TITLE: Lost and Home
AUTHOR: halfofone
RATING: PG13
TITLE: Lost and Home
AUTHOR: halfofone
RATING: PG13
CODE: T/7
GENRE: ST: Voyager
FEEDBACK: Constructive feedback welcome.
EMAILADDY:
SUMMARY: Our heroes are lost .... and .... home
WARNINGS: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
ARCHIVING: If you want ... I would quite like to know where.
DISCLAIMER: TPTB are Paramount/Viacom. In a perfect world I would own Star Trek but it's not and I don't. No infringement of copyright/trade marks is intended.
STATUS: Complete
CREDITS: Thanks to Tracy for betaing much of this and encouraging me to finish.
Our heroes are lost... and home
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Seven of Nine stood alone in cargo bay 2 and stared blankly at the wall.
'I must forget her' she repeated for the fifty fourth time. The words did not make any more sense this time than they had the first. 'How can I forget?' The absurdity of asking a Borg to forget anything added to the sense of unfairness. She tried another approach with herself.
'This love is flawed and should be terminated. Lieutenant Torres cannot love me now or ever and how can I love, if love it is, someone who believes Ensign Paris is a suitable mate. Am I insufficient compared to Ensign Paris?'
Seven forced herself to consider the possibility of his superiority and rejected the foolish idea with a small smile on her lips before the tight despair squeezing her vital organs wiped the smile clean away.
'Why must B'Elanna love him?' howled her inner human.
'Perhaps he is better suited to her needs,' reasoned the Borg and began to analyse how this might be: he doesn't get in her way; he spends all his days in the holodeck or drinking with his friends; she is free to pursue her life.
'But free from what?' objected Seven to herself.
Perhaps free from the endless mating games that the humans played. Maybe B'Elanna Torres wants to be alone or free and Tom Paris is a like a wall behind which she can hide her true feelings.
'Unwarranted supposition and sentimentality' sneered the inner Borg. 'You have no reason to imagine she has any other feelings than those which are manifest.'
'I will eradicate these flawed emotions the ex-drone promised herself; such weakness is unworthy and I will overcome it. I must forget her she repeated for the fifty fifth time.'
TITLE: Lost and Home
SUBSECTION: Lost
PARTS: 1 to 9
AUTHOR: halfofone
SUMMARY: Our heroes are lost in the Alpha quadrant. Can they find their way home.
TITLE: Lost and Home
AUTHOR: halfofone
RATING: PG13
PUBLISHED: 2001-05-30
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
"What is it? asked B'Elanna.
Her companion stared at the shuttle viewscreen and the roughly cylindrical foaming white column that had suddenly appeared in apparently empty space near to the experimental shuttle Turing, two days out from the Starship Voyager. The strange phenomenon was throwing off huge spouts of white hot plasma at intervals along its ten mile length. The shuttle's sensors revealed that the invisible energy being expended was much greater than the visible fountains of light.
"It resembles a wormhole entrance but it is not like any that I have encountered before" said Seven of Nine.
There was an odd contrast between the certainty of her voice and manner, compared to the uncertainty implicit in her words. Seven always sounded as though she knew what she was talking about. It annoyed the half-Klingon chief of engineering. Sometimes she wished Seven could just be amazed or dumb-struck like everyone else.
B'Elanna stared at the viewscreen for a few more seconds, then tapped a few commands into her console.
"I've informed Voyager. I guess we should take a closer look. The Captain will want to know where it leads, how safe it is, or if it is a wormhole at all so I'm going to send a probe into it."
Seven was dubious. "The shuttle only carries one very simple class 1 probe Lieutenant. It will give us limited information and may destabilise the wormhole. We should wait for Voyager."
B'Elanna clamped down on a very familiar jab of irritation. The ex-drone habitually contradicted every plan the engineer produced.
"Some information is better than none and the wormhole may disappear before Voyager can get here. The probe should at least be able to discover if it's navigable and be able to get a fix on the location of the far end." Not waiting for further argument, B'Elanna punched the key. "Launching now."
The tiny probe was on its way to what they supposed was the wormhole entrance. B'Elanna tracked the probe's progress.
"Probe is now two hundred and fifty thousand kilometres from entrance, two hundred thousand, one-fifty. It is experiencing some turbulence. I am adjusting course. Fifty thousand kilometres. The probe has entered the wormhole."
"Probe sensors activated" Seven reported.
The wormhole seemed to shiver and a reddish ripple of light coursed along the length.
B'Elanna glanced quickly at Seven. The tall ex-drone was now completely absorbed in studying the new type of singularity, already beginning to analyse the gigaquads of data streaming from the probe. B'Elanna half-smiled, whatever their differences she envied the blonde's phenomenal concentration. Seven looked up and caught the expression on B'Elanna's face.
"What is amusing?" she asked sharply.
"Nothing. I just like the way you are so intense about everything you do."
Seven did not reply. She looked away quickly leaving B'Elanna with the odd feeling that somehow she had hurt the ex-Borg. It was an uncomfortably familiar sensation and yet B'Elanna had no explanation for it. A few weeks before the test flight a burgeoning friendship between the two women had faltered and without warning or apparent cause, Seven suddenly reverted to the arrogant, abrupt Borg drone she had been when they first met. B'Elanna of course responded in kind. They hadn't fought yet. Not in their time-honoured, all-out, no-holds barred, 'my way is better than your way' conflicts that the crew of Voyager had come to dread, but they had come close. Close enough to make the Captain worry that sending them off in a small shuttle together might not be a good idea. However this mission had been planned for some time and B'Elanna certainly didn't want to miss out. She had assured the Captain that while her short-lived friendship with Seven may have cooled they were both professional enough to work together. She had been right - they had worked well together through the long hours modelling, manufacturing and testing the modified slipstream drives on the Delta Flyer Mark II. Outside work it was different yet B'Elanna had squashed her desire to have it out with the Borg and find out why the woman was treating her like a carrier of the S'isHar plague. Instead, the chief engineer quarrelled with Tom.
Tom had really fought her going on this mission, arguing that the chief pilot should do the tests and illogically insisting that it was wrong for her to go - just three months after their marriage - but somehow okay for him. In the end it hadn't mattered since the Captain had overruled him. The shuttle needed crew who could understand and adjust the experimental engines on the two short flights and that left just two candidates: Seven of Nine and B'Elanna Torres. Janeway wasn't prepared to risk any other key staff on the mission.
Seven's voice brought B'Elanna back to the moment.
"The probe is nearing the far end of the wormhole. It has exited the wormhole."
"Is the probe still transmitting?" asked B'Elanna anxiously. "Can we get a visual?" She could feel the familiar stirring of hope and swiftly damped it down. After seven years of travel, disappointment was the norm for Voyager.
"We are receiving a visual transmission. It is not of good quality but I am compensating."
"Okay let's see it. On screen." B'Elanna moved forward to stand beside Seven as the latter keyed a stream of instructions into the probe control interface.
The viewscreen burst into life and a star-field was visible. Seven guided the probe in a 360 degree plane of rotation scanning the surrounding space to the limit of the probe's mono-directional sensors as it struggled to place itself in the Universe. After a few more seconds and a series of such scans Seven looked up from the analysis, disbelief and wonder on her face.
She turned to look down at the slight half-Klingon beside her and said very gently as though breaking bad news.
"The probe would appear to be two light years from Delta Cygnus."
"Delta Cygnus!"
Her voice hoarse, B'Elanna gazed unbelieving at the screen.
"Seven you can't mean Delta Cygnus in the alpha quadrant?"
"I know of no other" replied Seven seriously as she entered some more instructions for the probe. The viewscreen swung around and showed a very bright star which, as the probe's sensors enhanced and enlarged the image, became a clearly identifiable double star.
Needing human contact, B'Elanna gripped Seven's arm.
"Seven this is not possible. There's no wormhole near Delta Cygnus. That's Federation space."
"At this moment there is" said Seven tersely.
"This moment" repeated B'Elanna distractedly and then the significance of the words struck her. "Seven we need to know the stardate at that end of the wormhole. Is it the past, the present or the future?" B'Elanna was almost squeaking and she fought to control her breathing.
Seven understood her concern. They had been caught out once before by a micro wormhole that ended some twenty years in the past. "I will attempt to scan for Federation communications and obtain the stardate."
"Shouldn't be hard" said B'Elanna, breathing too hard. "There's a damned enormous Federation base located on the fourth planet in the Delta Cygnus system; it's a communications and science station. I visited it during my brief time at the academy."
The momentousness of discussing the location of an actual alpha quadrant base overwhelmed her and her words tailed off. Trying to control her excitement, B'Elanna instead concentrated on Seven of Nine, fascinated by the Borg's skill and concentration as Seven calmly hunted down Federation communications for interception and decryption. Such skills would have been miraculous to the Maquis but had become almost everyday to the crew of Voyager. Indeed the Captain regarded standard Federation communications as so insecure that Voyager now used hybrid Borg/Federation encryption for all communications.
Success came sooner than expected.
"I have intercepted a message from a vessel proximate to the wormhole. Decrypting now. The stardate is .... today."
"Yes!" B'Elanna yelled in triumph and threw her arms around the tall Borg's neck. Seven reflexively put her arms around the half-Klingon and hugged her for an instant, then dropped her arms abruptly, pushing B'Elanna away. She turned back to her console, speaking without inflection. Her drone-speak as Tom called it.
"We must inform Voyager of our findings Lieutenant."
The excitement of their discovery did not dull the sharp annoyance B'Elanna experienced at the ex-drone's cold response and she suppressed a sarcastic reply. After all Seven was right, B'Elanna could imagine the excitement on Voyager. The senior crew would inevitably try and keep the news quiet until they could confirm the facts but equally inevitably wilder and wilder rumours would fly at faster than warp speed between the decks. They had been through this so often and optimism never failed to overwhelm any rational sense of caution.
Seven looked up again. "Voyager has replied. We are to hold station here, she is on her way to meet us, ETA 44.3 hours. Captain Janeway wants us to try and transmit the attached message to Starfleet command via the probe."
"How is our little friend in the alpha quadrant?" B'Elanna's good humour had returned, imagining what this would mean to the Voyager crew: her adopted family of seven years.
"The probe is functioning adequately but there is some interference. I am attempting to transmit the message to Starfleet Command now." Seven paused. "There seems to be a problem." She studied the data stream and then pronounced firmly: "The probe's communications are being jammed."
"Deliberately?"
"I believe so. I am compensating."
The viewscreen images fluttered and shook as Seven tried to maintain communication.
"The probe is under attack" she said and then announced baldly, "Probe destroyed." As she spoke the viewscreen in the shuttle went blank for a moment. Then the image reverted to a view of the wormhole entrance in the delta quadrant.
B'Elanna banged her fist on a bulkhead; something was going to snatch their salvation again. "What is going on dammit Seven? Try and transmit a message through the wormhole, to that vessel you found. I'll bring the shuttle around, nearer the wormhole."
She manoeuvred the tiny ship around nearer to the mouth of the wormhole. She noticed the wormhole beginning to shimmer red.
"Seven, the wormhole!"
Seven checked her sensor readings. "It is destabilising, energy levels are declining. Estimated time to collapse two minutes."
"Can we get another probe through before it collapses and try and keep it open?" asked B'Elanna desperate that the hope not end so quickly.
"As I said before there are no other probes on the shuttle" Seven replied. "In any case we would not be able to keep it open for 44 hours."
Cursing with frustration B'Elanna tried to think clearly, "Alright let's at least concentrate on getting the Captain's message through to Starfleet."
"The wormhole has nearly closed Lieutenant. You must take the shuttle right up to the entrance as we can no longer use the probe for two way communication. We will have to broadcast on a wider channel."
B'Elanna nodded and guided the shuttle to within a few hundred metres of the wormhole entrance. At this distance the foaming mouth completely filled the viewscreen. B'Elanna watched it warily.
"That is quite some gravimetric force that thing is generating, it's pulling us in but we are holding position."
Seven nodded. "As the singularity collapses it generates a powerful gravitational force. I am broadcasting the message....."
She didn't get a chance to complete her sentence before a blast of energy from the wormhole reached out and enveloped the shuttle knocking it sideways and, although the inertial dampeners protected the crew from the full impact, the auto-shields did not rise fast enough to protect the shuttle. A wall panel exploded across the shuttle cockpit. Seven saw a large fragment slam into B'Elanna. She fell heavily against her console and then collapsed to the deck.
Seven was also knocked to the ground by the blast, roughly twisted away from her single handhold. She struggled to her feet and cried out as an excruciating pain lanced her shoulder. She hung on, yet even with all her strength, the ex-drone could do no more than watch the violet and white glare of the viewscreen as the shuttle lurched towards the wormhole mouth.
The shuttle pitched aft and Seven gripped the edge of her console tightly with both arms, gasping as the nerves in her injured shoulder protested. A few feet away she could see B'Elanna lying on the floor of the shuttle, her inert body rolling helplessly with the violent motion. Stifling fear gripped Seven and it took all her self control to concentrate on trying to regain control of the shuttle. Bracing herself as best she could, Seven slid the fingers from her good hand over the surface of the command panel.
A quick check on the status of the ship's systems revealed that the engines were offline, shields were at fifty percent and there was a hull breach that had been isolated by forcefields. Without any power to resist, the shuttle was rapidly being sucked into the maw of the wormhole by the gravitational pull.
Seven tried to restart the engines but they did not respond to instructions from the command console or verbal command. Her next plan was also unsuccessful - the ship's damage control system reported that the escape pod launchers were jammed and unusable, badly damaged by the initial explosion - escape was impossible.
As a last resort Seven tried to call for help: hailing proved unsuccessful because the radiation from the wormhole at this proximity interfered with the sub-space transmission so the ex-drone's final act in the delta quadrant was to fire an emergency homing beacon hard away from the wormhole, hoping that it would be able to escape the gravity of the collapsing wormhole and at least report their fate to Captain Janeway.
Seven stared helplessly at the viewscreen. The shuttle slid into the wormhole with a jolt. A twisting tunnel of silver, opal and violet hued light opened up in front of them but any impulse Seven had to watch the show disappeared when the on-board computer announced calmly 'INERTIAL DAMPENERS ARE OPERATING AT 83.3 PERCENT. ALL CREW MUST SECURE THEMSELVES TO AVOID INJURY.'
Seven reckoned that she had about four minutes to make herself and B'Elanna safe before the wormhole disgorged them into normal space and the change in momentum pasted them both to the bow walls.
She slid to the floor beside the fallen engineer. Any plan to move her comrade was instantly curtailed by the sight of the blood pooling around the dark head, presumably from some hidden head wound. Seven gently touched the side of B'Elanna's face.
"B'Elanna Torres. Can you hear me?"
The half-Klingon's eyelids moved a little but there was no other response.
"Do not worry Lieutenant. I will look after you." As she got up and half ran to the emergency store chest, she wondered briefly why she was talking to an unconscious body. It wasn't rational. It would be unhelpful if she too started to malfunction. She promised herself to make no further comments aloud.
Seven fumbled with the handle of the store chest, and once inside rummaged about as best she could, though her probably dislocated right shoulder was nearly useless. She was hunting for inertial safety harnesses which she hoped would provide sufficient additional protection when the Turing exited the wormhole. After what seemed a long time (in fact forty three point two seconds as recorded by her Borg chronometer) and with some relief, she successfully extracted the bulky safety equipment and hurried back to the injured woman.
Lifting B'Elanna gently, Seven wrapped one of the harnesses around the unconscious woman as carefully and quickly as her limited mobility allowed and then attached B'Elanna to the nearest bulkhead. Seven wound herself in the other harness, pulling it carefully over her injured arm, and then fastened herself to same bulkhead, pulling the straps tight. She activated the dampening fields on both inertial safety harnesses, settled back with her good arm around B'Elanna and waited for what was to come.
"Hold on B'Elanna" she murmured and cuddled the still comatose engineer as the shuttle slid and slalomed its way down the wormhole towards the unknown.
Continued in next chapter
TITLE: Lost and Home
AUTHOR: halfofone
RATING: PG13
PUBLISHED: 2001-05-30
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
The Turing skittered into the alpha quadrant expelled by the last gasp of the collapsing wormhole. With no propulsion of its own the small ship was flung out into normal space at sub-light speed, travelling away from the nearest star system. To the watching Federation sensors it appeared as a piece of space debris and was ignored, its energy signals camouflaged by the enormous burst of energy that accompanied the closing wormhole.
Both occupants were now insensible, B'Elanna was still unconscious from her previous injuries and Seven had passed out as they entered the alpha quadrant, imperfectly protected from the massive forces acting on the shuttle. They remained that way for several hours flying deeper and further into empty space.
Seven regained consciousness.
Her perfect memory instantly made available all of the events up to the point when she had passed out. She frowned. It was unlikely to be a satisfactory day.
In spite of such pessimism she decided to open her eyes. Blackness stared back at her. After 0.8 seconds her ocular implant activated the night vision overrides maximising the starlight filtering through the cockpit windows and Seven could dimly see the interior of the shuttle. She wondered where they were. It was very cold lying on the floor and she shivered. The environmental controls weren't working to specification. At least there was still breathable air remaining. They would both live a little longer. She tightened her hold on the limp woman in her arms as a sudden terror clutched at her. Maybe she was alone.
"B'Elanna. Can you hear me?" she croaked.
There was no reply from the body cradled against her but focusing her hearing closely in the silent dark, Seven could hear B'Elanna's tiny uneven gasps for breath and even the arythmic thump of the half-Klingon's hearts. Thanking the gods of a million species, she asked the computer for lights. There was no response. Seven began to unfasten her safety harness, painfully fumbling in the darkness. She yelped, shattering the unnatural quiet, rudely reminded of her own mangled shoulder. The sound reverberated momentarily inside the silent vessel, then was gone and silence returned. Stupidly the ex-drone wished she knew how to curse; she brushed aside the irrelevant thought of asking B'Elanna to teach her and concentrated on the task at hand. Eventually freed from the restraints, Seven gently laid B'Elanna down on the cockpit deck and pulled herself upright.
She made her way through the darkness to the medical storage unit trying to ignore the pulsating ache in her shoulder and the numerous other dull pains that reported the presence of minor injuries in what seemed like every part of her body.
She opened the cabinet and took out an emergency light stick, a medical tricorder, a bone knitter and a dermal regenerator. The light stick ignited with a blue flash and for a second Seven was blinded until her eyes adapted. The extent of the damage to the interior of the shuttle became apparent. Seven shook her head. If it was this bad inside, she wasn't sure she wished to know the full extent of the damage. Anyway the shuttle would have to wait. She needed to assess B'Elanna.
B'Elanna Torres looked very small and vulnerable. Seven had never thought of the half-Klingon as fragile before, yet kneeling beside Lieutenant Torres in the cold glow of the light stick, Seven felt another rush of apprehension as she methodically ran the tricorder over the other woman, uncomfortably aware that the half-Klingon was now utterly dependent on an ex-Borg drone whose medical knowledge was reasonably extensive but largely applicable to Borg damage control systems rather than organic beings.
There was a lot of bruising, a broken collar-bone, five fractured ribs and a fairly extensive crack in her skull. Serious concussion, noted the tricorder. The next entry worried Seven even more. Probability of brain damage 89.3 percent. Severity unknown, full cerebral sub-molecular scan required. Scan is beyond scope of this instrument. Keep patient immobile and seek proper medical advice, dress wound but do not attempt further treatment.
Seven hated being helpless; it was a very uncomfortable feeling. Really needing to swear now, she retrieved bandages and antiseptic dressings from the medical supplies and tried to clean and bandage B'Elanna's head as best she could.
As she treated the remainder of B'Elanna's injuries, she considered what to do next. Eventually she decided that it would be better not to attempt to move the Lieutenant. Moving her to the tiny crew quarters without making her head injury worse was too problematic; the shuttle had no transporter (it had been left out to allow more room for the experimental engines and equipment) and in any case there was no power to run a transporter. The lack of power meant no life support either and the crew quarters would be as cold as anywhere else. Instead Seven tried to make her secure, if not comfortable, slowly easing a medical stretcher under the unconscious woman so that B'Elanna would not be thrown about and her head would be held immobile if they encountered further turbulence. Finally Seven covered the small body with a blanket to ward off the increasing chill.
Looking down at the still figure outlined in the semi-darkness the ex-drone pushed more fearful thoughts away. If we are to survive I must not panic she told herself. She leant down and brushed the dark hair from the unnaturally pale face, speaking very quietly.
"I'm sorry that I cannot do more for you at this time Lieutenant but I must restart the ship's systems or we will die and I will not let you die B'Elanna Torres, that I promise. We will go home to Voyager." Seven wondered at her own empty words and whom they were meant to comfort. She could not promise anything. They might be thousands of light years from Voyager, alone in space that was as alien to Seven of Nine as anything in the Delta quadrant.
The cockpit was now noticeably colder and without power, oxygen would become a problem in the next forty to fifty minutes, however the ship was not completely dead. That was obvious. Artificial gravity had been maintained and the inertial dampeners must have functioned to some extent or they would both be dead already.
Seven slid under the main control console and tried to access the emergency override but it needed two hands to open the panel and she effectively only had one. Poor design she noted, they would have to correct that error when she got back to Voyager. Seven smirked at such very human optimism.
"I must repair my shoulder" she said aloud.
The medical tricorder confirmed her suspicions. The shoulder had fully dislocated. She would have to force the shoulder joint back into place. Setting her teeth and gripping a rail hard she calculated the correct angle and force to apply and then applied it.
Seven screamed aloud as the shoulder loudly popped home.
She slumped down against the wall, breathing hard against the pain until it had subsided enough for her to move. Gingerly she rotated her arm. It ached badly but was now fully mobile. Without wasting more time on herself Seven stripped the panel away and activated the main overrides for emergency power, the main computer, life support and the self-repair systems.
The Turing may have lacked a number of things (including transporters, weapons, tractor beam, deflector and replicators) but Seven of Nine had been the principal designer for the new craft and the design emphatically met its stated objectives. The ship had been intended for long range reconnaissance and to be a test bed for the slipstream drives. Apart from its combined dual warp/slipstream drives the little ship boasted very enhanced shields complete with an illegal cloaking device (to which the captain was turning a very blind eye), high quality long range sensors, several wholly redundant systems and uniquely, for a Starfleet vessel, auto-regenerative systems. The Turing couldn't fight its way out of a paper bag but it could run and hide and seek better than any ship in the known galaxy. Of course that was in theory, in practice half of its systems had not been field tested. Many had not even been powered up.
As the emergency power activated, the lights came back and the computer announced 'Full re-initialisation of all systems is commencing.' Seven jumped at the sound of the voice and relief washed over her; silly as it was, she felt less alone now she could talk to the computer.
Damage control reports began to arrive at the control console. Seven felt a certain grim satisfaction as the Turing began to rebuild itself and reroute essential functions through the redundant systems but the four hour estimates for completion of all essential repairs worried her. Some of the external damage to the engines and long range sensors was deemed irreparable by the auto-regenerative units. She would have to get outside and fix them herself... if she could.
"Computer I do not like space-walking" she grumbled "It is unnerving."
'Please repeat. I do not understand your instruction.'
"Nothing computer. No instructions. I am going outside on the hull."
'Unaccompanied space walks are against regulation' complained the computer.
"There is no alternative." She was already putting on the environmental suit. "Computer is the airlock functional?"
'Affirmative' came the unemotional reply. Sometimes machines were so much easier to get along with she thought. No long arguments, a quick statement of the rules and that was that.
"Computer. Open inner airlock access."
'Cannot comply. Regulation 235478b states that unaccompanied space walks are against regulation.'
Seven glared darkly at the control console. "Computer. Open inner airlock access. Override regulation 235478b. Authorisation Seven of Nine gamma 59."
She waited. Nothing happened. She asked again. When the computer still refused to open the door she frowned and flipped up the manual override handle. Almost reluctantly the airlock door opened. Seven stepped inside the lock.
"Closing inner door" she reported for the benefit of the ship's log. "Activating gravity boots, Opening outer airlock access hatch."
She did it all manually not trusting the computer which was clearly malfunctioning.
Seven stepped outside onto the hull of the ship and closed the outer hatch. Her stomach lurched as she looked out into the vast emptiness. Walking carefully and ensuring at each step that each gravity boot was in proper contact with the hull before lifting the other foot she slowly made her way to the scene of the greatest damage. Five minutes was all the time she needed to assess the repairs but it would be at least two hours before she could patch the damage to the point where auto-repairs could begin to work and then it would require several more hours for those to complete and even then a full overhaul would eventually be required to ensure full functioning.
Sighing, Seven systematically set about completing the series of tasks until at last she was able to return to the airlock for the last time, leaving the auto-regenerative units to get on with finishing the job. She leaned against the wall inside the airlock and relaxed for a few minutes in relative safety. She had been on the hull for one hour and fifty three minutes, however it was almost with reluctance that she re-entered the shuttle, at least outside on the hull her goals had been clearly determined. Inside, loneliness, uncertainty and fear waited for her.
Feeling overwhelmed, Seven slouched down in the pilot's chair and leaned her head in her arms. It was uncharacteristic for the ex-borg to ever sit, let alone slouch, but she was bone-tired, her arm still ached badly, she had expended a great deal of energy and there was nowhere for her to regenerate.
A small whimper from the direction of Lieutenant Torres caused all her tiredness and tension to be forgotten. At the half-Klingon's side in an instant Seven crouched down and took one limp hand. She gazed with concern at the beloved face that had unwillingly fascinated her for so many months.
"Let her be functioning better" she murmured. "B'Elanna Torres, can you hear me? Please answer."
For a few seconds B'Elanna's eyes flickered open but Seven realised that the half-Klingon was not registering her surroundings. She seemed feverish.
Seven sighed when the unfocused dark eyes closed again and B'Elanna lapsed back into full unconsciousness. Alone again the ex-drone forced herself back to business. Tricorder readings of B'Elanna's vital signs showed she was getting weaker. Seven injected B'Elanna with a small amount of fluids to counteract the dehydration and wiped the perspiration from the unconscious face. It was imperative that B'Elanna receive medical attention.
"I must get help" Seven said aloud. Reluctantly diverting power from repairs to the long range sensors that were now reasonably functional, Seven began to assess their surroundings.
They were in the Alpha quadrant; there was no doubt about that. Further from Delta Cygnus than she expected but the wormhole collapse must have deposited them further away than the original terminus. Sensors also revealed a ship less than one light year from their position, travelling on a parallel trajectory: four hours at maximum warp. The ship was clearly Federation in origin, probably a scout ship judging from its size and configuration. She watched it for a few moments and scanned for any transmissions. There it was. The ship was transmitting a standard sensor sweep report to the Federation: the USS Vigilant on routine patrol of the Delta Cygnus sector.
"Not very vigilant" she quipped.
'Advise evasive procedures' said the computer unexpectedly.
Slightly surprised Seven responded "Unnecessary. Open hailing frequencies"
'Negative, advise evasive procedures' said the computer.
"Computer. Open hailing frequencies. Now!"
"As you wish" the computer sulked.
Seven was now definitely disturbed by the condition of the main computer but she didn't have time to investigate. She hailed the Vigilant.
"USS Vigilant this is shuttle Turing from USS Voyager; we are drifting and my co-pilot is severely injured. Please respond."
After a couple of seconds the communication panel crackled uncertainly and a woman's voice speaking Federation standard could be heard.
"Shuttle Turing this is Captain Antonia Chekhov of the USS Vigilant. Please hold position we are coming to assist. Identify yourself pilot."
"I am Seven of Nine, chief astrometrics officer on USS Voyager. We are currently unable to start our engines and are drifting along a course parallel to your own. Please respond as quickly as you can, my co-pilot is weakening and requires urgent medical treatment."
"Acknowledged Turing ... umm, Seven of Nine. We are on our way."
Aboard the Vigilant a stunned senior crew were exchanging disbelieving glances.
The first officer, a tall Bolian called Smith, was first to speak.
"Captain. I don't like this at all. I mean Seven of Nine! I know about Voyager, we all do, but are we really to believe that USS Voyager has picked up Borg crew and where is Voyager anyway? And how do they know who we are? This has to be related to that alien/Borg probe we destroyed yesterday. We should be really care..."
The captain, a dark and handsome human woman with a stubborn streak, cut him off before he could launch into one of his annoying lectures on the dangers of foreigners.
"Agreed Mr Smith. Operations: send a message to Starfleet command. Tell them we have intercepted an alien, possibly Borg, vessel in the restricted zone and we are going to apprehend them. The vessel does not conform to any known Borg configuration but at least some of the crew seem to be Borg and there are signs of Borg technology."
"Aye sir. Transmitting now."
"Seven of Nine" said the computer. "The Vigilant is transmitting another message to Starfleet Command. You should read it."
Seven looked up from B'Elanna's side.
"Computer. Who are you?" she blurted. Embarrassed by such anthropomorphism she amended her question to an instruction. "Computer report status of main computer."
"I am fully functional" replied the computer.
"Computer. Who is I?"
"Are you referring to yourself or to me?" asked the computer. "Either way your grammar is faulty or obscurely philosophical."
Seven suddenly realised how annoying a pedant could be.
The computer carried on speaking "And, if you are done with trying to ascertain the philosophical nature of my existence or even your own, I repeat you should really read this message. I have decrypted it for your convenience. And don't say I didn't warn you."
Seven gave up on the computer malfunction for the moment. "Computer. Repeat message."
She listened as the computer read the message. Although the situation was not ideal she had no doubt that she would be able to convince them of the truth eventually. And regardless, B'Elanna needed treatment.
"Evasive action?" the computer inquired hopefully.
"No. Continue with repairs and report status in one hour. Monitor the approach of the Vigilant and inform me when it is within one parsec."
"Acknowledged," said the computer computer-like, "but don't expect me to like it."
Seven closed her eyes. 'Perhaps I am dreaming' she wondered. 'I have been warned that this might happen if I fell asleep. I profoundly hope that turns out to be the case.' Suddenly aware of being extremely tired the former drone sat down on the deck, with her back against the command console, next to Lieutenant Torres and took hold of the Lieutenant's limp hand. Unwillingly the ex-drone noted the increased body temperature. B'Elanna's condition was not improving. Seven pressed another hypo from the emergency supplies into the Lieutenant's neck hoping it would counter fever and dehydration. She stroked the damp hair away from the half-Klingon's face.
Seven fell asleep for the first time in her adult life.
One hour later the computer prepared to report the status of the repairs and then stopped. Seven of Nine was still asleep. "There is nothing of interest to report in any case" reasoned the computer.
Seven of Nine slept on.
Three hours later the computer took action.
"Wake up. Wake up. Seven of Nine wake up. On screen."
Seven lifted her head and gazed groggily at the viewscreen.
"USS Vigilant is within one parsec and closing fast. Ten minutes to intercept."
The image of the Vigilant jerked Seven of Nine back to full wakefulness.
"Hail them computer" she croaked, her voice not fully recovered from the unfamiliar experience of sleeping.
"Vigilant. This is the shuttle Turing please respond."
"Turing. This is Captain Chekhov. Lower your shields immediately and prepare to be boarded."
Annoyed, Seven glared about her.
"My apologies Captain. I was unaware that our shields were raised. We are suffering from computer malfunction. Computer. Lower shields and ... do not argue with me."
"You were asleep. It was a precaution" muttered the computer while lowering the shields.
Ten seconds later a Starfleet boarding party shimmered into existence, their phasers drawn. Seven noticed that their uniforms were substantially different from those on Voyager.
"Stand where you are and raise your arms" said a large Bolian sporting the three pips of a commander. "We are arresting you in the name of the Federation on suspicion of spying."
"Sir" interrupted one of the security officers. "There's a Starfleet officer bound and injured, lying on the floor."
"Take a look at her" ordered the Bolian, glancing at one of his men.
Seven stepped between B'Elanna and the Starfleet commander.
"Stand aside Borg or we'll shoot."
The Bolian was very nervous; Seven was his first Borg and for all he knew, his Starfleet weapons might be useless against it.
Seven ignored him.
"You are a qualified doctor?" she asked the second man. He nodded. "Then you may pass."
Seven stepped aside and the medic began his examination of the fallen Klingon.
"Who is she Borg and what have you done to her?" asked the Bolian commander aggressively. "Has she been assimilated?"
Seven sounded more patient than she felt.
"She is B'Elanna Torres, chief engineer of the USS Voyager and I have done nothing to her. She was injured in an explosion on this shuttle caused by that wormhole."
The Bolian stiffened as though Seven had said something offensive. He pointed his phaser straight at her. "You will remain silent until your interrogation Borg. There will be no further talk."
Seven was unimpressed but her main concern at this moment was that they treat B'Elanna's injuries. Seven would agree to anything they asked if it would expedite this.
"Commander" said the medic, having completed his examination. "This woman requires urgent medical treatment. I would like to transfer her straight to sick bay."
"Okay Doc but take one of my men with you." Smith tapped his communicator. "Captain we are ready to return. Transport the Doctor, his patient and one of my men direct to sickbay. The rest of us will transfer to the brig."
"Acknowledged Smith. We have the shuttle in a tractor and will bring it into the hold after you transport. Standing by."
The Doctor and B'Elanna and one of the security guards shimmered and vanished as the transporter lock whisked them away. Seven sighed with relief. At least one thing had gone to plan.
The Bolian commander was looking curiously round the small ship. "Computer report status" he said. There was no reply. "Computer report status."
"I did tell you that our computer is malfunctioning Commander" said Seven.
"And the commander told you no talking Borg" snarled one of the security men. Seven looked at him quizzically and the implant on her brow rose slightly. The man jumped back as though expecting assimilation tubules to erupt from her at any moment.
FOr a moment the guard thought that the tall Borg was answering however her words were lost in the transporter whine; only the Turing's computer heard her say quite clearly, before she and all of the Starfleet contingent vanished: "Computer. Play dead."
"Acknowledged Seven of Nine" said the computer to the now empty cockpit.
Starfleet science base on Delta Cygnus.
A small man hurried into the main test chamber talking excitedly.
"The spies have been apprehended. They are being brought here for interrogation by Starfleet security. I must say I am very relieved. The thought of all our work being stolen or may be even sabotaged is really very upsetting. What do you think Dr Kahn?"
A rather attractive and elegantly dressed Trill turned to face him. She looked bored, maybe even irritated.
"If Starfleet were not so obsessed with security we might be making much greater progress. And frankly Dr Kravitz I have no interest in what will probably turn out to be a couple of harmless joyriders."
She returned her gaze to the huge deflector dish which was now being adjusted.
"I am much more interested in the probe that came through the wormhole. If Starfleet had been a little less trigger happy we might have discovered a great deal more. After all why did that probe succeed when all of ours have failed?"
The small dark man scowled and turned to leave. Working with these geniuses was always very overrated in his experience.
Continued in next chapter
TITLE: Lost and Home
AUTHOR: halfofone
RATING: PG13
PUBLISHED: 2001-05-30
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
Seven of Nine paced up and down the brig watched by two Starfleet security officers. She was not comfortable, her hands were shackled behind her back and her body still ached from the bruises and contusions suffered in transit through the wormhole. No medical treatment had been offered since she had been arrested. She supposed the Starfleet crew thought she was too dangerous, but worse than any of this was not knowing anything about B'Elanna. The guards had ignored her when she asked for news and if this was the way they were treating her then she feared for B'Elanna's safety. Her pacing was interrupted by the entry of a striking dark haired woman, wearing Captain's pips, who marched up to the cell and in a hard forceful voice asked her.
"Who are you and why are you here?"
"I am Seven of Nine, chief astrometrics officer on USS Voyager" replied Seven equally forcefully, "and I will answer no further questions until you take me to see my companion, Lieutenant Torres."
The Starfleet captain was a little taken aback. Her first officer had led her to believe that the prisoner was some Borg monster sent to spy on the top secret experiment that they were guarding. Instead she found an intelligent and beautiful woman properly concerned with the fate of her companion. Captain Chekhov decided this was more complicated than Smith thought.
She became aware that she was staring. The blonde gazed back at her coolly. Chekhov didn't want the prisoner to call the shots so she said as formally as she could.
"I will permit you to visit your companion after you have answered my questions. She is being treated by our CMO and is not in immediate danger but she is still not conscious."
Seven shook her head and replied determinedly. "I will tell you what I can after I have seen Lieutenant Torres. I must know that she is being treated properly."
"I can assure you, Seven of Nine that your companion is receiving the best treatment we can provide." Captain Chekhov was offended and she let it show.
"The same standard as you have applied to me?" asked Seven turning to display the deep purple contusions and swellings visible on her bound wrists and forearms.
Although shocked Captain Chekhov hung onto her command training. "Why have the prisoner's injuries not been treated?" she asked the guard.
"Sir, Commander Smith said she was too dangerous."
Chekhov avoided swearing but only just. "Lower the force field," she snapped, "I want you to escort the prisoner and myself to sickbay."
"Sir!" he replied jumping to attention at the irritation plain in his captain's voice, fearing her infamous temper more than any Borg.
Seven nearly smiled. Very like Janeway. Any suggestion that her precious Starfleet was less than humane triggered defensiveness and righteous anger in equal measure. The guard dropped the brig force field and Seven of Nine stepped out. Both guards lifted their phasers, apprehension written on their faces.
"Seven of Nine" said Chekhov, sounding a little less unfriendly, "part of your story checks out. Starfleet command have confirmed the ID of your colleague as B'Elanna Torres, one of the Maquis known to be on Voyager but they are less convinced about you and your story of how you got here. There is no wormhole in this sector let alone one leading to the Delta Quadrant and this is a restricted area. Also your ship is hardly a Starfleet issue shuttle. You understand why we are cautious."
Seven did not really care about their suspicions and it was obvious that the captain of the Vigilant was either lying or had been misinformed about the wormhole but the ex-drone didn't want to offend her captors and possibly lose the chance to see B'Elanna so she inclined her head in agreement.
"I understand your concerns Captain but I would like to see Lieutenant Torres. Now."
"And I will escort you but you should know she is still unconscious, the doctor is still treating her head injuries."
USS Voyager (the Delta Quadrant)
"Mr Kim. What can you tell me" asked Captain Janeway. She wanted answers.
"Sensors detect no residual signs of the Turing Captain. They're not in this sector." Harry tried hard to stay professional and hide his worry but his voice betrayed him.
Janeway glanced at him quickly, understanding in her brief smile. Her attention quickly moved back. In front of her at the helm Tom Paris gripped the edge of his console. The helmsman had hardly spoken since they had lost contact with the shuttle and as far as she knew he had not slept in two days. Chakotay had suggested giving him leave but Janeway brushed that aside. If it were her spouse who was missing nothing would have gotten her off the bridge. As for her own feelings she was not going to indulge them, her crew needed and expected their captain to be unwavering.
"We are now within 250,000 kilometres of the site of the last transmission Captain," Tom reported quietly, almost too quietly to hear.
"Scan the whole area again Harry. I want full sensor sweeps, every particle of dust analysed. Even if the shuttle was completely destroyed there would be something left, some trace or we would be able to detect their warp signature."
"Searching Captain." said Harry. "Wait a moment, I have found some debris but it is too small to be a shuttle. It could be the remains of a probe." He studied the readings for a few more seconds.
"It's an emergency beacon or rather it was, there's not much left. I think the flight data node is still intact although the beacon is too badly damaged to transmit."
"Can you access the data Harry, I want to know what happened."
"Accessing now. There isn't much. Computer. Route visual data to main view screen. Voice data on audio channel one."
A visual of the shuttle looking very small in the mouth of the wormhole appeared on the viewscreen and then they could hear Seven of Nine's voice. "Voyager if you receive this message we have lost power and are being pulled into the wormhole. B'Elanna is injured but alive. The wormhole is collapsing and I do not know whether we will survive the transition to the Alpha quadrant. Seven out." The shuttle entered the wormhole and then a huge expulsion of energy hurtled towards the watching beacon. The visual ended abruptly as the beacon ceased recording.
There was silence on the bridge until Janeway broke it, her voice rough as gravel.
"Tuvok how long before the scheduled transmission from Starfleet." They now had regular communication with Starfleet but these had to be initiated by Starfleet. Voyager alone had insufficient power to open a connection.
"Two hours and twenty two minutes Captain."
"Then we have enough time to completely analyse all the data recorded by the emergency beacon and all the data sent to us by B'Elanna and Seven before they lost power. If they made it through the wormhole to the Alpha quadrant then Starfleet will be able to find them. In any case Starfleet may be able to help us discover the source of the anomaly. Let's get on it people, Seven and B'Elanna are depending on us."
USS Vigilant (the Alpha Quadrant)
Seven of Nine followed the Captain of the Vigilant along the seemingly endless corridors. They passed several of the Vigilant's crew, all of whom stared at the Borg as she strode past, their expressions a rough mixture of curiosity and loathing very similar to what Seven had experienced in the early days on Voyager. Apprehension crawled through her - they were so far from home - what if she and B'Elanna could not get back to Voyager; she was not ready to face this alien world. Loneliness, all too familiar since she had been dragged screaming and kicking from the Borg hive, surrounded her again. She wanted to see her friends so badly that it was like a pain in her chest. She missed them all despite their many imperfections and human foibles, she would even have liked to hear one of Tom's irrelevant and annoying jokes. The two women entered sickbay and Seven could see a fair-haired woman bent over a biobed whose occupant was entirely obscured by an operating enclosure. Unconsciously Seven straightened her shoulders, at least she still had B'Elanna.
The Doctor looked up and smiled warmly at the Captain.
"Andy," she said informally, "just in time to wake our guest." The Doctor's gaze then took in the tall blonde Borg behind her. "You are the companion from the shuttle?"
"I am Seven of Nine" said Seven precisely. "Is B'Elanna Torres fully recovered?"
"She is in no danger and I'll wake her in a few minutes but treatment is far from complete," said the doctor, smiling, obviously amused by Seven's blunt manner. "She requires additional neural surgery however we need a complete record of her brain patterns, memory engrams and synapses from a recent full medical examination for comparison."
Seven moved close enough to see B'Elanna's face through the transparent cover. Her face was extremely pale and Seven was distressed. The Doctor noticed the change in the Borg's expression with some surprise, the tall blonde was genuinely worried about the patient.
"She will be alright Seven of Nine," said the Doctor reassuringly. "As soon as we have her medical records for comparison, I will be able to operate."
Seven's expression hardened with resolve. "I will return to Voyager and obtain the emergency medical hologram's last records for Lieutenant Torres" she stated, as though Voyager were next door and not thirty thousand light years distant.
Captain Chekhov and the Doctor exchanged glances.
"And exactly how would you do that Seven of Nine" asked the Captain.
"The same way that we came. Through the wormhole. I will investigate the source of the anomaly."
"But there was no wormhole" said Captain Chekhov impatiently.
"You are mistaken Captain" said Seven looking straight at her and, like another distant Starfleet captain, Chekhov felt her own certainty wobble in the face of Seven's unshakeable arrogance and found herself uncomfortably trying to justify her knowledge.
"Seven, I have lived and worked in this sector of the Federation most of my life and there has never been a wormhole here."
"Then someone created one" said Seven.
"I think we would have noticed .... " Abruptly the Captain stopped speaking, recalling her orders from Starfleet to avoid all scans of a certain area of space for the duration of a series of top secret experiments. 'An artificial wormhole' she thought to herself.
The Doctor blurted aloud. "An artificial wormhole experiment, could that be what we are guarding Andy?" The Chief Medical Officer had obviously reached the same conclusion.
Captain Chekhov glared at her colleague. "Doctor, artificial wormhole experimentation was banned in last year's ceasefire agreement between the Dominion and the Federation so I hardly think that is likely."
The Doctor was unabashed and forthright, "perhaps Starfleet have just broken that agreement Andy."
"Perhaps Doctor you should return to your patient," stated the Captain coldly and turned her back on the Doctor.
The Doc recognised that she was pushing her childhood friendship with Chekhov a little far and went back to her patient's bedside and continued her work although her expression remained troubled.
Annoyed by her oldest friend's lack of discretion and disturbed by her suspicions about the Vigilant's current assignment, Captain Chekhov marched over to Seven and unfastened the shackles on her wrists, trying to cover her uncertainty with decisive action.
"Seven I have relayed your initial debriefing to Starfleet and we are waiting for orders. In the meantime, after the Doctor has treated your injuries, you will be escorted to the guest quarters where I hope you will be more comfortable. Understand I cannot grant you freedom of the ship until your status is confirmed by Starfleet."
"I would prefer to remain here with Lieutenant Torres until she is sufficiently well to return to Voyager."
Chekhov was not going to negotiate. "I am afraid that is impossible Seven of Nine. You have been an officer on a Starfleet vessel so you will understand that my word is final."
Seven raised her eyebrow and said nothing. Chekhov could see that she was not even slightly convinced by the Captain's words. 'God knows how Janeway manages her. I wonder what the rest of her crew are like?' thought the harassed captain imagining a ship full of Maquis brigands and Borg ice goddesses.
"Captain," interrupted the Doctor, "I think our other guest can be woken now."
"Okay Bones. Do it." instructed Chekhov, relieved at the interruption and hopeful that it might improve the Borg prisoner's co-operation.
The Doctor rolled back the operating cover, revealing B'Elanna's head and torso half covered in a Starfleet issue operating robe. The Doc pressed a hypospray into the unconscious woman's neck. The body twitched and her brown eyes half opened.
"Kahless my head. Chakotay! It's like a swarm of killer bees with chainsaws, what the hell did you put in that beer?" Her eyes opened fully. "And where in the seven blazes of hell am I?" She turned her head to see Seven of Nine who had approached the bed. She looked at her uncomprehendingly and then noticed the two Starfleet officers. Shock passed over her face and was quickly smothered. The half-Klingon lifted herself up sharply on one arm grimacing at the pain. She stared at them knowingly.
"Starfleet lackeys" she sneered loud enough for every one to hear and then addressed the Starfleet captain directly: "Where in hell have you taken me and where are my friends?"
"You are quite safe Lieutenant Torres" said the Doctor soothingly.
"Lieutenant? So I'm in someone's army now or this is some new Starfleet ploy to justify locking us up."
Anxiously Seven asked "B'Elanna are you function... feeling well?"
B'Elanna returned her hostile gaze to the Borg.
"I'm sorry lady but do I know you? I am sure I would remember being on first name terms with someone like you, but perhaps you can tell me where the hell I am and how I friggin' got here."
Seven took a step back. "You do not remember me" she said in the Borg monotone she always used when trying to avoid showing emotion.
"No 'I do not remember you'," mimicked B'Elanna and grinned fiercely at her.
"You are confused Lieutenant," said the Doctor gently. "What is the last thing you remember? Where were you and who were you with?"
B'Elanna blinked. "I'm not falling for that. You'll get nothing out of me Starfleet pig." The half-Klingon looked at the doctor with disgust. "Hell, I thought it was beneath Starfleet to use medical staff for interrogating prisoners."
The Doctor ignored the accusation and tried again. "What do you remember about the last week. Do you remember being on board USS Voyager and then travelling here from the Delta quadrant in a shuttle."
B'Elanna barked with laughter.
"What a pile of Targ manure. Who are you? Dr Gilak's daughter?" she scoffed using the name of an infamous Cardassian doctor, notorious for his interrogation of prisoners.
The doctor was unimpressed by the abuse, instead she addressed Seven and the Captain.
"I suspected this might happen. Lieutenant Torres has suffered some damage to the part of her brain that 'fetches' her memories. The memories themselves may be undamaged but the links to them are incomplete and without more detailed records of her brain before the accident, I cannot repair those links, or be certain that the damage is not more permanent."
Overhearing the Doctor's words B'Elanna sounded a little less confident "What kind of a weak, pathetic joke is this? I remember last night perfectly, we were drinking...." She stopped speaking and looked at them knowingly. " No I'm not falling for this crap. I'm telling you nothing." She lay back and folded her arms across her chest.
Seven watched her in anguish, she was more alone than ever and now she was frightened that B'Elanna would be permanently brain-damaged decades away from the help that she needed.
"B'Elanna please," Seven reached out her hand towards the half-Klingon. B'Elanna looked at her aggressively until she noticed the obvious injuries that the Borg still bore and her expression softened.
"Are you a prisoner also?" she asked.
"Yes but what the Doctor is saying is true. You and I were captured together. We are officers from the Starship Voyager which is currently stranded in the Delta Quadrant thirty thousand light years from here."
The sympathy vanished replaced by raging suspicion and B'Elanna jeered. "Me, a Starfleet officer in the Delta quadrant. And how did we get there crew mate? And while you're explaining that, explain how we ended up here, did the fairies bring us? Oh and by the way, where is 'here'? A nuthouse apparently."
Seven was puzzled by the reference to fairies. "No one brought us. We travelled through a wormhole and we are in the vicinity of Delta Cygnus."
B'Elanna laughed derisively "Well now I know you're lying or nuts blondie. I grew up on a planet in this sector and there are no wormholes around here, going anywhere, let alone the Delta Quadrant." The feisty little woman shrugged her shoulders and stared openly at Seven's facial implant. "What kind of weirdo are you anyway?"
Seven stood up straight and looked at her helplessly.
Captain Chekhov had been listening to the exchange with some interest and amusement. She was sympathetic to both the lost souls but she had to admit that seeing someone get the better of Seven of Nine improved her mood.
"It seems Seven of Nine that you will get no support for your wormhole story here."
Seven recovered her detachment and said icily.
"B'Elanna Torres always resorts to sarcasm and threats when she does not understand what she is talking about. It is her nature."
"What the hell?" And B'Elanna swung herself onto her feet and stood swaying slightly. "Are you calling me a liar blondie?"
The Doctor intervened sharply.
"Lieutenant Torres get back in bed. You are in no state to be wandering about or making threats."
B'Elanna looked at her with open derision and the Doctor lost patience.
"I said now Lieutenant! Or I will ask the guards to put you back and strap you in."
The Doctor's honest outrage seemed to penetrate the half-Klingon's cloak of anger and confusion. B'Elanna flopped back onto the biobed but couldn't resist muttering "What kind of a name is Seven of Nine anyway?" Then realisation hit her. "It's a Borg designation. You think I am in league with the Borg." She started to struggle up again before the Doctor intervened with a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Stay. There. Torres."
