janeway was both astonished and elated. She couldn't believe that the man was going to come within arm's length, and it occurred to her that she was a considerable blind spot where he was concerned. He would do anything to possess her, rather than just kill her. It might provide the only advantage she would have. Cheb was a large man, still possessing much of the musculature he had enjoyed in his youth, and outweighing her by a considerable margin, holding the upper hand in both reach and strength. All Janeway had was years of Starfleet combat training, and a determination that she would not be defeated, not this time nor by this man. Seven's life might depend on it, assuming she had not been killed in the initial assault by Packer.
Waiting for her moment, Janeway backed away warily as Cheb approached. He had an unpleasant grin on his face, his arms spread, an expression of almost playfulness on his face, as if this were a sadistic game of some sort. She balanced lightly on the balls of her feet, patiently. As he stepped next to Seven, Seven weakly reached out and grabbed his ankle, briefly tripping him up. Energized by the knowledge that her beloved partner was still alive, Janeway dived—not for the disruptor on the floor some distance away, or even the rifle under the nearby equipment, which Packer seemed to anticipate as he kicked Seven away from him, recovering his balance—but for the metal bar Janeway had spotted earlier. It was a brace that had fallen out of the ceiling along with the tiles, long and solid, having a decent mass to it.
Rolling back to her feet in one motion, she scooped it up, and faced him, wielding the bar threateningly, like a quarterstaff. He paused, frowning, the frustrated expression on his face making it clear that he thought Janeway was not playing this game fairly at all. He reached for his disruptor, seeking the clear advantage, as always, but Janeway was ready for that, altering her defensive posture immediately to one of attack, bringing the bar down across his forearm. Crying out, he dropped the weapon, the disruptor clattering to the floor, and she kicked it out of reach as she continued her motion, whirling to smash the bar across his ribs, hearing one crack audibly.
“That's for Ro,” she said, dancing back out of his reach as he grabbed for her.
He hugged himself, his breath coming in pants as he glared at her. If possible, he was even more dangerous now. She had hurt him, the pain maddening him, but he did not rush her, watching her warily, aware that she was not the helpless prey he had anticipated.
“Come on,” she taunted. “What are you waiting for?”
He stared at her, his eyes reddened and furious, then before her horrified eyes, he reached back and swept the tricorder off the console, disrupting the delicate link to the counter. There was no immediate explosion, but that was the only positive about the heedless and insane move. The countdown on the detonator resumed, as if never having been interrupted.
00:04:15, 00:04:14, 00:04:13, 00:04:12...
“Got ourselves a time limit again, Kat,” he said, breathing heavily. “You're right, who cares if we live or die—as long as we know we're taking the other along.”
He abruptly lunged for her, and she tried to intercept his assault with the bar, slamming it crossways against his chest, but his momentum bowled them both over. She used her legs to continue it, levering him over her head, the heave to get him up and over requiring all her strength. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, moving to the side of the room away from Seven, where she would have more room to maneuver.
No longer interested in drawing this out until he tired, she went on the attack, feinting with the bar to his head as he approached her. As he straightened to counter that, she went for his legs, getting in one good slam at his right knee, causing it to buckle under him and scampering back before he had the chance to lunge and pin her.
He cursed, falling back against the console, jostling the detonator. Janeway felt her breath catch, but the timer serenely continued its countdown, disregarding the struggle going on around it. Leaning heavily against the work station, Packer reached down. At first, Janeway thought he was reaching for his injured knee, but instead, he lifted his pant leg, revealing a sheath from which he drew a dagger—undoubtedly the one he had used to cut her in the medical center.
“You're just a walking arsenal, aren't you,” she noted distastefully. She shifted lightly on her feet, though she was keenly aware that her energy reserves were very low. Days in bed under the influence of a debilitating drug, had left her lacking in endurance, and fatigue weighed heavily on her muscles. Anyone who thought a physical confrontation was not draining had never actually been in one, particularly when the initial surge of adrenaline wore off, and doubt at the outcome of this struggle began to set in.
“I'm going to start on your face,” he snarled, his eyes no longer entirely sane as he held the knife before him. “By the time I'm done, you'll be in so many pieces, no one will be able to put you together again.”
