Just Between Decks 
G. L. Dartt

 
Captain Kathryn Janeway of the USS Voyager glared at the alien who stood insolently on her bridge holding a very large disrupter rifle, feeling her lips draw back from her teeth in a primitive snarl. With an effort, she controlled it, composing her face into the impassive command mask that had served her so well for so long. The rest of her bridge staff stood uneasily at their posts, waiting for her next command as they regarded the alien strike force with mixed anger and concern, made impotent before they understood what was happening, caught flatfooted by the abrupt materialization of an enemy on the ship. There hadn't even been a warning from the sensors, no indication that there might have been a ship nearby.
There had to be a ship nearby, Janeway thought darkly. Beings just didn't materialize out of thin air. She studied the intruders keenly, assessing every detail as she worked on a plan.
They were all tall and wide, but that could be more a result of the black armor covering their bipedal forms than any particular physiological trait. Bulky helmets with opaque face shields covered their heads, and their weapons were large, silver constructs that were clearly designed so that there was no question about their function. There was a right end and a wrong end to these things and right now, the crewmembers of Voyager were very much on the wrong end.
Beside Janeway, his burly form tense, his big hands gripping the arms of his chair, her first officer Commander Chakotay looked less than entirely Human, his dark eyes glittering ferociously. At the helm near the front of the bridge, the fair-haired Lt. Paris had swung his chair around to look at the command staff, waiting for orders, while at the rear of the bridge, at the ops station, Lt. Harry Kim frowned uncertainly, a lock of dark hair falling boyishly into his eyes. Only the dark-skinned Vulcan, Tuvok, standing passively at his tactical post, seemed unruffled by the unexpected appearance of the aliens, though Janeway knew that was a fallacy. The two junior officers, covering the auxiliary stations, looked absolutely terrified.
"Who are you?" Janeway demanded, her laser gaze boring into the alien who unfortunately, did not fall down dead from the sheer intensity of it.
"Quiet," the armored figure grunted.
Janeway forced herself not to cross her eyes as the muzzle of the weapon centered directly between them. Motion from the corner of the bridge caught her attention, and everyone turned to watch a new figure step off the upper level to the command level. It was also armored, but seemed slighter than the others standing guard, and when the gloved hands reached up to remove the opaque helmet, Voyager's bridge staff was surprised to see the hardened features of a rather diminutive female revealed. She would have been fairly attractive but for the ragged scar that marred the smooth flesh, slashing across her face and bridge of her nose, and the eyes ... solid black, without any hint of mercy or compassion in them.
"You're in charge?" she asked without preamble, taking a position in front of Janeway.
"I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the USS Voyager," Janeway began, attempting a civil expression, hoping to somehow resolve this in a diplomatic way. "We represent the Feder--"
"Shut up," the woman said in a bored tone. "I'm not interested in your life story." She reached out and grabbed Janeway by the auburn hair at the top of her head, keeping her immobilized. "I'm only going to tell you this once, so listen well and impress the importance of what I tell you upon your crew. This is our ship now and while we would rather not kill you because we have use for workers, we will if we have to."
Before the captain could react, the woman pulled out a smaller weapon from her hip and without looking, fired it at Ensign McCormick at the science station. The blast caught the slender brunette high in the chest, slamming her back against the wall where she slumped to the floor, crimson staining the surface. Her eyes, wide and horrified, never left the captain's and Janeway thought it had been a look of betrayal and accusation in the junior officer's final gaze before her eyes dulled permanently. Janeway herself, only had time to start abruptly before the weapon was being pressed to her forehead, the cold metal cutting into the skin.
"Don't," the woman warned in a deadly voice. Janeway was aware of the rest of the bridge crew also being restrained by muzzles pressed hard against their heads. "That was an example, Captain Janeway. You will order your crew to cooperate with my people. You will be assembled in one of your cargo holds. Any attempt to resist will result in immediate death. Any attempt to initiate a self-destruct of this vessel will result in me killing you, and going to the second in command. I'll work my way down until I find someone who's smart enough to know when they're outmatched. Do we understand each other?"
"You'll not harm anyone else if we cooperate?" Janeway asked, in what she hoped was a perfectly even tone. She had never felt as angry as she did at this moment. Her stomach churned impotently, and tears of rage stung her eyes, but she refused to show it, maintaining her command mask with the greatest of effort.
"I didn't say that," the woman said with black humor, her eyes gleaming unpleasantly. "All I said was that I would kill anyone who didn't." She paused. "Do you require another example?"
"No," Janeway said quickly and harshly. "I believe you." She inhaled slowly. "I'll need to access the communications console."