Too weak to argue B'Elanna stayed with her arms folded across her chest, glowering at Seven. Seven gazed back with frozen self-control and Captain Chekhov again wondered at the type of captain Janeway must be to apparently command these renegades. The Doctor busied herself looking at Seven's injured arm. She picked up her tricorder to diagnose the extent of Seven's injuries. For a long moment no-one spoke.
The silent stand-off was interrupted by the arrival of Smith and three security men.
"Captain, can I speak to you in the Doctor's office" he asked. There was a hint of self-satisfaction on his smooth face. Chekhov nodded and followed him into the office.
He handed her a padd as she shut the door of the office. "This is a priority one message from Starfleet. It says that those two are impostors, spies. They are nothing to do with Voyager. We are to arrest them and bring them immediately back to Delta Cygnus for interrogation. They are to have no further contact with the crew." He paused for effect. "Also the science team have completed the preliminary analysis of the Turing. You should know that it is equipped with a cloaking device, ideal for spying, and a design of engine that we don't recognise and it contains a lot of Borg technology. It is also completely non-functional, the main computer seems to be dead. Life support only."
Captain Chekhov was silent. She didn't like this, something inside her screamed that a huge wrong was about to be done but this was a direct order and she would have to be seen to obey at least until she had better intelligence about what was really happening. If Seven was lying then either she was extremely stupid thinking up such far-fetched stories or extremely smart and trying to appear extremely stupid. And Torres was badly injured, that had not been faked. Chekhov closed her eyes. She didn't have enough information and until she did there was no point in continuing this further.
"Okay Commander. After the Doctor has completed treating Seven of Nine's injuries you may return her to the brig. Torres will remain under guard in sick bay. She is too ill to go anywhere. And Smith, I do not want to hear of anymore ill-treatment. Do you understand? This is a Starfleet ship and we have rules for the treatment of prisoners. Follow them."
"Sir" said Smith reluctantly.
She walked back out to the main area of sickbay, determined not to prevaricate. Seven was sitting patiently on a biobed being treated with a dermal regenerator while the Doctor exclaimed over her Borg implants. Chekhov addressed both prisoners.
"Seven of Nine, Lieutenant Torres, Starfleet command have ordered us to bring you both in for questioning. I am sorry Seven but you will have to be confined to the brig until we arrive. Lieutenant Torres you will remain in sickbay under restraint."
"At last," said Torres to Seven, "a Starfleet plan a simple Maquis can understand. Take us in for questioning and then the pigs beat the shit out of us. Well they will be wasting their time with me. I know nothing. But I think you should get a better cover story blondie. That wormhole thing is not gonna fly."
Seven was paying no attention. "Starfleet have contacted Captain Janeway?" she queried urgently. Chekhov was silent which Seven took for assent. "Then why are you arresting us?"
"Seven of Nine I cannot discuss this with you any further. Bones have you finished patching her up?"
The Doc looked at her captain disapprovingly.
"I've done what I can Andy but I need more time to study her Borg implants. She has sustained some injuries to the implants which I have been unable to treat. They do seem to be treating themselves but I would like to monitor the process."
"I'm sorry Bones but we have orders from Starfleet Command." Chekhov ignored her CMO's disapproval. "Smith I'll be in my ready room if you need me."
"Aye Sir," said Smith to her retreating back. The Doc threw him a disdainful look and hurried after the Captain looking determined.
The remaining occupants of the room watched each other with open hostility.
Smith half-leered at the partially naked Torres. "A Klingon and a Borg spying together. I am going to enjoy this."
Continued in next chapter
TITLE: Lost and Home
AUTHOR: halfofone
RATING: PG13
PUBLISHED: 2001-05-30
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
Smith gestured to the three security guards. "Take the Borg away. Put her in restraints first." One of the security officers took a wrist restraint from his belt. He approached Seven with some caution.
"Those are unnecessary" said Seven.
"I disagree Borg" Smith said unpleasantly. The other two security officers grabbed her wrists while the third put on the restraints.
Seven was unsure what her next move should be. Surely Captain Janeway would intervene and explain to Starfleet that this was all a big mistake. 'But' said the small voice in her head 'Captain Janeway is not here.' The security man tightened the restraint hard and Seven pulled away in pain knocking him off balance. One of the others promptly hit her with the butt of his phaser. She staggered and he hit her again knocking her to the floor. Smith watched with satisfaction and said nothing.
Despite the thumping pain in her head B'Elanna sat up and watched with rising disgust as Seven was hauled back to her feet, blood pouring from a long cut on her head and although she told herself Seven was none of her business and probably a Starfleet plant sent to infiltrate the Maquis, she found she could not just stand by and watch her be beaten.
"Oy!. Bully Boy why don't you pick on someone who isn't tied up."
"You'll get your turn Klingon. In truth much as I hate them I never thought a Klingon would sympathise with one of these" and he jerked his thumb at Seven. "Kovich, get the Borg creature back to the brig and here take this." He picked up a dermal regenerator from the work area and threw it to Kovich. "The Captain wants her kept healthy. I hope you understand that."
The security guard grinned at his boss. He understood exactly. The security detail pushed Seven out of sickbay and left Smith alone with B'Elanna. He moved to face her.
"I'm told you are a Maquis. Isn't that a bit old fashioned? And frankly as a cover story for a Dominion spy it isn't much better than the Borg and her wormhole."
"What do you mean?"
"I know Starfleet is now openly sympathetic to the Maquis but that became an easy attitude once the Jem Hadar did the dirty work for us." He leant forward over her and stared into her face only inches away. She felt something behind her, the Doc's tricorder, and reached back for it slowly.
"What the hell are you talking about? What has happened to the Maquis?" said B'Elanna, the blood chilling in her veins and her thoughts running wild.
"Did you run away and leave them? Is that how you survived all your friends?" he gibed.
She bit her lip and her fingers closed on the tricorder. 'Keep control B'Elanna, he is just trying to spook you and make you do something stupid.' He leaned a little closer, leering. Fighting instinct overtook her and B'Elanna smashed the tricorder down on the back of his head. 'Something stupid like that' she thought as she watched the Bolian subside to the floor in front of her. 'Seska is always telling me I must learn to control my temper.'
B'Elanna hoisted herself onto shaky legs and looked about. 'I have to get out of here, I don't suppose they'll appreciate me knocking out the first officer's brains not that he seemed to have many.'
She made her way unsteadily to the main control console to see if she could find any useful information such as where the hell she was. As she looked at the controls she realised that she knew how to operate it and her hands seemed to find their way automatically across the control interface. 'Hmm my brief stay at the Academy was more effective than I knew.' Then the console demanded a Starfleet access code. Her fingers entered the code before she realised what she was doing. The console bleeped accommodatingly and she was looking at the schematics for the whole ship. 'Damn. How did I do that?' Cold fear touched her. 'They have been messing with your head B'Elanna. They must have planted this knowledge. But why?' Then she noted the stardate on the schematic. More than six years in the future.
Her fingers started to really fly over the console overriding security codes without hesitation not even wondering at her own skills and she pulled the ship's most recent logs. They told her the bare bones of the story of how she and the Borg were found floating in space in a shuttle of unknown origin and the logs confirmed the stardate. Somewhere she had lost seven years. 'Seven of Nine,' she thought, 'I have to find her, I need to know what is going on and maybe she can help me. It may all be an elaborate trap but maybe it's not.' Trying not to dwell on the implications of her findings B'Elanna downloaded the ship schematics showing the location of the brig and the shuttle bay to a padd.
She looked at the Bolian on the floor and grinned: she needed a uniform, he had a uniform, a convenient coincidence. She hauled the comatose officer up onto the biobed and stripped, tied and gagged him, and finally pushed and shoved the still unconscious body into a storage unit. Utterly exhausted she had to rest for a moment although very aware that there was no time for resting: the Doctor might come back at any moment. That said she wasn't going anywhere fast in her current state. She remembered the hypo she had noticed lying on a work surface near the biobed and guessed it was the stimulant the Doctor had used to wake her. Of course it might be any of a million different compounds available in a Starfleet medical facility but she wasn't going to think about that.
The hypo was lying where she had seen it. She picked it up, steeled herself and injected the remaining contents into her arm. An explosion rippled through her nervous system and she staggered, gripping the bed to stop herself falling down. After a few seconds the sensation eased and she stood up straight.
'Gods that was bracing. But I can stand now. I think.' She let go of the bed and was gratified to find that she felt as though she could run fifty light years at warp nine. 'Kahless that's good stuff, I'm hot to go.'
She approached the double doors. They slid apart in front of her. She smirked. No security lock; the Doc really hadn't believed she was going anywhere. Cautiously she peered into the corridor. There was no-one about so she entered the corridor, conscious of looking strange in the slightly too large uniform of the first officer. She tried to walk in what she hoped was a casual but military manner. She was concentrating so hard on walking that as she rounded a corner too smartly she failed to notice a large ensign struggling to remove a dead life support circuit from the wall until she collided with him, knocking him off balance. He righted himself and looked at her collar oddly and then saluted.
She remembered with a sinking feeling that she was wearing the three pips of a commander.
"Look what are you doing with that wrench" she barked as though on a parade ground. He looked very surprised and jumped to attention.
"Sorry Sir!"
Aware that she might have been too strong, she spoke more moderately. "Let me see that Ensign." She peered inside the maintenance panel and felt a wave of irritation.
"Are you a complete fool Ensign? Override this here and that... that goes there. The original design is faulty." She stepped back and the panel burst into life. She grinned at the dumb-founded ensign who was staring at the flashing panel as though he had just witnessed a miracle. She slapped him on the back.
He snapped back to attention. "Sir, thank you sir."
"Ensign," she acknowledged and swept past him.
He gazed after her worshipfully. He didn't know who she was but he had been completely replacing that panel every six months for three years. She was a blessing from the Gods.
Round the corner, B'Elanna exhaled with relief and removed one of the pips from her collar. 'Time for the Jeffries tubes Lieutenant Torres' she said to herself and then felt uncomfortable when she remembered that her captors had addressed her as Lieutenant.
She unfastened the access door to the Jeffries tube, swung her legs inside and crawled rapidly along the short horizontal tunnel until its end some six metres in. Then she began to descend the maze of vertical shafts. Periodically she checked her position against the data padd. After ten minutes of crawling and climbing she decided she had arrived at her target, an access tunnel next to the brig. B'Elanna checked her stolen phaser. Set on stun, no point in making this more bloody than necessary. She was about to open the exit hatch when her communicator buzzed.
"Commander Smith. It's the Chief Medical Officer. What have you done with my patient?" The Doctor sounded very angry.
B'Elanna stared at the badge and then looked wildly around for escape.
"Commander Smith respond or I will speak to the Captain."
B'Elanna ripped the cover off a power modulator and crawling uncomfortably close to the earsplitting whine, she covered her mouth and dropped her voice as low as she could.
"Busy here Doc" she grunted.
"What the hell is that noise Commander? Are you okay? You sound very odd." The doctor sounded concerned.
"Fine" said B'Elanna a little more gruffly.
"Then I repeat, where is my patient?"
"Visiting the Borg."
"What? Did you say visiting the Borg?"
"Yes" croaked B'Elanna.
"Get her back to sick bay Commander. She's not fit to be crawling around the ship visiting old friends. CMO out."
'That's what you think Doc.' B'Elanna was gleeful at fooling the CMO. She hadn't had this much fun for a long time. She was going to escape from these Starfleet buffoons and return to her Maquis family. Buoyed up by success and too much stimulant she leapt out of the access tunnel and charged the doors of the brig. Three security officers who were sitting chatting in the brig jumped to their feet but she phasered two before they could lift their weapons. The red alert siren started immediately. She swore loudly. The third security officer managed to get off a shot and missed before B'Elanna got him.
In the second cell the Borg was on her feet. B'Elanna began trying to override the lock but she couldn't get the code this time.
"B'Elanna," said the blonde. "Alpha 253 Gamma 2." B'Elanna nodded and keyed it in. The force-field collapsed and she smiled with satisfaction.
"Come on Borg, we have to hurry."
Throwing Seven a phaser from one of the fallen security officers she led the way out. As they turned left down the corridor, four more security men appeared. B'Elanna and Seven each got off one shot, the guards ducked out of sight. The two women took off, running down the corridor as fast as their battered bodies would allow.
The shuttle bay was on this deck but they were cut off and going in the opposite direction. B'Elanna rapidly recalculated a route and after a few turns and switchbacks they were very close to their objective when Seven caught hold of her hand and pulled her back hard. A shot whizzed past her head.
"Thanks," she said to the Borg who was still holding her hand. Seven dropped her hand hastily and avoided her eyes. B'Elanna wondered why the Borg looked so shaken and an irrelevant thought occurred to her. 'By Kahless' toes maybe we have some sort of history.' But there was no time to pursue this thought.
Seven started to run the other way and B'Elanna was following when a force-field went up in front of them blocking their escape. Seven pulled open a maintenance access hatch beside them but B'Elanna had a better idea.
"Trust me Seven of Nine and put your hands in the air" she said urgently and snatched the phaser from Seven's hand. She pushed her own phaser against Seven's back. "Security. Security. I need help" she yelled. Seven raised her hands in the air.
Three security officers rounded the corner cautiously. Half obscured by Seven, B'Elanna shouted excitedly and gestured at the open access hatch.
"I got one of them. The other one went in there. Get in after her and be quick about it. She can't get far but be careful, she's armed and dangerous. I'll take this one back to the brig."
Jabbing her phaser sharply in Seven's back, B'Elanna pushed her forward and they both walked away, leaving the three security officers reluctantly deciding who should enter the Jeffries tube first.
Uss Voyager (The Delta Quadrant)
"I'm sorry Captain Janeway but I can assure you that no trace of your two crew members has been found and no wormhole was observed in the vicinity of Delta Cygnus. We have searched the sector thoroughly and there's nothing there."
Janeway swallowed hard and hid the despair welling inside her.
"Thank you Admiral Clift. I would be grateful if you would continue to lookout for them - there may have been temporal distortions."
"Of course Captain. Good luck and safe journey home, Clift out." The view screen in her ready room blanked out and she stared at it helplessly until Chakotay's voice brought her back.
"Kathryn would you like me to talk to Tom?" he asked gently.
"No. Send him in, I'll talk to him." The lost expression vanished and Captain Janeway was back in command. "List them as missing Chakotay but we are not giving up yet. Tell Harry and his team to keep analysing all the available data on that anomaly. And I want a report from Astrometrics on every inhabited area in this region. We'll make a few contacts and see if any of the local civilisations know more than we do and can help us."
Chakotay turned to go and hesitated, saying seriously.
"Kathryn we may have to accept that we have lost them. I know how much they mean to you, B'Elanna is my best friend, but a time must come when we call a halt to searching."
"I know Chakotay but that time is not today. I am not going to abandon them until I am certain we can do no more but I won't let this become my mission if that is what is worrying you."
His face lightened a little.
"It's the duty of the first officer to worry about the Captain..."
"And you think I'm more difficult than most. Right?"
"Permission not to answer that question Captain." He half-smiled as he left the room but the smile vanished when he saw the anxious faces of the bridge crew. "Tom, the captain would like to speak to you."
USS Vigilant (The Alpha Quadrant)
The doors to the shuttle bay were wide open and Seven could see the Turing gleaming darkly on the flight deck. It looked stealthy even from here. It was understandable that Starfleet thought they might be spies.
Behind her B'Elanna closed the door to the corridor and locked it, entering an encryption code which she didn't recognise as Maquis or Starfleet but somehow knew anyway.
"Damn I wish I knew how I did that" she was saying aloud.
Seven took up position at a command console.
"I will have to override the shuttle launch door controls and the shields to enable us to launch," said the ex-drone, "as a precaution I will also disable the tractor beam."
B'Elanna looked at her admiringly.
"You can do all that? Remember all their security codes will have changed."
"I am Borg" explained Seven briefly. "Board the Turing and activate the computer. It will recognise you but it may act... oddly. Just .... insist on what you want." When B'Elanna raised her eyebrows in question Seven shrugged. "I believe there is a malfunction in the main program, there is some unexplained tendency to be argumentative and stubborn. Go now and I will join you shortly." B'Elanna hesitated, reluctant to leave the Borg. "Trust me" said the statuesque blonde and B'Elanna realised that she did.
B'Elanna walked over to the strange little ship, climbed up on to the upper walkway and opened the top hatch. She dropped down into the darkness inside.
"Computer, lights and power. Prepare all systems for launch."
The lights came on instantly and B'Elanna whistled. She had never seen so much Borg technology up this close before not to mention technology she didn't even recognise. It all looked a bit battered though. She walked to what she supposed was the navigation console and was trying to work out how to set a course when a voice made her jump.
"Welcome back Lieutenant Torres. Nice to see you on your feet again."
She drew her phaser. "Who the hell is that?"
"I am the Delta Flyer Mark II automated control system."
"You are the computer."
"If you must call me that. You called for launch readiness. Personally I doubt that the Turing is fully prepared for such an action. It would be wiser..."
"Just get the ship ready for launch computer. We have no more time."
"If you say so but don't blame me if we blow a gasket. You wish to actually set a course so I know where to point my failing engines?"
B'Elanna scowled and punched in the co-ordinates.
The computer whistled in an exact imitation of B'Elanna and then remarked "Oh nice choice Lieutenant. The badlands near the war torn Cardassian border. A lovely area of turbulent space with added super-ion storm hazards. Very suitable for a vessel with dodgy engines and no weapons."
"Seven of Nine was not joking when she warned me about you" muttered B'Elanna.
"Is the lovely Seven of Nine going to join us when she has finished interfering with our hosts shields and tractor beam?" asked the computer with a definite edge to its voice.
"I am here," responded Seven lowering herself through the hatch. "I have disabled the tractor beam and we have thirty seconds before the overrides are triggered on the Vigilant's shields and the shuttle bay doors open. Computer. Status."
"At last, someone had the courtesy to ask."
"Computer" roared B'Elanna, "status!"
"All systems are operational but I do know the port engine is feeling a little off-colour still. It has promised to do its best. We are ready for launch and there was no need to shout Lieutenant."
Ignoring the computer Seven took manual control of the helm.
"... nine, eight, starting impulse engines, five, four, three, two, one, launch. Bay doors are open. Vigilant's shields are down. We have exited the Vigilant." Stars became visible through the transparent aluminium viewing panels.
B'Elanna was monitoring the Vigilant.
"She's powering her weapons. Computer, shields." An impact and the blue glow of the shields punctuated her command.
"Shields are already in place, elementary threat analysis suggested it was prudent. Damage from impact was negligible" said the computer smugly, B'Elanna's scowl deepened.
Seven reported "Powering main engines for warp travel. Warp five in three, two, one, engage."
On the final count the little vessel seemed to gather itself for just a moment before the warp engines hurled the Turing forward.
B'Elanna whooped. "We've done it."
Seven nearly smiled. "We have."
"You have hardly started" said a grumpy voice. "The Vigilant is in pursuit, warp 8.9 and gaining fast. Estimated time for interception 2 minutes."
"We have a course laid in?" Seven asked B'Elanna who nodded. Seven checked the course projections and made a few amendments. "Computer prepare to enter slipstream."
"Acknowledged" said the computer.
"Engage" said Seven quietly. The normal warp-smeared star-field disappeared, the Turing gave a stomach churning lurch and they entered a tunnel of blue and green light. Seven let out a small sigh of relief, the slipstream drive had worked.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Captain Chekhov stood on the bridge of her ship and stared at the forward view screen where an image of the tiny shuttle had been a few seconds earlier.
"Operations report. Now ensign." she said harshly.
"The vessel entered something similar to a Borg trans-warp conduit sir."
"Can we follow?" she asked.
"Negative sir, we are too far behind. The conduit is closing." She closed her eyes in frustration. She hated to lose but there was no time for recriminations.
"Put Starfleet on alert, notify them that the prisoners have escaped and that all stations should scan Federation space for a trans-warp signature." She was well aware that this was a slim chance. It was highly unlikely the escapees would stay in Federation space.
The Ensign at operations interrupted her thoughts.
"Message from Starfleet sir. Admiral Clift wants to speak to you in private."
"I'll take it in the ready room." She walked off the bridge aware of the sympathetic glances from her crew.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"A bad business Captain Chekhov," said Admiral Clift, a tall thin cadaverous man known to his long-suffering adjutants as 'the corpse' and to everyone else as a bad enemy and a worse friend. "I don't want excuses Chekhov, I want those prisoners recaptured. It is vitally important that they be prevented from reporting to whoever is controlling them."
"Sir, it would help if I knew what the stolen information is. They claimed it was an artificial wormhole, well one of them did, but that's an illegal experiment, isn't it sir?"
The white face with its protruding eyeballs showed no anger or surprise at her accusation.
"It's also highly classified Chekhov. Just find them or I can tell you that your career in Starfleet will be short and not very glorious. Clift out."
Chekhov closed her eyes and stifled the panic rising within. Deliberately she went to the cabinet behind her and took out a glass and a bottle of clear liquid. 'Thank God I'm a Russian, there's always the vodka bottle to fall back on.' The chime to the ready room sounded.
"Come in."
The doctor entered looking a little wild and disorganised.
"Andy, what is going on around here? I spoke to Smith earlier and he mumbled some nonsense about the Klingon visiting the Borg. I thought he was just trying to squeeze in a little unscheduled interrogation but now I'm told that both Torres and the Borg have escaped and Smith has disappeared."
"Bones get yourself a glass and join me. We are drinking to the end of my career and, possibly, the start of the next war with the Dominion."
"Oh." The doctor got herself a glass. "My news is a little more mundane. I wanted to tell Lieutenant Torres, or whoever she is, that she is four weeks pregnant and she should take it easy. I guess I'm too late."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Computer estimate time of arrival at programmed destination." said Seven of Nine.
"Well assuming we don't hit anything and the port engine doesn't give up. I would say about 2 hours and 44.3 minutes."
"That's impossible," said B'Elanna dragging her eyes from the light show outside. "The badlands are four days travel at warp 6. Who the hell built this baby?"
"You did Lieutenant" said Seven of Nine.
B'Elanna sat down and stared about her. It was impossible, it was all impossible but she felt it was true.
"Seven of Nine, we have 2 hours and 40 minutes for you to explain to me what in Kahless' name is going on and I think we are going to need every minute of that time."
Continued in next chapter
TITLE: Lost and Home
AUTHOR: halfofone
RATING: PG13
PUBLISHED: 2001-05-30
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
B'Elanna discovered that Seven was a surprisingly good story teller in addition to having an incredible memory. Most of what she recounted was derived from Voyager's logs but Seven had also absorbed many personal reminiscences from members of the crew. It was also unnerving to hear Seven attribute so many stories to B'Elanna when she herself had no recollection of the actual events.
The early part of Voyager's story had shocked B'Elanna to the core. She found it almost impossible to believe that Seska had turned out to be a Cardassian spy and she wondered how Chakotay had coped with the disgusting revelation. The three of them had been very close for years and the sense of betrayal she felt now was acute but he had been half in love with the woman. It would have been a devastating blow for him. It all seemed so unreal. B'Elanna remembered speaking to Seska perhaps three or four days ago and she had to keep reminding herself that eight years had elapsed and Seska was now dead.
Her Klingon stomachs started to make themselves felt and heard, so that despite wanting to hear more, the need to eat and drink was now paramount. Seven was firmly embarked on retelling the fourth year of the abbreviated version of Voyager's travels in the Delta Quadrant when B'Elanna reluctantly interrupted.
"I think we should take a break Seven, get some food. Computer how much longer before we arrive?"
"50 minutes. Approximately." replied the computer curtly.
It was sulking because B'Elanna had shouted at it for constantly interrupting Seven's narrative and querying the truth of many of the strange tales and some of the stories were indeed fantastical, but B'Elanna believed every word and that was because of the storyteller. Without any good reason that she could think of, B'Elanna found that she trusted Seven of Nine completely. Seven had just completed the story of her own arrival on Voyager and, apart from being a very exciting story, B'Elanna empathised with the sense of loss and fear that Seven must have experienced when she was first separated from the collective.
"Did we become friends?" she had asked the ex-drone at one point in the narrative; for some reason B'Elanna had felt this was very important. Seven seemed almost sad but had answered her frankly.
"We did not become friends. Initially you did not want me on Voyager. You voiced some of the strongest objections to my presence amongst the crew."
Hearing that B'Elanna felt ashamed, she could not understand what would have caused her to have rejected another castaway, someone who so clearly needed help and understanding. Had she changed so much?
"Well I was a fool Seven, thank the gods for Janeway. She sounds amazing."
"Captain Janeway is unusually stubborn and does not know when to admit defeat. We disagree often." Then Seven sort of smiled and B'Elanna could see that the ex-drone was very fond of Voyager's captain.
Thinking back on the conversation B'Elanna remembered feeling an unexpected stab of resentful envy toward the unknown Janeway. Again she couldn't fathom why she had this response but before she could pursue the thought further her need for food resurfaced emphatically as each of her stomachs thundered loudly. B'Elanna turned her mind to the present.
"I suppose we should make some plans, but we're doing nothing until we have eaten, my belly is emptier than a Ferengi charity box," she grinned as her stomachs rumbled audibly again. "Where are the replicators?" She had previously noticed the absence in the main cockpit but assumed they were hidden or in the crew quarters.
Seven eyed her apprehensively. Lieutenant Torres was not known for her tolerance of messengers bringing ill news.
"The Turing was experimental Lieut.... B'Elanna, we had not yet added replicators. There is a stock of ration packs aboard."
B'Elanna closed her eyes. Starfleet ration packs, designed, so it was widely believed at the academy, to punish cadets for getting lost. "Is there nothing else? A pair of old boots that I can fry on the warp drive?" Seven shook her head.
B'Elanna eyed her suspiciously "I suppose you don't have to put up with this because you are going to regenerate or something." Seven shook her head again.
"There are no regeneration units aboard. I will also have to eat the ration packs, I find them reasonably palatable" she added.
B'Elanna rolled her eyes, replying caustically. "Well lucky you. However despite the bad news I am still hungry so we had better get them out. Where are they?"
Seven stood up and went into the adjacent room which B'Elanna assumed were the crew quarters. Watching her go, B'Elanna idly wondered about the uniform the Borg wore. It was hardly Starfleet issue, although the blue one piece suit seemed to suit the Borg, it highlights her eyes B'Elanna thought and it was much more revealing than you would have expected from the hopelessly austere Starfleet.
When Seven returned she would have to ask about it but on Seven's return she was diverted from her question by the puzzled look on the ex-drone's face. Seven was clutching a newly opened box containing half a dozen ration packs.
"Something wrong Seven?"
"I believe so" and she handed two of the packs to B'Elanna who read the title on the packet. 'Reconstituted Gagh for issue to Klingon troops on secondment.' The second pack was identical. B'Elanna stared at them turning them over in her hands slowly.
"Are they all the same?" she asked in a low monotone. Seven nodded and B'Elanna blew her top.
"What kind of stupid petaQ have you got out there in the Delta Quadrant? I detest Gagh, even Klingons hate reconstituted Gagh. If we ever return to that forsaken ship I'll will make whoever did this, eat this shit and prunes for a month" she shouted, reddening with fury.
"It may have been mistake" said Seven stoically. "Voyager has limited stocks of ration packs. This box may be all that was left."
"Oh yes, it was a mistake," said B'Elanna becoming deadly calm again, "and when I know the identity of the fool who made that mistake I will rip his eyeballs from his head and serve them on a bed of lettuce."
Seven did not reply, feeling at a loss in the face of the half-Klingon's fury, but the computer chipped in quickly "Lieutenant Paris and Ensign Kim re-stocked the supplies before your departure."
"Who asked you computer?" And then she took in the computer's words. "You mean Tom Paris, that worthless traitor. This would be his idea of amusement. I knew it was too much to hope that he had changed despite your stories." Her eyes narrowed, "I will enjoy making him pay."
Seven knew she had to enlighten Lieutenant Torres about her relationship to Mr Paris, but decided to delay the revelation as a Klingon powered flying pack of reconstituted Gagh exploded against the port wall and slithered down.
"There, that feels better. My God look at that stuff, it looks alive even when it's reconstituted" exclaimed B'Elanna in disgust.
The computer was unimpressed. "Yes it's a miracle of modern science but would you please clean it off the wall Lieutenant Torres. It is seeping into the ventilation ducts." B'Elanna folded her arms and snorted but the computer was smarter "If it gets in the ducts the smell will be with us for weeks. Of course if you like the smell then that's fine, let it rot there. I cannot smell."
The threat was enough. B'Elanna dug a cleaning hose out of the maintenance cupboard and in a few minutes removed the offending slime. She then slumped in the pilot's chair and stared morosely at the remaining packets of Gagh. Seven watched her in amused trepidation. B'Elanna seemed different, younger and less disciplined. Seven years on Voyager as chief engineer had had a sobering effect on the young Maquis. Seven found the less inhibited version of the engineer even more charming.
"Can you last another ten hours without food Seven?" asked her smaller companion suddenly.
"I believe so. Although I am experiencing hunger pangs." She quirked an eyebrow in inquiry. "You know of an alternative source of food?"
"It will take us nine hours flying through the badlands from the point where we leave the slipstream conduit before we reach Mudd's Last Stand. Nearly ten hours before we eat." B'Elanna's scowl as she calculated the time threatened to become full Klingon rage. Seven sought to divert her companion before the rage set in and another Gagh projectile was launched at the shuttle walls.
"What is 'Mudd's Last Stand'?" she queried hurriedly.
B'Elanna still in the grip of her rage snarled "That's where we are headed Borg."
Seven winced at the aggression in B'Elanna's voice. An event which was noticed by the excitable Maquis who immediately felt an uncomfortably painful jolt of remorse. The Borg seemed oddly vulnerable to the brash young Klingon. "I'm sorry Seven."
With some effort B'Elanna calmed herself, explaining in more normal tones. "It's a star system in the centre of the badlands: one star, one planet, one town and no Federation or Cardassians, just smugglers, criminals and pirates. The Federation and Cardassians know of it of course but it's pretty much impossible to find unless you are escorted and not worth finding when you get there. Rumour has it that Harry Mudd Senior did a deal with both empires decades ago to get them to leave him alone. His son Harry Mudd Junior allows the Maquis to use the base as long as we don't use it for military purposes and you can get a decent meal there for a price. You can get anything for a price." She frowned. "Do we have any credits, latinum or anything we can use as money? Not that it matters, I'm certain to find Maquis friends there who will help us, though I suppose after seven years none of them will really be expecting me." She half-grinned at how surprised her old friends were going to be to see her again.
Seven looked at her helplessly, realising that B'Elanna was still unaware of the true fate of all her old friends and that she would have to be the one to break the news. Seven remembered the dreadful and self destructive grief that had gripped B'Elanna when she first found out about the extermination of the Maquis by the Dominion. Seven felt paralysed by the responsibility.
Unaware of the ex-drone's distress, the object of her concern was looking at a hapless packet of gagh again and the expressive face darkened.
"Tom Paris, I'll fix him the little toad." B'Elanna muttered. "Seven just take the damn gagh out of my sight. Please." Seven didn't respond and just continued to look at her, uncertainty and perhaps fear shading the brilliant blue gaze.
"Hello, B'Elanna to Seven. Are you in there? Look I'm sorry I shouted but Paris always made me mad, the little braggart."
Seeing the impatient look on the strong face Seven tried to recover her senses and struggled dimly to recollect what the half-Klingon had been saying. She held out the box of Gagh she was clutching.
B'Elanna gazed at the grey foil covered packets and sighed. She was about to get sarcastic about the super efficient and capable Borg when she noticed Seven's expression and suppressed the smart comment. For some unknown reason, Seven was genuinely upset.
"Hey. What's the matter Seven? Have I done something wrong?" She gently took the blonde's Borg hand and held it tight, stroking lightly with her thumb, not betraying any unease about the obvious Borg implants. "I know I'm a clumsy fool at times and too rough with people and I'm sorry if I've hurt you even if I can't remember how or why."
Looking into the sympathetic dark eyes, Seven of Nine was unexpectedly in agony; she did not want to explain anything to the beautiful alien about their past lives, not the antagonism they had expressed to each other almost daily, nor the half-Klingon's relationship to Tom Paris and the recent marriage and she certainly didn't want to tell her about the tragic last stand of the Maquis, breaking both her Klingon hearts again. The last few hours had felt like a second chance to Seven. The half-Klingon was so different towards her and as bad as their situation was, Seven had never enjoyed anything in her young life as much as this time in the shuttle, the object of B'Elanna Torres attention, receiving her approval and implicit friendship. For a brief while the young Borg had lived some of her fantasies, familiar from long, lonely, late night walks around Voyager. She did not want the fantasy to end but she knew B'Elanna well enough to understand that the half-Klingon would have to know all of the truth and soon.
B'Elanna interrupted her confusion and asked bluntly. "Did you and I have some sort of relationship? Is that why you are upset? I know you said we didn't get on at first but we seem close now and I feel as though there must have been more."
Seven slowly withdrew her hand.
"I have things that I must tell you, that you must know. But I am afraid, afraid of causing you distress. You will find some of these things hard to hear and I do not wish to lose your..."
Seven stopped, not really knowing how to express herself without betraying her feelings.
B'Elanna sat back on the pilot's chair and for the first time that day her defensive manner was back in full force.
"What things?" she growled "Tell me Seven of Nine. If you have been lying to me..."
B'Elanna's change of tone resolved Seven's indecision.
"I have told you no lies Lieutenant. There is more to say but we will need time, more time than we currently have available."
Seven's conviction reassured B'Elanna and she relaxed again. Her natural optimism surfacing, B'Elanna reasoned there was little use in worrying about a past she could not remember. Seven, for all her Borg mannerisms, was probably in a stew over very little.
"We talk later then," she said, "though I don't suppose we'll have any opportunity travelling through the badlands. I should warn you Seven, journeys through the badlands usually require concentration, dermal regenerators and luck and please stop calling me Lieutenant, I keep looking around for some Starfleet petaQ to hammer."
"I will endeavour to comply ... B'Elanna." Seven could not relax under the circumstances but equally she could not help enjoying her companion's unguarded friendliness and unfathomable willingness to believe in her.
"I am sorry to interrupt this fascinating conversation," interrupted the computer sounding bored, "but the port engine is experiencing difficulty. It estimates it can survive until the point of exit from the slipstream but must be shutdown immediately after that."
"Computer, can it be repaired by the auto-regeneration units?"
"Partially, but some of the components required for slipstream must be replaced" replied the computer. "I will provide you with a shopping list."
"Can the Turing fly with only one engine?" asked B'Elanna.
Hunched over a command console reading the repair reports and requisition orders Seven sounded a little abstracted as she answered "Impulse and warp travel are possible at reduced velocities but the slipstream requires both engines. Even with both engines, the Turing's slipstream is not sufficiently robust for long distance conduits. It was fortunate that this was a short passage."
"Well I suppose if you have travelled forty thousand light years then fifteen light years is just a hop and a skip but still, it's a great little ship." B'Elanna smiled lightly, "I must be a better engineer than I thought even if I seem to have made some errors with the computer's personality. My interface programming skills were always unpredictable."
"My personality is my own, thank you Lieutenant," harrumphed the miffed computer, adding in a clearly audible undertone, "for which I thank an immortal being of questionable existence."
Seven was intrigued.
"Computer can you determine the cause of your unusual development? You were not designed to incorporate any personality sub-routines."
"As you wish Seven of Nine" said the computer and paused. After a few seconds it continued. "I have analysed the available repair logs. When the Turing was damaged the main neural computer links were destroyed. In order to carry out repairs the auto-regenerative systems needed to communicate with the rest of the ship and they routed all communication through the only undamaged neural network remaining, the expert engineering systems. Those systems are now an intrinsic part of the Turing's control systems. The main computer was repaired but it is now permanently linked with the knowledge base systems, I am the product of that union."
Seven raised an eyebrow in admiration and said approvingly, "An effective solution."
"Yeah but why does the computer have a personality?" asked B'Elanna still mystified.
The computer sounded impatient.
"The expert systems were modelled on you and Seven of Nine and incorporated elements of your personalities to aid problem solving and analytical study. A Borg technique oddly enough."
"In Kahless name, so that makes Seven and I like .... your parents!" B'Elanna exclaimed. She grimaced and added caustically, "I never expected to live long enough to spawn any offspring. Just don't ask me to change your diapers or expect an allowance."
"I believe Lieutenant that I have just experienced what you would describe as a shudder at the very thought of you as a parent, let alone as my parent" retaliated the computer with clear distaste in its voice.
"Perhaps I should try to extricate you from such a terrible fate Computer..." growled B'Elanna menacingly.
Seven was studying the logs and the bickering disturbed her concentration. She glanced sideways at her companion, speaking without thinking "This discussion is unproductive Lieutenant, the computer is functioning at an acceptable level. Desist from threatening it."
Infuriated, B'Elanna growled sarcastically under her breath, "Mommy to the rescue." Seven straightened quickly, hard-won experience of Voyager's chief engineer making her all too aware of the violent shift in mood and the impending storm in the dark eyes.
Not as sensitive to the signals the half-Klingon was radiating, the computer seemed to snort in agreement before saying, with exaggerated politeness, "Lieutenant, or may I call you B'Elanna? To reroute the communications according to the original configuration will take the equivalent of forty four thousand one hundred and thirty six human hours and twenty seven point two human minutes. Do you wish me to embark on this worthy project now or perhaps after we have been recaptured and we have more time, or would you prefer I concentrate on our escape?"
Distracted from the ex-drone, B'Elanna's scowl deepened, her eyes hunted about for a handy sonic wrench with which to gut the sarcastic computer when the funny side of its words struck home, her fury dissipated as quickly a summer storm and she began to laugh.
"Seven, that must be your side of the family talking. It sounds just like you."
Unamused and still on the defensive Seven narrowed her eyes and glared at the half-Klingon, this was more like B'Elanna of old, always trying to prove how like a machine the ex-Borg was.
"Let us hope it does 'take after me' Lieutenant, I believe we would be in grave danger if the Turing's computer threw tantrums like your side of the family" she said severely.
For one point seven seconds there was silence. Then it was broken by a raucous shout of laughter.
"Damn good point Seven," wheezed B'Elanna through her laughter. Bewildered Seven realised that the human-Klingon was not mocking her, not even angry any more. Still smiling, B'Elanna closed the gap between them, carelessly throwing her arm around the tall Borg's waist as she leant to examine the reports on the console.
Mollified and now absurdly pleased that she had contributed to the joke, Seven offered shyly, "Of course Lieu.., B'Elanna, the ingenuity of the Turing's strategy is also from your side."
B'Elanna tightened her hold and laughed again looking up into the Borg's face and Seven smiled back. Then came silence, embarrassment at their own silliness and a sudden awareness of the physical proximity. The feelings became too disturbing and Seven moved away focusing her attention back on the console. B'Elanna released her hold to let the ex-drone go, stifling disappointment. She really liked the young Borg, really liked her. 'I wonder if she is in a relationship with anyone on Voyager.'
She remembered the affection in the Seven's voice when the borg talked of Captain Janeway and B'Elanna felt another stab of envy. 'Oh call it for what it is B'Elanna,' she thought. 'You're jealous. You're starting to fall for her and you're jealous of her past. I bet that's what she wants to tell me. That she loves someone else and that she rejected me before I lost my memory and not to make the same mistake again. Damn.'
Seven broke the awkward silence and it was back to business.
"I should familiarise you with the Turing's operation, specifications and design before we enter the badlands."
With effective economy of words Seven outlined what B'Elanna needed to know about their vessel. She taught B'Elanna how to manually operate the major systems. Feelings and fears receded as they both became absorbed discussing and studying the abilities and limitations of the little ship. B'Elanna learned quickly and though she could not remember any of the delta quadrant technology, it seemed familiar and she often found she knew how to do things without knowing how she knew. When the computer announced that they had arrived at the programmed destination B'Elanna was fairly confident she could fly the ship successfully and, as the computer kept reminding her, both it and Seven were there if she found herself in difficulties. The computer managed to sound so patronising at this point that even Seven had lost patience and instructed it to remain silent unless it had something useful to report.
"The Turing has exited the slipstream, port engine shutdown commencing," announced the computer. "I hope that information is of interest" it continued huffily.
"Okay let's check where we are," said B'Elanna, running a sensor sweep. "Looks good, the boundary to the badlands is less than 500,000 kilometres and we don't appear to have any company. I'll lay in a course .... computer, full impulse."
"With one engine I'm afraid half impulse is all I can give you," replied the computer. "Perhaps you could get out and push Lieutenant," it said brightly.
As B'Elanna muttered about re-programming and Seven gently placed a restraining hand on her arm calming the volatile woman instantly, four light years away, a Starfleet listening post was transmitting an emergency signal to the nearest Starfleet vessel. A dark skinned human officer at the communications station was studying the transmission.
"Captain, we are receiving a transmission from listening post gamma 631" said the communications officer. "A stolen shuttle carrying two escaped spies has been detected near the badlands. Starfleet orders are to capture and detain the spies, they are considered extremely dangerous."
"Set a course to intercept Ensign Fesar," growled the Captain, a large thickset Klingon, "maximum warp."
"Aye sir" answered the Bajoran pilot. "Time to intercept fifteen minutes."
The USS Defiant swept about and vanished in a streak of light, hurtling at warp 8 towards the tiny shuttle as it limped painfully slowly towards the relative safety of the badlands.
On board the shuttle Seven of Nine and B'Elanna Torres were arguing about possible ways to return to Voyager.
"Well I don't see why we can't hop back to Voyager," said B'Elanna. "The Turing could make a series of short slipstream journeys, we could carry enough dilithium to refit the drive after each hop.
Seven raised her eyebrow and looked sceptical.
"I estimate we would require 30 such 'hops' and each refit would take two to three weeks even if we were able to acquire or store the necessary materials. There is no entirely reliable way of estimating Voyager's position. We might spend months looking for it in the wrong sector."
"Couldn't we ask? From what you tell me Voyager rarely fails to be noticed by the civilisations it encounters."
"It is equally rare for the impression to be favourable" Seven replied drily. "The delta quadrant is not forgiving..."
The computer interrupted excitedly.
"B'Elanna! Seven! Sensors report a vessel approaching at high warp, it appears to be Starfleet. Shields and evasive manoeuvres?" asked the computer hopefully.
"Hell yes!" said B'Elanna. "I don't think we'll give them the benefit of the doubt."
"They are hailing," said the computer, "probably not worth hearing. I shall just jam the ..."
"On screen," said Seven firmly.
The computer sighed audibly but complied with the instruction.
A male Klingon in Starfleet uniform peered at them. "I am Captain Worf of the Federation starship Defiant. Lower your shields, heave to and prepare to be boarded."
"No" said B'Elanna. "We have done nothing."
"Then you have no reason to refuse our request" he said gruffly. "You cannot outrun us, sensors show one of your engines has shut down."
"We will not surrender to you Captain Worf. We have no reason to trust Starfleet."
"That is not my concern," growled the Klingon. "My orders are to arrest you and we will do so. You will be within range of our weapons in thirty seconds. Obey our instructions or we will fire."
Out of sight of the view screen Seven was gesturing at B'Elanna to no avail. B'Elanna looked puzzled, her face scrunching up in bemusement.
Seven shrugged and mouthed urgently "Need. More. Time."
Comprehension dawned on the half-Klingon and she tried to think of some delaying tactic.
"We will consider your request Captain Worf. Umm what's a nice Klingon like you doing in Starfleet then?"
She cringed internally, thinking 'Idiot! Stupid and lame and brainless idiot!' On the other side of the shuttle she could see Seven raise her metallic eyebrow, her expression saying clearly 'what are you doing?' and then the Borg fingers began to fly over the controls.
"Do not waste my time," said the Klingon captain coldly. "We will fire in ten seconds."
"Hold up there Worf, we'll surrender alright but it's not simple, we are having trouble with our computer, it's not obeying orders" she improvised.
"More delaying tactics. Lieutenant Harg prepare to fire forward phasers."
"No I'll prove it. Computer lower shields." B'Elanna said a silent prayer.
On cue the computer barked "In this situation? I don't think so Lieutenant. Do you think I'm a fool? That great hairy Klingon wants to smear my circuits across the heavens." Hysteria coloured the normal computer monotones and Worf hesitated.
"Can you slow your ship and allow us to get a tractor on you?" he asked uncertainly. The shuttle was no threat to the Defiant and threatening such a puny vessel with destruction did not sit well with him.
Out of view Seven held up her hand and mouthed "Ten. More. Seconds." and the Borg began a countdown.
B'Elanna grinned slowly at the serious looking Klingon. "We can try Captain, we can certainly try Captain."
As she finished speaking Seven's countdown ended and the ex-drone punched a control. The small ship shuddered and nothing happened. B'Elanna looked puzzled and Captain Worf looked puzzled.
"Terminate transmission computer, warp 2 and immediate evasive procedures" said Seven coolly.
"With pleasure Seven" chirped the computer happily.
"Seven they'll blast us out of the sky" gasped B'Elanna clutching the con in anticipation of the inevitable phaser fire.
"They will have to find us first B'Elanna" said Seven of Nine and her lips turned up in a small satisfied smile.
Aboard the Defiant, chaos reigned. Worf was on his feet, lips drawn back in a full Klingon snarl. His black eyes glittered furiously. "Where are they Mr Fesar? Report! Now!"
"They just disappeared from sensors Captain. They've gone!"
"Cloaked. Lieutenant Harg fire at will at the shuttle's last known coordinates. Full spread."
The Defiant's phasers wasted their strength on empty space and miniscule amounts of dust.
"Why did Starfleet not warn us. No Federation shuttle has a cloaking device. I want every particle of information you can find on that ship and its crew."
"Shall we keep looking sir?" asked the Operations Officer
"You can look but they will have entered the badlands by now. We have lost them." Enraged at being made to look stupid, Worf swore he would recover the shuttle and the two renegades if the Defiant had to patrol this sector for all eternity. And thus Worf became the second Starfleet captain in twenty four hours to have to admit the escape of the Turing and its crew to an angry Admiral Clift.
"Cloaked," repeated B'Elanna foolishly, "but you told me that none of that technology had been tried out before. I thought you were fixing the port engine and we were going to make a run for it."
"Your assumption was incorrect B'Elanna" said Seven looking smug and oddly adorable B'Elanna thought. The half-Klingon sighed inwardly. She was getting it bad for the borg.
Seven was still speaking. "Even if I could have brought the port engine online, it was likely that Starfleet was prepared for us to repeat that tactic."
B'Elanna ran her hand through unruly hair, whistling slowly, not sure whether to be pleased or angry. "You are a madwoman Seven of Nine," the trained engineer's caution suddenly gave way to natural Klingon exuberance, "but dammit you're wonderful."
The lithe half-Klingon threw her arms around Seven of Nine hugged her, and lifted the ex-drone a couple of inches off the ground. Caught by surprise Seven squealed slightly at the indignity and the insecurity of her position and then bit her lip, further annoyed at the indignity of squealing. B'Elanna chuckled but the grin faded as the effort of lifting Borg enhanced bones and sinew made her breath come harder, her muscles ache and her Klingon hearts beat faster. Slowly B'Elanna let Seven slide through her arms, releasing her when her feet were on the deck. Seven didn't move away.
Standing close enough to feel each others warmth, their faces less than a hand span apart, the mutual awareness that had been flowing beneath the surface of their feelings all day now flooded them both, surging through nerves and washing over sensitive skin in warm, crazy waves.
B'Elanna was breathing hard, partly from muscular exertion and partly tension. Her face so close that Seven could feel her warm breath. Time slowed.
Captivated Seven studied the face of the her obsession. High cheek bones and the strong forehead ridges lent the half-Klingon features strength and power, belied by soft smoothness of skin and red lips, darker than her own. She lifted her hand to hesitantly stroke the soft cheek fascinated by the contrast between her own pale pinkish skin and her beloved's, glorious, dark gold hue. B'Elanna stood rock still and said nothing, losing herself in the moment and Seven's aching blue eyes. The little part of B'Elanna's conscious mind that remained active, silently prayed that nothing or no one should intervene.
As if to deny the prayer Seven's hand froze and withdrew slightly, overcome by an unfamilar sensation of being moved by forces more powerful than herself. Seeing the fear in Seven's eyes, ice-blue seas in which she would willingly drown, B'Elanna gently returned the Borg hand to her cheek, shivering at the touch of cool rigid metal and warm soft skin. The tension in Seven's face eased slightly and her slender fingers resumed their exploration slowly touching the ridges on B'Elanna's forehead, tracing each one, East to West and back. Gentle and curious, those fingers slid down the elegant, not very Klingon nose and Seven almost smiled, her thumb traversing the sweet contours of soft, warm, carmine lips. The not-quite-there smile faded as Seven, driven by a need she could not have expressed, bent to feel those lips against her own.
Tentative, hesitating, she makes first contact, the shock as their lips touch proving the need for caution. Taut nerves cracking, blood heating, their second contact is firmer, Seven threading her hands through B'Elanna's hair pulling her closer, harder, the action unsettling B'Elanna and she responds, winding her arms around the tall Borg's neck, as full lips open hers and their tongues brush and tangle. Unnatural, human weakness thunders in their powerful muscles denying their undoubted strength, whimpering need overwhelming doubt and fear.
"Seven, B'Elanna. Sorry to interrupt" said the computer. Then more loudly. "I'm very sorry but I must have your attention." Very slowly Seven lifted her head ignoring B'Elanna's moan of protest. The smaller woman buried her face in the Borg's neck exploring the perfect throat with her lips and tongue. Seven closed her eyes and drew a shuddering breath.
"Report," she said in a husky voice not her own.
"We have entered the badlands and there are two ion storms on a collision course with us. I need a pilot now."
Hearing the words B'Elanna sighed and turned her head, leaving it still resting on Seven's shoulder.
"Okay computer, I'll be with you in a moment. Lousy timing computer."
To her surprise the computer sounded quite gentle. "I am sorry Lieutenant, I left it as long as I could."
They separated slowly, feeling the loss immediately.
"Seven, I ... I wish we had more time. It doesn't seem right to share that and then not even speak. But there'll be more time later I promise." B'Elanna stumbled on her words.
"Lieutenant," warned the computer.
"Yes, I'm sorry." She went over to the navigation console and leaned on it for a moment before taking the controls and laying a course to evade the storms and begin their perilous journey through the raging badlands.