“That's your problem, Cheb,” she said with deliberate cruelty. “You're always saying what you're going to do, rather than what you actually manage to accomplish—just like when we were young. You were going to enter the Academy, but you couldn't even pass the initial entry exams. You were going to be a great starship captain, but all you are is a peddler of the ships that others command. The only thing you really are is a waste of time and space, Cheb, just as your father always claimed. Who knew the old man would finally be correct about something. Of course, you went out of your way to prove him right. “
The words were designed to infuriate him beyond reason, drawing on everything she knew of the man from their history together so long ago to try to incite him into a foolish move. He stared at her, the silvery flash of blade weaving in his hand like the fang of a serpent, thirsting for her blood. But when he lunged, it wasn't for her, but for Seven lying on the floor on the other side of the console.
“No!” Janeway shouted, leaping forward to intercept him.
That was exactly what he had been waiting for, the move toward Seven nothing more than a feint as he turned to meet her rush. Snatching at the bar, he yanked it out of her grasp with one hand, as with the other, he whipped the blade at her, scoring a line across her thigh, leaving a shallow slice that burned as she stumbled back, feeling the wetness of blood start to soak her trousers.
He grinned, that same, sick grin that Janeway was becoming thoroughly tired of, and she backed up as he tossed the bar aside and moved toward her with deliberate patience, as if he had all the time in the world, ignoring the fact that the timer behind him had just clicked down to 00:02:00. She limped backward, maintaining eye contact, aware it would be her only clue as to when he would attack. She paused when her heel came up short, sensing rather than knowing there was a wall behind her. She dared a quick glance to the side, trying to determine her location. That was his cue.
She barely had time to get her hands up, grabbing his wrists as he brought the dagger down in a final strike, pausing it temporarily in the thrust designed to finish her life. His greater mass pushed her back, and she slammed into the wall, desperately holding the point of the knife away from her, though her arms strained at the burden.
He hesitated, a deliberate pause, knowing that finally he was in the dominant position and wanting to enjoy every second of it, secure in his victory as he peered at her, his free arm across her chest, leaning against her and pressing her back against the wall. He maintained the grip on his knife, his smile widening as he felt her arms begin to tremble, the blade descending with inexorable pressure, Janeway's strength draining away.
Looking into the maddened pits of his eyes, the obsidian windows to Packer's soul that held nothing but more darkness, Janeway knew that there was nothing left in her—nothing but one final move of complete desperation. She released her pressure on his wrist, reversing it to a pull, dragging it down and trying to guide it to an alternative target as she used the last of her strength to twist away. For just an instant, he was caught off guard by the move, unable to alter the direction where the blade was heading as he inadvertently put his weight behind Janeway's yank on his arm. Janeway felt the shock all the way to her bone marrow as the knife punctured flesh, her mouth opening in a shock of horror and dismay. For a timeless moment, they stared into each other's eyes, both astonished. Then Cheb Packer gasped once, and coughed, a trickle of red appearing at the corner of his mouth.
Weakly, Janeway shoved him away, and he staggered back, running into the console one more time. He tried to raise his hands to the dagger sticking out of his chest, the blade penetrating to the hilt between two of the upper ribs on his left side. She didn't hesitate, taking two steps forward, reaching out to grasp the handle of the dagger with both hands. Twisting and turning it with all her strength, she worked it back and forth in the wound to make sure it punctured both the lungs and the pericardium, not leaving anything to chance this time before she yanked it out, stepping back to avoid the stream of blood that splashed from the man.
Impassively, she watched Packer fall to the deck, her enemy managing to deliver a final glare of bitter hatred before he died in a shuddering spasm, red fountaining through his fingers as he clutched at the hole in his chest. She dropped her weapon to the floor and moved quickly to Seven's side. Seven was trying to reset the tricorder, blood smearing the controls into obscurity as above her head, the digital readout on the detonator reached 00:01:00 and started the final minute countdown.
“Annika,” Janeway said raggedly, drawing Seven onto her lap. Red stained Seven's chest and shoulder, flowing freely from the entry wound in her breast. Janeway quickly ripped the sleeves from her shirt, pressing the wadded ball of cloth against Seven in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding. Of course, even if she could stop it, there was no way out for either of them at this point, only seconds away from a cataclysmic blast. Seven's comm badge had disappeared, possibly destroyed, when she had been hit by the energy beam, and Janeway had none, preventing any request an emergency beam out—not that she suspected Section 31 had maintained their orbit to save her and her in any event. As for the DragonFlight, it had undoubtedly launched when the others had, and was desperately navigating through the asteroid belt to escape the inevitable concussion wave from the impending explosion.