"Or you can just verbally access the computer," the woman countered flatly.
Janeway did not flicker but inside, she felt a certain apprehension. The invader's words indicated far better knowledge than she should have about how things worked on a Starfleet vessel. That meant that Janeway had to be very, very careful here.
She cleared her throat and the muzzle eased off a little, the alien releasing her hold on her hair abruptly with a final pull that made the captain's head ache. "Computer, relay ship wide," Janeway said stiffly. "This is the Captain. Voyager has been invaded by a superior force. We are in a condition indigo. All crewmembers shall cooperate with the invaders, and assemble in cargo bay one." She regarded the woman angrily. "Is that sufficient?" she asked with a trace of sarcasm that she could not hide.
The woman's eyes narrowed and without warning, she backhanded Janeway across the face, using the weapon for weight. The metal opened up a gash on the captain's cheek and for a few seconds, Janeway saw stars but she managed to return her gaze to the woman, not lowering her eyes.
"Let's have no confusion about who's in charge here, Janeway."
"There's no confusion," Janeway returned in a deadly quiet voice.
"Now you will turn over all command controls to me and my men."
The hiss of the turbolift door drew their attention before the captain could answer, and Janeway felt her heart sink as yet another invader entered the bridge, brutally gripping the small arm of Naomi Wildman. Voyager's only child was obviously frightened, tears glistening in her eyes, but she was trying her best not to show it.
"Look what I found, Kalin," the alien said, the voice filtered through the speaker in his armor though it was clearly male. "They have children." There was a pause. "Can I have her?"
The tone of the question sent a chill through Janeway in a way that nothing else did, the possibilities implicated being far and away the most unpleasant thing she had experienced since this whole thing began.
"Bring her here, Droxin," Kalin said flatly.
Reluctantly, the bulky form dragged Naomi over to the alien leader. Kalin reached out and gripped the child's shoulder.
"Are you scared, child?"
Naomi glanced uncertainly at Janeway, and the captain inclined her head briefly, indicated that she should answer.
"Yes," Naomi said faintly.
"Smart," Kalin said approvingly. "You should be, Droxin's a very scary man." She turned to look at Janeway. "This makes things much easier, Janeway. A species is always easier to control through their offspring. Let me rephrase my earlier statement. Cooperate, and the child stays with you. Do anything to interfere, and I give her and any other children to Droxin. Are we clear on this?"
"Very," Janeway said, hatred a cold, hard ball in her chest.
"Turn over command control," Kalin repeated flatly. "No tricks."
Janeway hesitated, saw the woman's hand tighten on Naomi's arm painfully, though the little girl refused to cry and did so, spitting out the codes reluctantly, but obediently. When she was done, Kalin studied her closely for a moment, and then nodded, releasing Naomi after a small shake. The child hesitantly took a step toward Janeway and then, when she was not restrained, covered the rest of the distance in a rush, flinging herself into the captain's arms. Janeway could feel her trembling as she held her and instinctively, she tightened her hold, hugging her tightly.
"It's all right, Naomi," she murmured. "I won't let anything happen to you."
"Be sure to keep that promise." Kalin motioned to another of her group. "Escort them to the cargo hold. If you have any problems, you know what to do."
He nodded once and made a motion with his weapon. The bridge crew filtered into the turbolift, Kim, Paris and Tuvok going first, herded by two of the aliens.
After they had left, Ensign Pablo Baytart, who had been covering the engineering station, and Commander Chakotay were forced to get up by Droxin, who seemed less than pleased that he didn't get to keep his prize. Janeway was herded along with them, propelled by a sharp shove. Since she was still carrying Naomi who clung to her neck, she was hard pressed not to stumble and it took everything she had not to turn and jam the weapon straight down his throat. As she entered the turbolift, she turned in time to see Kalin sit down in the command chair, surveying the bridge with a possessive gaze before the lift doors slid shut and cut off the captain's view. 
Janeway's back teeth ground sharply against each other, but she didn't speak as the lift descended to deck fourteen where they were pushed along toward cargo bay one. She did take an instant to note through her fury, how the small form of the ship's only child felt in her arms. It occurred to her suddenly that she had not held a child for so long that she could not remember when the last time had been. She was bemused by the emotions that rose within her, the fierce protectiveness, the tenderness, the sense of warm affection. Was this what Seven of Nine had been experiencing for the past year or so?
If that was the case, Janeway suddenly realized why her spouse of several months displayed such longing for them to have their own child. Both women knew that their lives were so busy that the addition of offspring would be far too great a complication as long as they were still in the Delta Quadrant. That reality did not ease the yearning in the younger woman, but now, Janeway felt she understood it a little better.