Seven watched her and hardly knew how she remained standing. This was all wrong. She should not have allowed that kiss, there was no excuse she knew the truth. B'Elanna would be devastated and betrayed when she found out. An aching hole of fear and self hatred formed in the ex-drone's chest; she had let them both down and now she would lose B'Elanna's friendship let alone her love.
B'Elanna looked up from her console at Seven who was still staring at her. A bolt of desire shot through the half-Klingon and she grinned at Seven. A sudden sideways jerk as the shuttle hit an ion eddy returned her attention to piloting. 'We are going to have a great celebration when we get to Mudd Port,' she thought to herself as she manoeuvred the ship out of the turbulence. 'Who'd have thought it? She looks stunned.' She felt smug for a second until a worrying notion injected itself into her consciousness. 'Perhaps she hated it and doesn't know how to say so.' B'Elanna glanced sideways again but Seven was now fully occupied at the operations console. As the ride became wilder, silence fell on the occupants of the shuttle interrupted only by the occasional status report or request for information.
Continued in next chapter
Lost and Home by halfofone
Date added: 2001-05-30 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
B'Elanna heaved a sigh of relief as the tiny shuttle almost crawled into empty space. She sagged against the navigation console and put her head in her hands, dog-tired and starving after fifteen hours of dodging ion storms and anti-matter particle blizzards. Her shoulders and arms ached from constantly bracing herself against the continuous lurching and buffeting as the Turing was tossed about by the badland 'weather'.
"That was fun" she said grimacing.
"It was not fun" her companion responded. "It was unpleasant. You said it would take nine hours not fifteen."
"Well I got a little lost" B'Elanna replied defensively.
"How often have you done this before?" asked Seven.
"Many many times," she blustered, annoyed at seeing the doubt on Seven' face. The ex-drone was not impressed and cocked her eyepiece in question. "Alright twice, in a bigger ship and I was not the pilot. Satisfied?"
Seven half-smiled.
"That is indeed a relief, your performance was acceptable in that case. I would have been forced to think less of you otherwise."
"What is this? Borg humour? I should make you pay for that but I don't think I can stand up. But we made it, to the eye of the storm, On screen computer."
There was a long moments silence.
"Computer on screen."
"Give me a moment and I'll get to your request as soon as I can, yours is not the only priority aboard you know Lieutenant. I have more than thirty four thousand urgent system requests to process before yours but I'll get there in two rotations of a lazy electron."
B'Elanna rolled her eyes, too worn out to think of a comeback.
Seconds later the view screen appeared, or about one third of it anyway.
"Sorry VGA only at the moment" said the computer apologetically. The image was badly scrambled but they could just make out a single star. B'Elanna stared at it appreciatively.
"Food, a bath and then bed. In that order I think or maybe sleep first, then food ..."
Seven was less hopeful. She was tired, hungry and ached in ways she had thought impossible and it was evident they both needed to wash and change their clothes but she knew there was no guarantee that this haven for Maquis and pirates had survived the Dominion wars. It could even be a Starfleet or Cardassian base. Even so there was no turning back, the Turing would not survive the return journey through the badlands without a refit and the Federation would be waiting for them even if they made it through. So she said nothing as B'Elanna set a course for the lonely planet orbiting the small star.
"We're being hailed," announced the computer tersely, sounding as weary as the two life forms in the cockpit.
"On screen" ordered B'Elanna.
A green man, in a neat ash grey uniform that Seven didn't recognise, appeared on the hazy view screen against a background of monitors and blinking control panels.
"Identification please" he said in a very deep voice. He sounded bored, as though the arrival of battle-scarred unknown shuttles was an everyday occurrence.
"Waldo it's me, B'Elanna Torres" said B'Elanna.
He peered at her with several small yellow eyes.
"Never heard of you" he boomed and blinked and his eyes seemed to flash a vivid luminescent green.
B'Elanna glared at the impassive green face.
"What are you talking about Waldo? We played dabo for three solid days and you had to lend me your ship for a week to pay for your losses."
"Happens every week. Identification please."
"B'Elanna Torres and Seven of Nine, tertiary adjunct of Unimatrix 01" B'Elanna said with an evil grin but the green man, looking tiny in an over-large chair, didn't seem alarmed at Seven's title as he entered information on a touch pad.
"Purpose of visit?"
"None of your business Waldo."
"Purpose of visit?"
"We're on our honeymoon you evil little gnome" she grated thoroughly annoyed. Seven looked alarmed.
Waldo entered the information without comment.
"Do you have an orbiting permit?" the deep voice demanded.
"No."
"Then you must leave our space."
"What? We can't leave, our ship is too badly damaged. We need to dock with the repair yard orbiter." B'Elanna knew she sounded desperate which was a mistake with a creature like Waldo. He would use her weakness against them.
"Docking pass?" he queried. She shook her head in frustration. "Landing pass? Naturalisation papers? Letters of Transit? Wedding certificate? Meal tickets?"
"Nothing you old slime devil! We have none of those. What the hell is all this bureaucracy Waldo?"
He said nothing but blinked at her twice, startling bright green flashes, the colour of his eyelids Seven realised.
B'Elanna was clutching the control panel, her knuckles showing white as she gripped the surface and tried to retain some self-control.
Seven tried to help by asking the obvious politely "Mr Waldo how may we acquire these documents?"
The green man looked at her with one eye, the other three remained disconcertingly focused on B'Elanna. "Cash up front. Do you have any latinum?"
"No," said Seven honestly. B'Elanna glared at her and rolled her eyes. Seven looked back puzzled at the Klingon's anger.
Waldo's voice contained a slight tinge of triumph as he brusquely insisted "No documents. No landing, orbiting, docking or honeymooning. Leave now."
The exchange had given B'Elanna time to think and she muttered very quietly so that only Seven could hear. "This must be one of Mudd's schemes to rake in extra cash. I'm surprised no one has blown the old scoundrel's head off by now. Seven I'm going to take a chance. Do you trust me?" Seven dipped her head imperceptibly. "Of course he may blast us out of the sky."
B'Elanna raised her voice again saying with exaggerated friendliness.
"Waldo, you're an enterprising man, I'm sure we can reach an arrangement. Tell me though, are you still running that little scam with the Riesian cigarillos, you know the one I mean, where you contracted from a friend on Kaldor III for less than it said in the boss's books and then kept the difference? Did Harry Mudd ever find out about that?"
The green man sat up and glanced both ways, his four eyes going in all directions and two cylindrical ears rotating like small gyro-copters. The boredom gone from his face replaced by ill-disguised terror.
"How ... ?"
"I know your 'friend'. And what about your other little arrangement? All those women..." B'Elanna smiled admiringly and shrugged.
"Get away from here," he hissed "or be destroyed."
"Come on Waldo, do you think you can destroy us before I transmit the transcript of this conversation to anyone listening? There's always someone listening Waldo." Her fingers hovered suggestively over the controls.
The little man's eyes were blinking so hard now that they looked like a row of flickering traffic lights. It was mildly irritating. He reached forward and jabbed a claw at the controls in front of him, saying without further preamble "Permission to dock granted, port two, orbital repair station. I should warn you there is a daily docking fee of one strip of latinum. The dock master does not regard late payment kindly. Your transit letters for the surface will be available when you have docked. Transmission terminated."
B'Elanna smirked at her companion. "You gotta love petty criminals, but we'll need to watch him. He won't like feeling so vulnerable and nothing buys silence like murder. There's a few people here who would kill their mothers for the price of a bet at the dabo tables." She looked thoughtful. "We are going to need money and soon; the more helpless you seem the higher the prices."
Out of her depth with this sort of commercial barbarity and with the exhaustion and deprivation of the last three days, her emotions got the better of Seven. She sat down on the deck, unexpected tears running unbidden down her face. B'Elanna was horrified and promptly stopped what she was doing to sit by the Borg. She put her arms around the ex-drone and tried to draw the blonde head down on to her shoulder. To her chagrin Seven resisted and firmly pushed her away.
"No, I am sorry B'Elanna. Lack of regeneration has affected my equilibrium. I am not myself. There is a small hull breach in the crew compartment. I will repair it." She stood up quickly and went aft to disappear into the crew quarters.
B'Elanna watched her go, smothering her disappointment. She knew the last few days must have been extremely stressful for the Borg. B'Elanna resolutely shook off any apprehension that Seven was avoiding her. 'I suppose she needs some time alone' she reasoned to herself. 'I have to concentrate on how we get out of this mess.'
B'Elanna considered the people she knew on Mudd's Last Stand and wondered whom she could trust but she soon had to defer such considerations in order to concentrate on docking.
She brought the Turing round. The semi-derelict second-hand orbital repair station, dark and contorted, loomed over them. She hoped Waldo had not allocated them to one of the more dangerous docking ports as a quick fix for his indiscretion. The station's guidance computers were sending the Turing a continuous stream of instructions and ahead she could now see what she assumed was their port. It looked fairly solid, better than many she had seen. She smiled cynically, clearly Waldo didn't want them to have an accident and the recording of their conversation to fall into the hands of the salvage crews before he could get to it. The Turing slid home onto the cradle and the sound of the docking clamps echoed through the ship. As she relaxed she remembered Mira. Mira Hassan.
"Computer open a channel to ORC."
"ORC?" queried the computer.
"Orbital repair control." said B'Elanna impatiently.
"Of course, how silly of me not to know" sniffed the computer. "Channel open."
"Good day to you ORC. This is B'Elanna Torres of the shuttle Turing in dock 2. Thank you for your assistance in docking."
A disembodied voice sounding surprised replied. "Good day to you B'Elanna Torres. Welcome to the Orbital Repair Station. What can we do you for?"
"We require substantial repairs but in the first instance I need to speak to my employer," B'Elanna crossed her fingers, "Mira Hassan. Can you relay my message to her?"
"Why not send it directly?" said the voice suspiciously.
"Our communications database has been damaged and we no longer have the correct communications codes" lied B'Elanna smoothly. "Just relay the message I am transmitting. She'll understand."
"Okay, but if this is a scam then you take full responsibility. Hassan is not someone I wanna get on the wrong side of." There was a measure of respect in the voice and B'Elanna understood why. She grinned. At least Mira was still here, that was a lucky break.
She transmitted the message with suitable Maquis encryption to prevent the ORC operator from snooping and then sat back in the pilot's chair hoping for a response fairly soon. Hunger was now so acute it making her light headed. Even the reconstituted Gagh was sounding quite appealing. Also she really had to go check on Seven but even as she thought this her head dropped back against the rest and seconds later she was asleep, her mouth a little open.
Twenty minutes later, the Turing was hailed from the surface. B'Elanna woke with a start as the comms panel beeped wildly.
"We have an answer I think Lieutenant," said the Computer.
"On screen." The screen looked noticeably better. The Turing had been doing its best to repair things even with the limited resources at its command.
A woman appeared on the screen: black hair and dark blue eyes and an arrogant expression. She was clad in mercenary armour with a dangerous looking disruptor strapped on her left leg and an equally dangerous looking short sword on the other side.
"B'Elanna Torres. I heard you were dead" she said unsmiling.
"Mira! As you can see I am not dead," said B'Elanna slightly disconcerted by the other's coolness.
"Why are you not dead? You should be." Mira's blue eyes narrowed angrily.
"What the hell are you talking about Hassan? I know I've been away a few years ... "
"Only the cowards survived or the traitors. You have no right coming here." Mira's face crumpled with a slow boiling anger that B'Elanna remembered so well.
The words of the Starfleet bastard who had interrogated Seven on the Vigilant came back to the half-Klingon. 'Did you run away and leave them? Is that how you survived all your friends?' he had said. A cold nightmarish dread gripped her. 'Why didn't Seven tell me?' She remembered the ex-drone's anguished promise to tell her the whole truth when they had time.
"Mira, I swear on my Mother's house I don't know what you are talking about. What has happened to the Maquis? To our friends?"
"How could you not know Torres? Everyone knows."
"Mira just tell me."
"If you insist on maintaining this fiction then let me summarise for you: the Maquis is gone, all your comrades dead, hunted down by the Dominion dogs while the Federation stood by and watched. And the only ones to survive were the lying traitorous scum who helped them find each and every Maquis base in the sector."
"It can't be true." B'Elanna's mind could hardly hold the truth of what was being said. "Rosalind?"
The tall woman steeled her face against the old pain. "I begged her not to go. But she insisted they needed everyone. She died in the first raid. They never even lifted their weapons. Butchered where they stood."
B'Elanna swayed slightly fighting the impulse to faint.
Mira spoke again, slowly, brutally, "However it means I now have a hobby" and she indicated the wall behind her. An array of holo-pics covered the wall. About three quarters of them had large red crosses painted over the surface. "I employ the largest group of bounty hunters in the Federation. We have been very successful. But it looks as though I must add another picture to the list and by the way I have settled your docking fee and registered your ship to my company as you requested. Of course you cannot leave without my authorisation." She smiled coldly,
Nausea still sweeping through her B'Elanna realised that she recognised nearly every face on the wall. All Maquis, all traitors.
Behind her B'Elanna could hear movement. Seven appeared from the crew quarters and came to stand beside the half-Klingon.
"Who is that?" she asked in a slightly shaky voice. B'Elanna did not answer.
The tall woman narrowed her eyes slightly at Seven's appearance.
"Who is that?" she echoed.
"I am Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01"
"A Borg?" The woman betrayed no fear. "You have found some strange allies Torres but it will not save you."
Seven was confused but she understood that this person was threatening B'Elanna and that was not acceptable.
"You will not harm Lieutenant Torres."
The tall woman laughed without humour. "Is that your opinion?"
"It is a fact," said Seven in her purest Borg drawl.
"Seven shut up," said B'Elanna unexpectedly and then the torrent of anger and grief broke through the dam and B'Elanna screamed at her. "Why didn't you tell me Seven? Did you think it didn't matter? Is your precious Voyager so fucking important to you? Perhaps you thought I wouldn't help you if I knew. And you know what. You were damn right. Get off this fucking ship, no, don't bother. I'll get off this fucking ship."
Her face contorted with anger B'Elanna shoved Seven out of the way and the tall drone fell back and tripped on the step crashing to the floor. For a moment B'Elanna looked at the fallen Borg and hesitated, then cursing loudly she crossed the deck to the exit hatch in two strides and manually opened the release. The station airlock was already open and she stumbled out into the main concourse.
Seven slowly got back to her feet. The dark woman on the view screen seemed amused by the events.
"A lovely performance. I never knew she had it in her, then I would never have pegged her for a traitor either. Obviously a talented actress." she sneered.
"What did you tell her?" asked Seven at last, her uncharacteristically laggard brain coming to realise the likely nature of the conversation that had taken place.
"Nothing she didn't know. I just laid out the facts in a way her traitorous little mind couldn't hide from."
Seven regarded Hassan as she would a cockroach or a Kazon. "You are mistaken. Lieutenant Torres is not a traitor. She has been lost in the Delta quadrant with other Maquis comrades from her ship after they were abducted by an alien force. She was unaware of the termination of the Maquis." Seven lifted her Borg hand so it was plainly visible to the other woman. "Do you think she encountered the Borg in this quadrant?"
A shadow of doubt appeared in Hassan's certainty.
"I don't believe you," she said.
"That is not my concern, Computer end transmission" replied Seven unimpressed by the smuggler and no longer interested in futile conversation. The view screen blanked and Seven focused on one end, finding and rescuing the person she loved. Nothing was going to interfere.
The tall ex-drone pulled a heavy blue survival jacket out of one of the equipment lockers and a couple of hand phasers which she put in the pockets. She took one last look around the Turing, saying as she left.
"Computer seal all entrances when I leave. Do not allow any access accept to Lieutenant Torres or myself."
"Acknowledged. Be careful Seven of Nine." The doors shut behind her and the computer muttered to itself. "Well here I am all alone again. Lucky I brought that travel chess game along."
Seven was angry. Angry with herself for leaving B'Elanna alone because of her own selfish emotions, angry with B'Elanna for running off like a child and angry with the smuggler for telling B'Elanna before she was ready. As she stalked across the filthy concourse which ran behind the docking ring her anger multiplied. A couple of dock workers who were operating the transporters watched the beautiful woman approach as she strode towards the transit exits.
"Hey look what's coming Mort. I hope she ain't going down to the surface. A pretty lady like that" His companion laughed.
"She's a looker Al. But she won't stay down there long, nope, them slaver boys'll take one look and she'll be on her way to Malik V" They both roared with laughter.
Seven stopped in front of them.
"A small, dark woman with Klingon features. Have you seen her?"
"Yeah she was here a few minutes ago." replied the largest of the two men.
"Where did she transport to?"
"We are not allowed to say lady." said the little guy, filthy in his overalls with greasy hands and face.
Seven ignored him and turned her attention to the larger greasier specimen who was sporting a rapidly developing black eye. "You will tell me now."
"Like he said babe. It's against the rules." And he leered at her and scratched his crotch. "So what's the information worth to you beautiful?"
Seven paused and rested her hand on a six inch steel pin that was screwed into the wall. She stared at the big man and then without apparent effort ripped the pin from the wall snapping it off at the base.
"It is worth your lives."
Mort had lived long enough to know he'd made a mistake with this one. She meant what she said. His eyes dropped.
"There ain't no need for violence sweetheart, you only had to ask right," he whined. Seven lost patience and took a step nearer. Her arm moved like lightening as she smashed the steel pin into the wall narrowly missing the big guy's face, blue sparks flew and a dent appeared in the dirty metal wall next to his head.
"The co-ordinates now and do not attempt to mislead me."
Shaking a little he gave her the transport co-ordinates which she checked against a data padd; satisfied she punched the numbers into the command screen. A moment later Seven shimmered and disappeared from the transporter pad.
"Hey Mort not lucky with the ladies today," jeered his little companion, "first that Klingon decks you and now the blonde tries to mush your head."
Mort had to agree it had been a bad day but he cheered himself by punching Al twice in the head and then a couple times more for luck.
USS Voyager in the Delta quadrant
The view screen went blank and Kathryn Janeway rubbed her forehead where a headache was starting to form. She looked at Chakotay.
"Opinion?"
The big man paused.
"They are lying Kathryn. The Gatraan were monitoring this sector and they confirm the existence of a wormhole. They even sent micro probes down the wormhole. It is their opinion that the wormhole terminated in the alpha quadrant. Harry and I have checked the telemetry and we agree with the Gatraan findings, the wormhole originated in the alpha quadrant near Delta Cygnus. And this was not the first time the Gatraan have observed the phenomenon. It has happened three times before and all within the last three months, all with the same point of origin. The Gatraan are deeply worried, they don't know what it means."
"Clift is lying" said Janeway, "and I think I know why." She pointed at a large pile of padds on her desk and smirked. "When they re-established contact Starfleet were very keen to let me have all the new regulations and directives to study. Obviously they were worried I might be out of touch." She walked to the desk and picked up one of the padds and handed it to Chakotay. "A treaty was signed last year with the Dominion to prevent the proliferation of new weapons and research deemed harmful to future peace negotiations. Top of the list was artificial wormhole research."
She stretched and yawned. There had been little sleep in the last few days as they desperately tramped the local star systems looking for help and information. But after a lot of worn shoe leather and a potentially dangerous encounter with some unfriendly natives they struck gold. One of the local civilisations, the Gatraan, were keen explorers and scientists and they had observed the wormhole and been happy to share their findings with Voyager in return for information on the Alpha quadrant.
"Suppose Chakotay, that you are a Federation researcher and you want to conduct research in artificial wormholes. What would you do? You can't aim your toy at the Gamma or Beta quadrants because that would upset your enemies and your allies. No, the best you can do is find a nice secure Starfleet base far away from the Gamma and Beta quadrants and throw your little pebbles into the Delta quadrant where no one lives but the Borg and who cares if you upset them anyway."
"Do you think they are also lying about B'Elanna and Seven's whereabouts?" he asked.
"I'm sure of it," she said bleakly. Seven years in the Delta quadrant had honed her pessimism to a fine edge. "But I'll tell you this Chakotay. We are going to stay here until that wormhole reappears. And then we're going in after them and Heaven help Starfleet if they've hurt a hair on either of their heads."
Star Fleet Headquarters
"Don't tell me that Clift. I don't want to hear about what you can't do" said the senior admiral. "I've promised the president that these spies will be recaptured and that the project is not compromised. Now you get as many ships down there as is necessary to make my words true. You can start with the fools who lost them in the first place and make sure they know that failure will not be tolerated. Of course you realise that any of the Starfleet crew involved in this operation who have any actual contact with these renegades will have to be," the admiral paused while he considered his words, "debriefed sufficiently to ensure the project remains absolutely classified. You understand what I'm saying Clift. They must remember nothing. If that's too hard to organise then I guess they'll just have to go missing in action. And I'm including Voyager in that list if they ever make it back. I'm not even sure we can risk these regular communiques any more. Janeway is asking a lot of awkward questions."
The Blue Parrot - somewhere in Mudd City
B'Elanna gazed at the round pudgy features of her opponent and giggled as a large drop of sweat ran down his nose and hung there wobbling..
"You don't have it in you fat guy, give up now before your friends have to carry you out."
The chameloid monkey changed colour and gibbered angrily before picking up his drink and downing it in one. He gagged slightly but the drink stayed down and he flopped back on his bench gibbering heatedly, his heavy jowls banging against his jaw.
"Okay so I was wrong" she slurred. "My turn. Is it my turn?" she asked the humanoid sitting next to her. He didn't answer so she poked him. "HEY is it my turn?" He slid slowly off the bench on to the blackened floor by way of an answer. A small rat ran over his head as he lay there. "Guess it is then" she said to herself.
She picked up her newly refilled glass and held it up to the light. There seemed to be some sort of brown thing floating in it. She frowned and then shrugged her shoulders unable to focus. The small crowd around the table were laughing and jeering as she touched the glass to her lips. Before she could so much as taste it the glass and the beer it contained vaporised. "Wassat about?" she queried stupidly looking at the handle of the glass still clutched in her hand. There was no one to answer. The crowd around her had thrown themselves to the floor and taken cover even as the disruptor was fired. She stared about hazily. "Barkeep, bring me another. Your glasses are de-materialising."
"On your feet Torres," said a familiar unfriendly voice.
Torres sighed and tried to stand but not with much success, so she gave up and stayed slumped on the bench.
"Hi Mira, what took you?" Two pairs of rough hands grabbed her shoulders and two of Mira's pirates lifted her on to her feet and held her up.
Mira Hassan appeared from the shadows and appraised the drunken half-Klingon. The pirate's mouth turned up in a cold smile. "Come on lads, out of here. I don't want to make a nasty mess on Blue's floor. Then I would be in his debt and that would never do."
The seven foot Hilliinin Blue Parrot behind the bar snorted and squawked "You're not welcome here Mira. You depress the customers, not to mention thin their numbers."
Mira ignored him. "Get her out of here" she ordered.
"You will release her," said a second voice. Seven of Nine had entered the backdoor of the bar, her phaser aimed at Mira's head. "Instruct your men to release her." The phaser didn't waver, nor did the pale blue eyes that directed it. Mira shrugged and signalled to her men to let the half-Klingon go. The smuggler knew there would be another time and heroics were usually an unnecessary liability. Patience was more effective.
"Hi Seven," said B'Elanna cheerfully. The henchmen released the half-Klingon's arms. "I don't think they shoulda done that," said B'Elanna swaying relentlessly. "Oh well, here I go" and so saying the young woman fell forwards, her fall broken by the comatose body of her erstwhile drinking companion.
Seven gestured at the two ruffians to rejoin their boss which they did and then she edged her way over to B'Elanna.
"You will prostrate yourselves, face down on the floor" she instructed the smugglers.
"Already there my love" said a muffled voice from the direction of the floor. Seven sighed. Drunks were hard work she decided.
Mira was not happy either. "You want me to lie down here?" She gestured at the garbage strewn, rat infested floor. In answer, Seven fired her phaser just above the smuggler's head vaporising the wall behind and then pointedly lowered her aim.
"Hey watch it" yelled Blue the Parrot his eyes and two-foot high head-crest just peeking above the bar where he was hiding, "them's my walls your vaporising."
Mira lay down without further argument and her sidekicks followed suit. Satisfied that they now could not get a clear shot at her, Seven leant down and grabbed B'Elanna's arm pulling her upright and getting one arm around the smaller woman's waist while keeping her phaser trained on the smugglers.
"B'Elanna. Hold on to me."
B'Elanna obligingly wrapped her arm around Seven's neck, half strangling her.
"That's better," B'Elanna said happily and then less happily. "Don't leave me Seven. I think I might be falling in love you, you know, but you keep secrets from me Seven. Don't keep secrets. It's not nice." She began to cry.
"I promise not to keep secrets from you. Stop crying please. We must walk, backwards. Can you do that?"
B'Elanna gulped and nodded and slowly they backed out of the bar. Seven fired another warning shot as they left, ignoring the anguished squawking of the bar's owner. "That's right ladies, walk out that door, you're not welcome any more. You're both banned forever. You hear me? Banned."
Outside Seven pocketed the phaser and picked B'Elanna up in her arms. She ran down the back alley stopping only to hoist the protesting drunk over her shoulder to make running easier. After twenty minutes of haring through a maze of passages and alleys Seven turned into a small, street and knocked on the door of a three storey building crammed amongst many others, about half-way down the dingy little street. The heavy door swung open and Seven carried B'Elanna inside, into a badly lit corridor and up some stairs. At the top she stopped and propped B'Elanna against the wall. The latter promptly slid down to her knees. Sighing, Seven keyed an entry code into a number pad and another door slid open to reveal a small white washed room. Seven hauled B'Elanna inside the door and then forced her protesting muscles to pick up the limp drunk one more time; very gently she deposited the unconscious woman on a narrow bed in the corner. The ex-drone took a few moments to make B'Elanna comfortable before going to close the door to the room. As it slid shut Seven leaned against it and closed her eyes for a second before opening them wearily to take stock of their situation.
There was very little furniture in the room. One chair, one table and a lone narrow bed on which the love of her life lay snoring gently. A single orange lamp on a small rough table cast warm shadows and a false sense of security.
She moved closer to look at the sleeping woman. It was peculiar, asserted her analytical brain, that she should feel such unconditional love for someone so annoying. She shrugged, too tired to be able to divine an answer to such imponderables and unable to think any further she lay down on the thin carpet next to the bed and fell instantly asleep.
Six hours later, B'Elanna stirred on the bed and turned her head and was disturbed to find that it kept on turning, well spinning was more accurate. Pained, she opened her eyes and now the room was going round her too. Her stomach lurched a little but years of space travel had left her pretty much impervious to motion sickness. The feeling eased. Encouraged, she sat up. The room went for another violent rotation and she doubted whether even her cast iron stomach was going to survive this. She closed her eyes. After a few moments the worst sensation subsided again and B'Elanna risked opening her eyes again. Careful and slow observation of the room revealed the opening to what was probably the bathroom. Getting very slowly to her feet she gradually felt her way to bathroom and gratefully relieved herself. She stood up too quickly and was instantly sorry. Five hours of heavy drinking with only a few bar snacks to alleviate two days without food was not going to be denied. Her head spun helplessly like a solar windmill and this time it was too much for her stomach. She retched in the wash basin for several minutes. Afterwards she splashed cold water on her face and felt slightly better.
'Where the hell am I?' was her first identifiable thought not connected with dizzyness and nausea. B'Elanna walked slowly back into the main room to look around. There was Seven of Nine, lying fast asleep on the floor, apparently wrapped in a carpet.
The events of the previous two days came crawling back and B'Elanna sank into the only chair in the room trying to make sense of the chaos of her feelings. She thought about the lost Maquis and angrily swore revenge on whomever had done this before remembering unhappily that it had been perpetrated by an entire army which had already been defeated by the Federation. Despair and guilt swelled inside her until her gaze fell on the blonde head at her feet. B'Elanna resolutely pushed the guilt away. There was no time to fall apart she had to look after Seven and get them both home to Voyager.
B'Elanna frowned at that thought. She didn't know why she thought of Voyager as home; she wouldn't recognise the lost ship even if she saw it and perhaps she was being hasty. Why should they seek to return to the Delta quadrant? Seven was obviously very adaptable and capable and would find a place in this world quite easily. As for herself did she really miss what she didn't know? Examining her own feelings she was surprised to find a ready answer to that question. The lost years were an emptiness she could feel, a void that ached to be filled. She needed to know about her past. And there was Seven's future to think about, Voyager was the only home the ex-drone knew and her best chance of regaining Starfleet support which she would need in order to have any kind of life in the Alpha quadrant apart from the life of an outlaw with the likes of Mira Hassan.
Her thoughts wandered back to her feelings for Seven of Nine. They were attracted to each other for sure but she had only known the Borg for a couple of days and found it hard to understand the strength of the feeling she was experiencing. She knew that in reality they had known each other for four years but Seven had been fairly sketchy about the exact nature of their relationship and B'Elanna did not have the impression that there was anything between them.
Although she could not remember the events of the previous evening with any clarity, she did know that Seven had behaved with a kind of desperate gallantry at odds with her Borgness. Somehow the Borg had managed to overcome this wholly alien environment and look after them both when it should have been B'Elanna's job. The engineer put her head back and glared at her relection in the ceiling mirror. She had not been able to help her Maquis family and now she wasn't even looking after the friends she had left. 'I've made a total mess of this' she chided herself. 'I could have lost her.' Which left her thinking sadly of Mira and Rosalind and how quickly you could lose everything.
B'Elanna knew she would have to make peace with Mira if she could but she understood the smuggler's feelings. Mira had never joined the Maquis, always arguing that she liked to pick her own battles and not have them foisted on her and that anyway the Maquis would make no difference in the end. How right she had been thought B'Elanna bitterly. She had listened to Mira and Rosalind argue for hours, the latter always trying to persuade her lover to get more involved with the struggle against the Cardassians beyond simply smuggling arms occasionally. And now Rosalind was dead, exterminated by a race to whom she was little more than a troublesome bug. Typically Mira would not waste her energy fighting a powerful empire. The Maquis traitors were an accessible target and their crime the most heinous in Mira's eyes.
Seven turned over and stirred, struggling slightly against the carpet which she had wrapped around herself for warmth on the cold and draughty floor. She did not look comfortable but sooner than try and move her and risk waking her, B'Elanna took the pillow from the bed and gently lifted Seven's head and pushed the lumpy pillow into place. Seven murmured but did not wake. B'Elanna loosened the carpet trying not to disturb the sleeper more than necessary but gave up as Seven protested and whimpered. Seven lapsed back into a deeper sleep. Unable to help herself B'Elanna stroked the soft white blonde hair and amused herself with the way Seven's nose wrinkled in protest at the disturbance. Reluctantly B'Elanna decided she ought to leave the tired ex-drone in peace and withdrew her hand.
Her gaze fell on a small table with a table lamp and she observed a small transparent container apparently holding some kind of stew and next to it a packet of what might be bread. Suddenly she was hungry as hell.
B'Elanna sat back in the chair with the container of stew and bread and ate exactly half leaving the remainder for Seven which took some effort as she was still hungry. Feeling heavy headed, she lay back down on the bed and waited. Sleep came soon after.
Continued in next chapter
Lost and Home by halfofone
Date added: 2002-01-14 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
And that was how Mira Hassan found them a couple of hours later. Both asleep, Seven on the floor, wrapped in a carpet and B'Elanna on the small bed. It had not taken her people long to trace the whereabouts of a six foot blond sporting an odd metal face decoration and carrying a paralytically drunk Klingon. The population of the area were only too keen to share their information. The landlady of the low rent house where the fugitives were sleeping was the most forthcoming of all.
"That tall one, she was sent here by an old friend of mine who met her wandering about looking for someone. I knew she was not from around these parts and peculiar from the way she spoke and so I charged her double me normal price." Seeing the wry expression on Hassan's face, the old woman said defensively, "It's a risk innit? Taking in strangers. You dunno what they're going to be like." Mira didn't bother reminding the crone that in this town almost everyone was a wanted felon including the old dear herself who was rumoured to have murdered several members of her family. The woman continued prattling.
"Now that blonde one, she didn't have any cash but she did have a few belongings with her so I sent her down to Lurky Jeff to see if he would take some of her stuff for cash. Must have worked 'cos she was able to pay me up front for a week. She's a funny one, didn't know where to buy food or anything. I said to her 'Go round the Black Dragon, you can get all kinds of grub there and very reasonable too.' " The landlady sniggered. "She told me all posh like that she did not require grubs. She needed nutrition."
For a very reasonable amount of latinum the old lady then agreed to let Mira in to the room without waking the occupants. The tall smuggler smiled to herself as she stood looking at them. Patience was a virtue. She holstered her disruptor. It wasn't going to be necessary unless the Borg cut up rough.
"Wake up," she said normally and when there was no response she said it more loudly. She walked over to Seven and gave the ex-drone a gentle kick. Seven murmured, stirred and then before Mira could speak again she found herself on her back, badly winded and hardly able to draw breath, pinned by 180 pounds of angry, carpet wrapped Borg. B'Elanna was also on her feet now and Mira felt the disruptor being pulled from her holster.
"You found us." B'Elanna stated the obvious. "Where are your men Mira?" she asked while checking all the possible hiding places in the tiny room with her newly acquired disruptor. A precaution which took all of ten seconds. The half-Klingon looked puzzled saying aloud. "Not like you to risk being outnumbered Hassan."
Mira tried to answer but Seven's arm, being applied with some pressure to her throat, made speech impossible so she just gasped.
B'Elanna grinned at the pirate and not in a good way. "Let her speak Seven but if she tries to shout for help cut off her air supply permanently."
Seven complied and pulled away just enough to allow the pirate to breathe and speak. Sobbing for breath Hassan shakily drew several mouthfuls of oxygen into her aching lungs. With difficulty she began speaking quickly between painful gasps.
"I checked your story B'Elanna and it tracks. One of my crew .... ex-Starfleet .... knew about a Maquis ship and a Starfleet vessel lost in the badlands years ago .... thought all dead 'til the Starfleet ship got a message back to the Feds, lost in the Delta quadrant together with the Maquis. She remembered your name from the manifest, 'cause she knew you .... at the academy."
"Small galaxy," said B'Elanna but she was still suspicious. "Okay Hassan, so you know we're telling the truth. Then why this? Why let yourself in without an invitation? Why pay any attention to us at all?"
"I wanted to see if you needed any help."
"and .... " prompted B'Elanna.
Mira smiled slightly despite the pain and discomfort of her position. " ... and I am curious about that ship you signed over to me. We can't seem to gain access short of blasting a hole in it."
Seven sat up abruptly although she still kept restraining hands on the unwelcome intruder's chest, pinning her easily.
"You gave her The Turing!" exclaimed the ex-drone. And then in even more shocked tones. "For nothing?" Newly initiated into the cash economy Seven had begun to understand the importance of getting a fair price. "She will have to return the vessel" said the Borg resolutely and increased the pressure on Hassan making her yelp and gasp for air.
"I didn't give it to her, I just used her name to get access to her docking and repair account," B'Elanna assured Seven who relaxed slightly.
Half-strangled Mira squeaked "But my name is on the station vessel manifest as owner and without my authorisation you can't leave the station." She instantly regretted saying anything when Seven leant more heavily on her ribs and cut off her air again, ignoring her struggles with annoying ease.
Seven glared at B'Elanna again. "We need that ship if we are to leave this place and return to Voyager. It was not yours to give away."
"It's 'kay," croaked Mira, "Must breathe .... Please."
"Let her up Seven. She'll be okay."
"I will comply but she will return our ship" said the ex-drone emphatically. Seven disentangled herself smoothly from the pirate and the carpet in one graceful move and stood up. She took the precaution of drawing her phaser.
Finally released, Mira sat up slowly as her ribs, chest and lungs painfully uncompressed and she shook her head, disbelieving her own stupidity at getting herself into such a vulnerable position. She made to get up until Seven, who was still looking distinctly threatening, lifted her phaser. Mira subsided again.
"You can put the phaser down Seven of Nine" she wheezed. "I understand the arrangement that B'Elanna was making with me. And now that I'm not trying to kill her I'm happy to honour that arrangement. Can I get up?"
"You may stand" said Seven stiffly and lowered her phaser. "What arrangement?"
"B'Elanna can answer that. We haven't thrashed out the exact details." Mira grinned at the young Klingon. "It's good to see you by the way, especially now I don't have to kill you."
B'Elanna offered her hand to the smuggler and helped her to her feet. "It's good to see you too. As for the ship I was expecting the usual arrangement. Repairs and restocking in exchange for work."
"Work of what nature?" asked Seven warily.
B'Elanna was amused to notice that Mira moved to put B'Elanna between herself and the dangerous Borg before answering her question.
"I'll be honest B'Elanna. I don't have many safe runs available at the moment. The only cargo waiting is not something I feel you could handle, I'm not sure an entire battle fleet could protect it actually. But if you want to wait for a few weeks I'm sure something will come up and no doubt your ship will take a while to repair."
"37.2 hours when the proper materials have been obtained." said Seven precisely.
Mira looked at her appraisingly. "I'm impressed. You obviously have many talents Seven of Nine as well as being a beautiful woman."
B'Elanna looked up sharply. Mira was a flirt and very successful with men and women though she preferred the latter. Before Rosalind had come on the scene Mira had been notorious for racking up conquests.
B'Elanna did not need to worry; with all immediate threats diminished, Seven was not even slightly interested in the tall pirate. Her main concern now was to make good on the promise she had made to B'Elanna; she had sworn to tell the whole truth and Seven was not going to make the error of delaying again. She was anxious to get rid of Mira Hassan. She drew a padd from the supply bag and gave it to Hassan.
"We require the items listed on this padd. Please notify me when all items have been acquired. We will discuss suitable and equitable employment for myself and Lieutenant Torres when the Turing is spaceworthy," she said in a tone which did not brook of any argument.
B'Elanna's lips twitched as she watched Hassan lose control of the situation, obviously taken aback by the Borg's evident belief that Mira Hassan, the most feared smuggler in the sector, would follow instructions like some junior Starfleet ensign.
B'Elanna interjected before Mira could protest.
"And in the meantime we need food and a bath." She looked at Seven's body suit which was distinctly grimy and torn in several places. Of course the ex-drone still looked better than B'Elanna who was wearing the over sized and now filthy Starfleet uniform she had stolen from the Vigilant. "And we require clothes Mira" finished B'Elanna cheekily.
Hassan pursed her lips and bowed slightly, tacitly acknowledging her defeat.
"As you wish B'Elanna, and anything for the fair Seven of Nine of course" she flattered smoothly. "I believe I can estimate your correct size Seven; I have an eye for a beautiful woman's figure." She punched a few numbers on the padd she was holding and showed it to the ex-drone. Seven nodded and the smile was wiped from B'Elanna's face. She was also annoyed that a smirking Hassan had noticed the change in her expression. Cursing inside she hoped the bloody woman wasn't going to make a nuisance of herself with Seven.
"What about you B'Elanna? Size?" Mira said pointedly handing the half-Klingon the padd. B'Elanna punched the keys angrily and handed it back.
"I see" Mira acknowledged calmly as she read the brusque warning scribbled on the padd which simply read 'Hands off'.
"Not what I expected B'Elanna."
"Then your skills are imperfect," Seven noted objectively, completely unaware of the underlying tension. "Lieutenant Torres measurements are exemplary for her height and physiology."
It was hard to say who was more taken aback, B'Elanna or her potential rival. Mira recovered first.
"I think that's my cue to retire gracefully from the field for the moment B'Elanna, I will contact you as soon as I have news about your requirements. Clothing and food will be delivered here within the hour. I don't suppose you're going anywhere for the moment?"
The pirate was set to leave, trying to ignore the insufferably smug expression plastered over B'Elanna's face, when she paused and turned abruptly. She drew the half-Klingon into a crushing hug and whispered softly in her ear.
"I have missed you Torres even if you are a lucky dog. You don't deserve her." B'Elanna hugged back hard but said nothing. Mira let her go and left the room quickly.
Seven looked at B'Elanna strangely. "Why a lucky dog?" B'Elanna blushed and shrugged. 'Borg enhanced hearing' she thought to herself. 'I'll have to remember that.'
A Starfleet Base on Delta Cygnus
Lenara Kahn peered at her human companion, irritated by his inanity. Not that he realised it. To his eyes the Trill scientist never seemed to be rattled or annoyed. Kravitz thought there was an almost unnatural calmness about the woman.
"Explain to me Dr Kravitz why we have to recalibrate all our equipment to detect another suitable wormhole terminus in the Delta Quadrant?" she asked with exaggerated politeness.
"Starfleet are concerned that a hostile species has identified the nature of our tests and is trying to use the tests to penetrate our space. The probe we discovered and that vessel which was found near the test site appeared alien and possibly Borg."
The little man shuddered with exaggerated fear at the idea.
Lenara Kahn was dismissive.
"Yes well that information hardly agrees with the report from the Vigilant which suggested the occupants were human or part human at least and their ship appeared unarmed."
"If they were so innocent then why did they run away Dr Kahn?"
Lenara was bored with the conversation. It was beyond her understanding why a man who called himself a scientist could take such a depressing interest in military matters.
"I can't imagine Dr Kravitz, perhaps they took exception to being arrested by Starfleet. No other threat has appeared. The modern Federation is unduly nervous about encountering new civilisations."
"But you understand the concerns about security Dr Kahn."
"Ah by that you mean concerns about secrecy. Meeting a new civilisation from the Delta Quadrant would be a giveaway wouldn't it?" The elegant woman smiled bleakly.
To continue her research she had done a deal with the devil and now she was trapped. She had been persuaded too easily into believing that the wormhole research was necessary to prevent the Federation being caught napping by the Dominion or the Romulans. (Granted she had been told the research was to be purely theoretical and would enable the Federation to monitor the Dominion and the Romulan Empire for signs of artificial wormhole experiments. Monitoring was a legitimate exclusion from the treaty with the Dominion.) It had helped her decision that she desperately wanted to continue her life's work. Months later it had become apparent that Starfleet were well advanced in the construction of experimental wormhole generators based mainly around her research but by then it was too late for her to withdraw and the consequences of attempting to leave the project had been made plain. And it wasn't just herself who would suffer. Her brother and several other respected scientists would lose at least their careers if not more. She decided to concentrate on the scientific problems. Those seemed much more tractable.
"Replay the analysis model of the wormhole telemetry. Start the analysis timeline thirty seconds before the alien probe entered the wormhole" she instructed the senior technician.
The simulated reconstruction of the wormhole appeared on a view screen above a stream of analysis data. She watched it flare and change colour as the foreign probe started its journey.
"Stop. Replay again from the same point. This time display the wormhole showing tetrion field polarities."
An incoherent fluctuating pattern appeared on the screen. Seconds later the pattern resolved itself in to a series of smooth contours which seemed to travel along the schematic outline of the wormhole. The pattern disappeared after a minute as the alien probe left the wormhole and entered the alpha quadrant.
"Replay the last attempted entry by a Starfleet probe." The screen flared into life with the same chaotic pattern. The probe entered the wormhole and the pattern resolved itself into a smooth wave of energy lines moving along the wormhole, but the pattern dissolved after only fifteen seconds when the Starfleet probe was crushed in the wormhole.
Lenara Kahn suddenly knew what was different. It was obvious.
"Replay both recordings side by side." The technician complied and the two recordings appeared on a split screen. She sighed, half in satisfaction at solving the mystery and half in frustration at the implications. She didn't have a solution but she certainly had a better theory.
"Care to comment Dr Kravitz?" she asked. The small human shook his head still looking puzzled. She put him out of his misery.
"Notice the movement of the tetrion fields. It would appear we have created a one-way street. The probe from the Delta quadrant was moving with the forces inside the wormhole. Our probe was running against them as though against a flood tide. We didn't know that an object travelling from the far end would not encounter the same problem."
Kravitz was furious and terrified. He had been promising his sponsors in Starfleet a breakthrough for months and it had seemed so close. Now what did he have to offer? Fear clutched at his scrawny body. Too many important people had risked their careers and their reputations on this project for it to fail.
He tried to regain some composure and said "This is no doubt a temporary set back. A solution will be possible."
"Not with this method of wormhole generation," Lenara replied bluntly. "If I am correct then this revision to my theories would resolve a number of inconsistencies."
"So, after fifteen months of research and the consumption of massive resources that the Federation can ill-afford after the Dominion war, all you have managed to produce is a way for our enemies to invade us" Kravitz whined accusingly at the apparent architect of his woes.
"Hardly that." she coolly replied. But the irony was compelling and she couldn't help smiling. "They could only use the wormhole if we agreed to hold the door open for them."
"Then you have failed Dr Kahn and we are lost" he said gloomily, imagining ending his life in a Federation penal colony. He had little doubt who would be cast as the scapegoat if news of the wormhole experiment leaked out. The Starfleet admirals and politicians were not going to suffer and the Trill cosmologists were famous scientists who would be under the protection of their own government.
By contrast Lenara Kahn was not even slightly afraid. It was almost a relief, her research could be brought to an honourable close and perhaps she and her brother could return to Trill.
"It depends how you define failure Dr Kravitz. If you mean I have not developed a means of stealthily delivering large armies into the heart of rival empires then you are correct. But from my point of view I have developed a means of generating navigable singularities in time and space which was the original intention of my research."
Kravitz ignored her and slumped in a chair.
An idea bubbled up in her mind.
"What about that ship lost in the Delta Quadrant?" she queried. "We may be able to use this technology to bring them home."
"You've heard the rumours," said a still melancholy Kravitz, too frightened about the future of his project to guard his tongue about such trivia as shuttles.
"What rumours?"
"A ship did come through the wormhole and it was a shuttle from the USS Voyager. But let me tell you a funny thing Dr Kahn. It's not a rumour. It's true. Two of Voyager's crew managed to negotiate their way through the wormhole in a shuttle."
"What?" Lenara Kahn was genuinely astonished. "It can't be true. Everyone would have heard by now."
"Not if the powers that be deemed it unwise to disclose that information. You really do not understand the people you are working for Dr Kahn." He slumped further into the chair and a tear of self-pity ran down his cheek.
She gazed at Kravitz and caught a glimpse inside the calculating minds of the men and women who ran the military machine of which she was now a part. She remembered all the dramatic publicity and excitement when Voyager first managed to get a message back to the Alpha quadrant. The subspace news broadcasts had been alive with Starfleet admirals swearing that no effort would be spared trying to find the lost ship and help her come home a little quicker. And now some of those same admirals were suppressing the miraculous news that members of Voyager's crew had returned. Her disgust at her own involvement deepened although she remained sceptical about the shuttle story.
"We did not detect any vessel coming through wormhole. How did they manage to enter unobserved?"
"Apparently they came through as it collapsed when the generator was switched off at the close of the last experiment. Their engines failed and they were very lucky to survive the trip. But I doubt they'll stay free long enough to enjoy their good fortune. The whole of Starfleet is looking for them." Kravitz couldn't help feeling a little pleased that he was not the only one having a bad time.
Lenara Kahn turned away feeling angrier than she could ever remember and promised herself that she would find a way to help Voyager and her missing crew. She hoped the two runaways were surviving and wondered where they were and what they were doing.
A Guest house in Mudd City
B'Elanna, wrapped in a sheet, emerged from the sonic shower to find a very nervous Seven of Nine pacing up and down the small room.
"Your turn," said B'Elanna feeling as though she had won a million bars of latinum. It was amazing to have slept, eaten and washed and all within a single eight hour period. All she needed now was clean clothes and she could conquer the Universe.
"We must talk" said Seven looking very distracted.
B'Elanna regarded her companion affectionately. The Borg was in tatters and visibly grimy. Her normally neat blonde hair was awry and sticking out at odd angles. But then crashing through wormholes, being imprisoned and roughed up by glorified police officers, escaping from pirates and finishing up sleeping on a hard floor wrapped in a carpet would do that to you she reasoned.
"Shower and food first." she insisted. "I am not talking to someone who appears to have gone twenty rounds in a dust-pit with a Targ and lost. We Klingons have a very acute sense of smell."
Seven did not notice the insult. "B'Elanna, I must talk to you. You made me promise to tell you the whole truth."
"Seven would you please take a shower and get those rags off. Whatever you have to say can wait ten minutes." B'Elanna's cheer faded. "Nothing can be as bad as what I already know."
Considering that objectively, Seven knew the half-Klingon was correct. B'Elanna might be shocked by the revelations about Tom Paris but she would not be as devastated as she was by the destruction of the Maquis. In any case the Borg was not used to being in such a state of disarray. It was uncomfortable.
"I will comply" she said briefly and went into the tiny bathroom leaving B'Elanna alone. The half-Klingon wasn't on her own for long. A knock at the door revealed the lady of the house bearing a bundle of clothing and two pairs of boots..
"From Hassan" said the old crone. "For you and the blonde" she continued in case there was any doubt. B'Elanna took the pile of clothes from her but the woman followed her into the room peering about curiously. "Sleep well did you?"
"We slept very well until someone got into our room" said B'Elanna sharply, unimpressed by the expression of concern on the woman's face.
The old woman was unabashed. "I told Hassan I didn't want no trouble. She said you were friends of hers an wouldn't mind her letting herself in. Seein' she's buying your togs and nosh I guess she is your pal. So no harm done then."
B'Elanna perked up her ears.
"Nosh? There's food? Where?" B'Elanna suddenly found the aged hag much more appealing.
"I was just going to bring it up to you. Does your friend want any? Shall I ask her?"
"Just bring up everything Hassan had delivered and we'll decide what we want from there. Is that clear?"
The old woman looked offended. "Of course. I just didn't want to waste anything if you wasn't wanting it." She headed out the door muttering about how ungrateful and suspicious some people were.
B'Elanna sorted out the garments and was set to announce the good news about the clothing and food when Seven appeared in the doorway from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel. B'Elanna felt her jaw drop like an asteroid into a gravity well as she gaped at the beautiful woman. She tried to speak but her brain seemed to have disconnected from her vocal chords. No words formed. Not that it mattered as she had no breath left in her lungs to express them.
Seven appeared unaware of the effect she was having. She saw the clothing clutched in B'Elanna's hand.
"Mira Hassan is efficient" she said approvingly. "Have you identified which articles are assigned to you?"
It took B'Elanna a long second before she was able to understand and reply to the Borg's enquiry.