“Kathryn.” It was a bare whisper, a weak acknowledgment of Janeway’s presence. The tricorder fell weakly from Seven's hands as Seven was unable to recreate her delicate and time-consuming computations, and her pale eyes fluttered as she gazed up at Janeway, the ice blue orbs distant, almost as if they were already seeing far beyond this existence to the next. Janeway felt a sob catch in her throat.
“I'm right here, darling,” she said frantically. “Hold on, now.” Directly above them, Janeway could still see the digital readout of the explosive, flickering with unnerving rapidity.
00:00:33, 00:00:32, 00:00:31, 00:00:30, 00:00:29...
“Kathryn,” Seven said, her words becoming more distinctive, as if needing to say this more than she needed to conserve her strength. “I am sorry I disappointed you.”
Janeway shook her head. “You've never disappointed me,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “Never. About what I said before—about your best not being good enough—I didn't mean to be so harsh. I was angry and scared and half out of my mind from the drugs—I'm so sorry, Annika...”
00:00:14, 00:00:13, 00:00:12, 00:00:11...
Seven gazed at her intently, apparently trying to permanently imprint her features into her mind.
“I love you, my Kathryn,” she said, her voice weakening perceptibly.
“Oh, my darling,” Janeway replied huskily, conscious of the time ticking away, knowing there was no escape, no way to change what was about to happen. “You're my heart, and always will be. I'll love you forever.”
00:00:07, 00:00:06, 00:00:05...
Seven smiled faintly, as if this were the only thing she needed to hear before letting go.
“Good-bye, Kathryn,” she whispered.
“Oh, love, don't...” Janeway groaned, the despair echoing through her heart and soul as Seven closed her eyes, her head falling back onto Janeway's shoulder, her lanky body becoming deadweight in her spouse's arms.
00:00:03, 00:00:02...
Janeway dipped her head, pressing her lips against Seven's, tasting her sweetness for the final time, wanting her breath to be the last one they both took as the universe dissolved around them in a bright flash of light.
“Do you have them?”
B'Elanna tried to ignore the admiral, intent on her task, having shoved the regular operator out of the way.
“The pattern is erratic,” she reported.
“Sensors detect an explosion within the planetoid!” came Captain Picard's terse tones over the comm. “Transporter room one, what's your status!?”
“Stand by,” B’Elanna shouted desperately, annoyed beyond measure at these senior officers who insisted on interrupting her. “I'm having trouble stabilizing the annular confinement beam. I'm going for a skeletal lock.”
With exquisite care, she reset the pattern buffer, and once again initialized the materialization sequence. Sparkles appeared fretfully on the dais, faded, then strengthened until finally, two figures formed, both women covered with blood, lips pressed together in a kiss of farewell that they undoubtedly had believed would be their last.
“The planetoid is beginning to destabilize,” Picard noted sharply. “Concussion wave will impact in five seconds.”
“We have them, bridge,” Nechayev responded in the next breath.
“Raise shields. Get us out of here, Mr. Paris,” came Janeway's words over the comm before Picard cut the channel.
Shudders rippled through the ship as the unmistakable sensation of a sudden jump to full impulse hummed through B'Elanna and perceptibly vibrated the bulkheads. She was astounded that Picard had stood by with his shields down and his ship vulnerable for as long as he had while she scanned the facility, finally finding the bio-signs of her friends, and beaming them out just as the plasma explosion went off. B’Elanna didn't know if it was all too late, if the planet's last death spasm would reach out and catch the Enterprise in the final paroxysm of destruction, but it was out of her hands at this point. The deck was unsteady beneath her feet as she staggered around the transporter console, her whole attention focused on her friends on the dais.
“We need a medic,” she cried, kneeling by the couple's side. “Seven?”
She put her hands over Janeway's, helping her hold back the red flowing from Seven's chest. Janeway looked up at her, her stormy grey eyes haunted and beginning to fade to blankness, the classic lines of her features drawn and pinched. B'Elanna was shocked, wondering what Janeway had been through since she had last seen her, then deciding that she probably didn't want to know if her appearance was any indication. Besides, if Seven's condition was as bad as B'Elanna feared, that would be far worse than anything Janeway might have experienced prior to this moment.