With consummate dignity, Janeway entered the cargo bay under the watchful eye of the alien guards, looking around to check out her crew. Most seemed to be doing fine, though a quick count revealed that there were still a few heads short. Disturbed, she glanced at Chakotay who was also scanning the crowd. He turned to her, nodding briefly. There were definitely several people missing, though the two officers knew that more crewmembers were being escorted in every moment. With an effort, Janeway schooled herself to patience and gently lowered her burden to the deck.
"Naomi!" Samantha Wildman pushed through the crowd, gratefully wrapping up her daughter in her arms. "Are you all right?"
Naomi clung to her. "The captain protected me."
The ensign shot her captain a look of such profound gratitude that Janeway was embarrassed, particularly since she had been unable to protect another of her crew. For a brief second, she mourned the young ensign who had died so senselessly on the bridge but unfortunately, she could not afford too much grief. Not at the moment, and not with the rest of her crew relying on her.
"All right, everyone," Chakotay shouted, getting everyone's attention. "Let's settle down and take stock. Departments, form up."
Janeway found a corner and knelt, the rest of her bridge crew gathered around her, their faces grim and somber.
"Report."
Tom Paris shook his head. "It doesn't make sense, Captain. There was no indication of another vessel anywhere. And we just dropped out of warp on our own. I never touched the controls."
"Mr. Paris is correct," Tuvok added. "If there had been a cloaked vessel, it is of a type that is far more advanced than any we have known."
"What use would they have for Voyager in that case?" Chakotay asked, frowning.
"And what did they mean by 'workers'?" Harry offered. "What kind of workers?"
"I doubt we'll like it, whatever they meant," Tom responded pessimistically.
Janeway's eyes kept searching the crowd, keeping a particularly close eye on the entrance. When the two guards lifted a small device, possibly a communicator of some kind, and spoke into it, she rose to her feet, stepping forward. The guards abruptly went outside and the door slid shut with a solid thunk.
"Try it," she said and the crewmembers nearest to it, obligingly did so. They looked back at her and shook their heads, indicating it was sealed. She glanced at the catwalk that ran around the upper level and realized others were already ahead of her, checking the various auxiliary hatches and vents. Again, the indication was that they were completely sealed, which meant that somehow, the invaders had accessed that part of the computer, putting overrides on the hatches and locking them in. During all this, uneasy feelings of displacement and dismay rippled within her as one individual remained conspicuous by her absence.
"Computer," she said urgently, a feeling of even greater dread slipping over her. "Locate Seven of Nine."
The computer's response was completely even, impassive, reciting off the requested information without emotion.
"Seven of Nine's lifesigns have been terminated."
 
Seven of Nine regarded her preparations with satisfaction, looking over the deck where she had created a cozy nest with a Type-3 mattress, normally used on away missions, and two blankets she had taken from her quarters. Nearby, a basket full of picnic foods was maintained by a stasis field that kept things hot or cold respectively, while a bottle of wine sat chilling in a silver ice bucket. She was looking forward to the evening and decided that Kathryn would be pleased as well. All the Borg had to do now was come up with a way to lure the captain here without spoiling the surprise. 
Recently, in an effort to make a joke, Seven had stated that her intention was to make love to the captain in every part of the ship. To her surprise, the captain had taken it seriously and laid some ground rules about what she expected while Seven attempted to carry out this goal. Seven decided that she would start small, specifically in this tiny auxiliary room located under the teardrop saucer section of the ship, not far from the aerowing that doubled as the captain's yacht. No one knew exactly what this space was used for, but one of its attributes was the ability to transform the surrounding hull to a transparent state, making it appear as if any inhabitants of the room were actually out in space, carried along beneath the ship. It was one of the captain's absolute favorite places on her beloved vessel and Seven hoped that her plan would make it even more popular with Janeway.
The Borg felt a tiny jolt and realized that, for some reason, the vessel had just dropped out of warp. She waited for an explanation, the announcement of an alert, but when none was forthcoming, she decided that she had been in error, though as an ex-drone with enhanced senses, she was not normally mistaken about such things. Her thoughts were primarily pleasant and her anticipation of her spouse's reaction to her surprise was strong, so she did not give it the attention it should have required. Instead, she made a few more adjustments to her props, making sure she had a portable unit to provide music, and then stood up, head carefully bent to avoid hitting the underside of the hatch. Sometimes, there was a decided disadvantage to being six feet tall.