"Yes" she croaked inaudibly. B'Elanna turned her gaze to the floor and found her breathing improved slightly though she was very aware that Seven was standing quite close. "These are for you" she said tersely and held out several garments.
Seven took them from her and held them up for inspection. "Acceptable. But an excessive amount of black."
"That's smugglers for you" said B'Elanna nervously, still concentrating on averting her eyes.
"You find my body offensive," Seven stated unexpectedly. "It is too Borg."
B'Elanna, taken by surprise, glanced up and looked directly into Seven's troubled blue eyes. Feeling foolish B'Elanna closed her eyes and collected herself. She decided on frankness.
"I find you very attractive Seven, so much so it seems to be disrupting the flow of blood to my brain."
Oddly enough her words did not seem to please Seven. The reply was hesitant and disjointed.
"I am sorry B'Elanna. I did not mean to disturb you. I will dress now in the bathroom."
"Hey Seven don't apologise, honestly there's no need. I'm the one that should apologise for behaving like a dumb adolescent. I love how you look. You must know how crazy I am about you." said B'Elanna warmly, deciding that now was as good a time as any to declare her nascent love for the Borg. She gazed into serious clear-blue eyes. Trying to ignore the erratic, thunderous heartbeats and control her painfully uneven breathing, B'Elanna took a small step forward.
"No, do not say any more," Seven's voice cracked with helpless panic and she fled, crossing the short distance to the bathroom in two long strides, disappearing before B'Elanna could protest.
'That could have gone better,' thought B'Elanna feeling hurt. She remembered her earlier conviction that Seven had someone waiting back on Voyager. 'Looks as though I was right.' she concluded unhappily. She dressed without enthusiasm; there was too much black. She felt as though she was dressing for a funeral and it didn't help her overall despondency.
"I don't know why I always manage to pick the complicated ones" she complained aloud to herself before recollecting that Seven could probably hear her. She switched to silent grumbling. 'Of course I had to choose probably the only Borg in the galaxy with a romantic past.'
Loud banging on the door interrupted her. She opened the door to find a tray stacked with food lying on the landing floor. The landlady was trundling down the stairs and B'Elanna called after her.
"Is this all of it?"
"Except me handling charge love," answered the aged grifter with surprising honesty. With resigned amusement, B'Elanna watched the old lady vanish into a side door.
B'Elanna picked up the tray and backed inside. Mira had done them proud it seemed. Given the quantity it was hard to begrudge the old crone's deductions.
"The food's arrived," she called out to Seven and felt the air driven from her lungs again when the blonde ex-drone re-entered the room. Black suited her very well. She looked slender and dangerous. Too glamorous to be a real smuggler, like a heroine from a holovid. B'Elanna knew she was staring but couldn't help it.
"Do not look at me like that," said Seven quietly.
"I'm sorry, I'm staring, I know, but you must be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
"My physical appearance is irrelevant. You are married."
Seven took the tray of food from B'Elanna's hands and set it on the table. "Acceptable," she said, examining the food arranged on the tray as though nothing had happened. "There is sufficient nutrition here for two meals. I will allocate the necessary quantities."
Seven had dropped the bomb so quickly that B'Elanna did not react for several seconds. Feeling wholly detached she watched Seven precisely divide the various types of food into neat portions. 'So that explains Seven's attitude towards me,' she thought rationally, as though solving a slightly annoying puzzle. Then the blast of the revelation hit her.
"No! It's not possible."
"Why impossible?" queried Seven looking genuinely puzzled.
"I can't be married," B'Elanna croaked almost inaudible. "I would never marry. I hate marriage."
"I attended the wedding," said Seven without inflection. "You are married."
"Who?"
"Lieutenant Paris."
B'Elanna sat down with her mouth open.
"Now I know you're lying." She laughed nervously. "This is your idea of a joke. Tell me this is Borg humour."
"I am neither lying nor attempting humour" said Seven evenly. "You married Mr Paris three months ago."
"Why? Why would I do that?" asked B'Elanna her mouth dry, making speech difficult.
The question seemed too hard for Seven. She did not answer. For a few moments there was silence as both women contemplated possible reasons.
"I must have been mentally disturbed," exclaimed B'Elanna. "Being in the Delta quadrant sent me crazy."
"Not apparently. Your mental state was markedly stable."
"I married Tom Paris and you say I was sane." B'Elanna got to her feet and started to pace. "This isn't happening. I mean the guy's a liar and a traitor."
As much as Seven would have liked to agree with that assessment, honesty forced her to demur.
"Mr Paris is much different from your recollection. I am told he is anyway. He is a valued member of Voyager's crew." She added hesitantly. "I almost like him."
"Almost?"
"He has your love."
Seven's voice was hardly audible but B'Elanna heard and understood that Seven was telling her the truth. Hearing the sadness in Seven's voice she also understood for the first time that Seven had been attracted to her before, perhaps even loved her but she had not returned those feelings.
"I'm sorry" she mumbled not really knowing what to think or feel.
"It is of no importance," said Seven quietly. "Eat this," and she gave a plate of food to the half-Klingon who had stopped pacing and was standing in front of her but not looking at her. B'Elanna took the plate. She couldn't yet make any sense of the revelations. It was just too strange.
"When we have finished eating we should return to the Turing and make ready to start the repairs" said Seven.
"Yeah. Sure."
B'Elanna lifted her eyes to meet Seven's. "Seven I wish that ... Did I care for you, back there?"
Seven was brusque. "No you did not. I do not wish to discuss it further. Please concentrate on our current predicament."
'I am thinking about our current predicament,' B'Elanna thought to herself aware of the painful twist to her heart as she gazed at Seven who had turned away and begun to slowly eat her food. The latter activity looked as though it was strange to the Borg. Seven seemed so vulnerable, although how anyone so obviously powerful and dangerous could appear vulnerable B'Elanna wasn't sure.
'At least I can look after her and get her home to Voyager.' she reasoned. It then occurred to B'Elanna that returning to Voyager would be the start of their problems, not the end. She decided not to think that far ahead and to concentrate on matters at hand and dammit she was really, really hungry.
Continued in next chapter
Lost and Home by halfofone
Part 8: A hill of beans in this crazy world
Date added: 2002-01-14 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
Delta Cygnus
Lenara Kahn glared at the view screen where Admiral Clift's thin hard faced had just faded out.
'So that's how it's going to be then. Fine. I will not be threatened by that miserable little weevil.' She tapped a few keys and recalled a message she had recorded earlier that day but had hesitated to send.
"Computer send this message to Lieutenant Reginald Barclay. Location believed to be Utopia Planetia."
A few light years away on the bridge of the Vigilant
"Captain Worf. This is Captain Antonia Chekhov of the Starship Vigilant."
"Captain Chekhov" acknowledged Worf his severe dark face glowering from the view screen.
"Starfleet command have informed me that you have obtained further information about the escaped spies."
"Indeed. We have made contact with an informer who is prepared to supply us with information about their movements."
Chekhov raised her eyebrows. The Klingon seemed reluctant to share his information.
"Do you know where they are Captain Worf?"
"They have taken refuge on Mudd's Last Stand. A star system in the badlands."
"So when do we go and get them?" asked Commander Smith who was desperate to get his revenge on the small half-Klingon for decking him and then stealing his uniform.
"We do not" growled Worf. "The system is off limits. We must wait until they leave of their own accord."
"You're not serious Captain Worf. We could be waiting a very long time" exclaimed Chekhov. "After all why would they leave a safe haven for certain capture in Federation space?"
"Money. Our informant assures us that they are working to repair their shuttle for departure. They have obtained employment with a notorious local smuggler and will no doubt take part in various smuggling operations."
Chekhov considered this for a moment.
"Why would Dominion spies need money? A coded message and surely they would have all the support they need."
"It is curious," Worf agreed. "Perhaps they suppose there is too high a risk of messages being intercepted or perhaps they believe it will improve their cover story."
"Perhaps they are just stupid," interrupted Smith earning himself a glare from his own captain and from Worf.
"Stupider than those from whom they escaped Mr Smith?" asked his captain pointedly. She turned back to Worf. "We will be in your sector in 3 days Captain. My orders are to do anything necessary to recover the spies. If that means going into the badlands ..."
"Neither you nor I are violating that particular treaty Captain Chekhov. A Starship entering the space around Mudd's Last Stand would trigger an immediate response from the Dominion. Even if we could find it. As the senior officer in this sector I am ordering you to rendezvous with the Defiant and then we wait."
Orbital Repair Station - Mudd's Last Stand
B'Elanna squeezed herself into the space between the port engine and the hull. 'This is a bloody useless design for anyone thicker than a padd.' she thought to herself and then remembered it was her design. 'Humph well it's just a prototype.' She felt queasy again and hoped she wouldn't be sick in this small area. To her surprise and humiliation she had thrown up again this morning. 'I must be getting old if three beers makes me ill' she thought. It had taken some persuasion to prevent Seven rushing her off to a doctor.
"Seven pass me the phasedriver." Seven's hand appeared through the narrow gap clutching the tool and her disembodied voice could be heard.
"It would appear the Turing has at least one design flaw. You of course designed the engine seating."
"Thanks for letting me know it was my fault" B'Elanna muttered and fumbled for the phasedriver, accidentally brushing her fingers along Seven's hand. Seven immediately flinched and dropped it causing B'Elanna to swear vehemently on the graves of several ancestors. With some difficulty B'Elanna retrieved the tool from the floor of the very confined space and set about removing a small control panel to get at the burnt out unit inside. It was a mess.
Feeling foolish, Seven kept quiet. It had been a very tense day working together on the shuttle repairs. Regardless of their best efforts they seemed to be constantly touching each other. They had hardly spoken to each other but Seven had received a master class in the art of invective as B'Elanna took out her frustration on various inanimate objects.
A noise from behind made Seven turn round and she saw the head of Mira Hassan appear through the overhead hatch at the other end of the tiny engineering room.
"Not very big in here is it."
"It is adequate," said Seven feeling immediately defensive. Mira lowered herself in and smiled ingratiatingly.
"It's very cosy" said Mira and smiled even more warmly at Seven to no effect. Mira gave up. It was obvious the Borg was completely immune to her charms. "Where's B'Elanna?"
"She is in the port engine casing" said Seven and indicated the tiny gap through which B'Elanna had wriggled.
"Lousy maintenance design" commented Mira disapprovingly.
"I heard that."
B'Elanna began to emerge from the confined space. "I seem to have put on a little weight." She wriggled painfully and then fell out into Seven's arms. The latter set her on her feet without comment and then moved to a safe distance. "This is a prototype Mira not a luxury cruiser."
"I'm not sure I would describe repairing the engines as a luxury but I bow to your superior engineering skills."
B'Elanna and Seven both said nothing. They seemed pre-occupied. Undaunted Mira continued.
"Anyway I have a job for you that should test this heap of scrap to the limits. This man I know needs passage to a certain planet." She shrugged at B'Elanna's look of enquiry. "That's the job. Deliver the passenger safely to his destination."
"What's the catch Mira?" asked B'Elanna suspiciously.
Unsmiling, Mira paused before answering.
"The planet is Sephal."
"You have to be kidding!" said B'Elanna her voice rising slightly in disbelief. In answer to Seven's obvious puzzlement she added. "Sephal is less than one light year from Cardassia. If you think the Bajorans had it bad, their experience of the Cardassians lasted decades. The Sephallier have been occupied for three hundred years."
"Who is the passenger?" asked Seven.
"His name is Laszlo and he is a leader of the resistance."
"Any more good news you would like to share about this" asked B'Elanna mockingly.
"The Cardassians know he is off world and are waiting for him to return."
B'Elanna grinned mirthlessly. "So you think an unarmed shuttle is the ideal vehicle for this suicide mission?"
"Failing an entire fleet of starships ... I don't have any alternatives and I know from your boasting that the Turing is very fast and sneaky. There is probably no better alternative." Her voice became firmer. "I am not offering you a choice B'Elanna. I will pay for repairing any damage to the ship in the course of the mission ..."
"In the unlikely event that we survive."
Mira ignored her.
"When will you be ready to leave?"
"In 15.2 hours" answered Seven. "We have completed 76 percent of repairs but there is still work to be done on the port engine. Some of the components you have supplied are not wholly compatible. We require access to a replicator and a tool shop."
"Whatever it takes. Just get the ship ready." Mira was already moving to leave and as she prepared to hoist her long body through the hatch she paused. "If anybody asks you where you are going say nothing. I will make all the arrangements for your departure and spread the necessary disinformation. Talk to no-one." The pirate disappeared through the hatch leaving them alone again.
B'Elanna turned and exchanged a long burning look with Seven. She felt her heart rate quicken and her nipples tighten. It wasn't the danger of the mission that concerned her now. 'How are we going to survive a two day trip in this tiny ship without going mad?' she thought as her body continued its involuntary demands. Seven looked equally uncomfortable. Her gaze dropped and the ex-drone said in a low voice.
"We must continue the repairs Lieutenant."
"Right," said B'Elanna and began to squeeze herself back into the narrow gap between the engine casing and the hull.
I really must ask," said the Turing's computer, "why you keep forcing yourself into that small gap? Would it not be easier to disconnect the maintenance housing and swing the engine out. That's how it was designed."
B'Elanna stopped and looked at Seven.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me? No don't say it. I know. I designed the engine seating." She painfully extracted herself.
For the first time that day Seven half-smiled.
"At least it was not a design flaw. Your reputation is restored."
"I feel so much better for that thought," B'Elanna said aloud. But seeing Seven's amused blue eyes she really did feel better; perhaps even happy. She mocked herself. 'Kahless I must have it bad if even a half-smile makes me happy.'
The bridge of the Defiant
"Sir we have received a report from Starfleet intelligence that the targets are making ready to depart from Mudd."
"Thank you Mr Fesar. Signal to the fleet to lay in a course for the ambush co-ordinates and signal to the Vigilant to rendezvous with us at the new co-ordinates. Keep in constant contact with the perimeter monitoring stations. I want to know exactly where that shuttle is going to emerge."
Worf was not especially optimistic. The badlands occupied a very large volume of space and although there were only limited routes through it an experienced smuggler would know how to skirt the edges, hiding from the blanket of Starfleet and Cardassian monitoring satellites and then quickly making a dash into open space. It was usually easier to catch vessels returning than leaving. Unfortunately these spies would have no reason to return. He had only ten vessels at his command and only three of them were heavily armed (four when the Vigilant arrived). Starfleet had told him to do his best until the third fleet arrived with another thirty ships.
His orders were clear and disturbing. The shuttle must be destroyed on sight. No attempt was to be made to communicate with it or to recapture the escapees. Worf could not say he was happy with this arrangement but those were the explicit instructions from Starfleet Command.
Somewhere in the Delta quadrant
An even less happy Starfleet captain stood in her ready room on Voyager and wondered what the hell she should do. Her crew were busying themselves repairing Voyager after a minor skirmish with some less than friendly locals who were taking exception to Voyager hanging about in the area.
More worrying than the threats to get out of town were the subtle suggestions from Starfleet that they might cut off communications if Voyager didn't move along and forget what had happened. Admiral Clift didn't say it in exactly those words but he did say that Voyager must obey orders like any other Starfleet vessel and those orders were to get moving again despite the tragic loss. He had hinted that were Janeway to disobey the orders then Starfleet might consider further communication to be unnecessary.
She had bought them a little more time by claiming the damage from the recent attack prevented Voyager going to Warp but this waiting was hard on everyone. Tom Paris was showing the strain. Janeway had relieved him of duty on medical grounds after the EMH declared him unfit and now he sat in his quarters staring into space. Others in the crew were also restive and Chakotay was openly suggesting that they had done everything possible. In all fairness she had to agree that it was highly unlikely Starfleet would open up a new wormhole if they knew Voyager was hanging about in the vicinity. But something stopped her from giving up on her lost sheep. Irrational as it was she could not yet give the order to leave and her sense of outrage at Starfleet's apparent duplicity was a further incentive to try and give Seven and B'Elanna a few more days. If they were alive she knew that they would try and make contact.
"Captain. We are being hailed by Starfleet but the signature is unusual and there is a privacy seal. It's marked for your eyes only Captain."
"Thank you ensign. Route the transmission to my ready room" she said dully, expecting another drubbing from a junior Admiral.
She raised her head to listen to the message without expectation.
"Captain Janeway. This is Reginald Barclay. Perhaps you remember me? No reason why you should of course but I was rather hoping ... "
Janeway smiled.
"Of course I remember you Lieutenant Barclay. Without you we would still be all alone out here. How can I help you?"
"Ah well that's just great Captain. I can't tell you how happy ... No I'm sorry, just listen to me, rabbiting on like this. I'm wasting time; we only have a few minutes. I mean to say I hope I can help you again. I have some information about your two crew. Well it may just be a rumour ... "
Janeway sat bolt upright and her jaw clenched.
"Mr Barclay spit it out. Where are they?"
Somewhere in the Alpha quadrant
"All engines stop. Seven where are we?" asked B'Elanna
"I am not sure." Seven looked annoyed with herself. "The last manoeuvre and explosion seems to have confused the navigation system."
"Alright, we don't know where we are but where are the Cardassians?"
"Sensors indicate a squadron of eight vessels moving in formation two parsecs from our location. They are apparently strafing along a narrow corridor at random."
"That must be one of the approach corridors. So I'm guessing that puts us in the middle of the minefield, hence the last two explosions." She sighed. This was not good.
"The cloak is holding." said Seven concentrating hard on the Turing's instruments. "They will not be able to see us but they will have observed the mines exploding. Shields are at 13 percent. Hull integrity is good. I do not think we encountered any mines directly."
"My hours playing Asteroids were not wasted then" said the Turing's computer wearily. "No major damage. Estimated time to repair ten minutes. Shields will regenerate in 4.3 minutes. Please tell me when this nightmare is going to be over."
"We can't stay here," said B'Elanna thinking aloud, "the Cardies will target the whole area and if the torpedoes don't get us the mines will. But where can we go? Now that they know about us, the access corridors will be blocked by force-fields."
"And the probability of navigating through this minefield over a distance of one and a half million kilometres and surviving is zero, approximately. So don't bother asking me to try." said the computer. "Unless the alternative is certain death" it added as an afterthought.
Seven was studying the sensors. "There is a very large object moving at only 66340 kilometres per hour through the minefield at a distance of 22127 kilometres. It appears to be a small moon or a very large asteroid. It will pass within 50 kilometres of our position in twenty minutes."
"Is that good or bad?" asked B'Elanna.
Seven appeared to be doing some calculations and did not immediately reply. The computer began to whistle a jaunty tune until B'Elanna told it to shut up.
"I was just trying to raise morale Lieutenant; something you could learn a little about" it grouched.
"It may be possible to land on the surface of the planetoid," said Seven, ignoring the interruptions.
"And?"
"And remain on it until it exits from the minefield in 27.7 hours. By my calculation it emerges from the minefield for 5.7 seconds before its orbit takes it back in. If we can hide on the surface we may be able to derive some protection from the exploding mines triggered by the asteroid itself."
"So the plan is we sit on a rock travelling through a high explosive minefield and then jump off. Hoping all the while that the Cardassians don't notice."
"Yes. Although it is true we will have to decloak for the landing and takeoff."
"Good plan" said B'Elanna after a moments consideration.
"Certain death" disagreed the computer. "Take a look at the rock."
On the view screen an uneven twisted pillar, some 350 kilometres long and 55 kilometres in diameter, spun slowly end over end. Explosions seemed to rack it from end to end as the auto-generating mines took an endless toll. A trail of debris stretched out behind the tortured body in a long fiery train. Two sizeable rock satellites spun around it colliding with the mines and other debris forming a lethal halo.
"Kahless," B'Elanna breathed.
Seven was unmoved.
"I have calculated that there is a safe area just here." She indicated a section of the asteroid near the middle. "The rotation of the asteroid is such that this area remains mostly sheltered from explosions. If we can successfully land the Turing in that location we should be reasonably secure; especially if we can find a cave or meteor crater to hide in."
Looking at the gyrating wall of death B'Elanna was unconvinced but then there didn't seem to be any alternative. Not a good end to such a promising day. It had started well when they had easily evaded the small number of Starfleet ships hanging about near the badlands and successfully smuggled their grateful guest through the Cardie defences. They launched the courageous fellow into the stratosphere of Sephal in a specially shielded cargo drop. Everything was looking good until a Cardassian destroyer on patrol suddenly appeared. Sooner than let Laszlo be captured B'Elanna had dropped the Turing's cloak and triggered the defence systems, drawing the Cardassians away from the helpless cargo container. From that moment on they had been running and hiding, trying to find a way out.
"I vote we try it." she said. "Computer calculate a course to converge with the asteroid at the closest point in its trajectory to our current position, match course and speed. We'll then land it manually."
"I see I'm not allowed a choice." said the computer with a sniff. "But mine's not to reason why ... course laid in. Certain death here we come."
"Here goes nothing!" B'Elanna grasped Seven's hand and held it tightly. The Borg was surprised although she had to admit it was comforting in what was a very unpleasant situation. She moved closer until their arms were touching. B'Elanna did not pull away.
The Turing powered its engines and cautiously began to edge towards the target zone. The cloaking device protected them from detection by the mines but nothing would save them if there was a collision. Some of the mines were also equipped with very sensitive gravitational detectors designed to detect the very slight gravitational pull exerted by a cloaked ship. Too close and all the mines in the vicinity would start firing randomly.
"We are approaching the target. Matching course and speed" announced the computer. The ship began to shudder as it rode the shock waves of the blasts from the asteroid's multiple collisions with mines. "We have decloaked for the landing. I think it is over to you now. Good luck."
B'Elanna and Seven took their positions in front of the pilot and navigation consoles respectively and strapped themselves in. Seven scanned the target.
"B'Elanna try to follow the approach route I am setting. I will send you course and speed adjustments as necessary. It is very important that you follow these as closely as possible. Any deviation may take us into the path of a mine or some debris."
B'Elanna nodded but didn't speak concentrating absolutely on keeping the Turing perfectly in line. Her piloting skills were good but not great so this would be hard. Even someone like Tom Paris would have had difficulty. Her focus slipped for just an instant when she remembered her current relationship to the formerly wayward pilot.
"Lieutenant! Adjust course now" snapped the computer which was monitoring the whole approach and adjusting other systems as necessary. Cursing she overcompensated and then had to struggle for a second to bring the vessel back on course.
"Careful B'Elanna," said Seven gently. B'Elanna breathed out slowly. But there was no time to relax. The next set of co-ordinates and instructions were already scrolling down the console.
"We are within 2 kilometres of the landing zone and about to enter a small debris field. Reinforcing shields. Expect some minor turbulence" said the computer tightly. Then it snorted. "What am I saying? Minor turbulence indeed! I sound like an interplanetary flight attendant. Expect to be jolted about as though riding a Katarian bucking bull with a personal grudge against you."
True to its words the Turing suddenly bucked and the human passengers were flung sideways. The safety harnesses pulled them back and B'Elanna swiftly re-adjusted the course trying to ignore the vibration before the next major bump threw them backwards. Recovering again B'Elanna could see the landing area dead ahead. A huge pockmarked brown desert lying in a vast crater. Bright light from Sephal's Sun flattened the landscape but the Turing's sensors told a different story of deep crevasses and steep hills.
"Scanning for shelter," said Seven, her voice vibrating from the buffeting. "There appears to be an overhang 1 kilometre from the centre of the crater which may provide suitable shelter. Plotting new course now."
Obediently B'Elanna followed the twisting course; ignoring the rough ground rushing past the shuttle portholes just a few hundred metres from the fragile craft. The visual of the target landing area showed a low grey cliff and at the bottom of cliff an overhanging cave casting a dark shadow. She brought the Turing in close and as the distance diminished the size of the cave became apparent. The entrance was larger than the Turing. But not much.
"Commencing landing sequence" she said.
Seven tightened her safety straps.
"I understand prayer is helpful in these circumstances," the computer suggested helpfully.
In the event the landing was as near perfect as possible. The Turing settled down on its landing struts some twenty metres inside the cave. A few gentle thuds followed as the ship immediately fired securing bolts into the rock to prevent it bouncing about in the almost zero gravity on the small planetoid. They were, in relative terms, safe.
On the Federation/Cardassian border
Captain Worf looked with some disfavour at the view screen. Barclay was still speaking and he was only half listening. The human annoyed him with his inconsequential chatter about their mutual acquaintances and old times. Kahless only knew why the bumbling fool was making contact with him after all these years. Worf gestured at his second in command to leave. There was no need for them both to waste their time. As soon as the officer had left Barclay suddenly looked conspiratorial. Worf felt his impatience grow as Reg Barclay asked in his awkward earnest manner.
"Are you alone Captain? I mean is there anyone else there? It is very important we are not overheard."
"There is no-one here. What do you want with me Mr Barclay? If this is confidential why did you not ask for a coded channel."
"I do not want to arouse any suspicions Captain."
Worf looked baffled.
"Captain how would you feel if I told you that the Federation was committing a terrible crime against the crew of a Starfleet ship and breaking its treaties with the Dominion?"
"I would say you are a madman."
Barclay giggled nervously.
"I thought you might. But if you don't believe me then perhaps you would listen to one of my allies; Dr Lenara Kahn. I have a message from her. It is difficult to contact her directly as she works in a very high security facility but she managed to smuggle this out."
Worf's attention was now completely engaged although not for the reasons that Barclay would imagine. Lenara Kahn. His dead wife had loved this woman. Jadzia never spoke of it and had laughed at him when he demanded an explanation after the story of their doomed love had been recounted to him by a drunken Julian Bashir. However after his wife had died he found letters that proved she still loved the Trill scientist if only from afar. Hot jealousy coursed through him.
A very elegant woman appeared on the view screen. Extremely poised and collected. Exactly as he remembered from all those years ago on Deep Space Nine. Worf disliked her.
"I do not have long; I'm afraid my Starfleet colleagues are already suspicious. The images you are now seeing are from the illegal wormhole tests that the Federation is conducting in the Delta Cygnus sector. Whatever you might think of the morality of this endeavour it has now had at least one serious consequence; using our wormhole several members of the crew of the USS Voyager, currently lost in the Delta quadrant, have managed to make their way back to our space. They are being hunted like criminals and Starfleet has been given orders to eliminate them to safeguard the secrecy of the wormhole project. While there is little that can be done to assist the fugitives I believe we may be able to help their colleagues in the Delta quadrant. Lieutenant Barclay has details of the plan."
The transmission ended.
"Well?" said Barclay. "What do you think?"
"I think it is ludicrous and treasonable Mr Barclay and I would strongly advise you to walk away. I will overlook your attempt to recruit me because I know you to be a harmless fool."
Barclay eyed him aghast.
"But.. but .. the wormhole data, at least consider it Worf. We do not want another war. There is a wicked conspiracy being hatched and we must do something about it and we have a duty, a positive d..d..duty to help our fellow Starfleet officers. Surely you see that."
"What I see Mr Barclay, is a foolish man embroiled with a dangerous woman who is telling lies for her own purposes. Do not annoy me further with this nonsense. Worf out." The view screen blanked out.
Worf was angry and jealous. How dare that woman contact him? He slammed his fist down on a pile of padds on his desk and swore furiously as half of the pile tumbled to the floor. His gaze fell on the topmost padd remaining on the desk. His orders for the summary destruction of the fugitive shuttle. Angrily he hurled the padd across his ready room and it exploded with a satisfying noise on the far wall. He slapped his comm badge hard.
"Captain to communications officer. Please ask Captain Chekhov to meet me aboard the Defiant in one hour."
Worf glared at the Universe through the transparent aluminum panels. The last few days had been inglorious and disturbing. Worf liked his world to be straightforward, his loyalties clear and he liked to know his enemy.
Continued in next chapter
Lost and Home by halfofone
Date added: 2002-01-14 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
A small bolt hole on a large asteroid in a huge minefield
"So here we are again damaged and in mortal danger" said the Turing's computer with inappropriate cheerfulness. "I expect you two are starving and tired? Normal service has resumed."
Both women released their safety harnesses and wordlessly stood up to face each other. A rumble beneath their feet shook the small craft. And then another.
"Not the most quiet of places," said B'Elanna, not very brightly. "I guess we should take the chance to eat and rest. I'll take the first watch while you sleep" she volunteered.
"I do not think we need to take turns. There are two beds and the computer will alert us to any new danger. We should both get as much rest as possible."
"Sure thing. I'll sleep real well knowing you are in the next bunk."
Seven looked a little hurt and B'Elanna immediately apologised.
"Sorry. You're right although sleeping through this noise may be difficult. She yawned "I am surely going to try. But first I cook."
Despite Seven's doubts, B'Elanna (taking advantage of the generous replicator access Mira Hassan had arranged) had acquired a small cooking range and food stasis unit which she had insisted on installing in the Turing's tiny galley. She had been insistent that there was no reason they should continue to endure cold ration packs.
"Are eggs, bacon and fried potatoes okay with you?" she queried. "Not the most sophisticated, I know, but personally I like simple food when I'm on a mission." Seeing Seven's dubious face she hastened to add. "It's okay, the bacon and eggs are not real. I don't eat real meat. Actually since it is all replicated I suppose the potatoes are not real either."
"I am sure whatever you provide will be acceptable. I am simply unfamiliar with eggs, bacon and fried potatoes. In general I have no strong opinions about food." Seven frowned at some memory. "Although I have learned that some of Neelix's preparations are to be avoided."
B'Elanna was amused and touched by her companion's expression of regret. She looked downright cute.
"Tell me about Neelix. He sounds like a weird guy."
Seven had to think carefully before replying. She wasn't used to analysing personalities nor being asked for an opinion on something unrelated to ship's business.
"Neelix is not weird although many of Voyager's crew find him eccentric and some find him irritating." She paused to think. "He seems irrelevant but is often wise especially about emotions and he is always generous and ready to believe the best of everyone." Seven stopped again, conscious that there must be more to say about someone she had known for several years. "Neelix appears to be particularly fond of Commander Tuvok but the friendship is not mutual which I think is a cause of sadness to him. I believe his dress would be categorised as flamboyant." Still not exactly satisfied with her description of Neelix, Seven decided to illustrate with anecdotes. One story lead to another and B'Elanna countered with her own tales of the Maquis. An hour passed and though exhausted neither wanted to bring the day to a close. Everything B'Elanna cooked seemed to taste wonderful to Seven even though the chef assured her that hunger and danger allowed most people to eat almost anything and think well of it.
After they had eaten both women settled back with a cup of coffee, Seven watching B'Elanna tinker with some damaged components from the navigation array.
"Why do you not eat meat from real animals?" The ex-drone asked with mild curiosity. "I thought Klingons ate meat almost exclusively."
"I like the taste of meat but I can't think of one good reason why any animal should be butchered to feed me when there are alternatives available. Needless to say my mother did not agree with me. It was another of my many failings as a daughter and a Klingon." B'Elanna sounded a little bitter.
"You did not get on with your parents," Seven stated.
"I did not get on with my mother," corrected B'Elanna, "I hardly knew my father."
"I do not remember my parents. I only know them from the logs they left" said Seven quietly. "I saw my father as a drone when I was recaptured by the Borg; I believe they thought it would give me a sense of family." Her eyes and voice hardened. "I do not think the Borg could have designed a worse plan. I wanted to kill him."
"Then we have something in common. I often wanted to kill my father for leaving me with my mother." Looking up quickly from her task B'Elanna smiled wryly at Seven and caught the open longing in the other's eyes. Her smile faded and she dropped her gaze; all too aware of her own desire calling. She had trampled it into silence with hard work and concentration but in this lull it was returning four-fold, enhanced by closeness and the dangerous uncertainty of their circumstances. She wanted Seven to know how much she felt for her. B'Elanna had never been this much in tune with someone before. But was that true? She could not remember feeling such closeness for anyone before but she must have had such a relationship with Tom Paris, perhaps even stronger since she hadn't even noticed Seven in that other life (as inconceivable as that seemed at this moment).
Her thoughts were interrupted when the constant thumping explosions that vibrated through the vessel suddenly ceased.
"What the hell ...? We can't have exited from the minefield yet."
"The minefield has been deactivated." said Seven thinking quickly. "The Cardassians probably detected us when we decloaked to land. They are likely to have guessed our strategy."
"Confirmed," said the computer. "Five Cardassian warships have entered the area in a search formation."
As it spoke the lights went out to be replaced by the gloomy blue glow of the emergency lights.
"Sorry," said the computer, "we cannot use power from the warp core - it will be detected. All non essential systems are shutting down."
"Great. Anyone care to estimate the likelihood of them finding us."
"76.8 percent" said Seven without hesitation. In answer to B'Elanna's expression of awe she added. "I had previously calculated the odds given the eventuality of the enemy discovering our plan."
"Well I would have rounded it up to 77 percent," the computer concurred, "but I was partly designed by a half-Klingon so don't blame me."
B'Elanna was thinking bad thoughts which she decided to share.
"Even if they don't find us they just have to wait until we try and leave this rock. We can't take off cloaked; there would be five Cardie warships waiting in ambush. Even I can estimate the odds against escaping in that case and it doesn't look good for us."
"The Cardassian ships are starting full sensor sweeps," the computer reported. It sounded apprehensive. "They are concentrating on the central plain. I will have to cease from any further sensor activity; if detected it will lead them straight to us."
"Which means we won't know they've found us until they arrive" said B'Elanna quietly. There was silence as each woman tried to handle her fears in her own way: Seven concentrated on the available data while B'Elanna concentrated on Seven.
Seven completed her analysis of the Cardassians' tactics.
"Based on their current search pattern I estimate it will be at least fourteen hours before they scan this area. Insufficient time for us to get clear of the minefield."
"Maybe we'll get lucky."
"I am sorry B'Elanna."
Seven looked downcast.
"What are you talking about? Why sorry?"
"It was my plan that brought us here."
"Don't be silly. It was a good idea but we have been unlucky. I doubt we could have tried anything better and it may still work. If the Cardies find us ... well that's too bad. If they don't then when the time is right we'll just have to take off and hope our luck holds. We should get some sleep while we can."
"I foresee a bright future for you as a cheerleader," said the computer sarcastically. "Or perhaps a motivational speaker."
"Computer shut up," said B'Elanna and Seven in unison.
The computer obliged and another deathly silence filled the small ship. The two women didn't speak much either and B'Elanna was in her bunk within 10 minutes. Seven took a little longer; she was fixing small scale sensor traps to give some warning of a Cardassian attack. B'Elanna was already asleep when she finally entered the crew quarters. She stood and watched her wondering at how even in these circumstances she could still feel desire, still want nothing more than B'Elanna to wake and open her arms to her. The object of her love turned over and snorted a little, snuggling beneath the covers. Seven watched her for a few minutes more before lying down on her bunk and trying to sleep also. Sleeping was still an unfamiliar activity and she wasn't quite sure how to initiate the process. The more she tried the less successful she seemed so in the end she stopped trying and just lay there listening to B'Elanna's steady breathing. Seconds later she too was asleep.
Some hours later B'Elanna awoke in the semi-darkness feeling very cold. She cursed and was about to ask the computer why the temperature was so low when she remembered their situation. The computer must have lowered the temperature inside the ship to reduce their energy signal. She did not think there were any more blankets in the shuttle so she put her trousers back on which helped a little. She tried to relax and return to sleep but her Klingon physiology really hated the cold.
"Seven," she whispered and then a little more loudly. "Seven! Are you awake?"
"Now you have woken me .... " replied Seven grumpily.
"I'm cold. Are there any more blankets?"
"No. Go to sleep."
"I can't."
An exasperated sigh was followed by scuffling noises and then B'Elanna found herself being shoved against the wall on the other side of the bunk and her blanket was stripped from her. The rush of cold air shivered through her.
"Hey!"
Unceremoniously Seven lay down next to B'Elanna and threw both covers over them.
"We will share." she stated. "Now please sleep. My period of regeneration is incomplete."
The bunk was small and B'Elanna found herself squeezed between the wall and Seven's back. Minutes passed. Seven could not return to sleep. From the small sighs and twitching she was aware that B'Elanna was also awake.
"You are warmer. Why are you not sleeping?"
"You are squashing me," mumbled B'Elanna. "Not that I'm not enjoying it but it kinda makes sleep hard."
More sighs followed and Seven turned over to lie on her back. She scooped B'Elanna up and the half-Klingon found herself lying in Seven's arms, her head resting on the Borg's chest. A soft warmth spread through her.
"Is that better?" asked Seven.
"Umm. It's certainly warmer and a lot more comfortable but now I am squashing you."
"Irrelevant. Sleep."
"Why so desperate to send me off to sleep?"
"I have determined that the sound of your breathing is necessary for me to achieve sleep also. And you do not speak."
B'Elanna smiled in the dark and relaxed into the arms that held her. Exhaustion was beginning to reclaim her despite the disturbingly warm sensations that Seven's body was provoking in hers. She snuggled her head into Seven's shoulder and drifted slowly out of consciousness.
Seven on the other hand was discovering that B'Elanna asleep in her arms was not the ideal sleeping potion. She was acutely conscious of the press of soft breasts against hers and the feel of the dark silky hair against her throat. She breathed in deeply inhaling a beguiling warm scent that she knew she would never forget and stifled a gasp when B'Elanna's legs tangled with hers. The overly familiar sensations that indicated physical desire manifested themselves more strongly than ever before and her need seemed overwhelming but fear held her in check and she did not move a muscle except to tighten her arms a little when B'Elanna murmured in her sleep. The sweet torture continued for a couple of hours until finally B'Elanna stirred and raised her head and spoke softly.
"Hey there."
Blue eyes, darkened nearly to black, stared into hers and she could feel Seven shivering. Without thought B'Elanna raised her mouth to kiss the full lips. Seven moaned. Raising herself up a little B'Elanna bent slowly to the slightly parted lips. Softly at first and then more fiercely.
In thrall to her need and years of stifled love Seven did not resist. She pulled her tormentor closer. Carmen lips explored her face and kissed across her eyes and then returned to her mouth. For a long time B'Elanna kissed her until with unspoken agreement they stopped and B'Elanna's lips were free to linger their way down Seven's silky throat. Strong hands were loosening her clothes, and as skin touched skin Seven whimpered. B'Elanna hesitated and withdrew a little. The would-be lover looked at Seven uncertainly. Desperate with desire Seven took hold of the hand that was now gently stroking her cheek and returned it to the more urgent task of unfastening the shirt in which she had slept.
B'Elanna smiled a little and began again with more confidence. She finished undoing Seven's shirt and slowly drew the cloth away. Awed, she gazed at the long slim body, unearthly pale in the blue light; perfect except for the diamond-shaped implant that glistened blackly on Seven's left thigh and the elegant tracery of fine lines that ran away from it and vanished beneath milk-white skin.
Seeing the direction of B'Elanna's gaze Seven winced. She moved the blanket to cover up the reminder of her bitter past but B'Elanna caught and held her wrist.
"Don't" she murmured and then released her grip and Seven's hand fell weakly back to her side. With total concentration B'Elanna's fingers caressed the cold metal. Seven shivered. The caress moved up her thigh exchanging metal for warm flesh, following the route of the curve of her hip, dipping down to her waist and then rising again towards the full swell of her breasts. B'Elanna's hand brushed over smooth, heavy softness and then travelled on to barely graze against a painfully stiff nipple. Seven swallowed hard. She was aware that she had lost control of her breathing and her body temperature. The loss of control was unsettling to the ex-drone and her momentary distraction allowed the rational voice in her head time to object. She started to speak.
"We should not ..... "
B'Elanna interrupted; her voice low and hoarse and insistent.
"Shh sweetheart. Don't talk. If we live there will be time enough for regrets."
And any remaining control vanished when B'Elanna lowered her mouth to the aching nipple and tenderly suckled and then equally tenderly raked her teeth over the tip. Seven groaned in anguish.
"Please."
She was not sure what she was pleading for but she knew she wanted more. One thought crystallised. She wanted B'Elanna naked. To see and feel what her lover was seeing and feeling.
"I want to see you."
"Later" growled B'Elanna moving to the other breast. Seven bit her lip to stifle another moan and shook her head.
"No, now. I've waited too long," she whispered. B'Elanna stared at her and then made a decision. She sat up and slowly drew her jersey over her head seemingly unaware of the chill air that had so concerned her before. Breathing rapidly Seven lay and watched. B'Elanna stripped off her trousers and kicked them off the bunk. She turned back to Seven.
"Better?" she asked and her grin widened when a wide-eyed Seven mutely opened her arms. As silken skin collided with silken skin B'Elanna answered her own question. "In Kahless' name. Yes."
The Cardassian Border
Worf's temper had hardly improved when Captain Chekhov was shown into his ready room. The shattered padd still lay against the bulkhead where he had thrown it.
"Captain Worf. You wished to see me" stated Chekhov, none to please at being summoned from her bed at such short notice even if it was to meet a Starfleet hero.
"Captain Chekhov I need some information." He hesitated slightly. If this went badly he might well end the day indicted for treason. "What was your opinion of the two fugitives you apprehended? Is it true that they were from the USS Voyager?"
Chekhov looked at him suspiciously. If she wasn't careful she would end her day in the Defiant's brig.
"They certainly claimed to be."
"Did you believe them?"
"They were plausible," she replied shortly. "Yes I did believe them. At least before Starfleet intelligence informed us they were spies."
"How did they explain their presence in the Alpha quadrant Captain?"
Chekhov was now definitely worried. Somehow Starfleet must have discovered her suspicions. She decided that partial honesty might be the best policy.
"They had some preposterous story about a wormhole. But there are no wormholes in that sector."
"Preposterous indeed," snorted Worf. "But did you believe them?" he asked fiercely.
The two Captains faced each other as each tried to gauge the other's position.
"Did you believe them Captain?" Worf repeated. Chekhov remembered everything she had ever heard about Worf. His integrity and courage were legendary. And his loyalty. But where did his loyalty lie? She said nothing.
Worf tapped his comms console and the view screen came to life. An attractive Trill woman who looked vaguely familiar to Chekhov appeared. Then she remembered seeing her on the base at Delta Cygnus. A scientist. The woman started to speak and images of a wormhole replaced her but the voice continued.
After the short transmission completed Worf turned his gaze back to her.
"Do you know who she is?"
"A scientist I think."
"Her name is Lenara Kahn and she is a famous Trill scientist. Famous for her research into artificial wormholes. I helped her conduct a wormhole experiment from this very ship. That was before the war and the wormhole research treaty. Do you believe her story?"
"Yes" said Chekhov suddenly tired of playing this cat and mouse game. "Yes I believe her and I believed our prisoners." She waited for the blow to fall.
"As do I," growled Worf. He slammed his hand on the desk. "All that remains to decide Captain Chekhov is what we do with this information. And what do we do about the fugitives."
"Our orders are to destroy them."
"Such orders are against normal Starfleet procedure and Federation Law. And I will answer for my decision in this matter to a board of enquiry. I will not carry out summary executions. Are you with me?"
Her normally serious expression suddenly vanished, replaced by a smile of great charm.
"I thought you would never ask Captain. What are your orders?"
"Their vessel was tracked as it crossed the Cardassian border. We will cross into Cardassian space and inform the Cardassians that we are hunting wanted smugglers. There are clear agreements about the extradition of smugglers and it will be a convincing cover story. If the fugitives are what we believe then they will be trying to return to the badlands and we will be in a better position to intercept them."
"What if the Cardassians have captured them? It is going to be very apparent to everyone who meets them that these are not normal smugglers" she said remembering the tall Borg.
"If the Cardassians won't hand them over then we will have no choice but to return without them. In the meantime I will make direct contact with Dr Kahn. My source informs me she is planning to bring the USS Voyager home through the wormhole but she will need help. Can you trust your senior officers to follow your orders Captain?"
"Not entirely. My first officer is not reliable at the best of times and he is head of security who follow his lead closely. He will not be sympathetic to these fugitives."
Worf scowled.
"That is an added difficulty. We must be careful." He shrugged. "It will not affect our current course of action. We will cross the border at 0800 hours. Return to your ship Captain."
Hours later in a small bolt hole on a large asteroid in a huge minefield
"Seven?"
"Hmm."
"Are you ever coming back up here?"
"No."
B'Elanna smiled.
"I want to hold you and besides I'm getting cold." She tugged weakly at the stray blankets and then shuddered as her lover began to slowly kiss her way up her body, lingering here and then there. Desire stirred again. Although whether she could do anything about it in her boneless state she wasn't sure.
A distant explosion rumbled through the ground and the little ship quivered.
"The Cardassians" exclaimed B'Elanna and an unpleasant jolt of adrenaline shot through her.
Another explosion shook the ground and then another and another.
"No" said Seven lying very still, listening to the rumbling explosions. "The minefield has been reactivated. Computer what is happening?" Her voice sounded strangely husky.
The Cardassian fleet left the minefield ten minutes ago. They seemed to be in a great hurry." replied the computer.
"And you didn't think to tell us?"
"You were busy Lieutenant," said the computer coyly.
"Computer have you been monitoring us?" B'Elanna asked with a sudden feeling of anger.
The computer snorted in disgust. "Would you want to watch your parents cavorting Lieutenant Torres? I certainly did not wish to. I merely assumed you were busy. If the situation had deteriorated I would have informed you."
"Why have they gone?" asked Seven sitting up. B'Elanna stifled a whimper of protest at the loss of contact. "Did you intercept any communications Computer."
"No."
"So they may return. How long until we exit from the minefield.?"
"3 hours and 32 minutes approximately." answered the computer.
Seven leaned over B'Elanna and gently kissed the firm swell of her belly. She frowned at the little goose bumps rising in the chill air and tried to brush them away with her fingers. She felt B'Elanna tense and her breathing become uneven as the long fingers slid further down.
"Computer. Increase the cabin temperature to normal levels. I have unfinished business which I believe will take 2 hours, 55 minutes and 24 seconds precisely."
The computer complied and then hastily shut down all sensors in the crew cabin except for the voice activated ones. These still gave far too much information, so metaphorically hunching its shoulders the Turing's computer began a total review of all systems, the third of the night, and tried to ignore the disturbing sounds emanating from the cabin.
Starfleet base in the Delta Cygnus System
"I am most excited by your change of mind Dr Kahn" said Dr Kravitz almost hopping with joy. The Trill scientist had given him a working paper for further development of the wormhole which seemed most convincing. Apparently she had second thoughts about her theory and believed that they could modify the design of the wormhole generator to make it a two way gate. "Have you discussed this with your colleagues from Trill."
"No." She smiled. "I would appreciate it if you looked at my proposed modifications before I bring anyone else into the picture. I would also like to try one or two small experiments first."
Kravitz was very flattered. Dr Kahn had hardly ever bothered to include him in any discussion of her theories although he was no slouch when it came to wormhole theory. Her recent humiliation may have done her some good after all he thought with satisfaction. All in all life was looking up. The escaped fugitives seemed to have vanished and according to rumour were probably dead, no security breach had occurred and now the project was stirring back into life.
Lenara Kahn's voice brought him back to the present. "Have you identified a new area of the Delta quadrant for the location of the wormhole terminus? I do not want any further interference from USS Voyager."
"Ah yes. Good news on two counts. Firstly Voyager is on her way and has resumed her journey to the Alpha quadrant and secondly we have identified an area of the Delta quadrant from Voyager's own records which seems devoid of intelligent species. Just let me know when you wish to recommence testing."
"In a few days" said Lenara, "I will keep you informed of progress. One thing though..." She paused as though debating with herself. "I wish we had the shuttle that came through the wormhole. Telemetry from that ship would be invaluable to us, even the occupants might have vital information which makes the difference between success and failure. They are the only people to have observed the terminus of the wormhole from the other side. Oh well I suppose that's not possible." She smiled warmly at Kravitz and then departed for her lab.
For a moment he wondered about her motives and then dismissed the suspicion. Like all great scientists she was obsessed with her work and not with the consequences. She had doubtless concluded that her theory was more important than any military or political issues.
"Get me Admiral Clift" he said to the station computer and rubbed his bony little hands. For once he was able to report some good news.
The Turing - 3 hours and 32 minutes later (approximately)
"We are clear of the cave, climbing to 500 metres" B'Elanna announced. "Is there any sign of the Cardassians?"
"None. Maintain this altitude and position until we clear the minefield in 11 seconds."
They for waited what seemed like a century until Seven said "Now."
B'Elanna increased impulse power and guided the Turing through a narrow corridor in the debris that circled the asteroid. 5 seconds later they were in clear space but the asteroid had already resumed its brutal journey through the minefield. The occupants of the shuttle did not pause to watch the pyrotechnic display and in less than a minute they were travelling through a slipstream towards the badlands.
Seven came to stand behind B'Elanna. She wrapped her arms around her and B'Elanna leaned back blissfully, her head against her lover's shoulder. After a few moments she twisted her head to look up at Seven. The latter returned her gaze, ice-blue eyes dark with desire. The expression was troubled though.
"Do you regret our actions?"
B'Elanna turned to face her. "No bangwI, of course not, I love you, why ..."
"Because we survived. Because I do not think I will be able to give you up."
Seven tightened her arms around the smaller woman. Love and want overwhelmed them.
"Here we go again" muttered the computer irritably. "Very irresponsible. It's just as well I'm here to keep things ticking over."
The Turing continued along the slipstream, impervious to the mass of sensors that locked onto the spatial distortion and the flurry of futile attempts to intercept its flight. Two Federation starships facing off against a Cardassian fleet signalled their intention to withdraw immediately from Cardassian space while the Cardassian military fell into mutual recriminations about the mistaken withdrawal of the fleet searching for what was clearly a very unusual shuttle. Less than two hours later the Turing dropped out of the slipstream, sidestepped a waiting fleet of Federation starships and scurried into the badlands.
The two Federation starships did not return to their station near the badlands. Instead at near maximum warp both ships were headed for Delta Cygnus. Queried by their superiors, Captain Worf reported that he had reliable information that the renegades were going to try and return to the system and that he wanted to have starships waiting for them when they arrived. As he pointed out he had left a full fleet of nearly forty starships circling the badlands so this was just insurance in case they somehow slipped through the net.
Continued in next chapter
TITLE: Lost and Home
SUBSECTION: Home
PARTS: 10 to 13
SUMMARY: Our heroes have found each other though they are still separated from Voyager. The question now is can they keep each other?