“A most timely transport, my friend,” Seven noted weakly, opening her eyes to gaze up at B’Elanna. The fact that she was conscious—that she was still alive—startled both Starfleet officers, and they looked down at Seven anxiously.
“You just stay with us, you—you Borg,” B'Elanna said fiercely, feeling tears sting her eyelids, spilling over to slide down her cheeks. “Don't you dare ruin all my hard work.”
Seven managed the faintest of smiles. “I will comply.”
“I have her,” the Doctor said, shouldering B'Elanna gently aside as he ran a glowing probe over Seven, the tricorder recording her vital signs. Astonished, B’Elanna gaped at him, wondering where he had materialized from, and how the hell he had grown a beard, though he ignored B’Elanna's unabashed scrutiny. Instead, he focused his whole being on Seven, frowning for a second before glancing reassuringly at Janeway. “It's serious, but nothing that can't be healed. Her nanoprobes are keeping her stable and preventing her from bleeding to death. Once the wound is repaired, I expect that she'll make a full recovery.” He looked over his shoulder at the technician who had returned to the console abandoned by B'Elanna. “Initiate a direct transport to your sickbay.”
For a brief instance, relief and joy shone with equal measure from Janeway's face, then the command mask slid back over it. It was almost as if, finally, Janeway had become aware of the rest of the situation, glancing over at the admiral who stood watching patiently, before looking back at Seven.
“Annika...” she began softly.
Seven dipped her head minutely. “I know,” she whispered. “You must go and be captain now.”
“I'll come be with you as soon as I can,” Janeway promised, a note of regret in her voice, putting her hand tenderly along Seven's cheek.
Seven closed her eyes, her wounds too much for even her Borg stubbornness at this point.
Janeway hesitated, then looked at the Doctor, easing her spouse into his arms before drawing away from both of them. He lifted Seven in his embrace, and the technician, recognizing his cue, transported both to sickbay. Janeway inhaled deeply and stood up, tugging at her ripped and stained shirt, tucking it into her trousers. Her classic features were bruised and battered, blood streaking her arms and clothing. Despite that, however, dignity and composure still radiated from every line of her posture as she came to attention.
“Admiral,” she said calmly.
“Captain,” Nechayev responded in an equally measured tone, her narrow features inscrutable as she regarded the ragged starship officer.
B'Elanna resisted the urge to roll her eyes, then cleared her throat. “If you'll excuse me, sirs?” she interjected politely.
Janeway glanced at her, a hint of something sparking in the bluish-grey eyes.
“Lieutenant?” she said, her husky voice containing only a shadow of its normal inflection.
“I'll go to sickbay,” B’Elanna explained. “Seven should have someone she knows there, besides the Doctor.”
Janeway dipped her head. “Dismissed,” she said, as if she were the one in complete command here in the transporter room of the USS Enterprise.
B'Elanna stifled a grin and headed for the door. At the last minute, a quiet “B'Elanna?” halted her and made her turn back, looking at Janeway. Janeway's eyes met hers squarely, a wealth of meaning radiating from their intent gaze in a way that she never could, or would, convey in mere words.
“Thank you,” she said, very softly. “For everything.”
B'Elanna nodded. “Anytime, Captain.”
Bemused, B’Elanna strode rapidly for the turbolift, instructing it to take her to the deck where sickbay was located. It took some time for her to get there once she left the turbolift because the corridor was thronged with officers dealing with what appeared to be civilians. B'Elanna found herself often being taken aside and given tasks by the harried Enterprise personnel, and only the thought of Seven being scared and alone kept her in the area. B’Elanna knew that freighters, escape pods, and shuttles had been launching recklessly from the Noiro spaceport as the Enterprise, the Hood and the Gorkon established orbit, and she subsequently discovered, from the conversations of the medical staff, that one vessel had demanded and received permission to board the Enterprise. It had been towed into its main hangar even as the Sovereign-class vessel still orbited the planetoid. Apparently, the Syndicate ships blasting hot and fast away from their doomed home had imposed incredibly powerful gravitational pressures on the passengers who had been crammed into every spare millimeter of space, and now, about sixty frightened and injured children, along with a few adults, filled sickbay.