Seven of Nine reached up to press the control panel when the captain's words came over the ship-wide band, issuing thinly through the comm badge on the Borg's generous chest.
"This is the Captain. Voyager has been invaded by a superior force. We are in a Condition Indigo. All crewmembers shall cooperate with the invaders and assemble in cargo bay one."
Seven's eidetic memory immediately brought up the definition for Condition Indigo.

In the event of a hostile takeover, the first priority of the Starfleet officer is to secure a position of resistance. If unable to do so, the appearance of cooperation must be presented in order to cover for others who may have succeeded in securing such a position.

 

Seven swiftly reached out and accessed the control panel with her Borg assimilation tubules, the worm-like appendages shooting from the back of her left hand, bypassing the touch pad's preliminary function of merely securing the hatch and tapping into the main computer. It was unlikely that anyone else on the vessel had the ability to do what she did then, and certainly not as quickly, but within seconds, she had instructed the computer to list her as 'deceased' in the crew manifest and furthermore, to ignore her individual lifesigns, considering them terminated. Then she withdrew her access, reaching over and taking the comm badge from her left breast, crushing it swiftly with her implant so that it could no longer send out any kind of signal.
It was possible that her tampering in the manifest would easily be discovered, but she also realized that for anyone to want to, they would first have to determine that any tampering had, in fact, occurred. After all, why would the invaders be worried about a dead person? Or suspect that the dead person was in fact, not even dead? She was grateful that this tactic had been discussed not so long ago in one of the Starfleet classes she was taking in the evenings. It was actually the Bolian, Crell, who offered the idea that if the ship recognized an individual as being dead, the sensors would tend to ignore it, even if it continued to walk around. It had been in response to a question posed by Tuvok, their instructor that night, about the danger of relying too much on technology over one's natural senses. It had been a lively discussion and Seven had came away from it filled with much information on how to deceive both.
With Voyager's own internal sensors no longer a concern, at least for the moment, Seven turned her attention to any equipment that the invaders might have brought along with them. Since this particular area of the vessel was not crucial, and in fact, it was unknown to a lot of crewmembers, it was unlikely the invaders would think to look here. That gave her a small margin of leeway. She dared not access the computer from any other Voyager console, but it occurred to her that she could utilize the Borg equipment that sat dormant in a room sealed off from the rest of a transformed cargo bay two. The problem was in getting there. The most obvious method would be to use the access corridors and Jeffries tubes, but chances were they would be monitored closely. Even if the internal sensors ignored her lifesigns, they would detect motion within their area of sensitivity. That could be maneuvered around, provided she could make it to a Jeffries tube without being seen.
She did not wish to encounter any of the invaders. That would force her to kill or disable one of them, alerting the intruders that there was a random element loose on the vessel. It was important that they not know that for as long as possible because once they did, they could simply use the crew they had captured as hostages, threatening them to make Seven surrender. Since Kathryn was indubitably one of those hostages, that scenario was simply unacceptable. 
Seven placed her ear against the hatch and listened as hard as she could. There was no indication that there was anyone in the access corridor above her and the odds were that there would not be. This was a rarely traveled part of the ship, a hall which ended in the dead end of a plasma relay conduit, serviced occasionally, checked only during routine maintenance or a full red alert by a visual inspection. She determined the risk was acceptable and activated the hatch.
If she was wrong ... well, she hoped they would merely take her to where Janeway and the others were being held in cargo bay one, rather than killing her out of hand.
Her gamble paid off and there was no one in the access corridor. She began to climb out, hesitated, then reached back to open the picnic basket and grab a container of potato salad along with a fork. It was unlikely she would have access to dinner this evening and it behooved her to eat when she could. After all, it wasn't as if she would be able to walk up to a replicator and program a meal.
She closed the hatch behind her and skulked along the hall to the juncture leading to a much larger corridor. She waited until she was sure that it was empty, then darted across to the nearest hatch of the Jeffries tube running along this deck. She crawled in, sealed it and looked down at the grate that made up the floor of the tube. Many complained about the close confines of such conduits but Seven was aware that there was another way to utilize them in order to travel about the ship ... in even closer confines. Most never thought of it. Seven had no choice now but to accept the necessity of it.
Reaching down, she hooked the fingers of her left hand in the mesh of the panel just beyond the one she crouched on, lifting it up to reveal a crawl space beneath. Unlike the relative cleanliness of the Jeffries tube, it was thick with dust and grime, hardly ever cleaned and sure to be very unpleasant to travel through. But it would guarantee that she remained below the level of any sensors and greatly lessen the risk of being discovered.