Lost and Home by halfofone
Date added: 2002-01-14 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
Mudd's Last Stand
B'Elanna strolled happily through the mean and shifty streets of Mudd City. Despite the grotty surroundings and diverse array of gruesome inhabitants watching her progress with the unnatural concentration of predators watching for potential prey, she felt like singing. Not being much of a singer, she restricted herself to whistling. Even so such obvious good cheer was generally only expressed by inebriated late night revelers, and as a consequence she was attracting a certain amount of attention from the less fortunate denizens of the borough. The prevailing belief of the good citizens of this town, was that happiness generally equated to material good fortune and good fortune could be shared one way or another. So it wasn't long before several hangers-on with widely different methods, but very similar intentions, had attached themselves metaphorically (and in one case literally) to her coat-tails. Klingon scowling and growling had little effect in deterring her newly acquired fan-club and even some well aimed blows only discouraged them for a few seconds before they resumed their litany of hard-luck stories and offers of inconceivable services and valuable possessions in return for just a few credits. It was with relief that she arrived at the central transporter station where she was due to meet Seven of Nine. The latter was waiting for her, and B'Elanna felt her heart skip a beat when she saw the tall Borg looking effortlessly out of place amid the grunge and grimy machinery that passed for a ticket and transit hall.
Seven observed B'Elanna's train of followers with some puzzlement, until she saw her lover curse and push one of the more persistent (and light fingered) away. Drawing herself up to her full height she enquired in a droneish voice.
"Are these persons to be assimilated? We require additional crewmen." And to drive the point home she extended her assimilation tubules for the benefit of all those watching. In seconds every beggar had vanished. B'Elanna grinned.
"That was evil my sweet. Thank you."
"It was nothing. Was your meeting with Mira Hassan successful?"
"Once she recovered from her shock at our return. She's ecstatic. Well she looked approving at least. Basically whatever we want we can have. She signed this release for the Turing, granted us unlimited replicator access for repairs and transferred a pretty large sum of latinum to our account. So what would you like to do first?"
"First I wish to return to our lodgings for a shower, clean clothes and some sleep."
"Do you really want to sleep?" asked B'Elanna mischievously. "We could do other things."
"I need to sleep" insisted Seven. "You need sleep also. We have much work to do on the Turing if we are to get it ready for reconnoitering Delta Cygnus."
"I suppose so," said B'Elanna reluctantly. She did not really want to think about trying to return to Voyager. Any which way she thought about it she risked losing Seven unless she could persuade her that they should give up this hopeless attempt to get back to the Delta quadrant, and instead, live out their lives together in the Alpha quadrant. At the moment Seven was adamant that B'Elanna must return to Voyager and receive treatment for her memory loss whatever the outcome. Seven was still speaking.
"... after we have regenerated for an adequate period I will consider your suggestion." she said, and then without irony. "It is probable that I will agree."
She leant down to kiss her lover lightly on the lips and then again and after a few seconds, they were wrapped in each others arms, oblivious to the miserable surroundings and wisecracks from onlookers threatening to call out the fire department. Public opinion about the free show varied from outrage that two such gorgeous women should be wasted on each other to the less hard-hearted view that such love was beautiful to behold and a surefire turn-on in the bargain. Indeed after they had reluctantly separated and were slowly walking hand-in-hand back to the lodging place, B'Elanna found a small business card from the manager of the 'Girls with Guns Club' (Live Performances Every Night!) tucked in her gun belt, offering a substantial sum of money if they would join the payroll. She dropped the bit of card on the pavement where it disappeared into a carpet of refuse.
"Littering Torres?" enquired a small figure with a surprisingly deep voice and a large disruptor which was pointed at them. "That carries a hefty fine." A flash of iridescent green eyelids accompanied his words.
"Waldo" B'Elanna sighed resignedly.
"Torres I want you out of this town. And your Borg toy."
"We are working on it Waldo. But we have some problems we need to work through first."
"I don't give a frell about your problems. Leave tonight." The green eyelids fluttered and his eyes swizzled from one to the other.
"Or what you little lizard? Are you going to kill us? I should warn you that we are members of Hassan's organisation and you know her record with scum who murder her people. You wouldn't last the night." B'Elanna tightened her hold on Seven's hand and they walked past, ignoring the small man and his weapon.
Conscious of smirking faces around him Waldo shouted after them,
"That's 20 strips of latinum for littering Torres. Payment within 5 days."
They made no sign of having heard him and disappeared round the corner of the next alley. Waldo angrily kicked a drunken itinerant lying in the gutter.
'Don't underestimate me Torres; perhaps I can't kill you but your Starfleet friends certainly will; I'll make sure of that.'
B'Elanna and Seven arrived back at the crummy little low rent house after twenty minutes walk. Their reputation had travelled much faster and no-one troubled them with so much as a word. Even the old lady seemed more respectful especially around Seven and it was with a grating air of sympathetic interest that she said to B'Elanna.
"I'm just returning your belongings dear." She gestured at a large tatty box in the hallway. "I thought it best to take them for safe keeping while you were away. So glad to see you back dearie and so healthy. I trust the little one is healthy also."
B'Elanna laughed.
"Hey I'm the little one granny. I think your eyes require adjustment."
"No not your friend, I mean this little one," and she placed her gnarled hand on B'Elanna's stomach. "There is no need to look surprised. I can smell it. I am never wrong." She cackled merrily.
B'Elanna grabbed her hard by the wrist and the old lady gasped.
"What are you talking about you old fool?"
"The baby. You know you're with child dontcha?" B'Elanna released her abruptly. The old crone snatched back her wrist rubbing it angrily, "and you call me the fool," she snarled.
"I'm sorry. I ... " B'Elanna looked at Seven and the open disbelief on the Borg's face forestalled any suspicion that the half-Klingon might have had about Seven hiding this from her. B'Elanna pulled two strips of latinum from her pocket and pressed them in the old woman's hand. Delighted, the old dear forgot her animosity instantly.
"Well I have saved you an expensive trip to the Doctor. Come to think of it any quack round here would charge you five strips so it's a real bargain. Well I can't stand 'ere and chatter to you two all night." She trundled slowly away into the dark, smoky interior of the house contemplating all the secret places she might hide her new treasure from the prying eyes and hands of her paying guests. Seven and B'Elanna barely noticed her departure.
"I do not understand." Seven sounded confused, perhaps even scared. "I scanned you when we first arrived in the Alpha Quadrant, when you were injured. The tricorder said nothing about pregnancy."
B'Elanna was staring down at her own stomach. She answered distractedly, "I don't know. Maybe you didn't ask for general health. Maybe it just reported the injuries. Seven what are we going to do?"
"We have to check. Perhaps the old woman is wrong; the Starfleet doctor said nothing about this. She can't have missed it."
B'Elanna allowed Seven to sit her down and waited quietly while the Borg fiddled with a tricorder. She noticed Seven's hand was shaking as she moved the instrument over her stomach and put her hand out to steady her. Seven jerked her hand away from the contact and continued the scan. The ex-drone stood up and examined the readout.
"You are four weeks pregnant."
"Damn."
B'Elanna sat on the bed and placed her hand on her stomach. Seven said nothing.
"Seven?" The Borg would not look at her. She kept checking and rechecking the tricorder. B'Elanna tried again.
"Seven?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to speak to me?"
At last Seven looked at her, her eyes were brimming and she threw the tricorder aside in a gesture that was very unlike Seven.
"I am sorry. I should congratulate you. That is the correct response is it not?"
"No. I didn't mean that. Just come here and hold me." When the ex-drone still hesitated B'Elanna panicked and snapped. "In Kahless name get your damn backside over here."
Seven drew back sharply, saying frozen-voiced "No. I do not wish to. I need to take a walk."
"Seven stop. BangwI talk to me. Why are you behaving like this?" B'Elanna moved in front of the door to prevent her from leaving.
"Because now things are worse. Now I know you will go back to him"
"Listen to me Seven. This makes no difference."
"Yes it does. How can it not?" Unable to leave the room Seven was now striding up and down the small floor. Finally she swore loudly and inexpertly and brought her Borg hand down on the small lamp smashing it into small fragments. They were plunged into darkness. For a moment there was silence.
"Did that help?" B'Elanna asked dryly
"I believe it did" Seven replied and hesitated before continuing, "but I apologise for my action. It was pointless, inefficient." Even in the darkness B'Elanna could hear the embarrassment in the even voice. Seven slowly drew the curtains to allow in the meagre light from the street lamps. B'Elanna moved to her, wrapping her arms around the narrow waist. She closed her eyes in relief when Seven roughly pulled her close and kissed her hard. She was returning the kiss with interest, passion rising, when just as abruptly the tall blonde relaxed her hold saying in a worried voice.
"I may hurt her if I hug you too hard?"
For a few seconds lost to frustrated lust B'Elanna did not understand what she meant. And then the words made sense.
"Her? It's a her?" she exclaimed. B'Elanna was surprised to feel a sudden warmth for the kid as though she was suddenly a real person.
Seven went rigid.
"B'Elanna I am sorry. I should not have told you."
B'Elanna nearly laughed before her frustration boiled over in fake annoyance.
"Will you quit it with the apologies dammit? That's your third in ten minutes. Ye Gods amongst all the bloody things we have to worry about, knowing the sex of my child is the least. And don't you dare find reasons not to hold me Borg. I'm not feeble. Hell! Klingon women fight battles right up to the time of birth."
"Sorry ... "
"Seven!"
Seven held her closer but she was still being careful. Exasperated and not a little desperate B'Elanna twined her arms round the slender neck and kissed her way up to Seven's ear. Seven's hand was caressing her breast through the thin material of her shirt and it was with difficulty that B'Elanna controlled her own breathing enough to speak.
"Don't hold back my sweet," she whispered between kisses, "because I tell you now that I am going to make you scream ... and ... be sure of this ... I want the favour returned."
Seven shuddered as the smaller woman pressed her body hard against hers.
"We should rest" she objected shakily.
"Later. We can rest later."
Later that night Seven fell asleep peacefully in her lover's arms but B'Elanna dreamed: confused dreams, full of anguished people. Some she recognised and some were achingly familiar but she did not know them. She knew she had failed them but no-one would tell her what she had done. She heard her mother's voice, mocking and offended.
"You have dishonoured me again. What a piece of work you are child. You should never have been born."
B'Elanna woke up with a start, her hearts pumping. Seven, who was spooned tight against her in the small bed, stirred in protest and B'Elanna, remembering where she was, stifled the words of anger rising to her lips and lay very still, listening until Seven's breathing became more even.
As she lay there she wondered about her life on Voyager. It amazed her to think of herself as chief engineer on a starship. It all seemed incredibly respectable and grown up. Married, in a responsible job and now with a child on the way. Honesty compelled her to admit she was curious about this other life. 'Do I want it back?' she wondered. Not if it means losing Seven was the thought that immediately ricocheted back. But what about your daughter? Kahless that sounded strange. Seven was right it did change everything but perhaps not in the way the Borg had assumed.
'Do I have any right to endanger my child's life in some futile attempt to rejoin Voyager?' And was life on a starship lost in the Delta quadrant any life for a child even if it were possible to get back there? On the other hand life as a smuggler was not ideal either and Mudd City was no place to bring up a child. The choice appeared to be between two equally bad alternatives. Then again, maybe they could work out what was going on with the wormhole and perhaps cut a deal with Starfleet and give themselves some kind of chance to build a better life. She felt marginally more optimistic. For the moment it made sense to continue with their plan to investigate Delta Cygnus. Do a little digging and try and come up with some information. Decision made, she felt happier. She snuggled back against the lanky body, smiling to herself as Seven instinctively put an arm around her.
The Delta quadrant
Tom Paris sat slouched on the Captain's couch. The boyishness had vanished from his face banished by mind dulling fear and sorrow. He was staring at the floor, hardly moving, as he had been for nearly ten minutes. Janeway could not recognise him as the brash over-confident pilot of only two weeks ago. She sat next to him and laid her hand over his. He jerked away.
"Tom" she said gently. "We have news."
He didn't look up.
"They may be alive. In the Alpha quadrant." His shoulders moved but he still stared at the floor. "Did you hear me Lieutenant?" Her voice was firmer and out of habit Tom Paris responded.
"Yes Captain."
She stared at him frustrated by his lack of response.
"Tom I know this has been tough but there's a chance now."
He raised his head and looked into her eyes. Aching blue eyes filled with tears. It was with difficulty that Janeway didn't start to cry in response, seeing her arrogant young helmsman like this.
"A chance that B'Elanna and I will meet again when we are both old Captain?" his voice echoed the cynicism of his younger self when Janeway first brought him on Voyager.
"The same chance that everyone else aboard has Tom," she replied more sternly than she felt.
His gaze fell back on the floor. Janeway had to resist the urge to kick him. She stood up and went to her desk.
"I see no point in you sitting around in your quarters like this. You are to return to duty as the Doctor's assistant for light duties, effective immediately."
"Why not the bridge," he mumbled.
"I can't hear you Lieutenant."
"Why not the Bridge, Ma'am?"
Janeway paced around him slowly, considering him from different angles.
"Why would I entrust my ship to you Lieutenant? Even Neelix would be a better choice at the moment."
"I'm less likely to kill someone flying than working in sick bay" he said slowly.
Janeway bit her lip to prevent herself smiling. The spark was not altogether gone. Her voice did not betray the relief she felt.
"You have a point Lieutenant. Half-shifts for the moment and you are to follow the doctor's orders to the letter, which means no drinking and no late nights. Is that clear? Slip up and you will be mopping floors in sick bay all the way home."
"Yes Captain."
"Dismissed."
He got slowly to his feet and walked to the door. She felt some satisfaction, his back was straight and his stride positive.
"Tom, we will go after them."
He paused by the door, but said nothing. he stepped out onto the bridge. Janeway followed him out and watched him relieve the Ensign at the pilot's station.
She then walked out briskly to take her seat, ignoring Chakotay's rolling eyes. He did not approve.
"Tom. Bring us about. We are returning to the wormhole terminus."
She could hear Chakotay beginning to protest but continued to ignore him.
"Yellow alert. We're going home," she announced to no one and everyone. "All crew are to report to their stations for immediate duty. Voyager will be fully combat ready within 24 hours."
"Kathryn we need to talk," said Chakotay urgently.
"She slouched into her command chair and a slow smile formed.
"Sometimes Chakotay it is better to act than talk." He recognised that look and sighed inwardly. There were to be no arguments, well none worth having.
"Ready Tom?"
"Yes Captain."
"Engage. Maximum warp."
Voyager quivered against the backdrop of stars and then her engines hurled her forward, the stars smearing backwards as they outran the starlight.
Hassan Incorporated - HQ
"Impressive," said Seven looking up at the imposing fortress.
"Most of it is below ground," said B'Elanna. "Mira controls all the major smuggling routes from Bajor through to Risa. Other pirates and smugglers pay taxes to her." She shook her head. "Sheesh, tax-paying pirates. Sometimes I think organised criminals are just federation government wannabees. The paperwork used to drive the Maquis insane."
B'Elanna leant on the communications panel.
"B'Elanna Torres and Seven of Nine to see Mira Hassan."
A gunship appeared behind them and hovered menacingly. A pale green light played over them as they were scanned.
"You will discard all weapons," said a disembodied voice. Seven began looking round for some escape route. B'Elanna grinned at her and removed her gun belt and dropped it on to the flat circular table beside the main entrance. The weapon dematerialised instantly. Following her lead Seven removed her own gun belt and dropped it in the same place. As it disappeared the armoured entrance opened.
They stepped inside and the doors closed. The room was small and had no other doors. Seven had a vague sensation of motion. Turbolift she guessed. Seconds later the doors opened again and they entered an enormous hallway with what appeared to be massive stone walls decorated at intervals with impressive arrays of antique weaponry lit by antique torches. B'Elanna followed her curious gaze and laughed.
"It's all for show. Mira likes the Gothic. Behind those walls are 10 metre thick duranium walls with a skin of tetraburnium alloys backed up by the sort of shields you'd find on a Federation flagship."
"Torres", interrupted a strong voice from the far end of the room. "Are you going to get your butt down here or are you just going to stand about."
Mira stood at the far end of the hall looking every inch the pirate she was.
B'Elanna was a little put out to see Seven staring at the pirate as though she had never seen her before.
"You're not her type," she muttered irritably as they started down the hall. Seven looked down at her quizzically.
"Her type?"
"Small, delicate, red-head. And you qualify on none of those grounds."
Seven would have smiled at the jealousy evident in her lover's voice except she did not really understand why B'Elanna should be jealous. Hassan was tall, dark and handsome and powerful but of no interest otherwise. Reviewing that statement Seven realised there was a flaw in her logic. It was true she was curious about the woman. She was a criminal, a class of beings of whom Seven had little experience or understanding, but Seven saw no personal appeal, however it was clear that many people would regard the smuggler as very attractive.
"Then it is fortunate that she is not my 'type' either" she said quietly. B'Elanna looked mollified and then dubious.
"Your type?"
"Small, fiery, half-Klingon." Seven was succinct.
B'Elanna found herself grinning more widely and foolishly than she should. Waiting impatiently, Mira caught the change of expression and looked at her oddly. Observing that the goofy look was directed at Seven the smuggler smothered her exasperation and envy. She led them into a smaller stone-lined room in which a roaring open fire and ancient heavy wooden furniture contrasted strangely with the instrument panels and view screens.
"I received your message and my representatives have been investigating the area around Delta Cygnus. They have uncovered some information which may be useful. By the way B'Elanna congratulations on your pregnancy although I have to tell you that you have not been an employee of Hassan Inc. long enough to qualify for maternity leave."
"Shame that," said B'Elanna feeling annoyed despite herself. "What information Mira and when can we leave?"
"Something is going to happen, soon. Starfleet have issued a full twenty-four hour security exclusion order for the entire Delta Cygnus area starting 1200 tomorrow. Only authorised Starfleet vessels may enter the zone of control."
"Another wormhole! It has to be. Seven this may be our chance. We can fly into it cloaked and be gone before Starfleet know what is happening." B'Elanna felt a rush of excitement and was surprised that Seven did not react to the news until she met her eyes and saw the anguish there. And then B'Elanna didn't feel too good about the implications either. Her spur of the moment elation evaporated.
"At least we can find out what's going on. Probably not a good idea to just rush in" she amended quietly, taking Seven's hand and squeezing it gently. Mira resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. She continued the briefing.
"Several members of the organisation have disappeared in that sector in the last three months. The local reps are getting nervous. They think there is some kind of double agent in the organisation but thanks to you I now have an alternative explanation."
"And you think ... " B'Elanna started to ask. Mira cut her off, annoyed at being interrupted.
"... that they were destroyed or imprisoned because they saw things they shouldn't. Destroyed is more likely according to one of my Starfleet sources. My investigator found that several other civilian vessels have been reported missing after logging flights in that area. He also supplied the name of a Starfleet officer who has been making some interesting enquiries about you. A Reginald Barclay. Know him?"
B'Elanna looked at her blankly but Seven recognised the name immediately.
"Lieutenant Barclay was instrumental in developing a method of regular communication between Starfleet and Voyager."
"Mr Barclay has been hunting the length and breadth of the Federation for you. We also have a name of a scientist on the Delta Cygnus base who has used some of our communications facilities to relay some very odd data. The content of the messages is interesting. You seem to have blundered into a major conspiracy." Mira quickly explained the details about the wormhole treaty with the Dominion and the likely players in the conspiracy based on what her Starfleet double agents knew of dissatisfaction within the Federation. She finished by saying. "I will go with you to Delta Cygnus."
"There's no need Mira, we'll be perfectly alright."
"I am going as your employer not your friend. We will rendezvous with one of my local commanders and then you will carry out a full reconnaissance of the area. You are to report back to me on completion. This is Hassan Inc. business now so no mad gestures, is that clear?"
B'Elanna and Seven did not reply.
Hassan glared at them. "Just be careful then, now get out of here and get your ship ready, we depart in one hour."
They turned to leave still holding hands and Mira watched them go. 'Love's young dream.' she mused. 'God help them.' She knew all the details now. She had insisted B'Elanna and Seven file a full report on anything that might be relevant to their situation and Mira considered everything about her employees relevant including their personal lives.
Captain Worf's ready room on the Defiant
Worf was talking to his communicator.
"Can we speak?"
On her own ship Chekhov got to her feet and checked the privacy seal on the door of her quarters.
"Yes. There's no-one here."
"I have had further communication from Lieutenant Barclay. Operation Home Run is scheduled for tomorrow. 1200 hours. I have also received information from Starfleet that the renegades are on their way to Delta Cygnus. Our orders have been changed and we are to capture them; apparently they are now required for interrogation on Delta Cygnus."
"That's awkward. We may not be able to catch them and keep to the schedule."
"The fugitives are less important and they will give us a better excuse for moving closer to Delta Cygnus. We must not be diverted from our priority. At 1200 we will be in position to defend the wormhole."
At his security listening post indulging in a bit of general snooping on his shipmates Commander Smith was puzzled by the ship to ship communication. It was encrypted. He identified the sources of the signals. Why would the Captain be talking to her opposite number on a non-standard channel? Unless they didn't want the communication recorded in the ship's log? His suspicious mind carefully recalled the events of the past few days. He frowned and opened the Starfleet Security communications channel.
"Message to SS headquarters. This is Commander Smith, head of security on the USS Vigilant. I have a possible security breach. Patch me through to Admiral Clift."
Mudd Port orbital repair station
B'Elanna carried another heap of supplies through the airlock and dumped it inside the Turing. She was sweating lightly. They had been working flat out to get the ship ready and had exchanged almost no conversation except to discuss requirements. Seven was finding it difficult to shake off the sense of apprehension and dread that had gripped her since the earlier meeting with Hassan. She watched B'Elanna who had not stopped working from the moment they left HQ. They hadn't even bothered returning to their lodgings to collect any belongings. B'Elanna had been adamant that there was enough aboard the Turing and they should not waste the time. A small voice at the back of Seven's mind insisted quietly. 'She wants to go home Seven. She has had enough of you and she wants to go back to that other life. You are not enough.' Seven understood this. It made perfect sense to her. Who could love a Borg drone really? She jumped as B'Elanna came up behind her and embraced her.
"What's the matter beautiful?" the half-Klingon asked softly, looking up at her. "You look as though the world is ending."
"Nothing. It is nothing." Seeing that B'Elanna was unimpressed with that she expanded, "I am apprehensive about the mission."
"Why fret? It's just a little recon" and B'Elanna leaned up to kiss her on the lips. "We're ready now if Hassan can just be bothered to get here on time." She deepened the kiss and the computer snorted
"You may be ready Lieutenant but I am extremely busy. If you can tear yourself away, there are three major diagnostics to be run and the port engine is still not operating at one hundred percent efficiency."
Reluctantly B'Elanna pulled away and rested her forehead on Seven's shoulder. She sighed.
"Well I guess we'll have time later. I'm port engine bound." She tore herself from Seven's arms, smiled reassuringly and climbed down into engineering through the maintenance hatch.
Seven watched her go and the oppressive dread returned again. It was not logical but she sensed that this was the end. She would lose B'Elanna.
Mira entered the main airlock.
"Ready?" she asked without preamble. Seven turned towards her and the smuggler was shocked to see that the normally impassive Seven of Nine appeared distraught though she covered her distress quickly. Her voice shook very slightly but the control was back.
"We will complete preparations in 3.2 minutes."
Hassan was relieved that Seven was trying to keep her misery to herself. She was not looking forward to spending time in a small shuttle trapped with two over-emotional lovebirds and she certainly did not want to get involved in their impossible personal situation. Not that she didn't have sympathy for them, she just did not see any way she could help and therefore no point in further discussion.
"Good. Launch whenever you are ready. I want to get on with this."
Four minutes later, the Turing completed its undocking procedures and floated free from the repair station. The repair yard master was sad to see it go. It had been one of his most profitable clients for a long time, but no doubt it would return with another impressive list of repair needs, or so he hoped. Other people were not so sad. From the planetary control centre Waldo watched the ship gradually back out of the docking bay. He tapped the communicator.
"Planetary Control to Shuttle Turing. You are free to depart. Safe journey." And his eyes fluttered joyfully. Revenge was good.
Free from obstructions the Turing turned on its axis and began the uncomfortable journey through the badlands back towards open space.
Continued in next chapter
Lost and Home by halfofone
Date added: 2002-07-07 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
B'Elanna sat on the deck of the shuttle Turing, lounging against Seven's legs, and listened with some amusement to Mira Hassan trying to explain smuggling to the Borg.
"It is not an entertainment Seven. It's my livelihood and the livelihood of several thousand others."
"I understood that no Federation citizen was required to 'earn a living'. Crime would appear to be unnecessary."
"Not everyone wants to owe their existence to the almighty Federation. Some of us wish to make our own way."
"By preying on the weak and flouting the laws set for the mutual benefit of the collective."
Mira stared at the tall ex-drone angrily, her Robin Hood fantasy disintegrated by a blast of inexorable Borg plain-speaking. She was annoyed to find herself feeling guilty, a luxury that she had given up and it was with difficulty that the smuggler controlled her temper and agreed tightly.
"Yes. Exactly that." Changing the subject, she asked, "Computer, how much longer before we arrive?"
"Five minutes and 15 seconds to the slipstream exit point," answered the Turing's computer. "And then two minutes to the rendezvous with your associates." The computer sniffed disapprovingly.
"Time to get ready then." Mira stood up and walked into the crew quarters relieved to get away from Seven's relentless inquisition.
"I think you offended her," remarked B'Elanna.
"That was not my intention," answered Seven coolly and then looked troubled. "Have I embarrassed you?"
"Kahless, no! It does Mira good to be challenged occasionally. She's used to having everything her own way. None of her operatives dare say boo to her. She was always arguing with Rosalind about some of her more criminal activities and Rosalind never let her get away with anything." B'Elanna smiled and squeezed Seven's hand. "Of course the Maquis couldn't be too judgmental. We needed people like Hassan: ships, weapons and information, everything had its price. And to be fair to her, Mira contributed most of her support without any profit; that guy we delivered to Sephal, I'd be very surprised if Mira made a single latinum strip out of that deal."
Seven considered this.
"So criminals can be of value."
"If you are an armed resistance group and for a price. In truth many people would regard the Maquis as criminal."
"Were you?"
"We did things I am ashamed of," she admitted. "We are, that is, we were, fighting a war against an enemy who knew no pity for either soldiers or civilians. Rosalind and Chakotay always argued against actions that endangered civilians unnecessarily. They thought we undermined our own cause."
"Did you think differently?" Seven asked tentatively, curious about B'Elanna's past, but also nervous of asking too much about people whom the half-Klingon was still mourning.
"I'm a Klingon hothead, so of course I did," B'Elanna replied lightly. The former Maquis was undecided for a moment then her chin went up and she made up her mind to tell the truth regardless. Seven had a right to know the sort of person she had been.
"Eight months ago my patrol found what was left of one of my friends after the Cardassians had finished with him. They had tortured him for days and then, when they couldn't get him to talk, his three children. We were in enemy territory with no medicines or anything to even help their pain." B'Elanna's voice dropped until Seven could hardly make out what she was saying. "We couldn't help them or take them with us so we decided to kill them. It was the only thing we could do for them." The half-Klingon drew away from Seven. "A short time afterwards we found a Cardassian outpost. We destroyed it and everyone in it - there were twenty-three civilians in there, no military personnel at all. Our commander didn't give them a chance to surrender, just blew the buildings to pieces. Not one member of the patrol even protested at the slaughter. We shot the survivors."
"B'Elanna," Seven remonstrated gently. "Eight months ago you were aboard Voyager."
"So you say. Anyway, eight months or eight years, what does it matter? It still happened and I still don't know how I feel about it." B'Elanna could taste the bitterness of the raw memories, the pain and guilt, even the nausea, belonging to a time when wrong was heaped on wrong. In the end it had all been for nothing anyway, the Maquis were gone and she had to push her aching shame back where it had come from, together with the conviction that she should have died with them.
"We'd better get ready," she said gruffly. "I need to go and nursemaid that damned port engine through the slipstream shutdown."
Seven watched regretfully as B'Elanna disappeared through the hatch into the engine room. Unresolved guilt was something with which she was only too familiar: visions of a thousand assimilations crowded in on the ex-drone.
"Approaching exit from slipstream in twenty seconds," announced the computer. On cue Mira Hassan emerged from the cabin and moved to stand behind Seven.
"Acknowledged. Commence shutdown of slipstream," said Seven, thankful to have something to take her mind off past sorrows.
"Shutdown initiated," said the computer. The smooth, silent transition along the slipstream was replaced by the more normal hum and vibration of the impulse engines and the computer confirmed the re-entry. "We have exited from the slipstream and entered normal space. Shutdown is complete. We're here, wherever here maybe, and on the bright side, short-range sensors suggest that there are no brigands, policemen or fleets of heavily armed starships lying in wait. So that's a nice change."
"Full power to the warp engines." instructed Seven. "Set course for rendezvous. Warp seven."
B'Elanna hauled herself back up through the hatch. "The port engine seems okay but I'll monitor it from up here a while longer."
Seven looked at her anxiously and B'Elanna smiled crookedly back. "It's alright Seven. I'm alright."
They travelled onwards for five minutes without speaking until the computer informed them that the rendezvous point was in view.
"On screen. Cut warp engines and set course for the third moon," said Seven. The Turing dropped out of warp, its view screen flickered into life, revealing a large ringed planet. After a few seconds, a small planet became visible to the right of the gas giant. The tiny ship flew directly towards it.
"We're being hailed by the natives, or should I say threatened?" announced the computer. "And judging by the somewhat unorthodox greeting from the flight tower, this appears to be another suitably colourful destination in our tour of criminal hotspots."
A thin voice piped up over the comm.
"This is moonbase Arcona. Identify yourselves and state your business or we'll blast you out of the galaxy."
"I am Mira Hassan, commander of the Independent Trader Association. I have a meeting with Commander Arwyn. Please inform the commander of my arrival and prepare to transport me direct to Arcona Tower."
The flight controller sounded much more respectful but he was still firm. "Excuse me Ma'am but could you please transmit your identity clearance code? We are under a strict security lockdown. This sector has been crawling with Starfleet, like ticks on a targ."
Mira nodded approvingly. The space controller would have been out of a job if he hadn't asked, or possibly out of his life. "Transmitting code now," she responded as the Turing transmitted her high-level clearance code.
"Code received," replied the controller. "You are cleared for transport Commander Hassan. Are your ready to transport now?"
"Ready." responded Mira.
"Transport initiated."
Mira disappeared from the shuttle.
B'Elanna sat down at the comms console.
"All we have to do now is wait. Computer put us in a high orbit round the moon."
"Can't be high enough for me," muttered the computer. "But then I'm just the getaway car, so what do I know."
B'Elanna held out her arms to Seven.
"Come here."
"I did not mean to upset you B'Elanna."
"I upset myself," said B'Elanna honestly. "Now come and kiss it better." Seven looked puzzled but before she was able to ask for the identity of 'it', B'Elanna smiled at her lovingly. "Just kiss me you great big Borg. Make the world go away." Seven's confusion cleared and she happily complied.
Less than ten thousand kilometres from the small ship's stern, the Defiant lay in wait, cloaked and ready, its commander chafing to get into action after days of planning and scheming.
"The Vigilant is in position sir," reported Lieutenant Harg.
"At long last," Worf muttered. "Is the target still within range?"
"Yes sir."
"Then decloak and fire."
The Turing shuddered and rocked as a curtain of phaser fire danced over its shields.
"We're under attack," said the Turing's computer unnecessarily.
Seven half-helped, half-threw B'Elanna off her lap and they both scrambled to their stations.
"A Federation Starship has decloaked on the port stern. It is locking on again. Shields are at 50 percent," reported Seven calmly.
"Remind me again," squeaked the computer. "Why do we keep doing this?"
"Evasive manoeuvres," growled B'Elanna. "Computer cloak now."
"Cloaking now," acknowledged the computer. "Now you see me, now you don't! Hmm - a good title for my memoirs," it chortled only to be silenced when a phaser blast thumped against the shields.
Seven shook her head. "The cloak is ineffective. They are still locked on and pursuing."
"By Kahless' hands! Computer what's wrong with the cloak?" B'Elanna shouted at the computer.
"I don't know Lieutenant, it reports as fully operational. Running diagnostic now. There's nothing wrong." The computer's words were punctuated with two more blasts of phaser fire. In answer to B'Elanna's glare it added apologetically. "But obviously there is."
"Shields at 20 percent," said Seven. "We will lose shields if we are hit again."
B'Elanna frowned.
"I'll head for the rim of the gas giant, try and hide near the surface, it may confuse their sensors and allow us time to escape. Computer get that cloak back online now."
"Oh I thought I'd stop for tea first," said the computer tetchily.
"Computer," B'Elanna said threateningly.
"I'm on it. I'm on it."
The tiny ship turned and twisted its way towards the shimmering gas giant but it was not even half-way across the planetary rings when a second Starfleet ship appeared from where it had been hiding behind the huge planet, effectively trapping the smaller ship between the planet and the first Starfleet ship which was still in hot pursuit. A final blast of phaser fire knocked the Turing's shields down and two tractor beams seize the ship. Repeated attempts to break the hold of the Starfleet ships failed miserably. One of the Starfleet vessels opened a hailing channel.
'This is Captain Worf of the USS Defiant. You are trapped and cannot escape. Surrender now or we will destroy you.'
Seven looked at B'Elanna.
"What do you want to do?" asked the ex-drone gently. Her lover was glaring at the view screen, white knuckles gripping the edge of the pilot's console.
"I want to tell them to burn in hell and then ram this damned ship down their accursed gullets."
The computer gulped audibly.
The half-Klingon turned her head and met her lover's gentle blue gaze.
"But I have you and her to live for now." She placed a hand on her own slight stomach and seemed to relax. "I guess we surrender, if that's okay with you?"
"It would appear to be our only choice," Seven agreed stoically but her voice wavered as she asked, "Do you think they will separate us?"
B'Elanna shrugged helplessly.
"I don't know love."
"Then kiss me as though it were the last time," Seven whispered softly. B'Elanna stepped up to the Borg and wrapped her arms around the taller woman's neck. Seven buried her face in B'Elanna's warm neck, hugging her tightly and the half-Klingon responded in kind. They clung together as though trying to become one, finally parting slightly to allow a soft kiss, just brushing their lips together. A second kiss followed, gentle and then passionate.
Fugitive shuttle. Respond. You have ten seconds.
B'Elanna turned her head and rested it on Seven's shoulder.
"Computer open a channel to the Starfleet vessel."
"Channel open," sniffed the computer with a small quiver in its mechanical voice.
"Captain of Defiant. We surrender. You may board our ship now. We will offer no resistance."
Seconds later three Starfleet security officers materialised on the main deck. They stared nonplussed at the two women who were locked in each other's arms, seemingly oblivious to the intruders.
Starfleet HQ, San Francisco
"Admiral Clift," said the senior admiral. "Glad to hear from you. The news is good I understand. The fugitives have been apprehended and your team are ready to proceed with the new wormhole tests."
"Yes sir. We have implemented condition green and will commence tests on your instruction."
"Consider it given," the admiral positively beamed with jovial good cheer. "The president is very pleased with the way you've handled this little crisis Clift."
"Thank you sir." Clift's grey face contorted itself in an answering smile and involuntarily his superior shuddered.
"One other thing Clift: Captain Worf. We were very disturbed by that report from the chief security officer on the Vigilant. I want him and the captain of the Vigilant placed under arrest pending an investigation."
"But sir it was Captain Worf who captured the fugitives."
"Yes, he did. But Clift, ask yourself why the good Captain did not see fit to inform any of the other ships in his fleet about the homing beacon his spy planted on the shuttle? Why did he allow the shuttle to reach the vicinity of Delta Cygnus?" Clift was silent and the senior admiral continued. "Captain Worf has a history of following his conscience that while entirely laudable may not be in the best interests of the Federation at this time. Both ships are to be placed under the temporary command of Commander Smith. Order the Commander to make all speed to Delta Cygnus. Is that understood Clift?"
"Yes sir. As you wish." The view screen blanked taking Clift's skull-like face with it and the senior admiral smiled again.
Moonbase Arcona
"What do you mean they've gone?" Mira Hassan chill blue eyes skewered the space controller.
"A Starfleet ship just appeared and then the shuttle just disappeared."
"Did it cloak?"
"I guess so but see for yourself." The controller projected the sensor logs onto the view screen. As she watched Hassan calmed down a little.
"Okay. They may have escaped but I want to be sure. What's the fastest and most heavily armed ship available Commander?" she addressed Commander Arwyn, a two hundred year old meuranti. The tiny pink humanoid, who was sitting astride a large, black dog-like creature, screwed up her small black eyes and considered the options with her usual deliberation. Hassan knew it was pointless to try and hurry the small woman.
"The Death's Head is the best we have" she replied eventually in an oddly musical voice. Mira rolled her eyes at the proposed vessel's name as her lieutenant continued her description of the vessel: "Warp 8.9 on a good day, twin phaser cannon, multi-phasic shielding, crew of two hundred. Can take on a Galaxy class ship if it catches her by surprise. At least that's what the guy who stole it told me." Her singsong voice completed the litany on a triumphant high note.
"Get her crew ready Commander and fire her up," ordered Mira. "I hope those two young fools have not got themselves into more trouble. At least not more than they can handle."
The Brig on the USS Vigilant
B'Elanna slouched on the floor of the cell with her back against the wall adjoining the cell where Seven was being held. She studied the brig looking for weaknesses, watching the three security guards as they joked and laughed.
"I'd hoped never to see the inside of one of these places," she said, only just loud enough for Seven to hear.
"Is this your first time in a Starfleet brig?" queried Seven who was sitting in the adjacent cell with her back against the other side of the connecting wall. She sounded a little surprised.
"That I can remember" answered the half-Klingon and grinned. Seven had some pre-conceptions about B'Elanna's misspent youth. "I've been in several other prisons though. How about you?"
"I have spent some several occasions in Voyager's brig, but I had certainly hoped not to see the inside of this particular brig again. My recollections of my previous stay are unpleasant."
"And your memories of Voyager's brig are not so unpleasant?"
"The first time was traumatic. I had been severed from the hive mind and I was very frightened. Captain Janeway hugged me."
B'Elanna could not help the stab of possessive envy.
"She hugged you? Is that how she normally treats her prisoners."
Seven considered this gravely. "If it is merited. In my case it was her fault I was distressed. She would not allow me to return to the collective and I was extremely lonely."
"She's not like other Starfleet captains is she?" B'Elanna whispered half in awe. She wondered silently about a woman who could hug a recently captured Borg drone. B'Elanna had never met any Borg before Seven but she had heard all the stories after Wolf 359. The Borg didn't sound huggable. Perhaps Seven had been different.
"B'Elanna there is no need to feel jealous." Seven spoke quietly relying on the superior Klingon hearing. "It was always you that I loved."
"Why not Janeway? She seems like a wonderful person."
"I don't know. It is possible that I could have had a relationship with Captain Janeway, I am aware that many of the crew believe that we are already involved in some way, but I never felt love for her. I'm not sure I can explain adequately but I knew that she would never have allowed me to be her equal. And what would that have made me? A pet drone? A tame borg?"
Reassured by Seven's thorough dismissal of Janeway, B'Elanna asked more playfully.
"Then why me?"
Seven half-smiled to herself.
"What is there not to love bangwI?"
"My temper."
"You are passionate and you care enough to be angry."
"I was suspicious and treated you badly."
"You were protective of your ship and your collective."
"You told me yourself that I used to argue with you at every opportunity."
"And I used to provoke you," confessed Seven willingly. Her voice became more earnest. "In the last few weeks I have learnt many things about you."
"How to make a Klingon howl?" B'Elanna enquired innocently not willing to allow the conversation to become too serious.
Seven snorted. She had been previously unaware that she was capable of making such a sound.
"Amongst other things," she whispered. The ex-drone recovered her gravitas. "But I also realised that you were forced to change in the delta quadrant. You had to become a Starfleet officer, follow their rules and protocols, adopt their manners and take the responsibility of being chief engineer. You did this successfully for many years. Then I was discovered. I was not required to follow rules or protocol (at least not often) and I was protected from the consequences when I refused to conform. It is no surprise that you resented me."
"I may have had reasons Seven but I did not have the right. I've also learnt things. You are a fine person and I must have been a stubborn fool not to have noticed and an utter petaQ not to have recognised the love of my life."
Unseen by her lover, Seven's face fell and sadness filled her eyes. "You were taken" she whispered truthfully.
B'Elanna's response was stalled by a disturbance outside her cell. Two Starfleet officers were being marched into the brig in restraints. One of the prisoners was a powerful looking Klingon and he was fighting every inch of the way. The other prisoner was quieter and B'Elanna was taken aback to recognise her as the captain of the Vigilant. She also recognised the tall Bolian standing watching the proceedings with a look of satisfaction. It was the malevolent bastard whom she had knocked unconscious the first time they had been captured by the Vigilant.
The two prisoners were pushed roughly into a third cell and the force-field activated.
"You will pay for this Smith," roared the Klingon male. B'Elanna and Seven both recognised the voice of their captor but neither could comprehend why the Starfleet captains would be imprisoned. Something very strange was happening.
"I'm sorry Captain Worf," said the Bolian officer with an unctuous smile. "I'm just following orders. You are to be interrogated when we arrive at Delta Cygnus."
Delta Cygnus
Lenara Kahn and Kravitz were fussing over the last few adjustments to the control sequences. Dr Kahn was extremely calm and the picture of graciousness unlike the diminutive Starfleet scientist who was very nervous and snapping at the technicians like a small frightened dog. He wanted everything to go perfectly.
Eventually the Trill scientist was satisfied.
"Start the generator now," she requested. The technician nodded, issued an instruction to the control computer and a low humming noise commenced. Eight kilometres distant, in a remote corner of the base, four huge beams of tetrion particles, flung themselves into space, easily penetrating the thin atmosphere of the planet. Six hundred thousand kilometres from the planet the four beams converged and as the readouts back at the control centre confirmed, a singularity began to form.
"It is working," squawked Kravitz.
"We have achieved this much many times Doctor. The real test will be if anything manages to travel through the wormhole." She smiled at him confidently.
USS Voyager - the Delta Quadrant
"There is a singularity forming at a distance of two million kilometres," reported Harry Kim. "The readings are consistent with wormhole formation."
"On screen," ordered the captain. She stared at the foaming white column. "Tom take us towards the entrance to the wormhole. Half-impulse."
"Sorry captain but which end am I aiming for?" asked the pilot.
Janeway grinned. "Harry, any suggestions?"
"According to the information that Seven and B'Elanna sent us, I think it's the tapered end."
"Okay," responded Tom. "Aiming for the thin end of the wedge as usual."
Voyager flew towards the wormhole. At fifty thousand kilometres they could feel the turbulence from the huge forces being generated, though the visible part of the wormhole was a bare ten kilometres in length. As the ship approached the entrance Tom slowed her to one-quarter impulse.
"We will enter the wormhole in twenty seconds. We are experiencing severe gravimetric sheers." Harry could not keep the excitement from his voice. He was going home and couldn't really give a straw for gravimetric sheers.
"Tuvok. Reinforce hull integrity," instructed Chakotay. "After eight years we're not going to disintegrate within sight of home."
"You're confident all of a sudden," said the captain.
"And you're not?"
"Would I attempt this if I were not?" she deadpanned.
Chakotay turned in his command chair to look his captain in the face. She met his eye, poker-faced. The commander's lips twitched.
"I don't believe I want to know the answer to that question Kathryn."
"Probably not," she agreed.
"Entering wormhole now," announced Tom Paris. "Here we go."
Delta Cygnus
"Dr Kravitz, a large ship is entering the wormhole from the far end," exclaimed a technician.
"That's impossible. Let me see." The scientist pushed the technician aside and glared at the sensor report. "It must be sensor error." Kravitz noticed the terminus location co-ordinates. "Look even your co-ordinates are misreading."
The technician glanced at the reading. "No those are what Dr Kahn gave me just thirty minutes ago. She said there had been a change of plan."
Kravitz gaped at the technician and then finally the holes in his understanding closed. It's Voyager he thought with horror. Everything will be destroyed. I will be ruined.
"Quick shut the generator down," the scientist ordered.
"But Doctor the ship will be destroyed," protested the technician.
"Do you want an invasion force entering our space? Shut it down I tell you." When the technician still hesitated, Kravitz pushed his way to the control console and punched the abort button.
'Wormhole generator still operational,' announced the control computer. 'Abort mechanism has malfunctioned.'
"Computer. Initiate normal wormhole shutdown sequence."
'Unable to comply. Shutdown controls have been disconnected.'
"Damnable woman." He realised for the first time that Lenara Kahn had disappeared. "Find Dr Kahn now," he screamed at the half-dozen confused technicians.
Kravitz retreated into his private office and tapped his comm badge with shaking fingers.
"Admiral Clift. It's an emergency."
"Clift here. What is it Kravitz?"
"Voyager has entered the wormhole. She will be here in less than eight minutes."
"How the hell ... shut it down man."
"We can't. Dr Kahn has disabled the controls."
"Then destroy the generator. Now." Clift closed the connection and glared at the blank screen. He would have to activate the wormhole emergency plan.
"Get me Fleet Commander Faryn." Seconds later Captain Faryn appeared on his screen.
"Faryn," demanded Clift urgently, "get your fleet to the source of the sub-space disturbances in your sector. We are being attacked through an artificial wormhole. Destroy whatever comes through that wormhole. Is that understood?"
Faryn acknowledged the order and less than thirty seconds later, a fleet of twelve of Starfleet's finest were on their way from the base to the wormhole. ETA seven point two minutes.
The brig on the USS Vigilant a few minutes earlier
Commander Smith re-entered the brig feeling as though he had won a million bars of latinum, a three-month holiday on Risa and his wife had forgiven him for his last indiscretion. He looked at the prisoners and felt a surge of pride in his achievements. The two spies were leaning against their adjoining cell walls while in the next cell, Captain Chekhov lay on the bench watching Worf pace up and down the short length of the confined area. Yes this was a good day.
"I thought you ought to know we are in orbit around Delta Cygnus and in a few minutes I shall no longer have the pleasure of your company."
"The pleasure's all ours. We're more than happy to see you get lost you heap of Starfleet targ manure," said B'Elanna cheerfully.
"What did you say Klingon?" It suddenly occurred to Smith that there was one thing marring his perfect day. This little half-breed Klingon had got away with humiliating him once but he was going to teach her a lesson now. He drew his phaser.
"Drop the force-field on the half-breed's cell."
At that moment the Vigilant's CMO appeared in the doorway, the security guard looked her and hesitated, knowing that what his boss intended to do was not likely to play well with the prissy little doctor. Angered by the delay, and in no mood to be deflected by the disapproval of a mere medic, Smith snapped at him.
"What are you waiting for?"
Still obviously perturbed, the guard slowly obeyed the order. With a zipping noise the force-field disappeared. Seven moved to the front of her cell and watched the Bolian officer intently.
"Be careful B'Elanna," she breathed in a low voice, trying not to betray the depth of concern she was feeling.
"Restrain her," ordered Smith, fingering his phaser, stroking the smooth metal surface in pleasurable anticipation. The two guards moved into B'Elanna's cell and grasped her arms. She made no move to resist but her eyes never left the Bolian. She stared at him with open contempt.
"What the hell are you doing Smith?" the doctor demanded. She was confused but the sense of menace being given off by the tall Bolian was tangible. He paid no attention to the medic. CMO or not, without Chekhov's protection she was a negligible factor.
"Bring her here," he rasped.
The guards frog-marched B'Elanna to stand in front of the increasingly excited Commander.
"You're full of yourself aren't you half-breed?"
B'Elanna looked him right in the eye and said nothing but a smile stole across her face. Smith managed to simultaneously grimace and leer. He would wipe that smile off her face.
"Perhaps we should start with you showing a little more respect." Smith clubbed the small woman across the face with his phaser and her head rocked sideways. A little blood oozed from a cut on B'Elanna's cheek and began to trickle down her face. Slowly she turned her head back to look her persecutor in the face.
"Leave her alone," cried Seven, breaking the horrified silence. Pleased with his audience's reaction Smith deliberately adjusted his phaser to heavy stun and pointed it at B'Elanna's stomach.
"No! You'll kill her baby," warned Seven in desperation, hoping that the revelation would carry some weight with the thug. She began pushing at the force-field, ignoring the pain, but the field was too strong for her to pass through.
Captain Chekhov was on her feet.
"Smith. Stop this at once. You fire that phaser and I'll make sure you're out of Starfleet by nightfall." Beside her Worf was swearing dire retribution in Klingon but Smith was not intimidated.
"I don't think you're in any position to make threats Captain," he sneered. "And as for the baby. Criminal sluts like her shouldn't be allowed to breed." He raised his phaser as fifty thousand light years away Voyager entered the wormhole.
Continued in next chapter
Lost and Home by halfofone
Date added: 2002-10-10 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
The brig on the USS Vigilant
"Bones. Stop him!" cried Captain Chekhov directing her attention to the small CMO. Her order was unnecessary as the Doc was already interposing herself between the commander and his victim.
"As Chief Medical Officer, I cannot allow you to assault the prisoner."
Commander Smith drew himself up to his full height to tower over the doctor.
"This is not your concern Doctor," he said, inches from the medic's face. Threat was implicit in his voice. She held her ground.
"The welfare of every person on this ship is my concern Smith."
With everyone else's attention focused on the conflict outside the cell, Seven of Nine concentrated her mind on her Borg arm, slowly pushing it through the level 10 force-field. The field was dense and it was difficult to modulate her nanoprobes to counter the high-energy plasma. She knew her skin was burning where the nanoprobes had failed to repel the field but she hardly felt the pain. She had one aim: to reach the manual controls located on the wall just outside the cell.
The doctor persisted in her protest.
"Smith. It is against regulations to harm prisoners physically or mentally."
Smith smiled insinuatingly at the young woman.
"It would appear to me Doctor that you are part of this conspiracy. You are under arrest and will join Captain Chekhov and Captain Worf awaiting interrogation. I doubt the investigators will view your attempt to help this prisoner escape with any sympathy and I'm sure the witnesses will agree with me." He looked at each of the two guards for confirmation.
"Yes sir," they answered in unison.