The three Federation starships, which had abruptly found themselves switching from a possible combat mission to that of rescuing an entire colony, were now clearing the asteroid belt and going to warp. They had utilized their heavy transporters to beam up as many of the colonists left on the planetoid as possible, depositing them in their large cargo bays as fast as the crew could deal with them. Meanwhile, many of the Syndicate vessels were incapable of speeds faster than warp two, and once the Starfleet cruisers overtook their ragged formation, the battered ships promptly surrendered to their authority, no longer interested in flight. Security personnel were very much in evidence, keeping things under control, and B'Elanna expected that a call for more Starfleet vessels had gone out as soon as the task force had realized what it was dealing with.
B’Elanna finally found Seven of Nine in a relatively quiet corner of the massive medical center, the Doctor standing over her as he finished repairing the wound in her chest. In the next biobed was another familiar face, and B'Elanna froze, staring at the form of her lover in complete consternation. Ro Laren did not appear to be moving, her eyes closed. With her heart pounding in her ears, B’Elanna finally managed to get her legs to work as she walked shakily over to where Ro was lying.
“Laren?” Her voice was tentative, unsteady.
Ro's eyes flew open and she regarded B'Elanna with an arched brow. “What are you doing here?” she asked in pure astonishment.
B'Elanna felt her stomach churn, and she leaned heavily on the side of the bed. “I might ask you the same.” She reached out and touched Ro's face, careful to avoid the bruised area, deciding that her had not been treated yet. “Though when I saw the Doctor, I should have known you wouldn't be too far behind.”
Ro managed a brief smile. “You know me. Wherever the action is...”
B'Elanna looked her up and down, noting the ragged tunic and grimy trousers. “Are you all right?” she asked, concern coloring her tone.
“I'm fine,” Ro assured her. “Just some broken ribs. The Doctor's already fixed up the ribs and internal bleeding. I just have to stay here overnight for 'observation'.” She paused. “I'd probably look better in some clean clothes.”
“I'll see to it,” B'Elanna said promptly.
“Actually, Sam went to get me some.”
“Sam?”
Ro smiled. “The lawyer. You know, Lanna, she didn't turn out to be the problem I thought she would be. She really held her own in the fights.”
B'Elanna considered that, wondering if she should feel jealous at the note of approval in her lover's voice. Then she saw the lawyer approach, and B’Elanna knew she should feel a certain concern. There was an expression on Seven's face that altered somewhat when she saw B'Elanna. It was apparent that Samantha Cogley had developed some rather fond feelings for Ro.
“Lt. Torres,” Sam said quietly as she placed the Starfleet issue pajamas on the stand by Ro's bed.
“Miss Cogley,” B'Elanna replied politely.
The two women stared at each other, a wealth of meaning underlying the intent gaze they exchanged, a sort of awareness that one knew exactly what the other did, and the other knew she knew. It was a silent communication that allowed them both to acknowledge that Sam would never, ever approach Ro in any way as long as she was with B’Elanna, but that B'Elanna had better damned well grant her relationship the attention it deserved, because Sam would be ready and willing to pick up the pieces for Ro in the event B’Elanna didn't. Finally, Sam nodded briefly and withdrew, moving over to Seven's side where the Doctor immediately began using her as an assistant.
Completely oblivious to the emotional currents flowing around her, Ro reached out for the pajamas Sam had replicated, forestalled by B'Elanna who grasped her wrist gently. “Let's get you cleaned up first,” B’Elanna suggested. “I'll help you to the shower.”
Ro shot her a look of gratitude. “Thanks.”
B'Elanna deliberately did not look over at Sam as she helped Ro out of bed, tucking the pajamas under her arm as she guided Ro to the nearby rest room, a reasonably sized facility attached to sickbay for the convenience of the patients. This area was also crowded, but fortunately, there was one empty cubicle which B'Elanna immediately headed for.
“Hey, what's going on here,” one of the women, obviously one of the refugees, demanded as she spotted the couple. “How come our pilot's being manhandled by Starfleet?” Near the door, one of the Enterprise's security officers straightened her shoulders beneath her tunic, her hand raising to rest casually on her phaser.
“She's not being manhandled,” B'Elanna said through clenched teeth, favoring the woman with a Klingon stare that promised a great deal, not the least of which, was immediate and painful death. B’Elanna's fear and anger over her friends and lover finally boiled up, getting the better of her Starfleet professionalism, lowering her voice to a feral growl. “I'm helping her clean up, so get out of my way before I make you wish you had stayed behind on what's left of your stinkin' colony.”