She squirmed into the hole and twisted and turned until she could pull the panel back down into position. She was left in a space about a meter wide and only half a meter high, the tiny conduit present beneath all the Jeffries tubes throughout the ship. It took a few moments to come up with a form of locomotion that would allow her to move at a reasonable pace and it cost more than a few bruises, as her elbows and knees persisted in colliding harshly with the floor and sides despite her best effort to be graceful. She had never envied her spouse's compact size more than she did right at this moment.
As she snaked slowly forward on her stomach, using her arms and legs to pull her along, wiggling past the metal projections protruding every few meters, it occurred to Seven that this was one of her more miserable experiences since leaving the Collective. Grease and dirt smeared over her normally immaculate blue and grey biometric outfit and dust kicked up to irritate her nasal passages. She tried to distract herself with speculation about the invaders; who they were, where they came from, how they had gotten aboard undetected, what purpose they had for taking Voyager? She hoped that when she got to her Borg cubicle, all her questions would be answered and in such a way that she could come up with a plan to defeat them.
She wondered if any other members of the crew had managed to find a position of resistance. There were many who were certainly capable of it, if the opportunity had presented itself. She realized how fortunate she had been in her timing of preparing her surprise for Kathryn. Chances were, had she been in astrometrics where she was normally supposed to be, she would have been captured along with the others.
She trusted that the crew had been captured. The thought that perhaps they had been killed was something she did not want to contemplate ... not if she wished to function with any sort of competence. She understood that worrying unduly about Kathryn could easily overpower her good sense and intelligence as it had before. The Borg still had a faint scar running along her side where she had rushed several armed guards in a Barellan prison, trying to draw their fire away from where the captain was being transported to the safety of the ship. She had been extremely fortunate that she had not been killed and the foolishness of her gesture had been impressed upon her by a furious Captain Janeway after the fact. So Seven carefully gathered up all her concern for her spouse into a manageable ball and buried it deep within herself.
She hissed as a sharp edged projection caught her right arm, actually tearing the biometric suit and cutting into the flesh beneath. Crimson welled up in the wound but she determined that it wasn't serious and ignored the pain as she resumed her torturous progress, trusting the wound would clot eventually.
Pain is irrelevant, she told herself sternly. I must get to cargo bay two. I cannot allow anything to stop me, least of all, this minor discomfort.
She took several moments to wiggle around a juncture and start up the next stretch. The most dangerous areas were where she had to come out of the crawl space and go through the hatches to the next set of Jeffries tubes. She came to one such transition point, waiting for a long period of time to make sure it was clear before rising out of the crawl space, slithering through the hatch and entering the crawl space on the other side. This one was even dirtier than the last and she knew that by this time, she wasn't recognizable as the neat and tidy astrometrics officer of Voyager.
As she tackled this next section, she couldn't help but be aggravated by the lost opportunity of her planned romantic evening. There was no telling how long this particular adventure would last, but it was certain Kathryn would hardly be in any mood to make love in a different part of the vessel. In fact, depending on how the mission went, it was possible the captain would not be interested in romance at all for quite some time. For no more than that, a burning resentment toward these intruders rose in Seven, fueling her desire to find a solution for this as soon as possible.
She was halfway down a stretch of tube leading to the turbolift shaft and the access ladder leading to deck eight when she heard the sound of someone else in the tube. She froze, silent as the beings approached, not moving as the two forms passed over her. She knew that the lights from the Jeffries tube were situated such so that they did not illuminate the area beneath the grill. The dirt covering her form suddenly became the perfect camouflage, allowing her to blend into the shadows beneath the mesh. She studied the intruders carefully as they passed over her, noting the armor, the markings on the shiny exterior, and most tellingly, the sight of alien features through the open faceplate of one of the helmets.
Seven quirked a brow. Species 2903. Their distinctiveness had been added to the perfection of the Collective some years ago though apparently not all had been assimilated. Possibly because the Kunntarie, as they called themselves, had been a space-faring race under constant expansion prior to meeting the Borg. They had established a presence on many other planets and the Borg's sweep had taken place at the same time as the encounter at Wolf 359 in the Alpha Quadrant. Even the mighty Collective had been spread a little thin and it was conceivable that a Kunntarie colony or two had been overlooked. Seven remembered them as a particularly aggressive species, preying on all the other systems in the sector, utilizing the other inhabitants as slaves in their asteroid mines. Their assimilation would have come as a welcome piece of news to those other races ... except for the fact that the Borg had assimilated them along with Species 2903 as their cubes passed through the sector.