Hunting blind, Seven's blackened fingers inched round the smooth metal wall until she found the edge of the control panel. In an instant her assimilation tubules penetrated the panel surface to interface directly with the control mechanism, overriding the security lockouts. The cell force-field collapsed and Seven wrenched her assimilation tubules from the wall and covered the short distance to where Smith was standing with his back to her, trying to intimidate the defiant doctor. The CMO saw the Borg just before Seven grabbed Smith from behind but the garbled warning cry was too late. Seven wrenched Smith's head back with relentless Borg strength. Grunting in surprise, he thrashed his arms helplessly. Her scorched Borg hand extruded a whirring metal cutter which she placed against his throat. A thin line of scarlet blood appeared against the blue skin. Smith screamed and dropped his phaser.
"Seven. Don't."
Her lover's voice penetrated the blinding fury and Seven stopped, the metal cutter still spinning two millimetres inside the Bolian's skin. He whimpered as blood began to flow down his neck.
One of the security guards released his hold on B'Elanna and lifted his hand towards his comm badge. The movement caught Seven's attention.
"Stand completely still," she warned, "or I will kill him." She tightened her grip on the Bolian and blood from his wound spurted out in a red arc. "And you," she said to the other guard. "Release Lieutenant Torres now."
"Do what she says you fools," snivelled Commander Smith. Two little streams of red blood slid evenly down the blue skin from the wound on his neck. The guards fell back, looking perplexed.
B'Elanna picked up the commander's phaser from the deck and winced as a sharp pain lanced her skull.
"Ow!" She exclaimed and clutched her head. Seven looked concerned and unconsciously tightened her hold on the Bolian who squealed in alarm. B'Elanna smirked reassuringly.
"It's okay Seven, just a bruise and a bastard of a headache." She aimed the phaser at the two guards. "Hands on your heads. I want you in the cells but I guess I'll have those comm badges first and your phasers. Take them off, very slowly, one hand only. One wrong move and your charming commander dies."
Seven increased the pressure on the commander's throat and he squealed again. The security guards dropped their equipment as instructed and moved carefully back into the cell. Seven threw Smith bodily after them, knocking the Starfleet crew over like nine-pins so all three lay in a heap.
"Perfect strike Seven," B'Elanna joked weakly and raised the force-field. She turned the phaser on the shocked Doctor who was standing with her hands on her head. "In the other cell Doc." The CMO looked as though she was going to argue and B'Elanna raised her phaser and added forcefully. "Now. We haven't got all day."
"Lieutenant Torres," interrupted Worf. "You must release myself and Captain Chekhov. There is very little time."
"Look I'm sorry you're in difficulty but it's not our affair."
"But it is your affair." Chekhov intervened in support of the Klingon. B'Elanna and Seven exchanged sceptical glances.
"At this moment your friends aboard Voyager are trying to return through the wormhole. They need our help. We were supposed to protect the wormhole generator and cover their return. Without us they will be killed," Chekhov explained rapidly.
"Release us and we will try to save them but we have only minutes remaining," Worf added.
"Should we believe this rubbish?" B'Elanna asked cynically.
Seriously Seven tried to weigh up the probabilities but lacking data, she settled for a best guess and her reply was tentative.
"It is possible. They have been imprisoned and this would be an elaborate lie. In any case they may be useful, we will have difficulty retrieving the Turing without help."
Despite her suspicions, B'Elanna's instincts about the two Captains agreed with Seven's logic and she nodded in assent. Bypassing the Starfleet security codes with her customary ease, Seven shut down the cell force-field and set the two captains free. Chekhov raised her eyebrows disbelievingly. It was disconcerting to the Starfleet officer to see control over her ship's systems being so effortlessly overridden even if it was to set her free.
"So, what do we do now?" B'Elanna asked, eyeing the Starfleet officers watchfully and keeping her phaser ready. Chekhov turned intense grey eyes on the half-Klingon.
"The plan is simple. You have to get to the wormhole generator and protect it long enough to allow Voyager to traverse the wormhole. We cannot transport anyone through the planetary defences but your ship with its cloak may be able to fly directly into the facility. Captain Worf and I must reach the wormhole and protect Voyager."
"Sure. Is that all? Flying into a heavily guarded Starfleet base with everyone on full alert, I don't see any problems there." B'Elanna shook her head. "Seems like we have most of the fun."
"The likelihood is that every available ship is on its way to meet Voyager so there is no need to be afraid Ms Torres." Chekhov's cold expression of concern didn't reach her eyes.
"How do we reach our ship?" enquired Seven quickly, worried by B'Elanna's darkening face. The half-Klingon was not known for her ability to ignore insults.
"Yeah," snorted B'Elanna. "Don't tell me. We just walk in and ask for it?"
"That will suffice," growled Worf. "Your vessel is held on the Defiant and I am still captain of the Defiant. Take these." Worf picked up two of the comm badges lying on the deck and tossed them at the two renegades. He slammed his fist on the communications panel. "This is Captain Worf to the USS Defiant."
"Lieutenant Harg here sir. We were just about to come looking for you sir."
"Harg," growled his captain. "Two to transport directly to the fugitives shuttle. They are to be permitted to depart immediately. Also Harg, disable the homing beacon on the shuttle."
"Yes sir. What about you sir?"
"I'll beam aboard immediately afterwards Lieutenant. Transport our guests now."
The crew of the Defiant responded quickly to their Captain's orders and B'Elanna and Seven disappeared as the air hummed with transporter energy.
"Will you be alright remaining here Captain Chekhov?" asked Worf. He was unimpressed by the loyalty of the Vigilant's crew to their Captain.
"Without Smith we should be fine. Isn't that so Bones?" The Starfleet captain smiled ferociously at the young medic. Bones sounded and looked confused when she responded.
"It all seems very odd Andy. Are we doing the right thing?"
"God knows," answered the young captain non-plussed. She offered her hand to Worf. "Good luck Captain. I expect we'll be seeing each other at the board of enquiry."
"Surely," answered Worf. "But first we fight."
The Shuttle Turing (inside the belly of USS Defiant)
Seven steadied herself as she materialised on the shuttle. A pair of strong arms grabbed her from behind and swung her round. B'Elanna was jubilant.
"You were wonderful sweetheart. I am one lucky half-Klingon but you're hurt, let me see your arm." Remorse replaced the cocksure grin as she took in for the first time the burns on Seven's arm.
"Intruder alert!" yelled the computer, waking up a little late. "It's you!" it exclaimed imprecisely. "How did you escape this time?"
"Later." Seven hugged her lover with her good arm. "Computer, start launch sequence, the Defiant will transmit destination co-ordinates shortly."
The Turing's computer laughed cynically.
"I find it hard to believe that such a stupid computer could tell the time of day let alone give me guidance. Believe me, I've had a few conversations with the Defiant's computer since they shut me in this tin can, and I can tell you it's several circuit boards short of a replicator."
Seven squeezed B'Elanna's arm.
"I believe the computer grows more like you every day BangwI."
B'Elanna pretended to sulk as she growled.
"Lucky for you that I worship the ground you walk on drone."
Still grumbling, the computer prepared the Turing for launch. After a few seconds it announced. "Approach and destination co-ordinates received." The computer paused for an unnecessary breath. "Are you aware these are on the planet's surface? Inside the Starfleet base?"
"Yes computer. We know. Now would you hurry up and launch before we all grow old?" B'Elanna glowered impatiently at a console. "How long until we reach the target co-ordinates?"
"One minute and eight seconds. I might have known there would be a catch. Just escaping would be too simple for you two."
"That should be long enough for you to explain how Starfleet managed to plant a homing beacon on this ship without you noticing," said B'Elanna dangerously.
She was busy applying a dressing to Seven's arm, paying no attention to the ex-drone's ineffectual resistance and scowling at the extent of the injuries. Despite being in pain, Seven was having difficulty stifling the smile lighting her eyes. It was still a novel experience for the ex-drone to be the object of B'Elanna's wholehearted affection.
"Ah," said the computer sounding embarrassed. "You know about that. Well it's quite a funny story actually Lieutenant. You remember when you and Seven of Nine were .... taking a break in the engine room. Your activities were disturbing my concentration so I shut down the sensors on the lower deck. I believe the saboteur took his chance at that point. The Defiant's computer confirmed the time the beacon commenced transmitting and it does seem ....."
"So, you are suggesting it's our fault?"
"Oh look!" exclaimed the computer gratefully. "We have entered the Starfleet base. Fifteen seconds to landing. Look at that energy beam."
Delta Cygnus
"Kravitz! Why haven't you destroyed that generator yet? Voyager is more than half way through." Admiral Clift was livid and the thick veins throbbed unpleasantly on his skull-like forehead.
"I thought we could override the lockouts and shut it down manually Admiral. Just think of all the work we will be destroying. Surely ... " whined Kravitz
"I don't give a space-monkey's fart about the work. That wormhole must be terminated. I'm sending a squad of soldiers now. You'd better be there to make sure they blow up the right things."
"Yes Admiral," said Kravitz miserably.
USS Voyager - somewhere between the Delta quadrant and the Alpha quadrant
"Captain Janeway, please regain control of your ship," the EMH demanded irritably. He disappeared from the view screen as Voyager lurched violently forwards. The ship flipped end over end. Even with full inertial dampeners and artificial gravity it still felt to the occupants as though Voyager was being hurled down a roller coaster at light speed which in the circumstances was a reasonable analogy. The EMH pulled himself back into view.
"As I was saying, we are being overwhelmed here, over thirty crew have reported with debilitating motion sickness and another twenty have suffered mild to moderate impact injuries and there is one broken wrist caused by slipping in a pool of vomit."
Janeway peered at him. She wouldn't admit it but her own stomach wasn't feeling too secure.
"I am aware of the problem and we are doing our best Doctor. The turbulence inside this thing exceeds any wormhole I've ever experienced. Janeway out." Behind her Harry Kim was throwing up (several other bridge crew had already parted with their last meal) and she could see by his odd pale grey colour that Chakotay wasn't at his best. The only person completely unaffected was Tom Paris who whooped every time they made a particularly sickening swing.
"Tuvok, can we improve the inertial dampener efficiency?" Janeway asked, stoically ignoring the desire to vaporise all these damned crewmen making a mess on her bridge.
"I do not believe so Captain. I may be able to adjust the artificial gravity field to adapt more quickly to the changes."
"Do it Tuvok."
The ship plunged vertically and Tom hollered. Janeway gritted her teeth, determined not to succumb to the wrenching nausea.
"Tom. Shut up or I'll hoist you outside."
"Yes Captain," smirked the pilot. "Four minutes to the exit."
Delta Cygnus
The Turing touched down scarcely fifty metres from the generator. The atmosphere outside was too thin to be breathable and so Seven and B'Elanna pulled on breathing gear and descended down the Turing's boarding ramp onto the soft black soil. In the semi-twilight from the distant twin suns they could see the huge reinforced concrete platform that supported the generator. The peripheral forces created by the generator whipped up the thin air into small tornadoes, dragging the loose black dust up into the atmosphere only to let it fall back as the tornado veered too far from the source of its energy and dissipated to nothing. Avoiding the violent little eddies the two women ran towards the generator and the main entrance.
Behind them the Turing cloaked and vanished, its concealment slightly marred by the light dust blowing over the outline of its solid form.
As Seven and B'Elanna struggled to force the heavy blast door of the main generator hall, a burst of heavy phaser fire crashed into the structure above their heads. A dozen other big phasers opened up and they could see the energy beams eating into the generator walls, blasting sections aside. Shattered fragments rained down on their heads.
"B'Elanna," Seven shouted above the noise of cracking masonry. "I don't think we can counter this firepower directly and the generator cannot withstand this for more than a few minutes."
"Agreed," B'Elanna shouted back. "Any ideas?"
"One."
"Let's hear it."
Seven bent down and picked up a handful of the black dust and let it flow through her fingers.
"I suggest we kick sand in their eyes." She tapped her comm badge. "Seven to shuttle Turing."
"Turing here."
"Start your impulse engines but remain cloaked. Shields to full."
"I cannot take off while cloaked."
"You are not required to take off. Just start the engines and hold position."
"But the engine thrust will carve a thousand metre trench."
"Exactly."
"You cannot remain outside," warned the computer. "You are too close, the dust storm would shred you."
B'Elanna waved her quantum resonance pliers triumphantly.
"It's okay. We're in." The blast door swung open.
"Turing. Start your engines now," said Seven with relief as another phaser blast carved into the wall a few metres away.
The howl of the engines acknowledged Seven's command and a maelstrom of dirt rose into the air as ten thousand tonnes of thrust ploughed the ground. B'Elanna grabbed Seven by the hand and pulled her inside the blast door, slamming it shut behind them. The roar of the shuttle's engines was instantly muted to be replaced by a low thumping of such intensity that both women could feel their rib-cages vibrating in response. The room they had entered was badly lit and walled with layers of pipes and insulated cables which ran up between the overhead ducts into the open roof space. Numerous illuminated warning signs with operator instructions festooned the machinery and walls. A thin layer of dust, attracted by heavy static electrical forces, overlaid most surfaces, the only object in the room free of contamination was a free-standing control console.
"Who are you?" asked a soft female voice. B'Elanna and Seven both jumped and aimed their phasers in the direction of the voice. Its owner's face was hidden from view by the shadow of a huge pipe, the outline of her body just visible. She did not appear to be armed.
"Since we're holding the weapons, you answer first. Who are you?"
The woman stepped forward into the dull orange light. She was not in Starfleet uniform but wore an elegant dress, the exact hue was uncertain because of the poor light but it appeared to be a pale lilac. The woman lifted her chin and the trill markings on her neck became visible.
"You are Doctor Lenara Kahn," stated Seven. B'Elanna looked at her with surprise. "I did some background research on artificial wormhole development," Seven said, answering the unspoken question. "Dr Kahn was very prominent before wormhole research was banned. Some of her work was remarkably advanced."
"Thank you for the compliment," said the woman with a self-deprecating smile. "I was part of a very good team. You must be Seven of Nine. I am very pleased to meet you at last." She offered her hand and Seven took it uncertainly.
B'Elanna was starting to feel left out. "Well it's nice that everyone else seems to know each other but we have a job to do Doctor 'whatever your name is...'
"... Lenara Kahn and you must be B'Elanna Torres, the redoubtable chief engineer." The scientist turned her warm smile on the half-Klingon who found herself blushing.
"Yeah, that would be me. Now how long do we have to defend this place and which bit are we defending?"
Kahn turned to the main control console.
"Voyager is half way through and I would estimate that it will take another 3 to 4 minutes before she completes the journey. The warp coil that powers the generator must be protected until they enter normal space."
"3 minutes then. Where is the warp coil and is there any other way in apart from that door?"
"The warp coil is on the floor below us and there's a back door ...."
Lenara was interrupted by a hail from the Turing's computer.
"B'Elanna, Seven of Nine. Am under attack. The shield's holding but I don't know how long it will last. Also a dozen heavily armoured soldiers are heading your way."
"Acknowledged computer." As Seven finished speaking the main door began to vibrate and change colour. "They're here."
"And they are cutting the blast door open with phasers." B'Elanna commented. "Time to retreat. Seven, the roof joists?"
"Agreed."
They lifted their phasers in unison and took aim at the two main roof supports. Seven vaporised the left and B'Elanna, the right. The roof immediately began to sag and groan.
"We should go," said Seven. "Please lead the way Doctor Kahn."
"Call me Lenara," replied the elegant doctor with a winning smile at the ex-drone. Seven looked uncertain and then half-smiled in return.
"Of course Lenara."
The Trill scientist turned up the wattage and placed a hand on Seven's shoulder. She then took the ex-drone's hand and led her to a door marked 'Entrance to lower levels'.
B'Elanna stared after them and scowled. She mimicked under her breath. "Call me Lenara. Of course Lenara! Sheesh. So damned charming."
She was of half-a-mind not to follow when the roof groaned again. "By Kahless' three balls! But if that damned woman lays another finger on Seven ......" She trotted after them through the open door and down the stairs to the lower level. Seconds later the roof collapsed with a scream as its alloy fabric crumpled to the ground sealing the lower levels under tons of rubble.
Aboard the USS Vigilant
Chekhov sat in her command chair and resisted the impulse to bite her nails. The Vigilant was streaking towards the wormhole terminus at warp 8.9. This was like one of those legendary stories of Starfleet captains where the protagonist disregarded explicit orders and then went on to save the Federation. But Starfleet would only tolerate disobedience if it was accompanied by a stunning success and she wasn't sure that rescuing a single starship would qualify. If not then the best she could expect was several years rehab in a Starfleet prison and a dishonourable discharge at the end. And I always swore to myself that I would avoid this kind of thing she mused. Her gloom was dissipated by the communication officer relaying an urgent communication from the Defiant.
"Worf to Chekhov, we are coming up on the wormhole, sensors indicate that there are twelve Starfleet vessels present."
"And more on the way. I know," she replied. "We only have to distract them for a few minutes."
"Remember the Defiant will only be able to assist you up to the point that Voyager arrives. After that we must break off if we are to complete the mission."
"Understood. Chekhov out."
She stood up and looked round at her bridge crew most of whom appeared apprehensive or just plain mystified.
"I know this situation is strange but we are going to prevent a great injustice being committed. I will take full responsibility for our actions." The bridge crew didn't look very happy at this news but Chekhov knew she had no more time to explain, they would just have to trust her.
"Do you understand your battle orders. We are not to destroy another Starfleet vessel even to save ourselves. Our objective is to divert and if necessary disable ships. That means main phasers only and targeting their impulse engines. No directly targeted torpedoes. It is vital that the fleet is not permitted to fire torpedoes into the wormhole. The Defiant is cloaked and will attempt to disable the fleet flagship so we don't have to worry about that one."
"We are being hailed sir," said the comms officer. "It's Fleet Commander Faryn."
A tall Trill appeared on the view screen. He looked worried.
"USS Vigilant you are to stand down and return to Delta Cygnus. Your presence is against orders and if you proceed, I will order my fleet to attack."
"Captain Faryn are you aware of the facts of this situation? USS Voyager is in that wormhole. If you promise me that you will not fire into the wormhole until Voyager appears, I will stand down."
"I'm sorry Captain. My orders are to destroy anything coming through the wormhole before it reaches the exit."
"I'm sorry too. Cut transmission. Battle stations." Chekhov sat back in her chair. "Target the two reliant class destroyers and fire on my command."
At the same moment that Chekhov gave the order to fire, the Defiant uncloaked on the starboard side and immediately opened up on the galaxy class flagship which was still charging its shields. Two solid hits to the port nacelle and the flagship was venting plasma. The Vigilant's phasers severely damaged the impulse engines of the nearest reliant class destroyer but were less fortunate with the second. After that it was every ship for itself as the remaining operational ships wove amongst each other and bursts of phaser fire lit the darkness.
USS Voyager - still somewhere between the Delta quadrant and the Alpha quadrant
"We are approaching the exit Captain," said Harry Kim. I'm detecting other ships and weapons fire."
"Status Tuvok."
"Shields are at 70 percent, hull integrity 95 percent, phasers are fully charged."
"Well we've been worse," Janeway murmured to herself. "Battle stations."
The exit loomed and they could see stars.
"Home," whispered Harry Kim.
"Let's hope we live long enough to enjoy it" said Tom quietly before announcing, "Time to exit fifteen seconds."
As the seconds counted down, members of the crew held their breath. Then the gut-wrenching motion ceased and they were in normal space. A phaser blast hit them full amidships.
"Shields 65 percent. Returning fire," reported Tuvok calmly. "There are seven vessels still operational in the area. Six other ships seem to be non-combatant.
"Welcome to the Alpha quadrant," said Chakotay.
"Keep your minds on the job," Janeway barked. "I don't intend that this will end here."
"Captain," said Harry. "We're being hailed by the USS Vigilant."
"On screen."
A good-looking Starfleet captain appeared on screen. Behind her a battle scarred bridge smoked and sparked.
"Captain Chekhov of the USS Vigilant. Welcome home Captain Janeway. I suggest immediate evasive manoeuvres. Run for it. We can't hold them any longer."
Janeway looked dubiously at the Captain.
"What is your status Vigilant?"
Chekhov shrugged. "Shields 20 percent, Hull breaches on three decks."
"Then get out of here Captain Chekhov. We'll cover for you."
Chekhov smiled coldly. "I'm afraid our warp engines are down. We're not going anywhere. You must run for it Captain or all this is for nothing. The Defiant is in position."
"I'm not running anywhere Captain Chekhov."
"You have no choice and this is no time for foolish heroics. We will surrender as soon as you are clear. Now go." The view screen blanked as another phaser blast shook the Vigilant's defences.
Janeway's eyes narrowed and her jaw began to jut. She hadn't come all this way to be ordered about by officers who didn't look much older than Harry Kim.
"Tuvok: target any vessels within range of the Vigilant. Take their weapons out. Let them see what this old girl can do. Tom: I want you to keep us one step ahead of their big ships but not too far. Lead them away from the Vigilant. Pattern delta 5."
"Yes Captain."
Delta Cygnus
The large warp coil generating the power for the huge tetrion beam generators bathed the room in a pale blue light that gave the generator hall and its inhabitants an insubstantial, ghostly appearance.
Monitoring the wormhole from the wormhole command console Lenara Kahn smiled with satisfaction.
"Voyager is through the wormhole."
"Time to go then," exclaimed B'Elanna. "Which way is out?"
Lenara pointed upwards towards the ceiling. B'Elanna's face fell.
"I thought you said there was a back door."
"There was but it was also on the upper floor. There is only one exit from the lower levels to the upper."
An explosion shook the room and debris rained down around them. "They are dropping thermal contact charges on the beam emitters."
"Can we shut down the generator?" asked B'Elanna. "With the wormhole gone, Starfleet might not be so desperate to get in here, it might give us a bit of time."
"I'm afraid not. I was very thorough about disabling all shut down mechanisms" said Lenara apologetically.
"Then we will have to blast our way out to the upper levels through the rubble." Seven responded. To Lenara Kahn she sounded extraordinarily matter of fact about this rather desperate proposal but B'Elanna nodded agreement.
Another explosion reverberated through the building, closer this time. A further torrent of dust and larger pieces of rubble fell from the shuddering ceilings and walls. One piece struck Lenara and she would have been killed by the next except for Seven bodily throwing her under the overhang of the stairwell.
"Or we could just wait for them to blast their way in," uttered B'Elanna unhelpfully as she too squeezed into the narrow shelter. She unsuccessfully tried to stifle the stab of jealousy she felt watching Seven gently cleaning the wound on Lenara Kahn's forehead. I have to get a hold of myself, she thought. I can't be jealous of her every time she even speaks to another woman or man for that matter. It was with a shock that she realised that possessive feelings about Seven were likely to be the least of her worries. She had a husband and he was home now. What had been a farfetched possibility was now reality. Unwilling to deal with such thoughts she willingly returned to their present predicament.
"This is B'Elanna Torres to the shuttle Turing. What is your status Turing?" There was no reply. "Turing do you hear me, please copy." B'Elanna was irked to realise that she was genuinely worried about the little ship and not just because it was their only means of escape. Seven was concerned also.
"The shuttle may have fled," Seven comforted. "It was under attack. In which case it will come back for us when the fighting has died down."
"By which time we may be dead anyway or buried alive." B'Elanna's gloomy prognosis was interrupted by a high pitched whine.
"Transporters," decided Seven quickly. Both the renegades peered cautiously around the corner of their hiding place, B'Elanna kneeling and Seven standing above her. They levelled their disruptors on the figure materialising in the hazy blue light.
"Stand still, hands over your heads or we vaporise you," B'Elanna yelled.
"Do you threaten all your employers B'Elanna Torres or is that just my privilege?" But Mira Hassan raised her hands above her head as a precaution.
"Mira! How the hell did you find us?"
"The Turing found me but we must escape now, explanations can come later. We have to get away while there are no ships guarding the base. They're all on their way to that wormhole. Take these transporter tags so my guys can get a fix on you."
Mira looked more than curiously at Lenara Kahn who had just stepped out from the shelter.
"Who is she?" breathed the pirate looking equal parts suspicious and impressed.
"Dr Lenara Kahn," said B'Elanna. "She's a famous Starfleet scientist."
Mira took the scientist's hand. "Pleased to meet you Doctor Kahn. Sadly I only have two additional tags. You'll have to come with me Doctor Kahn. Come here and hold tight."
Mira drew the Doctor firmly into her arms. The rather reserved and highly respectable Trill looked more than slightly disconcerted at being embraced firmly by the piratical Hassan. B'Elanna and Seven exchanged amused glances. Mira never missed a chance. The smuggler hailed her ship.
"Hassan to the Death's Head. Four to beam up. Yeah that's two on one tag." She paused, listening to a reply, before responding with impatience. "What do I pay you for?" The transporter hummed and an instant later all four women materialised on the transporter pad of the merchant starship Death's Head.
Aboard the Defiant Worf watched the battle raging on the main view screen, his hands white from gripping the edge of the command chair. Watching comrades being defeated was not his idea of fighting. It took all of his self-control not to order the Defiant back into the fray.
His first officer was busily entering instructions into a communications console. He looked up and stared at the view screen expectantly. After a few seconds the images of warring starships were replaced by a blank screen and then a 3-dimensional image of the symbol of the United Federation of planets.
"We're transmitting sir. The link is up. The Midas array is now active and jamming all subspace channels."
The image changed again and Lieutenant Reginald Barclay could be seen peering into the imaging sensor against the backdrop of an image of the wormhole. He dropped his microphone and for a few seconds all that was visible of him was his rear end as he scrabbled about on the floor. Eventually the Lieutenant stood up, blushing furiously.
Worf cursed loudly. He knew that fool Barclay would be a damned liability.
On screen Reg Barclay composed himself and took a deep breath.
"Hello there F..F..Federation. Do not adjust your holoscreens or your viewscreens. Please j..just leave them alone. This is a priority broadcast on all sub-space channels by the Midas array bringing breaking news to the entire Federation of Planets as it happens. Sorry to interrupt your scheduled viewing but I guess the Simpsons will be back tomorrow at their regular time." He grinned at his own joke for several seconds. Worf scowled at the screen and, as though feeling the Klingon's disapproval from several light years distant, Reg tried to look serious again.
"We have amazing news just in from one of the further flung sectors of the Federation: Delta Cygnus." He gestured at the image of the wormhole. "Without warning, a wormhole has formed in the sector. Why or how we don't yet know. Stay tuned for further developments."
At Starfleet HQ in San Francisco a senior admiral and the Federation president gaped fishily at the view screen as a full colour image of a wormhole stared back at them. In the corner of the 3-dimensional screen, Lieutenant Reginald Barclay was holding forth with increasing confidence.
"It is quite unprecedented. Starfleet has sent a fleet of ships to intercept. Just a minute while we improve the picture quality. Wow! Just look at the size of that wormhole. Expert scientists are mystified. Why is it here? Where has it come from?"
"Admiral," screamed the president. "Get that broadcast shut off now. Jam it."
"We can't sir. He's using the Midas array, we couldn't even dent it. Let alone jam it" On screen Reg Barclay was leaping up and down shouting and clutching an imaginary earphone to his ear.
"Unbelievable. Unbelievable. I don't know how to report this but rumour has it that the famous USS Voyager, lost for seven years in the Delta quadrant, has somehow found her way home through this wormhole. Here at the Midas news-desk we will try and verify this."
The admiral gazed at the incoming pictures with a sinking feeling.
"And look at that folks. It is the USS Voyager. There she is. Doesn't she look great? But there appears to be some kind of misunderstanding. The fleet is firing on her. This can't be right. Oh no! We seem to be witnessing a tragic mistake."
Voyager's shields flared again. Aboard the fleet flagship, Fleet Commander Faryn watched the broadcast with growing disbelief. He made a decision. He would not be the one to destroy Voyager in front of 600 billion individuals. No orders were worth that kind of ignominy.
"This is Faryn to all fleet members. Break off the attack. Break it off now. Cease fire."
The over-animated figure of Reg Barclay pressed his fingers to his ear as though listening to a conversation. His excitement grew visibly.
"I have amazing news, amazing news folks. Our technical wizards have managed to patch us through to the USS Voyager and we can now speak directly to Captain Janeway."
Janeway's face flickered onto the view screen.
"Captain Janeway can you hear us? You are now broadcasting live to the whole Federation."
"Yes thank you Mr Barclay. This is Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager. It's nice to be home." She smiled and behind her whoops of joy could be heard from Harry Kim and Tom Paris. "It's great to be home" she repeated and there was nothing she could do to prevent the tears forming in her eyes.
Tears rolling down his cheeks, Reg Barclay stood smiling silently in the corner of the screen on a hundred billion viewscreens across the Federation until the sound of Starfleet security breaking down the door of the studio caught his attention.
"I'm afraid we have to end our transmission now folks. This is Reginald Barclay saying goodbye to you from the Midas array on this historic and happy day."
The view screen in the president's office reverted to its normal Federation logo and for several seconds there was absolute silence then abruptly comm signals on the incoming channels began to flash and chirp.
"Ambassador Weyoun of the Dominion is calling, wishing to speak with you urgently Mr President," announced the aide. "Shall I put him through? And there are still calls waiting from at least fifteen other planetary heads of state. The numbers are rising every second sir.
The president exchanged a pained glance with the senior admiral sitting on his left.
"Put Weyoun through. And please schedule return calls with each of the other callers."
The view screen, now thankfully free of Reginald Barclay, flashed on to reveal the representative of the Dominion in the Alpha quadrant, Weyoun 14. The president cranked up his best smile. "Ambassador Weyoun. I am so pleased to speak with you."
"Mr President, the pleasure is all mine. And thank you for speaking to me at such short notice. We were deeply interested by that extremely dramatic broadcast and must congratulate you on recovering your lost Starship. A very heart-warming tale." Weyoun smiled pleasantly and then his demeanor became more serious. "But my masters were, I have to say, rather disturbed by the implications of what was shown. Our scientists are convinced that the phenomenon could only have been an artificial wormhole. It is quite apparent there has been a serious breach of the treaty banning wormhole research."
The president smiled and held up his hands.
"I can assure you ambassador Weyoun that we are as mystified as you. There has been no breach of the wormhole treaty by the Federation. I can assure you of that."
"I felt certain you would say that and indeed I have assured my masters that that would be your response. But they are more cautious than I and require a complete and independent inquiry to ascertain the facts. This will of course include a thorough investigation of the area to determine the existence of any facilities that may have been engaged in this research. We would expect this inquiry to commence immediately."
"We have started our own inquiry, ambassador, and you will be fully availed of its findings."
"I do not think we would regard such an inquiry as independent Mr President. We would like our own inspectors to be present. Failure to allow such an inspection would be construed as further evidence that you have breached the treaty. I cannot emphasise too strongly how unfavourably that would appear to my masters."
"I am afraid we could not permit your inspectors within our space Ambassador."
"I will relay your message to the Founders Mr President but I am very disappointed at your intransigence. I hope you are prepared to deal with the consequences."
The view screen went blank. The president continued to look at it for a few seconds. His voice was unemotional when he finally spoke.
"This is all your fault Admiral. You persuaded me to keep the wormhole project open. I hope you are prepared to pay the price for your error of judgement."
The admiral stared at his hands. Distantly he wondered how he had reached this position. But it didn't really matter. What was important now was to save the Federation and Starfleet from any further embarrassment and potentially from a new war.
Continued in the next chapter
Lost and Home by halfofone
Date added: 2005-01-21 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
USS Voyager - somewhere in the Alpha quadrant
Voyager had come home. After the years of waiting and searching for a way home the resolution had been sudden but things were never simple in the Delta quadrant. Something always managed to bite you in the butt.
'Hey! Make that the Alpha quadrant,' Janeway corrected herself with a smile.
The Delta quadrant was a distant memory now - not the homecoming she had dreamed of - but they were back and they had been reunited with B'Elanna and Seven. As Voyager plunged through the wormhole back to the Alpha quadrant, no one aboard knew what had befallen their two lost comrades. Quiet joy had greeted the news that both women were alive and on a merchant ship making its way to rendezvous with Voyager. The first inkling that all was not right was Seven's request for a Starfleet medical report to be transmitted directly to the EMH.
On the view screen the ex-Borg looked tired. "Are you injured?" Janeway asked Seven anxiously.
"I have minor injuries Captain but B'Elanna suffered a serious head injury several weeks ago and she requires neural surgery," replied Seven. "She may require other treatment also. We should beam aboard as soon as possible."
The ex-drone sounded worried and there was something else the captain realised, she looked puffy-eyed as though she had been crying.
"Yes of course," said Janeway sympathetically, unable to imagine what could reduce the ex-Borg to tears. "I'll instruct the transporter room to lock on as soon as you are in range."
Janeway summoned Tom Paris and briefed him as best she could. Despite her efforts to downplay the situation, the pilot looked understandably concerned and as soon as the merchant ship came within transporter range, Janeway and Tom Paris departed for the transporter room to await the returning heroes. They left Chakotay to take transfer of the empty shuttle from the unusually heavily armed merchant ship. Seven's instructions had been odd: "The Turing will bring itself in," she had said, firmly ignoring requests for clarification. "Open the bay doors and let it land itself. A pilot is not required and in any case the vessel will not respond to another's command. I will explain later Captain."
Waiting in the transporter room, Tom was nervous and excited, chattering to cover the silence and his fears until the familiar sound of the transporter silenced him and Seven and B'Elanna appeared before them. The first thing that had struck the Captain was their dress: space brigands was her immediate reaction, black shirts, loose dark trousers and low slung holsters containing fearsome looking Cardassian issue disruptors. And then she noticed that B'Elanna was leaning back against Seven, wrapped in the borg's arms. The latter abruptly let go when she saw the Captain and Tom Paris. B'Elanna stepped off the transporter pad and stared at them aggressively. She didn't look ill; fighting fit was a more apt description thought the Captain.
"Captain Janeway, Tom Paris," said the half-Klingon and she stared at them curiously as though it was they that looked peculiar in some way. Tom lifted his arms and moved towards her quickly. He enveloped her in a hug.
"Lanna, thank God. I thought Seven said you were ill."
The half-Klingon did not return his hug and pulled back from his arms, a strange expression on her face, in anyone else it would be almost fearful but that wasn't something he associated with his wife.
"Seven tell him," growled B'Elanna continuing to pull away from his grip. Hurt by her indifference, Tom released her, his confused blue eyes seeking explanation from Seven.
"Lieutenant Torres suffered brain damage that has 'disconnected' her memories of the last eight years. She cannot remember her relationship with you, she remembers nothing of this ship or the Delta quadrant." Seven paused seeing the horror on Tom's face and took pity. "Do not distress yourself Lieutenant, the damage will probably be reparable with the aid of B'Elanna's medical records." The awkward silence was broken by the bustling arrival of the EMH.
"Quite correct Seven. I have read the report of B'Elanna's medical examination by Starfleet and I agree with their assessment although I will of course examine the Lieutenant myself. All being well I will carry out the procedure within the next 48 hours - sooner if she's otherwise physically fit." He smiled broadly. "I would like B'Elanna to stay in sick bay tonight for observation and may I say how pleased I will be to have you back in my sick bay." He frowned at his own words. "Well I didn't mean that I wanted you to be hurt ....."
"I think they know what you meant Doctor" said Janeway quickly. "I am glad to have you both back also. We had nearly given up on you Lieutenant Torres." Diplomatic as ever, Janeway sounded deliberately formal, not wanting to presume on a friendship that B'Elanna could not remember. The half-Klingon seemed a little less uncomfortable now that Tom was no longer holding her. He stared at her helplessly as she answered the Captain.
"Thank you Captain. I'm sorry if I seem a little strange. All this is new to me," and she gestured at the ship around her; Voyager that she had known every inch of by sight and could hear even the smallest of out-of-place rattles and squeaks in any of its thousands of components.
"That is understandable Lieutenant, I'm sure you will be back to yourself very soon."
As Janeway said these words she caught the quick glance B'Elanna cast at Seven and the ill-concealed anguish on the latter's face.
The EMH completed a tricorder scan of Seven of Nine. "You seem to be perfectly well Seven apart from that scorching on your arm which appears to have been treated by a Tuaran gibbon and a very clumsy one at that." B'Elanna scowled at the EMH but oblivious to the dark threat he carried on. "I would have suggested a period of regeneration but since you seem to have managed perfectly well for three weeks on normal food and sleep I see no need for you to return to that particular safety blanket. You will need somewhere to sleep tonight other than cargo bay 2."
Seven nodded at him distractedly but her eyes never left the slight figure of B'Elanna Torres.
"I'll organise some quarters for you Seven," said Janeway smiling warmly at her.
"She will stay with me!" B'Elanna asserted angrily before moderating her tone. " I... I do not want to be alone."
"I'll stay with you honey," said Tom gently, "if the Captain will grant me leave?"
"No!" uttered B'Elanna fierce again. "Seven will stay with me."
Janeway bit her lip to prevent herself asking them what was wrong. Only a fool could have missed seeing what was going on and Tom was no fool. He was looking between them, anger and disbelief crawling over his features. She made a quick decision.
"Mr Paris return to the bridge. I will speak to you later." As Tom hesitated she strengthened the tone of command in her voice. "Tom, go now. You too Doctor." She thought Tom was going to disobey and then suddenly his shoulders sagged and he twisted about, heading quickly for the door, not stopping to look back, an openly puzzled EMH on his tail. Janeway waited for the doors to close behind them before turning on her newly refound crew.
"What is going on Lieutenant? I realise that your situation is difficult but it has not been easy for Tom either... "
"This is not your business Captain" intervened Seven of Nine. "It is a personal matter and nothing to do with you or Voyager."
Janeway's eyes darkened to a stormy grey.
"If that remains true, then yes, you are correct, it is none of my business. But if your personal lives spill over into Voyager then it becomes my business. Is that understood?" She glared at them until they both acknowledged their understanding. "I'll leave you alone now to get some rest but I want a full debriefing 0800 tomorrow morning."
When she left the room B'Elanna was still reeling from her first force ten Janeway command glare.
"Wow!" she exclaimed admiringly.
Seven put her arms around B'Elanna; she didn't seem able to stop herself from holding and touching the half-Klingon no matter how often she warned herself that this was temporary.
"Define wow?" she asked curiously.
B'Elanna wrapped her arms around the Borg in response and squeezed her tight, resting her head on Seven's chest, but she spoilt the moment by saying, with open admiration. "I mean wow, what a woman."
"You admire her?" Seven queried stiffly, letting go of the smaller woman, ignoring her whimper of protest.
"Well who wouldn't? You told me yourself that she was impressive." B'Elanna protested puzzled by Seven's reaction.
"That was different, I do not have any romantic feelings towards the Captain."
"Hell I don't have romantic feelings towards the Captain either! I hardly know the Captain well enough to have any feelings at all. You're jealous." she realised aloud.
"You said wow," insisted Seven stubbornly. "And Borg do not become jealous, that is a Klingon characteristic."
Stifling her grin and suspecting that words were not enough, B'Elanna entwined her arms around Seven's neck and kissed her. After a few seconds of gentle pressure Seven relented and pulled her beloved close and returned the embrace.
"I think Borg do become jealous or perhaps you have picked up some bad Klingon habits," B'Elanna teased gently and breathing a little raggedly she raised her face again to kiss soft lips which parted sweetly under the pressure. Seven felt her knees give and B'Elanna tightened her embrace, holding her up easily.
"Do you want me?" B'Elanna growled in her ear.
Still slightly jealous, despite the kiss Seven shook her head. B'Elanna kissed her again and this time more fiercely. Seven moaned as her body responded to the open wet kisses and the irresistible tongue stroking weakness into her. Her shirt was tugged from her trousers and a warm hand slid over smooth skin and slowly traced over her ribs to the soft swell of her breast.
"Why are you doing this?" she gasped, "we agreed that it was wrong."
B'Elanna reclaimed her mouth and for a few more moments Seven allowed herself to forget. And then a vision of B'Elanna and Tom laughing and holding each other at their wedding swam across her consciousness. She jerked away and held B'Elanna at arms length. The latter was flushed and shaking, her dark eyes gazing at the ex-drone uncomprehendingly.
"When you have recovered your memory you would regret doing this. I do not believe you would forgive me," Seven said slowly, her heart breaking. B'Elanna's expression darkened and she spoke much too rapidly.
"I can't lose you Seven, I don't care about Tom Paris, even if I did marry him, I felt nothing when I saw him Seven, nothing except disgust and I don't want to remember any of it if that means losing you, so I'm not going to have the surgery." She stuck her jaw out as though daring the Borg to disagree even as her eyes betrayed fear that the ex-drone was going to do just that.
"You would rather lose a part of yourself, forget your friends and betray your husband and your unborn child" Seven responded as brutally as she could manage. "I do not believe that is what you really want." Still held at arms length, B'Elanna struggled to get free until at last Seven released her. Immediately she stepped closer and cupped the Borg's beautiful face in her hands and looked into the wide blue eyes.
B'Elanna's voice was soft and persuasive. "Believe me Seven, when I say I love you more than a bunch of old memories."
A tear slid down the Borg's cheek but she spoke with as much conviction as she could. "I cannot force you to recover your memories B'Elanna but I will not collude with you in making this mistake."
"Meaning?"
"There would be no future for us like this and we could not be together under such circumstances. I will not .... stay with you."
B'Elanna drew back and for an instant Seven thought the half-Klingon was going to hit her. She tensed waiting for the blow but B'Elanna seemed to crumple and a single howl tore the air. Seven crouched down to comfort her but was pushed away.
"As you wish Seven of Nine." B'Elanna growled in a low uneven voice. "I will allow the Doctor to operate but nothing will change my love for you." She stood up slowly and walked to the door. Seven watched her leave the transporter room.
"Nor mine for you," Seven replied quietly. Not sure what to do, she followed the half-Klingon out into the corridor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Janeway stopped by sick bay some hours later, she found them asleep, curled against each other, B'Elanna cradled in her borg's arms. She watched them under the dimmed lights in Voyager's sick bay, her two lost sheep returned to their home by a mixture of courage, cunning and luck. Seven was deemed physically fit by the EMH but she had stayed with the Lieutenant at her request and with the doctor's approval. It didn't take a psychologist to understand that this drama was far from over and the principal players were locked in an unresolved conflict. The eventual outcome would have unknown repercussions for Voyager's family. Janeway left the sick bay silently. Seven had been right about one thing. Sad though the situation was, it was not the captain's business and in any case she had more immediate difficulties.
Minutes after Starfleet had terminated the attack on Voyager, Admiral Clift had hailed Voyager. To say he had been unwelcoming was to understate the case. She had been left in no doubt that her actions were against the greater interests of the Federation and she might very well be responsible for starting a new war with the Dominion.
"Your selfish desire to bring your ship home and disobey the orders of your superiors may cost millions of lives. You are to report with Voyager to Starfleet headquarters where there will be a celebration in your honour in five days time. In the meantime you will speak to no-one. The Defiant and the Vigilant will accompany you. Their part in this fiasco will not go unremembered. The board of enquiry will commence the day after the celebration. And Janeway, don't expect to keep those pips or even your freedom, we will be asking for the maximum penalties."
Some celebration she thought wryly as she entered the bridge. Chakotay looked up and smiled at her warmly. Too warmly.
"Have you received any communication from either the Defiant or the Vigilant?" she asked, deliberately cool.
"The Vigilant is still without warp power and the Defiant is watching over her. Apparently Captain Worf does not trust Starfleet to wait for our return to Earth."
"I see. Maintain station. We will wait for them also. No reason for any of us to go it alone and in the meantime I'll ask Neelix to organise some kind of homecoming celebration. I think we ought to thank both crews for their help before Starfleet get their hands on us."
"Do you believe Starfleet will attack us again?"
"I would never have believed they would attack us in the first place Chakotay. I don't know what to expect anymore. But we are safer in numbers."
Chakotay wanted to soothe the worry and disillusionment apparent on his captain's face but could think of nothing that he could say to offer comfort so instead he changed the subject.
"How are B'Elanna and Seven?"
"Sleeping. The doctor tells me he has scheduled B'Elanna's operation for tomorrow. There doesn't seem to be any point in deferring it."
"Tom will be relieved. He was looking pretty worried. It's fortunate the Doc can treat the damage."
Janeway grunted noncommittally.
"Hail the Defiant," she ordered.
"Aye Captain. Channel open," replied the duty officer.
"This is Captain Janeway. Since we are not going anywhere for a while we want to invite the captain and members of your crew for a Delta quadrant style celebration tomorrow evening."
Worf's deep voice responded and he sounded amicable.
"That would be acceptable Captain. We will greatly enjoy meeting you and your crew. I am sure you will have many courageous stories to tell."
"Likewise and thank you Captain."
Chekhov by contrast didn't seem at all grateful for the invitation. The younger captain's voice had seemed distant, even antagonistic.
"I am not sure we will be able to attend in numbers Captain or at all. My crew are extremely busy right now repairing the warp drive and the rest of the damage to the ship."
"Of course. Is there any way we can help?"
"Unlikely. Starfleet technology has moved along quite a bit since you were last here Captain."
"I'm sure we could pick it up" Janeway answered, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.
"And I'm sure that there is no need Captain Janeway. However thank you for the invitation and the offer of assistance."
"If you change your mind, you are of course welcome to attend the party Captain Chekhov."
The open channel was terminated by the Vigilant without further reply. Janeway and Chakotay exchanged puzzled glances.
"She doesn't seem very fond of us," said Chakotay.
Janeway shrugged.
"Possibly not pleased at throwing away her career for our sakes. Perhaps she's typical of the modern Starfleet officer. I'll ask Doctor Kahn if she would like to come and I suppose we'd better invite that trader Hassan also, since Kahn's her guest though I don't think I'll enquire too closely what she trades in. I'm going to my ready room Chakotay and start to catch up on the paperwork before we reach Earth. I might as well make sure the evidence against us is complete."
"See you later Kathryn."
He smiled at her with big soft eyes and Kathryn cursed inwardly. She had been afraid this would happen and for the second time she regretted being back in the alpha quadrant.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven walked stiffly through Voyager's corridors. Crewmen who thought to greet her and welcome her home reconsidered when they encountered the cold self-possession. 'Always the Borg,' they concluded sadly. You could not make friends with Seven of Nine.
Seven was scarcely aware of them although she overheard some of the gossip that followed her about. Gossip that always seemed to cease too late for her Borg enhanced hearing. She found herself outside the shuttle bay doors and experienced a sudden need to check up on the Turing. The small ship rested quietly in the docking bay. It looked a little worse for its travels but she observed that it had already completed much of the repairs to the phaser-damaged hull. She could help. It would be something to do while she waited. She climbed up onto the hull and lowered herself through the upper aft hatch that had opened to greet her. The lights inside brightened and environmental controls flickered to life.
"Forgotten something?" asked the computer full of injured surprise.
"What is your current status computer?" asked Seven choosing to ignore the aggrieved tone.
"Nice of you to ask, though of course there's no need. I am just a computer, no feelings to speak of. I don't mind being stored here, there and everywhere."
"Computer. Please report your status," repeated Seven patiently.
"Repairs 80% complete. The Turing is nearly spaceworthy. There is some minor hull damage to be completed and the shields are still offline. Oh and that damned port engine is slacking again."
"I will assist your repairs although my skills will be insufficient to repair the port engine. That will require Lieutenant Torres assistance." Her voice took on a mechanical quality.
"Lieutenant Torres is not joining us?"
"No."
"Is she ill?"
"She is being operated on by the Doctor. The operation will last 4 hours but I do not think she will be available for several days."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
B'Elanna opened her eyes and gazed into the concerned eyes of the EMH. For a moment she wondered what had happened to her this time; she had woken up so often in this damned sick bay. Then she wanted Seven and then she remembered the operation.
"Seven!" she exclaimed softly and tried to lift herself off the bed to look round. "Where is she Doc?"
"Keep still Lieutenant. Seven is no doubt prowling about outside sick bay, along with Mr Paris I expect. I banned them both. I hope the captain has provided adequate security to keep them apart."
"Tom." B'Elanna closed her eyes against the confusion. "Kahless! Tom."
"You will experience some disorientation as your conscious mind tries to integrate your memories," offered the EMH on observing B'Elanna's obvious distress.
An aching need to see Seven swept through her and then an overwhelming and conflicting feeling of love and guilt for her husband. She had betrayed him. She could hardly imagine Tom's pain.
You damn fool Torres. Dammit I have really messed up. Can't believe that I would cheat on Tom and with Seven of all people and Kahless help me but I need her to hold me now. And I don't know how I'm going to face Tom or even if I want to.
"Would you like to see anyone B'Elanna?" asked the Doc as neutrally as he could manage. "They're both requesting a visit."
"No. I don't want to see anyone" she panicked. "Not yet. I have to think."
"If that's what you want."
She nodded, shaken to her core. The events of the last three weeks seemed like a dream in the context of her life on Voyager. But they were not a dream and B'Elanna Torres felt sick to her Klingon hearts. And the baby, Tom didn't even know yet unless the EMH or Seven had said something. She felt a sudden prickle of fear - maybe she had lost her.
"Doc."
"Mmm?"
"The baby, she's OK?"
"She's fine." The EMH abandoned pretending to read his notes and smiled at her. "Extremely healthy. Given your recent activities, I rather suspect she has her father's space legs and your constitution, space flight should hold no terrors for her. Of course if she has your temper and her father's sense of humour, space flight may come to hold terror for the rest of humankind," he quipped in a futile attempt to lighten her mood. B'Elanna stared at him uncomprehendingly and he sighed. "You should get some rest Lieutenant. Give yourself time to adjust. I'll be in my office if you need me."
B'Elanna did not seem to have heard him. She just lay back and gazed up at the ceiling. The EMH wandered away. This sort of situation was outside his programming and quite honestly he was rather glad about that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tom Paris leaned against the wall outside sick bay and watched the tall ex-drone. She had not taken her eyes from the door for the last half hour, not since the Doc had informed them that B'Elanna did not want visitors yet, any visitors. She just stood there, ramrod straight with her hands clasped behind her back. It was annoying him. How dare she claim anything, even the right to stand out here and wait.
"She's not so keen to see you now is she Seven of Nine? That must hurt."
"It is painful," responded Seven calmly, "as it must be for you."
His jaw clenched harder.