The woman blinked, then raised her hands defensively, backing away.
“I was just asking,” she said sullenly.
B'Elanna shot a glare around the room, and helped her the rest of the way into the cubicle that contained a small sink, a waste disposal unit and a sonic shower. Every millimeter of space was at a premium, but it provided a meager amount of privacy once the door was sealed behind them.
“My hero,” Ro drawled as she looked at B’Elanna with sparkling eyes.
B'Elanna grinned and blushed. “Let's get these off you,” she said, unfastening the grimy tunic and easing it off Ro's shoulders, slipping it down her arms. Ro offered her a faint smile and tried to help, still stiff and labored in her motion. B'Elanna caught her breath at the dark patch spreading over Ro's midsection, and at the various nicks and cuts that were scattered over the rest of her lean form. Though the medical staff had healed any broken bones and the most serious injuries of the patients pouring into the sickbay, anything less was clearly left to be attended to at another time. Ro had to be suffering a considerable amount of pain just from all her deep muscle bruises.
“Damn,” B’Elanna breathed.
“You should see the other guy,” Ro muttered.
“Yeah?” B'Elanna said, removing the other woman's pants, depositing them, along with the tunic and her undergarments, in the recycle unit. “What did he look like?” Obliging the centuries old joke.
“He got up and ran away,” Ro said, her voice laden with disgust.
B'Elanna stifled her snort of laughter. “Well, you know what Chakotay used to say. Sometimes, you get the bear...”
“And sometimes, the bear gets you,” Ro finished glumly, stepping into the shower as B'Elanna activated it. Ro groaned, half in pain, half in pleasure as the vibrations massaged her body, head bent as she leaned on her arms that were braced against the bulkhead for support. The sonic action dissolved the dirt and dead cells from her skin, and left her freshly pink, the bruises standing out in even starker contrast. “That doesn't make me proud of my lack of accomplishments, however.”
“I suspect you were probably outnumbered,” B'Elanna guessed. “Otherwise, you would have finished him.”
Ro exhaled, her eyes closed as she basked in the shower. “It was a real mess, Lanna.”
“I'm sure it was,” B’Elanna allowed gently, reaching in to rub Ro's shoulders lightly, easing the tension she discovered there, “but you're all safe now, including Janeway. Anything else, we can handle as it comes. We have plenty of time now.”
“I hope so,” Ro muttered fretfully. She remained a few moments longer, surrendering to B’Elanna's loving attention, then finally stepped from the shower, spotlessly clean.
B'Elanna didn't pursue the conversation as she helped Ro on with the pajamas and returned with her to sickbay, but she thought her was merely suffering a little from the aftermath of what had been a very stressful mission. She knew the situation wasn't entirely resolved yet—that would come after the multitude of briefings and sorting through all that had happened—but she believed the worse was behind them.
At this point, that was a victory in itself.
Epilogue
The Section 31 operative paused outside the door leading to Admiral Hayes office. From inside, he could hear voices, and he instinctively drew back into the shadows of a nearby alcove. He was barely in time, and his blood ran cold as he saw the admiral escorted from the room by two grim-faced security officers. Hayes had his hands fastened in front of him with a security band, and his craggy face was suffused with anger and a touch of fear. Uncertainly, the Section 31 agent made himself as unobtrusive as possible, hoping that no one, particularly not the admiral who could possibly give him away, would notice him.
He clearly did not have to ask how the operation to destroy the Orion Syndicate was going. He had suspected the worse when he had lost contact with the people on Voyager, and now it was obvious that the whole house of cards was coming down around their heads.
He had warned against this, believing that both Sloane—and Kagan after him—had grown too confident, too arrogant in their power, too obvious in taking positions within Starfleet Command headquarters. Perhaps it had been the chaos of the Dominion War, the initial infiltration of the Changelings, that had led Section 31's leaders to think they could act with such impunity, but with the Federation now at peace, and the presence of the covert group becoming common knowledge among the upper ranks of Starfleet, the risks had grown increasingly larger. Now, it had gone too far, and the very organization itself was at risk.
Once the corridor was clear, he slipped out of the alcove and headed for his own office. Someone had to pick up the pieces, to clean up the mess that had been left behind by his superiors, and he knew he was the only one left able to do the job. His face tightened as he realized what his first task would have to be.
And who exactly would have to die to maintain the security of Section 31.
The End