Seven remained still for quite some time after the sounds of the intruders' passage had disappeared, making sure that they were long gone before she resumed her progress. She was surprised a few moments later when she heard some more noise and she froze again. But this time, the sound was closer and she realized with a certain apprehension that whoever was approaching was not in the Jeffries tube.
They were in the crawl space with her.
 
B'Elanna Torres hunched in the shadows of Voyager's hull connection where the teardrop saucer section joined to the engineering section of the ship. Unbelievably, when the ship had been invaded, the Klingon engineer had been outside, working on a weakness in the hull plating next to the messhall. It was not a very serious mend and certainly not anything that should have required her performing a space walk while in warp, but every so often, B'Elanna started feeling a little constrained by the confines of the ship. At that point, she would take the opportunity to 'take a little stroll outside', as she called it. Out there, stuck to the snowy hull of Voyager by the magnetic grip of her boots and her safety tether, the engineer experienced a glorious sensation of exhilaration and joy that nothing else could provide. The faceplate of her suit glinted from the light of a thousand stars shooting by, distorted by the warp field which, at this vantage, seemed to shimmer around the vessel, the colors and lights sharp with an edge undistorted by atmosphere of any kind. 
However, it wasn't totally protocol to do such unnecessary 'space-walks' so she was very careful about how she went about it, the only one knowing she was out here being Ensign Vorik. And that was only so that, if she did run into trouble, there would be someone to tell the captain how very stupid she had been and where they should probably look for the body.
B'Elanna had nearly lost contact with the hull when the vessel abruptly dropped out of warp and it was only by the thinnest of margins that she had kept herself from being thrown onward, hurdling light years away within her own small remnant of warp bubble. Not that she would have had much time to experience it since the forces involved would have instantly crushed her to a paste within her space suit. 
Once the Klingon had regained her equilibrium, heart pounding in her chest, she had stowed her tools and hastily headed for the nearest airlock, pausing only when the captain's message came across her suit communications system. B'Elanna couldn't remember exactly what 'condition indigo' was ... there were just so many damned colored conditions in Starfleet ... but her time in the Maquis had taught her how to react quickly to an unexpected threat. She knew that the longer she could remain unknown to the invasion force, the more trouble she could cause in defense of her ship. She shut off the transmit aspect of her comm unit and activated it to receive only, scanning the full broad band spectrum as she tried to tap into the internal communications of the vessel.
She started to make a circuit of the ship, taking care around any portholes where someone might look out to see her. Every so often, she would cautiously glance through the large windows, able to catch glimpses of the crew herded from their quarters and work areas, being escorted to cargo bay one by massively armored aliens. The Klingon was greatly impressed by their intimidating appearance and worried by the unknown capabilities of their armor.
The engineer guessed that Vorik must have kept quiet about her presence outside, not that she would have expected anything less of the Vulcan. The invaders could have easily reversed the polarity on the hull, shooting her away like water beading off a duck's back and she stepped lightly, making sure her safety line was connected to the available clamps at all times, afraid that at any moment, her margin of error would narrow to nothing.
Most of the subspace chatter within the ship had been taken over by the aliens and it bothered B'Elanna tremendously. As she mounted the side of Voyager to creep around to the bottom, she realized that none of it was being sent externally nor could she see any vessel in the area around her. Granted, visibility was a tricky thing in space but the fact remained that to transport a strike force large enough to take the Intrepid-class vessel, a ship should have been both close enough, and large enough, for her to see. But none had appeared, nor had any of the proximity alarms in her suit activated.
Where were these guys from? And how had they managed to invade Voyager without so much as a warning from the many sensors designed to prevent just that sort of threat?
As B'Elanna cautiously slipped from one shadow to the next, Voyager's hull unfortunately having very little in the way of cover, she found that she was profoundly worried about her crewmates and most tellingly, a few specific individuals far more than others.
Seven of Nine appeared in her thoughts and dismally, B'Elanna trudged toward the auxiliary lock near cargo bay two, trying to ignore mental images of the tall cool blonde who had become her good friend after their initial period of intense antagonism. B'Elanna knew that she had warmed up to the young woman because Seven had fallen in love with Janeway and the softening of the arrogant attitude had allowed the Klingon to see the vulnerable and gentle woman inside. B'Elanna wasn't sure when her friendship for Seven had turned to attraction on her part, but she had kept it carefully hidden, refusing to acknowledge it in any way. Not only did she have the utmost respect for Janeway, though she wasn't always good at showing it, she knew, deep in her soul, that Seven would never be able to love the Klingon with the all consuming, absolute passion that she did the captain.