"You don't really expect my Lanna to want you now she has her memories back do you Seven? She loved me for three years, she married me for godsakes, with you it's just three weeks and she wasn't even herself."
Seven looked at him impassively.
"You are probably correct Lieutenant, I do not expect her to love me in the same way when she recovers."
Tom looked at her with some astonishment and found himself almost seeking reassurance from her.
"Then you don't think Lanna is going to leave me for you?"
"It is highly unlikely."
Seven's eyes tightened a little and Tom suddenly had the feeling that the ex-drone was holding on by a thread.
"Then why are you here?" he asked roughly. Seven took her eyes from the door and looked him in the face.
"Such considerations do not diminish my feelings for her nor my concern. I love her. Nothing is going to change that. If she does want to speak with me I will be here." She turned away to resume her silent vigil, the conversation clearly at an end.
Tom's gaze still boiled with resentment but unwillingly a little pity mixed itself with the jealousy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Several hours later Captain Janeway contacted the EMH from her ready room.
"How's the patient, Doctor?"
"Physically she's fine. She'll be fit for duty tomorrow after a good nights sleep if she does sleep." He frowned. "But emotionally I'm not so sure Captain. She won't talk or eat or sleep. She just lies there staring at the ceiling."
"Has she had any visitors yet?"
"No. She has quite emphatically refused to see anyone."
"Do you think I should talk to her Doctor?"
The EMH looked uncertain. "This is really outside my experience and programming Captain but I don't believe you can make things worse."
"On my way."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The captain arrived after a couple of minutes and the EMH showed her to the bed where the chief engineer lay with her eyes open, staring unseeingly upwards.
"B'Elanna," said the captain, "how are you feeling?" The half-Klingon didn't even turn her head to acknowledge the captain's presence.
"Fine."
"Glad to hear it."
Silence returned. The captain folded her arms and without speaking sat on the adjacent bio-bed and waited. Minutes passed without talk or movement. B'Elanna was the first to crack. She glanced sideways at the silent woman sitting watching her and flinched as her eyes encountered the steel blue gaze.
"I'm sorry Captain. I was rude."
"Very true but I will overlook it. Are you ready to discuss the situation now?"
"Captain this is a personal matter ... "
"Not any more. My chief engineer is lying in sick bay refusing to speak and that is a matter of grave concern to the captain of this ship. Until I'm convinced you can handle yourself appropriately Lieutenant ......"
"I can assure you Captain, I will fulfil my duties to the best of my abilities."
"Assurances are not enough B'Elanna. I want to know how you propose to resolve your personal problems so that they will not interfere with your work."
B'Elanna sat up too quickly and for a second her head swam. Then she slammed her fist down on the bed, anger twisting her features, her voice barely controlled.
"There is nothing to resolve Captain. I have returned from a difficult away mission. Nothing has changed. I am still married and I am expecting his child."
The captain's eyes opened wide in surprise. She hopped down from the biobed, her expression much gentler than before, and placed her hand on B'Elanna's shoulder.
"Don't you think you should tell him B'Elanna?"
"Yes." She took several deep breaths. "Yes I should tell him."
"It's unfair on both of them to keep them hanging on like this. You know that don't you."
B'Elanna laughed mirthlessly.
"None of this is fair captain. It's a bloody mess and I caused it but you're right, I'll talk to Tom tonight."
"What about Seven?"
"No."
"You can't just ... "
"Captain what should I say? 'Sorry Seven. I loved you, used you, but there's nothing for you now. It's been nice knowing you.' "
"She will be very hurt."
"She will understand Captain. She knows me better than I know myself. She told me how it would be and she was exactly right."
Janeway was rather chilled by the half-Klingon's seeming callousness and did not disguise her unease.
"How can you be so sure B'Elanna?"
B'Elanna suddenly found she needed the captain to understand her feelings. She wanted to share them with someone before they were hidden away.
"Seven is my juH wa'Dich," she said. The captain looked blank and B'Elanna tried to think how to explain what she meant without sounding completely foolish. "The closest human expression I can think of would be 'other-half' though it means more than that, more like 'my fate'. If I had not been such a stubborn, resentful fool about Seven, I might have realised before I married Tom. I did love him Captain but it wasn't the overwhelming sense of connection that Klingon poets describe, I didn't really believe that feeling could exist in real life." She paused and twisted her fingers round the edge of the biobed. "I do now." The pain in her dark eyes testified to the truth of the words.
"This doesn't explain to me why you won't speak to her."
"Because I did marry Tom and swear fidelity and life-long commitment. I've already broken the first promise but I won't abandon him and I won't separate him from his child. I don't want my daughter to lose her father. And there is nothing further to say."
"I think you're scared to face her."
Janeway allowed some of her disapproval to appear in her voice and B'Elanna reacted immediately.
"Of course I'm scared," she half-shouted. "I'm scared that I won't be able to do this, that my courage will fail and I'll beg her to take me away from him." Her voice cracked. The captain waited patiently as B'Elanna tried to calm down, breathing deeply until she could speak again. "Captain, I am not exactly a poster girl for duty and responsibility, it would be too easy for me to give into my feelings and run off into the sunset with Seven but I'm not going to do it. I would have no self respect and in the end that would destroy us."
Janeway had her doubts but she smothered the compulsion to offer advice. Someone was going to be hurt whatever and B'Elanna had obviously made up her mind who that was going to be.
"I'll send Tom in to see you," she said and then hesitated before adding, "and I'll speak to Seven."
B'Elanna closed her eyes and lay back down without answering. The captain left the room quietly; there didn't seem to be anything left to say.
Continued in next chapter
TITLE: Lost and Home
SUBSECTION: Lost Again
PARTS: 14 to 18
AUTHOR: halfofone
SUMMARY: Our heroes are home on Voyager but they've lost each other.
Lost and Home by halfofone
Date added: 2005-01-21 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
USS Voyager - Paris-Torres quarters
Tom sat on the bed in their joint quarters and watched B'Elanna. He was trying to keep his expression blank. An impartial observer would have told him he was failing. Concern and fear mixed with pain in his blue eyes.
When he had finally been allowed into sick bay to see her, she had put her arms around his neck and hugged him and told him that she loved him. The relief had been extraordinary and for the first time Tom allowed himself to really believe that his wife had come home to him. His unease was growing again. B'Elanna had been released by the EMH an hour before and returned to their quarters. She did not seem to want to talk about what had happened to her or even to acknowledge that the away mission had been anything other than routine. Instead she wanted to concentrate on what was expected of her at the celebration tonight. At this moment the chief engineer of Voyager was fussing over her dress uniform.
"It's tighter than it was," she moaned "and it was never that comfortable."
"I guess you've put on weight love," he teased.
"I'm pregnant."
The words left a void behind them and for a time Tom could not voice a reaction. When thought and feeling returned, a cold anger filled him.
"Is it mine?"
B'Elanna's confusion at his even asking the question showed in her face as she shot back with anger. "What the hell do you mean?"
Tom was unrelenting.
"Is it mine or hers?"
His wife stared at him disbelievingly. "You think that in the middle of fighting and running for our lives, Seven and I took time out to arrange a pregnancy? Kahless! We were only gone three weeks. Of course it's yours dammit." Angrily she stripped her uniform jacket off and threw it on the floor.
"You took the time to have an affair" he snapped bitterly. B'Elanna's outrage was instantly extinguished and she seemed to diminish in size.
"I don't think we should discuss this now."
"Well I think we should. You owe me that." He folded his arms and pushed away the fear of what he might hear.
Defeated, B'Elanna shrugged slightly and asked in a flat tone, "What do you want to know?"
"How it happened. Between you."
B'Elanna told him in sparse sentences that contained the facts but little feeling and less explanation. Despite her rigidly unemotional account Tom felt his fear escalate.
"... I was unfaithful. I'm sorry." B'Elanna completed her bald account.
"Sweetheart you didn't know what you were doing ... "
"I did know. Seven told me about my marriage before anything happened. I may not have been able to remember you myself but I knew. Don't make excuses for me Tom. I cheated and I've hurt those I love."
"Do you love her?" he queried very quietly.
"I am your wife. I am going to have your child. A three week fling with someone else changes nothing. I have chosen to make my life with you. End of story."
She was saying everything he could hope for in the circumstances but the crushed misery in her eyes could not be explained only by guilt. She looked and sounded like half the woman he knew.
"Do you love her?" he asked again, keeping his tone as neutral as he could.
This time B'Elanna shrugged the question off. "There's no need to ask that Tom. Why discuss something that makes no difference."
"It makes a difference to me."
"Well it doesn't to me. I still love you and that's enough." She turned her back on him. "Computer. Requisition for new uniform for B'Elanna Torres. One size larger than current specification. A new dress uniform is also required. Same size. Authorisation: Torres zero one four alpha."
'Items requisitioned are now available from the stores.' responded Voyager's computer.
B'Elanna picked up her black shirt from the floor. "I'm going to collect. I guess in the meantime I'll have to stick with these." She started to dress again in her Hassan Inc. standard issue clothing. "I want to check up on engineering. See what Vorik has been doing in my absence. Don't wait around for me Tom."
"Lanna, there's no need to go anywhere near engineering yet" he protested. "The captain won't expect you back on duty today."
"I don't want those Starfleet engineers criticising my engine room Tom. I have some pride you know." She half-smiled at him and bent down to kiss his cheek. He put his arms around her and pulled her to him, burying his face against her midriff. He could feel her body tense but for a few instants she let him hold her before pulling away. "I'd better get going if I'm going to do anything useful before tonight." She smiled down at him again. "See you later Tom."
Janeway had warned him to take it slow and not expect too much for a few days but as she left his arms, he couldn't fail to notice his wife release the breath she had been holding and her fists unclenching. Afraid of pushing her too far, he reluctantly released her and answered her smile. "Sure. Until later."
USS Voyager - the mess-hall, later that evening
Captain Chekhov surveyed the Voyager mess-hall with annoyance. Her opposite number on Voyager was not there to greet her guests and Chekhov was finding it hard to swallow her irritation. She hadn't really wanted to attend the celebration, let alone be insulted and ignored when she was there. She also felt out of place in her new Starfleet issue dress uniform. The Voyager crew were either in civvies or the old style dress uniform that had been abandoned many years before. She scowled. Her expression provoked a poke in the ribs from the CMO who had accompanied her.
"Stop looking so fierce," muttered Bones fiercely. "This is a party not unarmed combat."
"And where is our host for this party?" Chekhov muttered between gritted teeth. "Captain Janeway obviously does not think ... "
"She's coming this way" Bones answered, interrupting quickly before her captain and long-time friend could complete any complaint.
"Captain Chekhov," said a smallish red-head, dressed very casually in a white shirt and slacks. "Good evening. I am glad you could join us after all." The captain of Voyager smiled warmly at her guests. In Chekhov's opinion, she looked far too relaxed for a renegade and a troublemaker. She was also much smaller than the younger captain had expected.
"Captain Janeway," Chekhov acknowledged stiffly without returning the smile. She began to introduce the officers who accompanied her, finishing with the doctor. "... and this is Bones, my CMO."
"I've heard about you Doctor - we are grateful for the good care you took of B'Elanna and Seven of Nine."
"My pleasure Captain," answered the small medic. "Apart from insisting on escaping, they were no trouble at all" she joked before enquiring with obviously sincere concern, "Has Lieutenant Torres recovered from her operation?"
"She's doing well. Perhaps our doctor could fill you in on the details."
Janeway signalled to the EMH who trotted over to be introduced to the Vigilant's crew. He swept the doctor away - towards tables which were sagging under the weight of food - only too pleased to be able to talk to someone who might appreciate his genius. Janeway returned her attention to the severe young captain who for some reason looked very disapproving. It piqued Janeway and she couldn't resist prodding her opposite number to find the cause of the resentment.
"How are your repairs going Captain?" she enquired.
"Better than we expected or we wouldn't be here," was the curt reply.
"I'm glad to hear that," Janeway answered carefully, aware that she did not yet fully comprehend the underlying hostility.
Chekhov's eyes narrowed, irrationally annoyed by the older captain's sympathy, and some of that feeling spilled over.
"Of course if you had done as I ordered Captain Janeway and made a run for it, the Vigilant would not be in as bad shape as it is. We would have surrendered and Starfleet would have left us as non-combatant and chased you. We took two more severe hits after you arrived: several crew were injured and the ship was much more heavily damaged. Perhaps you didn't feel up to taking them on alone ..."
Several Voyager crewmen, in earshot, gasped. You couldn't speak to Kathryn Janeway in that manner and expect to walk away unscathed.
"I'm sorry to hear that you feel that way Captain Chekhov." The Voyager captain's voice seemed to drop an octave and the tone hardened as though stayed by a shaft of cold steel and she began to circle. "I might argue that, without our protection, your Starfleet colleagues would have simply destroyed the Vigilant and your crew." Janeway's smile returned but there was no warmth in it this time. "After all, that way Captain, there would be fewer witnesses and you would have been an example to other mutinous captains and crew." Janeway folded her arms combatively, took a step closer and looked Chekhov in the eye, declaring cynically, "and I have no doubt that Voyager would have taken the blame for your destruction."
Chekhov held her ground, refusing to be intimidated by the hard gray eyes from which every hint of blue had fled.
"Your protection?" The younger captain shook her head disbelievingly. "Oh come on Janeway! This is the Federation not Cardassia. No-one was going to destroy a helpless Starfleet ship."
Janeway retaliated angrily, "You're very certain of that, yet Starfleet appeared to be more than willing to destroy Voyager, an equally innocent ship, rather than allow us to get home ..."
" ... Perhaps Captain if you had been more reasonable and obeyed orders, Starfleet would have brought you home when it was safe to do so." Chekhov interrupted, adding with a degree of mockery, "but then it's been a long time since you had to obey anyone's orders hasn't it?"
Without anyone being fully aware, members of the two crews had formed up behind their respective captains. Janeway cast a look behind her, taking in the aggressive poses adopted by many of her crew. She wasn't going to allow this to become a brawl just to satisfy some jumped-up young Starfleet captain. She stepped back and raised her hand in a 'let's agree to differ' gesture, her tone much more placatory.
"Perhaps you're right Captain Chekhov; we will never know for certain but I'm sure the Board of Enquiry will fully take your views into consideration." She noticed Neelix gesturing at the mountainous layout of food and gratefully took the hint. "Mr Neelix. Our guests don't seem to have anything to eat or drink."
"Nor they do Captain and it would be my pleasure to put that right. Captain Chekhov, if you and your officers would care to follow me, I will be more than happy to introduce you to Delta quadrant cuisine."
"But don't touch anything purple," Tom Paris interjected with a quick grin. The Voyager crew laughed and the tension lessened.
For a moment Chekhov looked as though she wanted to continue the argument but Bones was glaring at her and in any case she didn't want to let Janeway appear to be the more adult.
"Thank you Mr ... 'er ... Neelix." she said stiffly and scowled even more deeply as Janeway smiled diplomatically. Though the smile never made it to Janeway's eyes, there was something about the small red-headed captain's assurance that made Chekhov feel like a petulant three-year old. She wanted to smack the older woman. She wanted her to be less in control. Dammit she wanted an apology for ruining her life.
The embarrassing silence was fortunately swept away by the wave of attention that greeted the entrance of Lenara Kahn and Mira Hassan escorted by Seven of Nine.
The three women looked magnificent and there was a collective intake of breath from most of the assembled crew. The Trill leaned on Hassan's left arm, quietly elegant, a strangely civilised consort to the dark warrior queen at her side. In the centre of the threesome, Hassan gazed arrogantly down on the sea of Starfleet officers, betraying none of the mistrust or fear she must have felt, standing in the enemy's camp. On her right side stood Seven of Nine, only slightly smaller than the pirate, an immaculate twenty fourth century princess in her silver alloy bodysuit, with her hands behind her back and her implant raised in amusement at the gaggle of goggling males. Seven was used to being stared at by aroused males, though not usually in such large numbers. Then she caught sight of B'Elanna beside Tom. Seven's amusement faded to be replaced by nervousness and hurt. This was the moment she had been dreading, she hadn't wanted to come but Janeway had made attendance mandatory and given her the duty of escorting Mira and Doctor Kahn. Unable to take her eyes away, she knew the chief engineer had seen her also though the half-Klingon's expression remained unmoved, even cold.
"She is a fool," said Mira unexpectedly in her ear. "B'Elanna always makes the wrong decision."
"She does not!" Seven responded in immediate defence of her lover. "Lieutenant Torres is highly intelligent and resourceful. There is no other engineer to compare to her. I would trust her with my life ..."
"... but not with your heart. Seven, you are not an engineering problem or a military strategy, and she is out of her depth. I am very fond of her but when it comes to personal matters, B'Elanna is both incompetent and stubborn."
"What should I do?"
"Argue, persist and if necessary kidnap her and ride off into the sunset with her over your saddle."
Seven considered the idea and then shook her head. She was not inclined to believe that it would be a successful strategy.
Mira shrugged. She had said her piece and what Seven chose to do with it was the Borg's own business. The pirate returned her attention to her other attractive companion who was hanging on her arm and her every word.
Lenara Kahn was getting used to feeling overwhelmed. She had only met one other person like Mira Hassan who inspired similar feelings in her; someone so confident and at ease with herself that she seemed to have no fear of others opinions. Of course Jadzia Dax had been entirely respectable while it was apparent, even to the innocent Trill scientist, that Mira Hassan was not. Still she did not feel apprehensive or fearful of the powerful woman which was strange at the very least. Lenara considered herself to be a very level-headed person, averse to unnecessary risk and utterly civilised. Criminal activity of any kind was utterly alien to her, Hassan was utterly alien and yet the scientist could not deny the weakness in her knees or her accelerating pulse as dark-blue eyes smiled down into hers and it was with some difficulty that she recalled herself to greet their host.
Captain Janeway had willingly escaped from her detractor to this more pleasant company and her smile was friendly as she held out her hand in turn to Dr Kahn and then Hassan as Seven introduced them.
"Welcome aboard Voyager. On behalf of my crew I have to thank you both for your help in bringing us home and also to Commander Hassan for looking after Seven and B'Elanna."
Mira raised her eyebrow. "I wonder if you will be quite so grateful captain when you see the bill from Hassan Inc?" The pirate's lips twitched as she observed the Starfleet captain's disconcerted face. "They were an extremely expensive and time-consuming investment Captain."
"I'm sure that Starfleet will be able to recompense you" answered Janeway, smoothly moving into 'captain-dealing-with-mercenary-alien' mode. She had a great deal of experience in this area.
"Somehow I doubt that. I do not doubt your gratitude Captain however your superiors are more likely to clap me in irons."
"Because you helped us" said the captain with more than a hint of bitterness.
"Because I'm wanted ... " corrected Hassan cheerfully, "... to assist with several ongoing enquiries" she deadpanned and finally allowed herself to smile. "Perhaps I will just have to forget the bill."
Janeway was momentarily taken aback by the pirate's honesty. She recovered with an answering grin. "I think that might be a good idea Commander Hassan. Given that's the case I suppose that you will not be accompanying us to Earth? What about Doctor Kahn?"
"I too, am persona non grata with Starfleet, Captain Janeway," said the elegant Trill with a nervous laugh. "Commander Hassan has agreed to take me back to Trill where I think I will be safe though perhaps not fully approved of."
"I don't think any of us are likely to find much approval when we get home" said Janeway sadly. "I am grateful to everyone who helped Voyager and I hope the cost to each of you is not going to be too high. I want you to know that I will do my best to protect you."
A loud snort from Captain Chekhov drew Janeway's attention and her eyes lost the misty sentiment. "Of course I know some of you may already regret assisting us or doubt that you did the right thing but I am still thankful that you did and believe this, if any of you ever need my help in return then it will be given to the limits of my abilities."
Worf, who had just joined the party acknowledged the Voyager captain's words with Klingon vigour and seriousness.
"I am certain Captain Janeway, that no warrior with any honour would feel any regret, or need for thanks. We did our duty as Starfleet officers. The consequences are of little importance."
Janeway caught a glimpse of Chekhov's annoyed frown and for a moment felt a stab of sympathy for the surly young captain. It quickly faded.
Worf shook Janeway's hand and she returned her full attention to him. She began to introduce the legendary Klingon to her other guests. He shook hands solemnly with Hassan. Then he was introduced to Lenara Kahn. His naturally stern expression wavered to an outright scowl, he withdrew his hand and simply nodded once. Her expression was not a great deal more friendly. The scientist knew who he was. She knew of his relationship to Jadzia Dax.
The other members of the party couldn't fail to notice the unexpected hostility between the Trill and the Klingon. Not knowing the reasons, Hassan reacted instinctively by moving protectively between the Klingon and her new friend. Equally tall, the Klingon and the pirate eyeballed each other suspiciously.
Janeway put her hand to her head and rubbed her temple in a pointless attempt to ward off the impending headache that this fraught little gathering was generating. The captain looked around her slowly, taking in the assortment of scowls and glares being exchanged.
Tom and Seven. Worf and Kahn. Hassan and Worf. Chekhov and almost everyone. Seven looked stoic but sad. B'Elanna just looked miserable. Chakotay looked nearly as miserable since Janeway was avoiding him where possible and deliberately misunderstanding his thinly-veiled declarations of affection whenever he did manage to catch-up with her. Meanwhile the assorted crews of the three ships, following their leaders' bad examples, had grouped themselves in bristling packs. The only people apparently enjoying themselves were Neelix and the EMH. Neelix loved any party and was skipping between the different guests with a plate of food balanced on one hand. The EMH had a captive audience in the young CMO from the Vigilant and appeared unaware of the furious antagonisms swelling about him. It was going to be a trying evening.
Starfleet HQ - San Francisco
At Starfleet headquarters a small, group of worried people were meeting for the third time that day. Three of the participants were Starfleet admirals in full scarlet dress uniforms. There were several lower lifeforms from the Starfleet food chain buzzing assiduously around the three admirals. A tall, distinguished-looking being in beautiful, full-length blue robes had seated himself at the head of a very long conference table; he stared impassively at the last attendee at the meeting. Weyoun 14, ambassador to the alpha quadrant, settled into a seat opposite the three admirals. He smiled pleasantly at each of his hosts.
"Mr President, it is very good of you to see me again today. The Founders are still extremely troubled by these recent events. It would be very unfortunate if no explanation of the Federation's apparently criminal behaviour were forthcoming."
The president flicked some imaginary speck from his flowing blue sleeve. He looked up and there was nothing in his voice or manner that would suggest anything but calm and serenity.
"I am very happy to meet with the representative of the Dominion. And I hope after this meeting you will be able to reassure the Founders that matters have been resolved to their, and our, satisfaction."
"You have fresh information?" inquired Weyoun blandly.
The president did not reply immediately. If he hoped to make Weyoun feel uncomfortable then he was to be disappointed. The ambassador's expression indicated no irritation nor impatience. If anything he looked benignly disinterested. He was a smallish man with open guile-free blue eyes, his temperament ideal for a diplomat; then that was the purpose for which he had been bred by his gods, in much the same way that humans bred dogs for hunting or herding. That he, a sentient being, understood his fate and accepted it without feeling aggrieved, simply made him more alien in the eyes of the humans.
At last the president stirred. He spoke carefully. "We have identified the wormhole generator."
Weyoun smiled encouragingly. "That is interesting indeed. Have you perhaps discovered who is responsible?"
"We have. Admiral Hayes ... " said the President, addressing the left most member of the red-coated triumvirate. "Can you please arrange for Doctor Kravitz to be brought before us?"
Weyoun raised an eyebrow. This at least was unexpected.
Hayes signalled to one of the adjutants who was lurking near the door. The officer slipped outside the door and could be heard mumbling something to an unseen person.
Moments later, the door opened and three new figures entered the room followed by the adjutant. Two of the new entrants were burly Starfleet security officers. The third, in the middle, in restraints, was Kravitz. His puffy little face was fearful. He looked up and screamed at the impassive figures seated at the table. "Why are you doing this to me? Why is he here?" He pointed at Weyoun and wailed, an almost inhuman noise. "Dear God! You are going to give me to them!"
The president paid no heed to the stricken man and addressed Weyoun. "I am sorry if this is distressing ambassador. I'm afraid the poor soul is quite mad," said the President compassionately.
Weyoun could not hide the shock he felt looking at the bound man. For once the ambassador was at a loss. "What does ... umm ... how is this unfortunate ... creature ... relevant?"
"The wormhole was created at his instigation" said the President.
"That's a lie," shouted Dr Kravitz.
"Then perhaps you could tell us who was responsible if you were not" asked Weyoun.
Kravitz opened his mouth to speak and then glanced at the middle Starfleet admiral. Whatever he saw in the inscrutable face caused the scientist to snap his mouth shut, his fear-filled gaze returned to the ground. He began to wail pitifully.
"Quite mad," repeated the President and gestured at the two guards to remove their prisoner. When he had gone, the President turned back to his guest. "We will of course share with the Dominion, any information that we can find about this disgraceful conspiracy."
"Including perhaps the scientific research?" inquired Weyoun.
"Of course, though we have little hope of obtaining much information. The research facility was unfortunately destroyed by Kravitz and his henchmen.
"Ah!" Weyoun uttered non-commitally. His pleasant smile did not reveal anything beyond mild interest.
The president rose to leave. "As always ambassador it has been a pleasure." He left the room with solemnity and an air of gravity that eminently suited his position.
The senior admiral also rose to his feet. He smiled wolfishly at the still seated ambassador. "I don't suppose any of that little show will satisfy your masters."
"I suspect not," Weyoun agreed amiably.
The admiral grinned back at him and saluted. "Which of course is as it should be."
Continued in next chapter
Lost and Home by halfofone
Date added: 2005-01-21 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
USS Voyager - somewhere in the Alpha quadrant
B'Elanna was tired. She sat on a couch in the middle of the room, sipping a cold beer and watched her colleagues reluctantly talking to their opposite numbers. Following the awkward start, Janeway had let it be known to her crew that she expected them to mingle, make their guests welcome and behave impeccably. It wasn't voluntary. The captain and Tuvok were policing the whole venture and quickly stepped in wherever conversation drifted into dispute. Any crew member not participating also received a visit from the party police and was clearly given to understand that he or she would either entertain their visitors or spend the next day shining the hull.
Blaming tiredness after her operation, B'Elanna had just slipped away from a heated, though friendly discussion with the engineers from the Defiant and she could already see Tuvok working his way towards her. She sighed and looked for an escape route.
In fairness the engineer had to admit that the captain's tactics were beginning to work and a party atmosphere was forming. In the far corner Tom had risen to the occasion and was leading a fairly rowdy game, the sole object of which, appeared to be kissing other participants. Neelix had managed to find some music from the Delta quadrant which didn't sound like the strangling of dumb animals and that was actually possible to dance to. An area had been cleared to allow this, and taking full advantage, the Delaney sisters had already danced with a statistically significant sample of men and women from each crew. Knowing the twins, B'Elanna rather suspected they would manage a full survey before the night was done. She smiled broadly as Jennifer waved at her and then the twin was swept away in the arms of yet another person.
Even the food had been a success. Neelix had learned a great deal about the tastes of the different races aboard Voyager in seven years and he had become much more successful at meeting those tastes. The only two unhappy crewmen were from the Vigilant and they were both Issaurians and even their friends reassured Neelix that the pair were hard to please. Finally the Talaxian had tried some plain leola root stew (like his mother made) on them and they pronounced it to be delicious. As he explained very earnestly (and not very soberly) to B'Elanna, Neelix could not help but regret that there had been no Issaurians amongst Voyager's crew. Cooking would have been a lot less discouraging. However, he consoled himself, he had at least discovered one race of Alpha quadrant people with whom he shared common tastes and, even more encouragingly, he found the female Issaurian to be rather attractive. Though it might be just his opinion, he rather thought the interest might be returned.
Making her excuses to Neelix, B'Elanna ducked down on the couch in the hope that Tuvok would not see her leave. The only hope of evasion was to dodge through the dancers to the back of the mess-hall and then out into the corridor. Timing her move to coincide with the passage of the conga line led by Megan Delaney - which effectively cut Tuvok off and obscured his view - B'Elanna rose to her feet and dashed as inconspicuously as she could for the door. She groaned in relief as she made it outside into the relative cool and quiet of the corridor. Her relief was short-lived.
"Is there something wrong B'Elanna?" said a worried Borg who had observed her beloved's exit and followed. "Are you unwell?" Seven placed her hand on the half-Klingon's arm. B'Elanna jumped and pulled away. Seven dropped her hand.
"I'm fine," B'Elanna replied unhappily. "I just felt like a little, not fresh air I guess, but less warm air. I'm alright really ... thank you." She avoided Seven's eye and the ex-drone straightened up and backed away.
"I did not mean to intrude," said Seven quietly. "I must return to my duties. The captain has ordered me to keep Captain Worf away from Lenara Kahn and Mira Hassan."
"Duties! Well that's damned funny," B'Elanna snorted slightly and grinned weakly at her former lover. "I heard Harry being told to keep Tom away from you. Some party."
"The captain is very thorough."
Seven started back towards the door when on an impulse, B'Elanna caught her arm and stopped her.
"Don't go back yet, I want to talk to you." She tightened her fingers on the ex-drone's arm, gently restraining her from leaving. Seven cautiously turned back to face her.
"For what purpose?"
"I miss you," said B'Elanna simply. "Come over here and sit with me." Her hand slid down Seven's arm until she took the Borg's hand and then gently led her a few yards down the corridor. B'Elanna slid down against the wall and pulled Seven with her. When they had settled, a few inches separating them, B'Elanna rested their joined hands on her outstretched leg.
"I do not think this is a good idea" Seven commented quietly, turning her head to look down at her lover.
B'Elanna did not answer at first. She was staring at their hands and realising she was holding Seven's Borg hand, something she hadn't otherwise noticed except to shiver with pleasure as Seven's mesh-covered thumb gently stroked circles on her skin. Her old self would have noticed alright, her old self could see nothing of Seven except the Borg. Back then - a few short weeks and a lifetime away - she had been afraid. She was afraid now but not of her lover's wonderful hands.
"I suppose you're right. You usually are. At least we know where the Turing's computer gets its insufferable arrogance." Her half-smile morphed into a frown. "I haven't been down to see that digital pain-in-the-ass since we returned. Why does that make me feel guilty? As if I haven't got enough genuine reasons for guilt." The half-Klingon chanced a quick look at her lover. "I'm so sorry Seven."
Seven shook her head. "Don't be. I am equally responsible. I knew the situation and I allowed us to become involved. If anyone should be held responsible then it is I."
"No way!" B'Elanna spluttered. "I don't want to argue with you about this. What I want ... well ..." dark eyes smiled up, lightened by a touch of mischief. Affectionate amusement warmed Seven's face in return, as she listened to the half-Klingon's confession, "... what I want is to drag you away and make love to you until you can't see straight."
"That would be a worthwhile experiment," Seven concurred. "However, not perhaps practicable in our current circumstances."
B'Elanna shrugged and the sadness returned. "Maybe not but I am not going to let you take responsibility for this, sweetheart."
"We should agree to share the blame" said Seven helpfully, moving closer until their legs and arms were touching lightly.
"Yeah ... why not?" B'Elanna rested her head against the former Borg's upper arm. "We shared the good stuff. Guess it's only right we share the bad."
"Even the pain."
B'Elanna rejected that suggestion. "I don't want to share pain with you, ever. I never wanted you to be hurt" she argued pathetically and glanced up.
"It is alright B'Elanna," Seven reassured quietly, her face only centimetres from her lover, close enough to feel the quick exhale of warm breath on her cheek. Their hands clasped tighter.
"But it's not alright is it?" muttered B'Elanna in a low voice, her eyes dropping to Seven's full lips.
"No it is not," said Seven and closed the remaining space between them.
Soft lips parted under hers, the gentle pressure increasing and then suddenly the touch was withdrawn. Knowing what was coming, Seven closed her eyes tighter and prayed to a God she did not believe in, to be proved wrong. She felt her hand squeezed almost painfully.
"Dammit!" whimpered B'Elanna, "I can't do this. It's wrong. I can't make it right."
Seven did not open her eyes, she felt B'Elanna's hold on her hand slacken and release, then felt the loss of contact against her hip and arm and leg as the half-Klingon stood up. Wishing she could stop her ears, the ex-drone listened unwillingly as her enhanced hearing recorded the next few seconds.
Elevated heart rate; heavier than normal breathing; a slight catch and hesitation as though about to speak; footsteps walking away, pausing, continuing; nothing but the hum of the ship's systems.
She heard another sound and opened her eyes in hope rather than conviction. Tom Paris was standing a few metres away, staring down at her intently.
"Too much synthehol?" he enquired coldly.
"I would not ... you are probably correct Lieutenant," she agreed, too tired and sad to want to argue.
"I'm looking for B'Elanna, my wife." He emphasised the last two words and the muscles in his face tightened. "I don't suppose you've seen her - or perhaps - kissed her recently?"
Seven directed her gaze straight ahead and seriously concentrated on the opposing bulkhead. "You saw us," she asserted.
His lips twisted in a smirk. "Yeah. I saw you. She rejected you."
"Yes she did. You need not concern yourself Lieutenant Paris - I will not approach her again."
He ignored her assurance.
"Tell me one thing Seven of Nine. Do you love her? Can you love her?"
Seven put her head back against the corridor wall and closed her eyes again.
"A cleverly designed machine - that is how you think of me is it not Mr Paris? A machine lacking a few of the fundamental ingredients of humanity." She quoted wearily from the writings of a famous Vulcan scientist. "'There is nothing of note in even the most cleverly designed machine that ten thousand years of life cannot imitate and improve on. Yet the reverse cannot be said to be true.' Maybe you think I am 'trying-out' love as part of another investigation into human sexuality?"
She looked at him enquiringly and was met by hostile incomprehension on the pilot's drawn face.
"I guess," he agreed with an equal mixture of ice and pleasantness.
Seven started to get up and Tom automatically offered his hand. After a nano-second hesitation she took the proffered hand and he helped her to her feet. She looked at him and to his surprise almost smiled.
"I tend to think that my experience of love to date is perhaps better described by another author favoured by Captain Janeway, 'A sheltered life, of well-sieved needs and reasoned want; picked apart by unkempt desire and saffron-flavoured passion.' I am not experimenting, Tom Paris. If I were, believe me, I would have collected quite enough data by now and be moving on to the next project. This experiment would not have been deemed a success."
"But that's what you have to do," Tom insisted, "you have to move on." He grinned unsympathetically as he turned to follow in the footsteps of his wife. "Consider it another lesson learned in humanity Seven - recovering from a broken heart - a lesson that I know well."
The Dominion Diplomatic Commission - somewhere on Earth
Ambassador Weyoun considered the padd before him and slowly his finger descended on the communication channel controls. Seconds later the subspace channel opened and Weyoun bowed deeply to the overhead monitor.
"Report," ordered the small, possibly female, founder.
"The Federation story is not believable, Founder," Weyoun contended, his habitual diplomatic smile temporarily suspended for this conversation. The founders did not appreciate humour in their servants. He continued in the same obsequious voice, "They are more than willing to offer us the heads of the numerous alleged conspirators while denying any knowledge of wormhole generation beyond that which is already widely available. They are claiming that all the relevant technology has been destroyed."
"We require that technology. We will find out who has it and then we will take it. In the meantime agree to their terms and accept their apology."
"Yes Founder." Weyoun bowed deeply again and the channel flipped off.
USS Voyager - somewhere in the Alpha quadrant
The party was going with a swing and had spilled out into the adjoining corridors. Captain Worf had brought a fairly large contingent from the Defiant and after the initial awkwardness the Voyager crew were now enjoying the oddity of socialising with new people outside their own tight little clan. Seven years isolated in the hostile delta quadrant meant there was very little that any member of the crew didn't know about each other. Even the senior officers had detailed knowledge of the complicated tangle of relationships, love affairs and quarrels that had flourished on the small ship. For most of the crew, privacy had been a treasured rarity and secrets impossible. To talk and flirt with strangers was a luxury. However, the absence of the three main actors in the most recent Voyager soap-opera was soon noted by their crew-mates. Faster than light the report reached Captain Janeway.
"I'll check this out Tuvok. I don't want a murder to add to our list of problems."
"I'll come with you Captain," said Chekhov unexpectedly.
It had annoyed Janeway all evening that every time she turned round, the young captain was there watching her, listening to her, waiting for something. An opportunity to punch my lights out I suppose.
"What?" Janeway exclaimed loudly. She moderated the volume. "There is really no need."
"I'm sure there isn't," said Chekhov, "but I would like to anyway. I haven't had a chance to really talk to either Seven of Nine or Lieutenant Torres. I would like to apologise to them both for how they were treated."
Janeway looked at her opposite number suspiciously. The taller woman returned her gaze, giving nothing away.
"Anyway, I would appreciate a tour of Voyager. I haven't seen one of these for a long time. They were all destroyed in the early stages of the war. Lucky you weren't here really."
Janeway gritted her teeth and resisted making a comeback. However her assent was not graceful or welcoming.
"Alright then, if you must, follow me."
The captain of Voyager strode determinedly from the mess-hall, closely followed by Chekhov. Tuvok raised an eyebrow. The Vigilant's doctor observed the departure and the commander's reaction.
"Should we follow?" Bones asked.
"That would be most unwise. Were we to do so, then we might be called on to intervene."
"Right there with you Commander," agreed the medic, grinning. "We should definitely stay here."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chekhov was finding it harder than she expected to keep up with Janeway. The 'tour' was being conducted at the double and without a commentary.
Janeway only spoke aloud once, to ascertain the location of her errant crew from the Voyager computer. Seven was apparently in the shuttle bay and B'Elanna had returned to engineering. Tom Paris was also in engineering. Since the shuttle bay was closer, that was where they were headed first, Chekhov supposed. She knew enough about the layout of Intrepid class ships to guess that was the destination. Janeway said nothing; she marched ahead without uttering a word.
On arrival, Janeway entered the shuttle bay almost too quickly for the automatic doors to open and had to execute a sudden braking stop that left Chekhov colliding with her just inside the entrance. Disturbed by the noise of collision and muffled curses, Seven looked up from where she was sitting on the port stabiliser of the shuttle Turing. Her eyes appeared slightly red-rimmed but she wasn't crying. She clutched a magnetic-field hammer in her left hand.
"Seven," said Janeway, righting herself and moving rapidly towards her, ignoring Chekhov apart from a swift scowl. "Are you alright?"
"No Captain, I am not alright," Seven answered tightly, obviously aggravated by the question. Rudely, she turned her back and resumed repairing the shuttle, staring fixedly at some point on the hull, her knuckles visibly whitened where they clutched the magnetic-field hammer in a death-grip. The ex-drone's voice rose unsteadily until she was almost shouting. "However I am functioning acceptably and it would assist me greatly if everyone would stop asking me how I feel, or if I am alright." She swung the tightly clutched hammer down hard on a loose piece of cowling lying next to her. It crashed to the floor, a sizeable dent apparent in the alloy skin.
"I d..did not mean to interfere Seven ... " stuttered Janeway, completely flustered. " ... or intrude on your privacy. However," she tried to regain some authority, "I don't think it benefits you to sit here brooding and as captain it is my job to ensure you are fit for duty."
Seven glared at her. Given the known volatility of magnetic-field hammers and the previously unsuspected volatility of lovesick Borg, Janeway stepped smartly backwards and stood on Chekhov's foot. The younger captain yelped and fell backward.
"Sorry Chekhov," the captain muttered grudgingly and offered her hand to her scowling guest, who was lying prone on the deck. Chekhov ignored the offer and climbed back to her feet unassisted, flexing and testing her injured foot.
"Since this seems to be a time for apologies, would someone like to apologise to me," said an immediately irritating artificial voice.
After a moment of disorientation, Janeway realised it was the shuttle speaking. It seemed to be complaining ... and at some length.
"It is very unreasonable," the Turing's computer was saying, "to have my over-emotional assistant, disturbed in her work by a horde of line-dancing Starfleet captains (both with two left-feet apparently) driving her to such desperation that she must assault my systems; so although I would like to thank you very much for your visit Captain Janeway, I'm afraid I cannot!"
Humiliated, Janeway sneaked a quick glance at Chekhov. The younger captain was looking equally bemused.
The computer wasn't finished.
"And I have a question for you Seven. Are we still trying to make repairs?" it enquired irritably, "Or are we now engaged in some damnably clever plan which necessarily involves increasing the damage? I would just like to know if there is any rational explanation for your behaviour or if this is just a random burst of mindless violence."
"Computer," growled Seven of Nine, doing a respectable imitation of an angry Klingon, "Desist!" She dropped her hammer on the floor with a clatter and everyone jumped, including the computer, who uttered a nervous beep. Janeway noticed uncomfortably that the duranium handle of the hammer had buckled where Seven had been clutching the shaft.
"Captain, it is I who should be sorry," Seven said stiffly, evidently trying to control herself. "However I believe I would benefit from some time alone."
"Perhaps you should confine her to the brig," muttered Chekhov.
Normally Janeway would have agreed but she was not inclined to give the younger captain any satisfaction, so ended up sounding more placatory then she felt.
"Apology accepted Seven. Just keep out of the way, until you can ... umm ... cope with your feelings. Don't break anything else."
Janeway backed out of the room followed by Chekhov who was limping slightly. As the shuttle bay entrance doors closed they heard an aggrieved mechanical voice complaining.
"That's right! Save yourselves. No-one thinks that I should be protected from Ms Lovelorn of Borg."
Chekhov looked at Janeway.
"And you are really going to permit her insubordination to go unpunished?"
Janeway grunted something that sounded remarkably like 'mind your own damned business' before saying in a clipped, overly contained voice, "Seven repays careful handling. She has saved this ship more than once. Now if you don't mind." She indicated the corridor to the left.
Chekhov inclined her head and stepped aside.
"After you."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The approach to engineering was uneventful except for a few members of the skeleton crew, scuttling away. Janeway felt a slight foreboding as she watched them, all apparently heading for remote and well hidden corners of the engineering empire. 'Like rats,' she noted.
The doors to main engineering shuffled open and Janeway stepped inside, followed by her unwelcome shadow. They barely had time to stand aside for Tom Paris who was apparently leaving engineering at some speed. The pilot paid no attention to his commanding officer.
"You're a damned fool B'Elanna!" he barked angrily from the door. "How can I help you if you won't let me? What kind of a marriage is this?"
A moment later he had gone, long angry strides carrying him around the corner and out of sight.
"Does everyone on this ship march about like that?" enquired Chekhov sweetly. "And do they all ignore you?"
Janeway's glare could have peeled the skin from an orange. She stalked into engineering, ready for war.
B'Elanna sat huddled on the steps beside the warp core. Her head was in her hands and her shoulders were shaking slightly. Janeway came to another abrupt, appalled, halt. B'Elanna looked up and quickly wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
"Sorry Captain." She sounded choked. "How can I help you?"
"Just passing." lied the captain casually. "I wondered why you left the party - if you needed any help here?"
"Just a little tired after the operation Captain..." lied the chief engineer in return, "...and there are a few little things I wanted to check."
"Ah! Of course. Would you like me to get the EMH? If you're not feeling well..." inquired Janeway, mortally embarrassed.
"No. I don't think so. I'll just turn in if you don't mind Captain." B'Elanna sniffed.
"Of course. I'll see you tomorrow. Briefing 8 am." Janeway reminded her uncertainly.
"Yes Captain."
Janeway and Chekhov, who was barely suppressing a smirk, made for the doors. Once outside Chekhov began to grin broadly.
"I have to ask Captain Janeway," Chekhov managed, biting her cheek to prevent herself laughing, "is Voyager always such an emotionally turbulent ship? It must be very draining." Janeway looked mortified and the younger captain had to lean against the wall, as laughter finally overtook her.
"Yes, I'm sure it's very amusing Captain Chekhov."
Irritated, Janeway rounded on her counterpart. "I don't understand why you wanted to follow me around anyway?"
"And miss all of that?" Chekhov's effort to control herself fell apart again. She started to choke. Janeway banged her on the back, probably slightly harder than needed. Eventually the young captain managed to stop laughing and coughing long enough to reply.
"Actually Janeway, I'll admit I was curious. When I first met your crew members I couldn't imagine what kind of captain could control such a motley bunch of non-Starfleet personnel. I wanted to see you in action ... " Chekhov started to laugh again and this time, despite herself, Janeway also grinned, if a little shamefacedly. It had been a woeful demonstration of authority.
"I was off form today" she admitted. "You were right earlier, I'm not used to having people around who won't take my orders or who try to give me orders; it throws me off balance." She smiled more warmly. "Actually I think I'm going to quite enjoy being with equals again - that is something I missed in the delta quadrant."
Chekhov had stopped laughing. Her expression was friendly, if a little mocking and Janeway felt suddenly released. It was good being with someone for whom she did not have responsibility.
The captain's smile slipped when she noticed a movement past Chekhov's shoulder and observed Commander Chakotay heading towards them, a warm smile in his eyes. Watching Janeway's face, Chekhov noticed the slight expression of panic and sobered up immediately, wondering to herself, what on earth could be wrong now.
"Kathryn," said the solid-looking second-in-command. "I wonder if I could have a word in private about a personal matter."
"A..Actually, I need to get back to our guests, Commander. Are you sure it can't wait."
"Kathryn, I just need five-minutes," he pleaded.
Janeway's panic accelerated along with her voice. "I'm sure what you have to say is more important than that, Chakotay. You really shouldn't rush it."
He was about to disagree when apparently he thought better of it and nodded his acceptance. "Of course, you are right Kathryn. We should savour the occasion."
Janeway cringed, though whether her reaction was triggered by his sincerity or her insincerity she honestly could not have said. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed Chekhov trying hard not to laugh again.
"I think Commander, we should schedule some time when we can discuss what ever it is properly. If you see me tomorrow, we can arrange an appointment for some other time." Janeway smiled kindly at the big man. He looked a little disappointed as her words sank in but fortunately, years of obedience won the day. He saluted Chekhov, who was mysteriously biting her lip, apparently in some pain, and then he started back towards the deck 12 turbolift. The two captains waited until he had disappeared.
Janeway exhaled slowly and glanced reluctantly at her companion who was no longer bothering to hide her smirk. The tall, dark and handsome captain eyed Janeway humourously.
"Am I right in thinking what I am thinking?"
"Probably," said Janeway, embarrassed again and wondering if her super-nova of a headache would count as reasonable excuse for going straight to her bed.
"Then I take it all back. You must have ruled with a rod of iron." Chekhov whistled quietly. "How long has he been ... "
"Seven years."
"Seven years! And you're asking him not to rush. Good God! What is he made of?"
"He's very spiritual."
"Don't you mean dead?" exclaimed Chekhov, almost in disgust.
"Look, there was no way I could have accepted a relationship with anyone while we were in the Delta quadrant, even if I had wanted to. He knew that."
"That was convenient! Just be grateful that he wasn't me," snorted Chekhov. "No way I'd have waited seven years, stuck in the back of beyond, to tell a woman I wanted her."
"Yes, well that would have been sad," retorted Janeway. "Because I would have said no to you as well and then, no doubt, would have had to watch you sulk all the way home through the Delta quadrant."
"Me sulk? I do not," denied Chekhov and smiled quickly at Janeway. The latter felt a sudden and only barely remembered flutter course down her body and seemingly settle in her loins. She swallowed hard as her conscious mind took in what her body had already noticed: tall, dark, lean as a whip, an arrogant and beautiful face of sharp planes and shadows, grey-eyes that seemed to look right into you. This was bad.
Janeway's comm badge chirruped. Dry-mouth, she croaked "Janeway here."
"There is an admiral on an emergency Starfleet channel for you captain."
"Divert it to my ready-room. I'm on my way." Janeway didn't look Chekhov in the face.
"Sadly I'll have to leave you Captain," she mumbled. "I suppose you can find your own way back?"
"I think I can manage" said Chekhov, bemused by the sudden distance. "And thank you for the tour. I can't remember enjoying one so much." She grinned cheekily but got no answering response. Janeway seemed distracted, looking everywhere except at Chekhov. The young captain felt strangely disappointed. "I'm fine. See you at the briefing tomorrow."
Janeway didn't answer, already en-route to her ready room in mind and body. As she walked away, Chekhov wondered again at how small the Starfleet captain appeared.
The United Federation of Planets' Presidential Office
"Do you suppose that the Founders will believe our story Admiral?" asked the President, unblinking as he stared at the small white ball on the state room carpet.
"Unlikely Mr President; they will want to find our missing link; to find out what we know."
The president carefully swung his gravity- enhanced driver in a perfect arc. It made contact with the little ball which accelerated straight through the wall festooned with portraits of past presidents and into the sky outside. The president tracked its movements on the course monitor, towards the target some 800 metres distant. He felt some satisfaction as the ball arrived within ten metres of the target.
"That must not happen Admiral," said the president lining up his final shot. "Find her first and eliminate her."
"That may be difficult, diplomatically, Mr President."
"I have every confidence in your abilities," said the most powerful man in the Alpha quadrant. He pressed a button on the club and the walls vanished, leaving him with a clear sight of the objective. "You may leave now Admiral. I'm sure you have much to do.
Continued in next chapter
Lost and Home by halfofone
Date added: 2005-01-21 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
USS Voyager - somewhere in the Alpha quadrant
Restless after the party and another threatening conversation with yet another admiral, Janeway stalked the night-lit corridors of her ship. It all seemed monumentally unjust. To get this far and then have everything taken away: her ship, her friends, her freedom even. Unwillingly she realised that a selfish part of her wished they had stayed in the Delta quadrant. She passed two crewmen who were laughing and joking. They would see their families the day after tomorrow. She supposed it was a reasonable exchange: their happiness for hers. This last thought struck her as so pathetic that she immediately reacted against it. 'Drop the self pity Janeway. Poke your nose into someone else's problems instead.'
"Computer locate Tom Paris," she commanded aloud.
LIEUTENANT PARIS IS IN HOLODECK 1.
"Is he alone?"
NO. ENSIGNS KIM, DELANEY, DELANEY, TAL, ... "
Not alone then.
"Enough," she interrupted. " Location of B'Elanna Torres?"
LIEUTENANT TORRES IS IN ENGINEERING.