So B'Elanna had kept silent, always on the outside looking in, warmed by the pure glow of such a fine love, but always aware that she was not experiencing it herself. Was that the real reason she had broken up with Tom? she wondered. Not because he had changed, but because her expectations of what love was supposed to be, had? Then, there was Voyager's first officer. B'Elanna's affection and respect for the darkly handsome man had roots stretching back to their earliest days in the Maquis, but when they escalated that into a romantic relationship, she found it lacking. She had wanted the same purity and power of the heart that Seven seemed to have with Janeway, but B'Elanna never managed to achieve it with Chakotay. She was never sure  whether it had been her doing or his, or both, but when he told her that they needed 'a break' from each other, despite her pain, there was also this great sense of relief.
Now, there was this new situation and it was the most baffling of all. In truth, B'Elanna had known Ara Lerona as long as she had known Chakotay, though certainly not as well. Indeed, B'Elanna had been as surprised as anyone when Ara had turned out to be Ro Laren of the USS Enterprise. For almost six years, Ro had maintained the secrecy, doing whatever job was asked of her quietly and competently, not attracting any more attention than she had to. But her great abilities and potential could not remain hidden forever and when it was finally revealed that the officer was in fact, good enough to have served under Jean-Luc Picard, commander of the fleet's flagship, Captain Janeway has been willing to grant the woman another chance to redeem herself. And in doing so, allowed the real woman beneath Ara Lerona's sullen persona to shine through with the most brilliant sort of light.
B'Elanna found herself drawn to that light as strongly as a moth to a flame and had no better chance than the insect of resisting, it seemed. Ro was highly intelligent, cool under fire, and had a way of moving that combined deadliness and grace to such an extent, B'Elanna would have gladly spent all day simply watching the woman walk. The Bajoran beauty was as reserved and distant as Captain Janeway herself, as arrogant and efficient as Seven, as broodingly attractive as Chakotay, with a dry wit that far surpassed Tom's more juvenile approach to humor. If only the Klingon could find a way to touch Ro's heart as the Bajoran had so inescapably touched B'Elanna's.
Unfortunately, B'Elanna had yet to come up with a way to make the Bajoran feel that way in return. Sometimes it seemed like she was making real headway toward a romantic tryst, but other times, the engineer thought she would never get through to the unfathomable woman. Recently, a silly argument over something B'Elanna couldn't even remember had put them at odds, which was quite discouraging when one considered the friendly interaction they had shared during shore leave a month earlier. The woman was a complete mystery to the Klingon.
It only made her more appealing.
For a second, Lt. Ro Laren's face appeared so strongly in her mind's eye that B'Elanna could have sworn the Bajoran woman was standing only a few feet away, the dark hair and eyes lit by starlight, her slender, willowy form so refined in her gold and black uniform. The Klingon was embarrassed by the wave of vertigo and excitement which swept through her and she tried hard to bottle it up. It was bad enough that she acted like a complete fool whenever the woman was around, but it came to her that, as much as her failed romances with Tom Paris and Chakotay had hurt, this one had the potential to destroy her completely.
The Klingon decided that agonizing over her love life ... or lack, thereof ... was hardly the way to come up with a concrete plan of action to defend her ship. Grumpily, she shook off her musing as she knelt beside the airlock situated right next to the huge bay doors protecting cargo bay two from space. She knew she needed to find a method to activate the airlock seal without alerting the bridge that someone had entered the ship unannounced.
She touched the control panel, moving with a delicacy that was belied by her stocky form, her fingers incredibly sensitive even through the bulky gloves. B'Elanna set up a repeating cycle within the control circuits so that it would inform all the internal sensors and alarms that the lock was closed ... no matter what happened in the future. A dangerous program because the last thing a starship needed was an airlock that could open without warning, but in this case, it was necessary. Finally, she keyed in the commands to open up the manual override.
Soundlessly, a small panel a few inches above the control panel slid back, revealing a heavy, metal lever. She reached over to grip the red handle though it did not move easily, taking all her Klingon strength to pull it. She made a note of that, aware that this meant it had not been serviced lately. Any crewmember, regardless of strength, needed to be able to access this lever and obviously, full maintenance was not being carried out as it should be. She hated to think that anything on Voyager was being neglected, even the external airlock manual overrides which were rarely, if ever utilized.
The door to the airlock slid back, and cautiously she stepped inside the darkened compartment. Before activating any of the controls, she opened her tool pouch and pulled out a scanner, normally used to detect energy leaks. She altered the settings so that it could detect the equivalent of Humanoid energy output, and placed it against the inner door, scanning beyond. There was nothing detected but she was also very aware that the armor the aliens were wearing somehow masked their lifesigns. At least, that's how she would design them if she were doing the job. But surely they would put out some form of energy signal inconsistent with Voyager's cargo bay.
B'Elanna went through the settings and finally, set it for motion. Still nothing. It was possible that the armored figures were standing inside, just waiting her for her to step through, whereupon they would promptly blow her to dust, but she had to take a chance sometime. She couldn't stay in the decompressed airlock forever. Taking a deep breath, she shut the outer door finally and activated the decompression cycle, first making sure her repeating signal was still sending a normal reading to any internal sensors. 
Thankfully, the area around the airlock was clear and B'Elanna stepped out into the bright illumination of cargo bay two. Months earlier, a virus had swept through the ship, one of its symptoms being an increased desire to 'mate' and as a further side effect, disrupting the birth control implants every crewmember were required to have, resulting in ten pregnancies. The women were expected to deliver en masse in a month and the crew had been working feverishly to prepare Voyager for its new role as a generational ship.
The cavernous bay had been transformed into a hydroponics 'park' by the efforts of team from biometrics, assisted by Seven and headed up by Ensign Samantha Wildman. The deck was covered with a genetically designed form of earth gel where lush, green grass had been seeded while a grove of genetically enhanced trees stretched two decks high. They towered over a profusion of smaller bushes that divided the large area into smaller clearings where children could run and play, bordered by flowerbeds boasting a litany of colors. The lighting was set to the spectrum of Earth's sun, requiring far more energy output than most ships would normally be willing to expend, but all of this was deemed necessary for the well being of the expected offspring who would be arriving very soon. The park was turning into one of the crew's favorite parts of the ship and fortunately, the alien intruders did not seem equally attracted to its charm. At least, not yet.
B'Elanna shed her bulky, white outfit, leaving her communicator stuck on the squarish propulsion pack that would disrupt its signal. She inhaled the warm, moist air, grateful she had worn only a tank top while in the space suit rather than the full uniform sweater and tunic. Moving quickly along the hull that had been painted to resemble a brick wall, she made her way toward an innocuous door set in one corner. It was double-sealed against the cargo bay to insure no one could enter inadvertently, but she bypassed the encryption codes easily and entered the small room. Inside were the Borg alcoves that Seven of Nine had occupied when she first arrived on the ship. Included was a work station and B'Elanna went to it immediately, powering it up by tapping into the cargo bay energy systems so that the drain would not be detected by any bridge sensors. Through the open door, the 'daylight' of the park dimmed into night mode, four hours early, and B'Elanna hoped that no one passing by would notice the incongruity. Or know about the twelve hour cycle of light and darkness programmed into the park's illumination system.
She carefully slipped into the ship's database, freely utilizing the Borg masking codes that Seven had taught her, and played the logs of what had happened on the bridge while she was outside on the hull. She was infuriated by the death of Ensign McCormick and absolutely enraged by the threat made to Naomi and the rest. She wanted nothing more than to grab a bat'telh, head for the bridge, and lay open this Kalin person, spreading her intestines all over the lower command level. Common sense kept her where she stood though she was literally shaking as she brought herself under control.
She was hit by a second shock when the computer listed Seven's lifesigns as being terminated, but not taking anything at face value, she checked deeper and discovered that the piece of data was added not long after Janeway's announcement. Furthermore, it was added utilizing several Borg encryptions, Seven's touch on the worm as distinctive as her genetic code. A sweet sense of relief swept through B'Elanna and she took the time to refine the program, listing the Borg's termination as having happened several weeks earlier in a minor accident when the power relays overloaded, injuring two crewmembers but did not actually kill anyone. Then for good measure, she added her own death certificate for that time as well. As she did, she tried not to think of the damage these worms and erroneous files were doing to the databanks and how long it would take to clean it up after this immediate mess with the intruders was taken care of.
A sound in the outer cargo bay reached her keen ears and swiftly, she shut down the board. She looked around for a weapon, finding a steel bar lying negligently by the dais. Definitely not to the work standards of Voyager but at that moment, B'Elanna gave thanks for the carelessness of that unknown crewmember who had been sealing off the dormant alcoves. She picked it up and concealed herself in the shadows of the entrance, cursing herself for not shutting it behind her. But she hadn't wanted to be trapped in the small area with no way out.
B'Elanna's lips drew back in a silent snarl and she hefted the bar over her shoulder, ready to do as much damage as possible to whoever was crossing the lawns outside and heading directly for the Borg alcoves.