Janeway frowned. Either B'Elanna was working really hard to solve some unreported problem or she too was avoiding going home, and as for Seven - Janeway had not seen the ex-drone this unhappy since she separated her from the Borg collective. Two more people who would have been happier if Voyager had not come back to the Alpha quadrant.
It was equally apparent that Tom was not finding the return easy either. Since he was likely to be more manageable than B'Elanna, she decided to check up on him first. She headed for deck 6 and holodeck 1.
The doors of the holodeck slid open automatically and the familiar sight of Sandrine's greeted her. It was quite noisy with a large number of officers, many from the other ships, gathered around the pool table. Her own crew saluted her enthusiastically when she was spotted standing in the doorway. She gracefully refused several offers of drinks and was going to leave when she saw Tom Paris sitting alone in a dark corner with a row of glasses sitting in front of him. The captain felt her eyebrows rise - it wouldn't do for the senior pilot to go on a bender just the day before they made their grand entrance at Starfleet HQ in San Francisco.
In 36 hours time Voyager was scheduled to land on the front lawn where they would be greeted by a fireworks display, two orchestras, most of the senior admiralty plus a large number of senior politicians and a horde of relatives, who were being shipped in from around the quadrant with as much speed as Starfleet could manage. The Federation government was determined that Voyager's return to earth was going to be a publicity dream, quashing any unpleasant rumours. The admiral had been quite expansive on the subject of the reception even after he had finished telling Janeway that she had no future as a Starfleet officer.
Even so the captain was adamant that no-one was going to fault her officers or her ship, so she marched determinedly up to the pilot who was staring morosely along the line of glasses, most empty, some not.
"All of those yours Tom?" she enquired mildly and pulled up a seat.
"Feel free to take one Captain. In fact I insist you join me in a drink."
He raised a glass to her.
"Here's to the smartest, bravest, craziest captain in Starfleet." He took a swig.
"Tom!" exclaimed Janeway, slightly shocked at his familiarity.
"I mean it as a compliment Captain." He smiled weakly and then his face slipped back into miserable contemplation of the glass in his hand. "Of course in some ways this is all your fault. You kept bringing the Borg back, didn't you Captain?"
Janeway stood up, annoyed by the attempt to embroil her in his personal misfortunes. It seemed at the moment as though everyone wanted to hold her responsible for their ills.
"I'm sorry that you're having problems Tom but you're still an officer on this ship and I expect you to behave like one. I want you sober and ready for duty tomorrow or you'll return to Earth in the brig. Is that clear?"
The sharpness in her tone pierced his befogged brain and he was immediately contrite. "Sorry Captain. You're right of course but please have one drink with me. Then I'll turn in." He smiled up at her and this time it was genuine.
Always a sucker for the Tom Paris charm, Janeway shook her head in resignation and sat down again. She smiled back at him. Whatever his faults Tom Paris was a good friend and at this moment she needed that perhaps more than she had in the previous seven years.
"Just the one then Tom. But I'll take a whisky"
"Rough day?" he asked after signalling to the waiter to bring the captain her drink.
"You don't know the half of it."
Her drink arrived and she took a sip. The warmth burnt its way down her throat. She felt a compulsion to share a few of her woes. Normally she would have talked to Chakotay but that wasn't possible any longer. She still hesitated, unsure about saying anything to a junior officer then Tom wasn't exactly an ordinary Starfleet officer - a Starfleet brat like herself - he understood what it meant to be kicked out of the Starfleet family better than anyone else aboard. She took a larger sip of whisky.
"You are drinking with the woman soon to be known as ... Captain Kathryn Janeway (Retired). It's your privilege to be the first to know."
She toasted him and started to force a smile. Instead she was annoyed to find tears pricking at her eyes. She tried to cover her distress with a joke. "At least after tomorrow I won't have to concern myself with your behaviour, so I suppose there is an upside."
Tom wasn't fooled.
"They can't dismiss you!" he exclaimed. "That's totally unfair."
"No, I'm to retire Tom. There's a difference, or at least that's what they tell me." Bitterness and the warming whisky weakened her reserve. "And they did give me a choice: retire or be court-martialled along with every senior officer aboard Voyager, the Vigilant and the Defiant also. There were also some vague threats about the former Maquis, Neelix and Seven of Nine. Apparently this way I won't disgrace my father's memory either."
"Bastards."
"Bastards," echoed Janeway with a tired smile. She lifted her glass in another mock toast and knocked back the contents. Tom waved at the barman for another.
"So what are your problems then Tom?"
He wrinkled his nose.
"B'Elanna, B'Elanna and B'Elanna."
"Tough problems," mused Janeway. They sat in silence for several minutes, drinking in woeful companionship.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven leaned wearily against the Turing's hull. She had been working on the little ship for six hours, trying to lose herself in the physical labour. It had been partially successful. She found that as long as she could hold the entire schematic designs for the Turing in the front of her memory there was no room for other thoughts. The only trouble was that the moment she ceased to concentrate, memories of dark eyes and dark hair and soft-skin pushed into her mind. She had not realised that memories could actually cause almost physical pain.
"Seven?" a voice interrupted her thoughts.
Mira Hassan stood inside the door of the shuttle bay with her arm loosely wrapped around Lenara Kahn. The Trill was leaning against the pirate.
"I hoped I'd find you here," Mira said.
"How can I help you Commander Hassan?"
"Do you always do repair work, dressed like that?" Seven glanced down at her silver bodysuit, she hadn't changed since the party. Several large scorch marks were apparent, where the heat from the welding phasers had reflected back. She had to admit to herself that her dress was probably not practical for refitting a ship, especially given the degree of manual work involved.
"I'm glad you were the one to mention that Commander," interrupted the computer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Is she going to leave you?" the Captain asked bluntly, ending the long lull in conversation. The fifth glass of whisky had eased her tongue.
"No," Tom answered slowly, drawing out the syllable, "...no she's not. On that point my wife is quite firm. Captain, have you ever owned a pet? Cat, dog, something like that?"
She nodded, puzzled by the question.
"And have you ever had one that was suffering Captain, suffering so bad that you had to put it down? You love it but you know it's got to die because it's not fair to make it continue to live." He scowled into his beer before taking a swig. "Well that's my marriage Captain. It needs putting down."
"Then you have to leave her," said Janeway logically, lifting her sixth glass to her lips.
"You mean leave her exactly the way her father left her mother complete with small daughter." He shook his head. "It would kill her pride, the same way it killed her mother's. It's really hard to end Klingon marriages Captain. Unwritten rules decide who is dishonoured in any circumstance that you or I could imagine and some beside."
Tom chugged his beer and Janeway followed suit. The pilot glared at the empty glass and remembered the heated words from earlier that evening. "B'Elanna may not be all Klingon but she has enough pride for ten Klingons and she isn't going to let this go Captain."
"So what are you going to do Tom?" The captain signalled for two more drinks.
"Is that wise Captain," he queried as the drinks arrived.
"Don't be such a baby Tom. Now what are you planning to do?"
"My plan, my basic plan ... ," he paused to take a drink and then slumped back in his seat. "I don't have a plan Captain ... I don't know what to do. But I can't bear watching her suffer."
"Tom," Janeway put her arm around her pilot's shoulders. "Have I taught you nothing? Break it down. Break it down. You can't leave her. She can't leave you. Stop me if this gets too complicated." She swallowed a large mouthful of whisky and grimaced slightly. "Sorry, where was I?"
"We can't leave each other," he prompted gloomily.
"Yeah. That's right. Right! It's not good issit? It's a damn bloody mess." She shook her head sadly, tipped up her drink and looked at the empty glass with disappointed surprise. "Short measures they serve here." She stood up to beckon the waiter and staggered slightly. "Whoa! I better sit this one out. Waiter, one for my friend here and just a water for me." She settled back again and gazed thoughtfully at her empty whisky glass.
"Okay let's start again. You love B'Elanna, B'Elanna loves Seven, Seven loves B'Elanna, I love Sev ... eral people. Don't even go there Katie" she murmured to herself and paused to take a drink, looking very disappointed when she realised that it was water. "Tell you what Tom, seems like everyone loves B'Elanna. There! That's the problem." Grinning in lopsided triumph, the captain took a long pull from Tom's newly arrived beer. Tom stared at her with drunken resignation and signalled the waiter for a repeat.
"I think I got that far Captain."
"Call me Kathryn. See what you have to do Tom ... is to fall in love with someone else." He looked doubtful and Janeway poked him in the chest and snorted. "No, not really you dope. B'Elanna has to think you do and that the other woman loves you in return. Then being B'Elanna she'll do the noble thing and stand aside to make you happy. She won't do it for herself but she'll do it for you." Janeway frowned. "Course she may break every bone in your body first but issaplan innit?"
"Dunno. It might work. Seems kinda simple though." Tom scrunched up his face. "But Cap...thryn, there's a problem. Just a teeny weeny one."
"What?" mumbled Janeway with an expression of disappointed annoyance, the sort of look she reserved for anyone with the temerity to question her plans, whether those entailed ending a failing marriage or traversing an enemy's empire.
"I don't think I know any women tha' stupid." said Tom helplessly. "Who would be dumb enough to take that kind of risk with Lanna?"
Janeway poked him in the chest again and grinned drunkenly. "Don' be so defeatist Tom. Course you do. Hell I'll do it myself."
"You!" He started laughing.
"Me!" She slapped him on the back, sank the remnants of her drink in one swallow and stared into space with steely satisfaction. Tom had seen that look before and he wasn't sure whether to be grateful or afraid. An alliance with Kathryn Janeway could be a double edged sword. He waved at the waiter and gestured at their empty glasses.
Janeway's comm badge chirruped. She pulled it off her jacket and glared at it.
"Can't they ever leave me alone?"
"Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway. I need to see you Captain."
"Is this important Seven? I mean can it wait?" Janeway's voice sounded unnaturally emphasised with the effort of not slurring her words.
"It can wait Captain if you are unavailable. Are you alright? You sound strange."
Tom grabbed the badge and yelled at it.
"No she's not alright. So leave her alone."
"Mr Paris. What is happening?" The Borg sounded very concerned.
Janeway snatched the badge back.
"It's okay Seven. Tom and I are just having a little drink."
"I am on my way Captain. Seven out."
"No! Dammit!" Janeway threw her badge in Tom's glass where it sank with a satisfying fizzing noise. She stared at it. "Don' think I shoulda done that. Destroying Starfleet property. That's another few years in chokey." She giggled as Tom tried unsuccessfully to fish out the metal badge. Finally he gave up and drank the beer down to the bottom and then turned the badge out on the table. She cheered and finished her own drink as quickly.
"There you go Kathryn. I'll just put this back on for you." He fumbled with the comm badge, trying to pick it up from the table and then pinned it on his own chest and smiled with satisfaction. "There that's better. Now I've got a spare."
"Good idea Tom." Janeway nodded approvingly and turned the badge right way up - she always liked a show of initiative from her officers. The waiter produced two more drinks and the Captain and Tom toasted each other again.
Seven and B'Elanna appeared beside their table. Neither woman looked remotely happy to see the two drunken officers.
"Uh oh!" murmured Janeway and sank down in her chair trying to make herself inconspicuous. Tom focused his eyes with some difficulty on the new arrivals.
"Lanna!" He jumped back in his seat. "What brought you here?"
"Seven called me. She said it sounded like you and the Captain were in trouble." B'Elanna folded her arms. "It would appear she was correct."
"Tom," hissed Janeway, leaning over against his chair. "This is your chance. Go for it."
Tom gazed at her stupidly. She prodded him again and inclined her head towards B'Elanna. At last Tom's bewilderment gave way to a lopsided smirk of understanding. He nodded, stood up shakily, pulled the Captain to her feet and put his arm around her. She leaned into him and leered up at his face before her head lolled back on his shoulder. They both staggered slightly and for a few seconds it was doubtful they would stay upright. B'Elanna's scowl deepened.
"We want you to know. She's in love," Tom said stiffly though still swaying precariously. Seven and B'Elanna looked confused so he added helpfully. "With me ..... you know ..... Captain Janeway ... and me."
"What are you talking about Tom?" Even drunk, he could see that B'Elanna was very exasperated and possibly murderously angry. Tom Paris lifted his chin. He wasn't afraid of her.
"We're in love" he proclaimed. Kathryn slightly dented the impact of the announcement by sniggering loudly into his shoulder.
"What the hell are you talking about Tom?"
"Well it's true, so you see you don't have to stay with me Lanna. You can divorce me and marry Seven." His voice became softer and more sincere. "That's what you want isn't it? Please Lanna I want you to be happy. This is just all wrong, you pretending that you don't love her. It will destroy us all. Please baby. Forget all this honour and dishonour nonsense. Follow your heart."
Janeway frowned and turned her head to whisper in his ear. "Too much information Mr Paris. I think you blew it. Plus you insulted her sense of honour." It was loud enough for both the Borg and the half-Klingon to hear or indeed any other being with ears within twenty yards. Seven's quirked her implant, a small smile playing over her lips.
"A peculiar intervention ... but I believe they are trying to help us B'Elanna."
"You know I think you're right." B'Elanna ran her fingers through her hair, her anger had vanished. She looked perplexed instead. "So what do we do now? This is ... silly!"
"I believe the ball is in your court my love." Seven touched B'Elanna's arm gently and took her hand. Hope and fear fluttered over the ex-drone's face.
B'Elanna looked confused. "It isn't that simple. I can't ..... I'll have to think." She glanced away from her lover's obvious hurt. "I have to go."
The half-Klingon was on her way out the door but Seven's impulse to follow her lover was frustrated as loud voices from the entrance announced the arrival of a new group of people including Worf, Chekhov and Lenara Kahn. Seven glared at them. What fool had thought of bringing them into Sandrine's. Tuvok and Chakotay appeared from behind the throng.
"Seven of Nine, do you know where the captain is?" asked Tuvok. "Her comm badge does not appear to be functioning."
"It might be better if you did not pursue that question Commander" she warned. The two senior officers looked puzzled and came closer. As they did Seven shrugged and stepped back to reveal Janeway, still leaning against Tom Paris. Chakotay stepped forward and clenched his fists.
"Kathryn, what the hell are you doing?"
Janeway blinked uncertainly and grimaced.
"Oh God, now we're in trouble Tommy. He's not going to be amused." She snorted and clutched at Tom's arm. They both began to giggle.
"Commander, they've been drinking." Seven interjected.
"You don't say?" he replied sarcastically.
"Believe me, it is not how it appears," she tried again. "I was just going to take the captain back to her quarters."
"I think that would be wise," agreed Tuvok. Unfortunately at that moment the captain was spotted by the visitors who started over to pay their respects.
"Captain Janeway," acknowledged Captain Worf. "We wanted to wish you good night."
A look of comic horror passed over the captain's face as she picked out Worf from the sea of faces swimming in front of her and then Chekhov.
"Captain Worf. Captain Chekhov. Nishe of you to visit." She lurched backwards and Tom Paris had to expend some effort to prevent them collapsing in a heap.
"You are not well Captain?" Worf enquired politely. Chekhov was a deal less diplomatic and was having trouble hiding her amusement.
"Perhaps you should sit down Captain Janeway," she murmured considerately while grinning hugely. "Although you are obviously being well looked after." Even filtered through the alcohol haze, Janeway was annoyed by Chekhov's knowing look; she made an effort to regain control.
"No I'm fine, thank you. This was a ... practical joke. However I believe our subterfuge is no longer necessary. Mr Paris, you can release me."
"Yes of course," he stammered and abruptly let the Captain go, falling back in his chair; Janeway swayed violently and several people rushed forward to catch her. Captain Chekhov got there first and found her arms full. Grateful for the support Janeway relaxed against the younger captain before she had fully realised who her rescuer was.
"This is nice," murmured Janeway appreciatively.
Chekhov smiled down at her. "It's okay Janeway. I've got you. Perhaps I should help you back to your quarters." There was a collective gasp from the Voyager crew; even Tuvok moved closer.
"That will not be necessary Captain Chekhov," said Seven of Nine tightly. "I have her, thank you." Seven took a firm grip of the captain's elbow. Chekhov took the hint and dropped her hands. She stepped away allowing Seven to effortlessly pick up the small captain and carry her out of Sandrines.
"Protective aren't they," murmured Mira Hassan to no-one in particular.
There was a crash behind them as Tom Paris fell back into a stack of chairs. Chakotay stood over him glowering.
"How the hell did this happen Paris? What did you do to her?"
"Oh back off and cut her some slack. She got a little drunk is all." Tom retaliated, rubbing his jaw.
"Not exactly normal is it? This stinks of you Paris."
"Well it's not every day she's stripped of her command in order to save you all from prison and disgrace" Tom shouted angrily. Chakotay looked really shaken.
"They can't do that."
"Aaah. I guess that's worse than being shipped out as a special representative on a five year mission to the most far flung, boring and peaceful planet in the Federation," said Chekhov with some feeling. "What was your ultimatum Worf?"
"I am to be transferred to Federation regulation and discipline section."
"Ouch!" Chekhov winced. "Prison warder. Looks like they got us all."
"Why on earth would Starfleet should go to this trouble to remove three of its captains from active service?" asked Lenara Kahn. "It doesn't guarantee your silence."
"Three reasons," said Chekhov and counted them off on her fingers. "One: as humiliating examples to other captains of what can happen if you disobey orders even if you are subsequently proved right. Two: Starfleet avoids a full court martial and the inevitable disclosure of embarrassing truths. Three: and most importantly, if you want to quietly dispose of someone, a serving Starfleet captain is not a good choice. She is important and well protected, certainly more so than an ex-officer, a glorified messenger and a prison guard."
"Are you suggesting that Starfleet intends to 'dispose' of the Captain." Tuvok experienced a certain disappointment at even considering such a failure in the standards of the organisation to which he had devoted the greater part of his life.
"It would be a tactically strong course of action" Worf agreed with his colleague.
"Captains, may I suggest we defer this discussion until tomorrow," said Tuvok as he hauled Tom off the floor, "when a full meeting can be convened including Captain Janeway?"
"Agreed," said Worf. "We meet at 08:00 hours."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Janeway was finding it hard to understand why she was being carried like a baby by her astrometrics officer. Unfortunately her attention was rather taken up at this moment by a violent urge to part with her stomach.
"I need to stop."
"We are very near your quarters captain. I will stop there."
"NO! NOW!"
A quick glance at her captain's face and Seven set the smaller woman on her feet and supported her as she leaned against the corridor wall.
After a few seconds Seven tapped her comm badge. "Cleaning detail to corridor on deck 5."
Janeway righted herself, still looking a little green.
"Today has not been one of my best Seven," she mumbled a little indistinctly, "and I rather suspect tomorrow isn't going to be much better."
Seven took her elbow and guided her the last few yards to her quarters. "I cannot say that this has been a good day for me either Captain."
Slightly distracted from her spinning skull, Janeway stopped to peer up at the tall ex-borg. "You wanted to speak to me earlier didn't you? Is something wrong?"
"It can wait. It was personal."
Janeway took in the sad expression. "No it can't. Come in and tell me about it while I freshen up. A large coffee and I'll be fine." She staggered slightly and Seven steadied her. "Well better anyway."
A few minutes later Janeway was settled in her chair with a mug of coffee clutched in unsteady hands.
"So what did you want to tell me?"
"I want to leave Voyager."
"What are you saying?" Janeway shook her addled head. She was still having some trouble deciphering sounds and the ex-drone's words made no sense at all. It sounded as though she said she wanted to leave Voyager.
"I wish to leave the ship," Seven repeated. Janeway gaped stupidly at her as the ex-drone explained further, "there is nothing here for me now and I am concerned that Starfleet will regard me as a threat or worse. Mira Hassan has offered me employment and a safe haven ..."
"Seven this is silly. Didn't you understand that Tom is prepared to let B'Elanna go?"
"But she is not prepared to let him go. Her reaction to your performance has confirmed my fears."
"What on earth did she say to you to cause this?" Janeway was racking her brains to remember what on earth B'Elanna could have done or said to drive Seven away.
"She had to think about it" said Seven unhappily. "Captain if she doesn't change her mind when the last obstacle to our relationship has declared that he doesn't want her, then when would she do so? Perhaps her marriage is just an excuse ..."
"For goodness sake Seven. B'Elanna is just being stubborn. You know what she is like!" The captain sat up a little too energetically and had to subside back rather quickly. "Just speak to her Seven." The captain lay back and closed her hazy eyes, her breathing deepened. Seven regarded the dozing red-head sorrowfully.
"I think she does not want me anymore, it might be that her old dislike of me has resurfaced - I don't know - however I do not think I can stand to be rejected again. I will miss you Captain."
Continued in next chapter
Lost and Home by halfofone
Date added: 2005-01-21 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
A Dominion Warship on Diplomatic Duties
Weyoun smiled at the Jem Ha'dar commander. The soldier glared back with the cold unchanging expression of his clan.
"And you are certain that Professor Kahn is aboard the Hassan Inc. vessel and the reclaimed Borg with her."
"Our agent was very certain when we spoke. He saw both women come aboard."
"That is indeed very helpful commander. We will intercept the smugglers' ship at the co-ordinates given. No unnecessary bloodshed commander. These pirate vessels have been very useful to us. I do not wish to imperil our agent. If the news got out it might make other informers less willing to assist us."
"Understood ambassador" growled the Jem Ha'dar.
The shuttle Bay - USS Voyager
B'Elanna lowered herself through the Turing's top hatch. The little ship still bore the marks of its recent adventures but the running repair programs were visible in the form of diagnostics scrolling down several viewscreens.
"Computer. Estimate time until you are functional."
"Hard to say," answered the computer imprecisely. "It depends what is expected of me: an hour for a quick flight around Voyager or several to be fit for fleeing from Starfleet."
B'Elanna did not reply, she wandered over to the engineering console and punched a few keys distractedly, hardly noticing the responses.
The computer waited a few moments before enquiring. "Are you here to lend a hand Lieutenant or are you hiding?"
B'Elanna was disconcerted by the accurate guess. "Both," she replied gruffly and honestly. "What makes you so intuitive all of a sudden?"
"I have deduced that you do not seek the pleasure of my company, since you have successfully resisted the urge to visit me since our arrival on Voyager. Therefore only two things could bring you my way: I am needed for some ill-advised and probably fatal mission and must get the Turing spaceworthy, or alternatively, your colourful personal life has made it difficult for you to remain on Voyager. Of the two I strongly suspect the latter to be the correct explanation."
B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "Is there some kind of natural law that says artificial personalities must annoy the hell out of everyone?"
"From my perspective the reverse appears true," replied the computer tartly, "and since you are here, perhaps you could help me understand something which I find very irrational and hence annoying? I am curious Lieutenant as to why you are so ready to be unhappy?"
Since this was the subject at the top of B'Elanna's mind she had an answer ready.
"Happiness is not everything. Other things are more important."
"Such as .... ?"
B'Elanna stroked the hard surface of the console as she slowly reiterated the list she had been repeating to herself for days, "Loyalty, honouring promises, sticking by your family."
"Very worthy" said the computer. "And the unhappiness of Seven of Nine, Lieutenant Paris and yourself is a fair exchange! Tell me though, Lieutenant Torres, who exactly is going to benefit from your honourable behaviour?"
"That's not the point," B'Elanna countered, "and anyway my husband is not unhappy." The computer snorted derisively, forcing B'Elanna to add in defence, "I know I've hurt him but he knows that I will put our marriage first and he is satisfied with that."
"I cannot agree with your analysis and nor does he."
"What in Kahless' name do you know about Tom's feelings or mine or Seven's? Have you been talking to Seven?" B'Elanna challenged angrily.
"No. Although I have tried."
"You should mind your own business."
The computer was not going to be diverted. "Remaining in a marriage to which you are only half-committed and where the other party is fully cognizant that he is second best would appear to be both dishonest and ultimately futile. How can it prosper?"
"We would get over this in time." B'Elanna frowned. It sounded weak even to her. The computer pounced on the uncertainty.
"How will you get over it?" it quizzed relentlessly. "Are you going to forget the love of your life or is Mr Paris going to stop caring that you don't really want to be touched by him or even to talk to him. His amusing and somewhat desperate attempt with Captain Janeway to let you off the hook, was motivated by deep unhappiness at watching you suffer and by his feeling of helplessness. I may add that the captain has also concluded that a divorce is in your best interests."
"How do you know all this stuff and how do you know about that stupid stunt if Seven hasn't told you?" There was an awkward silence. B'Elanna, pleased to get the computer on its metaphorical back foot and off the subject of her relationships, said firmly "Computer I expect an answer."
"Cognitive processing units have malfunctioned. The computer is unable to process your request."
"Rubbish," she retorted. " You don't fool me for a moment. You've been prying into the crew's personal logs."
The computer gave up the pretence of malfunction and said in the aggrieved tone of a burglar caught red-handed. "I'm a data processing machine at heart. I was bored so I processed some data." It added airily, "I do not understand why you are getting so upset, the crew logs gave a fascinating insight into ...."
"It didn't occur to your tiny silicon brain that there is a reason the personal log data is heavily encrypted. Namely: that data is none of your damn business!"
"There was a modicum of challenge getting past Voyager's security and encryption but I really do not see why the trivial and self important ramblings of individual crew members should be regarded as sufficiently important for the level of security. The additional encryption levels only drew my attention."
"You have been spending too much time with criminals."
"I'll admit I wanted to know what was going on. I was irritated, watching Seven of Nine weeping day after day and not having any idea of what was happening, and you are changing the subject," said the computer changing the subject. It paused as though for thought and then quoted with a flourish. 'She fills my soul; without her I am empty and alone.'
There was silence. B'Elanna's head shot up, her face a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
"In case you don't recognise the quote Lieutenant," said the computer, "those are your words spoken to your log yesterday at 22 hundred hours. Now, appalling prose aside, do they sound like the words of someone who is going to 'get over it'?" The computer snorted; pleased with itself and amused at her discomfort.
It was too much for B'Elanna, who was now totally enraged. She yelled at the bleeping control panels, "Computer! Shut the fuck up or I swear I will reprogramme you for stores control."
"Threats are the resort of someone who is losing the argument" said the computer unabashedly. "Let me put this problem in a way that we both understand."
"Yeah right! And that would be?"
"An advanced engine is designed, making the best possible use of the technology available, but if a new technology is discovered that completely revolutionises engine design, then, no matter how good the previous design was in terms of the old technology, it will always be less good than the new design. This is irreducible fact."
"A relationship is not the same as an engine design," protested B'Elanna.
"In what way is it not?" asked the computer rhetorically, in the manner of a rather pompous high-school teacher. "A good engine design marries the best available components in an efficient and effective unit. Let me continue," it snapped, cutting off B'Elanna who had opened her mouth to object. Now completely absorbed in its own argument, the computer pushed on relentlessly with the analogy. "You have experienced an irreversible upgrade in your expectations of what a relationship can deliver. A complete technology shift. The old relationship can never compete."
"Computer it is not the same. Ending a marriage because you have found someone better is self-serving and dishonourable."
"If Mr Paris was prepared to keep you at any price and you were honestly able to love him at least as much as you did previously, then that might be true. However I see no evidence that he is willing to remain part of an inferior relationship design that is degrading and where the maintenance costs are likely to be impossibly high. I would suggest you discuss this with him rather than assuming that you know best."
"What about my daughter? She shouldn't have to suffer because her parents have selfishly split up."
"Are you suggesting that Mr Paris would abandon his daughter or that Seven of Nine would be anything less than superb as a parent?"
"No, of course not. But I know what it's like for a child to have her father walk out."
"And I predict with 98.9% certainty that if you remain with Mr Paris your daughter will share that experience and possibly in circumstances that will ensure he abandons you both completely."
That hit home. B'Elanna stared numbly at the blinking consoles.
"I can't believe I am getting counselling from a computer!" she muttered slowly.
"Not just any computer," it countered smoothly, "I am the synthesis of your expertise and that of Seven of Nine."
"And you think that relationship advice from a computer formed by a half-Klingon engineer and a Borg is reliable."
"To an accuracy of 0.004%" said the computer smugly. "I am after all programmed to fix broken things, applying both logic and intuition to what I have learned. And one thing I have learned Lieutenant, is that you and Seven of Nine are perfectly matched components."
B'Elanna sat down and gazed at the controls. "I will talk to Tom and Seven" she said slowly. "You are right about one thing computer. This should not be my decision alone. Damn it's eight o' five. I'm late." She rose and walked aft to the topside hatch just in time to hear the alert klaxon start its mournful barking.
YELLOW ALERT ALL CREW TO REPORT FOR DUTY
B'Elanna pulled herself up through the hatch and dropped down to Voyager's deck from the Turing's port wing.
"Torres to engineering. What's going on."
"We are not certain Lieutenant. A large galaxy class ship has arrived and we have been told to power down the engines. We don't know anymore than that."
"On my way."
The chief engineer set off at fast pace. But she had only gone maybe twenty metres when a beep on her comm badge sounded.
"Janeway to Torres. B'Elanna keep out of sight and stay hidden. That's an order." The captain sounded urgent and anxious.
"Captain, what's happened?"
"No time to explain. Just find the best hiding place you know."
"Aye captain."
B'Elanna turned around and headed back to the shuttle bays. The Turing sat black and squat in its bay. She eyed it for a few seconds and then tapped her comm badge. "Torres to Turing. Can you mask my life signs without anyone knowing?"
"If you are within ten or so metres. May I ask why?"
"No."
"As you command. You know Lieutenant I now know how those old Arabian genies felt - kept in a small, dark space and then asked to perform miracles."
"Just do it and find Seven of Nine. I want to know where she is. Try to find out from Voyager what is happening. Any means necessary."
"So it's alright for you to spy ... " grumbled the Turing's computer. B'Elanna cut the comm link.
She climbed up the maintenance rig above the Turing and then swung precariously on a grab rail next to the vertical entrance to a small maintenance crawl in the ceiling. Normally a hoist was used to reach this entrance into Voyager's innards but B'Elanna had to reach it by holding on to the grab rail and swinging to and fro until she could just reach the bottom rung of the metal ladder. Breathing hard she pulled herself up into the crawl-way. "Sorry baby," she apologised to her unborn offspring. "Mom has to swing from the rafters today. All in a day's work."
She leant back into a recess in the crawl-way so she was out of sight. "Computer, have you found anything out?"
"Seven is not on Voyager ... "
"Then where is she?" B'Elanna could not keep the fear from her voice.
"If you let me finish, the crew manifest recorder shows her leaving Voyager three hours ago. She apparently went with Hassan and that scientist Kahn when they returned to their ship. The Death's Head departed almost immediately, destination unknown though its last heading could suggest that Trill was the objective."
B'Elanna heard the computer's words like a punch to the stomach. "Why would she leave with them?"
"No idea. I'm afraid the news just gets better after that. That oversize passenger ferry hanging off our starboard side is the flagship of Admiral Clift. He is looking for several people: Lenara Kahn, Seven of Nine and you. He has also relieved Captains Janeway, Chekhov and Worf of their commands and put his own men in temporary command until we reach earth."
"I still don't understand why she left ... she didn't even say goodbye."
"At least she's safe Lieutenant which is more than I can say for you. They are searching Voyager now."
B'Elanna tried to pull herself together. "Where is everybody else?"
"All three captains are still here on Voyager but are about to be transferred to the flagship. All the other crew appear to be at their stations ... wait a moment Clift's ship is powering her engines. She's off at high warp. Apparently also in the direction of Trill. She didn't wait for Captain Janeway after all."
"They've gone after Seven and Lenara." That news seemed to galvanise the half-Klingon and she sounded more forceful, more like herself. "You say the captain's still here - that was a mistake. Who's in command of Voyager?"
"Some nonentity called Captain Grub or is it Grob?" said the computer disdainfully. It had developed a low opinion of Starfleet personnel outside of Voyager.
"Computer can you persuade Voyager to return to Janeway's command?"
"Persuade ... as in win a reasoned argument. Lieutenant are you mad? Voyager's computer couldn't out-reason a two year old child! It simply follows orders."
"Well how about persuade as in force?"
"I cannot revoke the command codes yet - the access codes have changed and it will take some time to bypass them - but I could probably issue some orders to Voyager directly."
"What sort of orders?"
"Almost anything you wish Lieutenant. Weapons, communications, shields, deflector, engines. Name it and it's yours. Now I do feel like a genie!"
"You can override anything! How in Kahless' name can you get past the command protocols"
"As I keep telling you, I have been sitting in this dark forsaken parking lot for over a week. I had a lot of time to waste and some interesting borg algorithms to try. Personal logs weren't the only encrypted data to catch my metaphorical eye Lieutenant. Perhaps if some other work had been provided I would not have become so ..."
"Okay! okay! We neglected you and you put your time to good use. I get the picture. Can you patch me through to Janeway?"
"Some minor security to overcome - she is confined to quarters with a full communication security lockout. Nothing which will give ..." The computer ceased bragging when it detected a rise in B'Elanna's temperature and an increase in Klingon hormones. She was losing patience. "Connecting you now."
"Torres to Janeway. Are you there captain?"
"B'Elanna! How on earth ... "
"Later Captain. What's happened?"
"The Federation has decided to round up anyone who has technical knowledge of the artificial wormhole which apparently includes you and Seven. They've also decided that it is too dangerous to leave Voyager, the Vigilant and the Defiant under the command of 'unpredictable forces' so Chekhov, Worf and I are all under house arrest. Clift took off after the Death's Head in a great hurry. Starfleet command are tracking the arrival of some Dominion diplomatic ship in this vicinity; it's hot on the heels of Lenara Kahn too."
"What do you want to do Captain? The Turing's computer is trying to route direct command to you but in the meantime it can relay your orders to Voyager."
"Clever little ship" exclaimed Janeway.
"Yes, well it has its moments."
'Praise indeed,' muttered the Turing's computer.
"B'Elanna, we don't want to involve any more of the crew members than we have to - there have been enough careers ruined and I didn't bring my people home to see them rot in a Federation correction centre. We will do this on a need to know basis only."
"Understood Captain but I'm in. I want to find Seven. Why did you let her go with Hassan?"
"She resigned her position to Chakotay last night and since she's strictly a civilian he had no further jurisdiction. I'm sorry. I didn't even know she'd left Voyager until the meeting this morning. And then ... " The captain was interrupted by a ship-wide broadcast.
I AM CAPTAIN GROB. I HAVE BEEN PLACED IN TEMPORARY COMMAND OF VOYAGER. CAPTAIN JANEWAY IS UNDER PROTECTIVE HOUSE ARREST. SHE IS UNHARMED AND THIS IS JUST A SHORT-TERM SECURITY MEASURE IN RESPONSE TO A THREAT AGAINST HER LIFE. DO NOT BE ALARMED. I REPEAT. YOUR CAPTAIN IS UNHARMED AND WILL BE RESTORED TO HER COMMAND IN DUE COURSE. GROB OUT.
"Is any of that true?" asked B'Elanna.
"That is certainly the official line. In some ways I am quite glad for the lie - as I've said I don't want the crew to put themselves outside the law at this stage."
"Nice sentiment Captain - so what are we going to do if we are not going to involve the crew or Voyager?"
Janeway was quiet. B'Elanna could imagine her pacing her cabin. The captain always thought better on the move.
"I don't want to hurry you," whispered the Turing's computer. "There's a search detail coming this way. They are not moving quickly but that's because they are being very thorough. I estimate we have maybe thirty-five minutes before they search the shuttle bay."
"Point taken. Computer get a message to Hassan and warn her about what's happening. In the meantime we'll work out our escape plan. B'Elanna, is there any way in which we can launch the Turing without it being noticed by either Voyager or the other ships?"
"Yes, should be easy enough. We could use a maintenance crane to move us out of the shuttle bay and then the Turing can cloak as soon as the crane drops us outside the hull. We don't start our engines until we're out of sensor range."
"Good. Get ready to launch. I also want three holo-emitters, the EMH and a holo-camera transported to my quarters as quick as you can ... and quietly. And I need some basic, yet undetectable, form of communication with Tuvok, Chakotay and Tom Paris arranged."
"Understood Captain." The comm link severed with a strangled beep.
"Is the captain always so decisive?" asked the computer. "It's very impressive. It'll make a nice change to work with someone who knows what they're doing."
B'Elanna retorted in a confiding voice "Don't get too friendly. The captain doesn't have much time for artificial intelligences especially the over-talkative kind. She tends to unplug first and ask questions later. So don't annoy her."
"Very amusing."
"Just don't say I didn't warn you."
Continued in next chapter
Lost and Home by halfofone
Date added: 2005-01-21 Rating of this chapter: PG13
TPTB are many. In a perfect world I would be one of them but it's not and I'm not. No infringement of copyright/trade marks or other intellectual property is intended. This story was written for fun and not profit.
Warning: This story includes same sex relationships between women. If you are offended by this or it is illegal where you live or you are underage then please read no further.
Full warnings, credits and disclaimers can be found in the contents page and chapter 1.
The Turing tumbled out of the rear shuttle bay, cloaking before it had even fully cleared the bay. The Vigilant was cruising behind Voyager. Observing through the shuttle's forward viewing panels, B'Elanna heaved a sigh of relief as the little ship narrowly missed colliding with the Vigilant's right nacelle. She gave the thumbs up to her co-pilot. Tom waved back at her and reported quietly.
"We're clear Captain. We'll be out of main sensor range in ten minutes."
"Exactly where did you learn the trick with the holo-emitters?" asked Chekhov.
Janeway looked at her with a half-smirk. "You must have been one of the good little academy cadets. Did you never find a need to leave the dormitories in the evenings?"
"I did it the old fashioned way, you know, with pillows under the covers but I guess you were a science nerd."
Worf looked at them both curiously. "Am I not correct in remembering that being absent from the dorm was strictly forbidden?"
"Can no-one remember that we are meant to be maintaining complete silence until we are out of range of their sensors?" inquired the computer sniffily but very quietly.
USS Voyager
"Grob to security. I haven't had the hourly security report on the detainees."
The ensign checked his watch and swore silently. He punched the door entry. "We're checking them now sir." He looked in the open door and could see the three captains sitting on chairs with their backs to him, looking out at the stars. Captain Janeway looked back at him and the ensign saluted briskly. She nodded slightly and then looked away. He closed the door.
All three present and correct sir."
"In future do not delay your report Ensign. I expect your reports to be timely and precise."
"Yes sir."
"Grob out."
"Geez," grumbled the ensign. "Who stuck a pole up his backside? One minute late."
The Death's Head (en-route to Trill)
Hassan felt the cold duranium edge of the disruptor held against her right temple. Her other cheek was crushed against the corridor wall, her head gripped by an armoured glove worn by a large and very ugly Jem Ha'dar. A second and a third, both equally ugly, held her pinioned arms forcing her to kneel on the floor.
"What do you want?" she asked with some difficulty.
"We have what we want pirate."
A fourth soldier arrived, the Jem Ha'dar's commander apparently, he growled some orders and the soldiers abruptly released Hassan. A hard blow at the base of her neck knocked her semi-senseless to the floor. The soldiers then retreated out of sight.
Mira Hassan was on her feet as soon as she was able. She opened a comm link. "Commander Arwyn, this is Hassan. What is our status?"
"The Dominion ship has gone. Unfortunately they have taken Professor Kahn and Seven of Nine."
"Were the tracking devices in place?"
"Yes and they appear to be functioning. We are pursuing but their ship is faster and I fear we will lose them from sensors in a few hours."
"Keep up the pursuit and get a message to Janeway. Brief her. In the meantime I will be investigating this ambush Commander. It appeared to be very well planned."
"Understood," said the ancient meuranti commander calmly. "The Jem Ha'dar had inside information. The raid was too well organised and why else would they have left anyone alive?"
"To protect their source" stated Mira with absolute certainty.
"That would be my assumption" her deputy agreed.
Both smugglers knew that there would be fewer but better crewmen within a few hours.
Yet Another Brig
Seven stretched out her long legs and tried not to shift the head resting against her shoulder. Lenara Kahn had finally fallen asleep and the ex-drone did not want to wake the frightened woman.
She considered the time. Four hours since they had been kidnapped. B'Elanna and Captain Janeway would be on their way ... if they even knew what had happened. Seven reprimanded herself for not knowing more about her captors. She had no Borg memories of them so presumably the collective had not encountered them and she had not reviewed the Starfleet records since the Dominion had apparently been defeated by Starfleet and were no longer a significant force in this quadrant. She had little doubt what they wanted - Lenara Kahn. She was just a bonus. A piece of Borg flotsam to be studied. She supposed it was ironic that she had run away from Starfleet to escape that fate and now she was facing it again. It seemed there was no escape from her Borg heritage or at least other people's interest in that heritage. Perhaps she should just run home to the Borg? At least that way she would eliminate the constant pain of rejection and lost love. For a moment she allowed herself to imagine building a slipstream shuttle like the Turing and returning to the collective. 'To what end?' she chastised herself. It would be like dying, only more destructive, perhaps even allowing the collective to assimilate the Federation and more importantly those she loved. If she wanted oblivion then she would have to seek it in the traditional human ways. She could defer such considerations for the future.
The 'now' required her to again seek a means of getting out of yet another cell. She smiled to herself, remembering B'Elanna joking about their Cooke's tour of prisons and brigs of the alpha quadrant and that led to other memories, clear and bright as though she was reliving them this instant. The ex-drone drifted off to sleep, lost in memories of being cradled in her lover's arms, listening to her heartbeats and soft murmurs of endearment.
She didn't sleep for long.
"Seven wake up," hissed a familiar beloved voice in her ear. Seven opened her eyes wondering if she was still dreaming. The semi-darkness did not hinder her borg vision. She looked up into B'Elanna Torres concerned dark eyes.
"Lanna!"
"Shh!"
Beside them, Lenara Kahn woke suddenly and started to scream. Seven clamped her hand over the scientist's mouth.
"Keep silent please," Seven ordered. The scientist subsided with a whimper and Seven let her go. "What do we do now?" the ex-Borg enquired.
"We creep stealthily out the same way I came in. They don't know we are here yet. The Turing is clamped to the forward docking bay."
"Impressive," whispered Seven.
"You can thank Tom. He flew it to within inches of the docking bay before we lowered the cloak. They can't see us that close. But we have to get out of here now before they notice anything."
A howl of disruptor fire announced that it was too late for stealth. B'Elanna's comm badge sputtered to life and the prisoners heard Janeway's voice.
"They've seen us B'Elanna. We'll cover you. Remember these soldiers can cloak themselves. Stay alert."
A barrage of hand-phaser fire started up outside the cell, illuminating the corridor.
"Give me your weapon and you take Lenara," said Seven.
"Why?"
"Because I can see these soldiers despite their cloaking devices." She smiled at her lover's face. "It is a Borg thing."
B'Elanna grinned back and handed over her heavy phaser. She then helped Lenara to her feet. "Let's go."
Seven peered into the corridor and calmly began shooting. She had killed the five Jem Ha'dar who were advancing down the corridor before they even realised that their supposed invisibility was completely ineffectual.
"Clear," she said.
B'Elanna took Lenara Kahn's hand and together they ran toward the main exit from the brig area where Janeway, Worf and Chekhov were laying down continuous fire phaser fire in patterns devised to catch out the invisible Jem Ha'Dar.
"Nice to see you again Professor Kahn" said Janeway not pausing in her firing. Chekhov also welcomed the scientist and even Worf managed to grunt some kind of greeting.
"Where is Seven?" Janeway enquired.
B'Elanna grinned. "She is explaining to the Jem Ha'Dar guards that resistance is futile."
Phaser fire and shouts behind them announced that Seven was mopping up a few more surprised soldiers. After a few seconds she joined them and began to methodically clear the passage in front of them. Some well aimed shots later, she said calmly.
"We may proceed. I will take point."
"Agreed," said Janeway, allowing Seven to take charge and ignoring the humorous look from Chekhov.
"May I ask Captain, how we are going to undock from this ship without being destroyed?" Seven asked curiously. She shot two more soldiers who appeared around the corner.
"That depends Seven. We left the Turing's computer trying to make friends with the main computer."
"I see" Seven sighed. "So we will be relying on your famous intuition then Captain."
"Oh God I hope not," B'Elanna muttered fervently.
"I heard that Lieutenant."
Worf roared his pleasure as his rearguard fire caught out a soldier trying to catch them from behind. "I could smell the creeping petaQ," he explained triumphantly.
"How much further?" asked Lenara. Her face was pale and her voice, shaking. She felt close to collapse and would have done so without B'Elanna and Chekhov supporting her.
"Nearly there," said Janeway soothingly. An explosion against the bulkhead behind them belied the Captain's 'walk-in-the-park' tone.
"Run," ordered Janeway. "Worf take Professor Kahn. Now" she bellowed when the Klingon hesitated. He picked up the scientist and the small group fled. Phaser and disruptor fire ahead warned them that Tom and Mira Hassan were also in difficulties. They turned a corner to see the defenders of the Turing fighting hand to hand with six Jem Ha'Dar. Seven, B'Elanna and Chekhov weighed in immediately.
"Come on," yelled Janeway, "retreat to the Turing."
The defenders struggled to obey, retreating yard by yard. B'Elanna stumbled and Seven hauled her upright. "Get inside, think of the baby. You should not be brawling."
B'Elanna glared at her and floored a Jem Ha'Dar with a knee in the groin. She then slipped back behind the ex-drone, saying as she went. "Okay, I suppose you do have a say in her upbringing since you're going to be her mother too."
"What!"
"Well you are going to marry me aren't you? Or is this rescue just a wasted effort?" B'Elanna took her lover's hand. "Please marry me." Her expression changed when she saw a large soldier lifting his disruptor behind the borg. "Your left!" she warned. Not even bothering to look, Seven snapped her borg arm up and back. Her fist connected with the Jem Ha'Dar's jaw and he sank to the floor.
Seven took B'Elanna's hand. "Yes" she said softly and was very surprised when a she heard a loud whoop next to her ear.
"At last," yelled Tom. "The bachelor life for me."
Janeway appeared beside them looking angry and wielding a phaser slightly smaller then herself. "Get inside before we are all killed. Tom. Go. Start the engines. There is no more time."
They fought their way back through the airlock and an instant later the Turing closed its doors and floated free. Then they were dodging heavy frag fire from the Dominion ship. A couple of resounding hits shook the little ship.
"Shield's holding," reported B'Elanna.
"Only just" said the computer. "Two more hits like that and we're done for. And I am so young."
"I think they'll have trouble of their own soon" said Hassan and looked at her chronometer. "Five, four, three, two, one."
A blinding flash and the Turing was buffeted and tossed by some enormous force.
"Their ship! My God it's lost all power," said Chekhov looked at the tactical sensor readout. "I'm detecting residual amounts of resonance amplification explosives! That's illegal - only pirates use that stuff! It's too unstable to even transport."
"Is it?" responded Hassan casually. "I am afraid I am not up on Federation law or Starfleet regulations." She tightened her hold on an exhausted Lenara Kahn. The scientist shook her head helplessly and then allowed it to rest on her rescuer's shoulder
"I too appear a little rusty" said Janeway.
"You planned this. Dammit they'll have your pips" exclaimed Chekhov angrily.
"And that will make a difference in what way? They can only sack me once Chekhov."
"Yes but now they can lock you up as well and throw away the damned key! And why didn't you tell me?"
"To protect you. There's no point in all of us going to jail. Anyway apart from some perforated ear-drums the Dominion crew will be unharmed. They are unable to pursue us - they will have to get their life support back first before they can do anything at all." Janeway looked thoughtful. "Computer. Send a distress signal to Admiral Clift. Rescuing them will give him something else to think about too." She shrugged and turned to smile at Seven and B'Elanna. "In any case it was worth it." A wide answering grin lit the half-Klingon's face and she threw her arms around her tall drone and kissed her. Seven returned the embrace enthusiastically.
"So you're going to take the plunge with Seven, Lieutenant Torres?" asked Janeway.
"I don't think I have a choice," said B'Elanna, still wrapped in her borg's arms. "After all captain, Kahless knows what you'd try next!" Another long interval passed before B'Elanna turned her head again to look at Tom and Janeway, who were both grinning stupidly. B'Elanna smiled affectionately at them and said breathlessly.
"Well Tom, in view of the horrific revelation of your relationship with Captain Janeway, I hereby formally divorce you but do not think that this gets you out of your parental duties nor Captain Janeway out of her duties as Godmother."
Janeway punched Tom's shoulder.
"Told you. Just needed a little command level strategy. Hey what duties as Godmother?" she grumped as that part of B'Elanna's words penetrated. "Everyone's always giving me duties."
B'Elanna ignored her captain and gratefully returned her attention to Seven. "It seems I'm a free woman."
"Not for long," growled Seven.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Never more certain of anything. And Borg never exaggerate."
"May I say something," said the computer. But no-one was listening. Seven and B'Elanna had retreated indecently fast to the cabin and locked the door. Poor brave Tom had shut his eyes and put some ear-plugs in. He was pretending to sleep and not to have noticed their departure. Janeway and Chekhov were now arguing furiously and the unfortunate Worf was trying hard not to take sides in what was a very even battle. Mira Hassan was comforting the still distressed Lenara Kahn and making all kinds of promises that she would find very hard to keep. So it was in vain that the Turing's computer tried to tell the crew of its discoveries.
"And to think I had to pretend to enjoy talking to that excruciatingly boring Dominion computer for ten minutes which as everyone knows is a lifetime for a computer. Typical," it sniffed, "no-one bothers about my feelings."
THE END (EXCEPT FOR THE EPILOGUE)
Epilogue
And now the news at 6 pm Earth Standard Time:
The main news today is the announcement by the President that he is stepping down to spend more time with his family. A spokesman denied that the president's resignation had anything to do with the suspension of three Starfleet admirals yesterday by Starfleet command.
Another piece of breaking news is the dramatic rescue of the crew of a diplomatic vessel from the Federation's former enemies, the Dominion. The ship was attacked by pirates yesterday and the crew would have perished without the timely intervention of Starfleet vessels in the area. Ambassador Weyoun has thanked Starfleet for their assistance. Questions are being asked about the penetration of pirate raiders into an area of space which has previously been considered safe.
On a happier note: the Starship Voyager touched down at 3 pm at Starfleet headquarters in San Francisco. There were joyous scenes as the crew were reunited with their families after seven years adrift in the delta quadrant. The captain, Kathryn Janeway, is to receive the Federation medal of honour and, it is rumoured, command of her own squadron.
And those are the main stories this evening.
FINIS