Star Trek Voyager: The Loving Game

Star Trek Voyager: The Loving Game (Chapter 37)

Seven watched in lifeless silence as her own tears dripped off her face and onto the shining black floor of the Cube, her fists clenching around the edge of the console which had told her Celeste was safely back on Voyager, she continued to cling to it for dear life without glancing at the readings she already knew would tell her that Voyager was long behind them. Her enhanced ears picked up the steady, robotic steps of a drone somewhere behind her and she was surprised to feel relief rush into her. Assimilation was imminent. Yes, there would be a few minutes of writhing physical agony, undoing in moments all the she had endured and worked towards, but then would come the Borg peace she’d grown up with, she would forget the heartbreaking wrench of separation, the guilt of her complicity, all the misery and loneliness at being ripped from her Voyager Collective would be dismissed, irrelevant… At that moment she longed for release of any kind, by death or assimilation, she didn’t care…. As her thoughts drifted, as they always did, back to her saved, and lost, daughter, she realised that the expected pierce of assimilation tubes into her jugular hadn’t come and she fleetingly took in her surroundings. The Queen and her drones just stood there, watching her, without making a move. Resentment poured from her as hot tears, why weren’t they doing anything? This sudden flash of anger propelled her from the foetal position onto her feet, where she glared daggers at the Queen. “What are you doing?” She cried out. “Just assimilate me!” She screamed hysterically, “You…you took everything else…from me already…”

The Queen smiled at her and moved forward until there were only mere inches separating them. “We are pleased that you truly wish to return to us…” She began, before reaching out and pressing her hand lightly against Seven’s face, who was too weak now to even pull back or flinch. “But, for the moment, you are prefect for our purposes the way you are.”

“What?” Seven choked out in confused fear. “You’re…not going to assimilate me?”

“No.” The Queen stated simply, “Assimilation would be an inefficient way to learn from you.”

Many captives of the Borg would have rejoiced at such news but not Seven. For her, who’d spent the vast majority of her sentient life within the Collective, this statement made no sense, frightened her even, like being told water wasn’t wet, such a conclusion seemed impossible. “But the Borg have only ever learned through assimilation, there is no other way…” She murmured in petrified frustration, hating the unknown as much as ever.

“We realise this must seem confusing for you, but in time it will be a perfect arrangement.” The Queen intoned to her before turning away. “Come. You must regenerate.” She ordered coolly.

“No!” Seven spat back, fear of her unknown fate restoring her reserves of resistance. The Queen ignored the outburst but several drones surrounded her and fell into formation ushering her to an alcove. Seven shuddered as her gaze moved skittishly between the blank faced drones and the endless rows of technology and drones stretching out as far as her eye could see. She knew the undercurrent of mental conversation she’d once been a part of was still there but she found it a very different experience to be on the outside and as she stepped into the alcove with a glare of defiance, she felt once again like that scared six year old being stuffed into a maturation chamber, blind to what was ahead.

For a few minutes after Celeste’s reappearance and the Cube’s departure, everyone’s eyes flickered between the empty space outside and their First Officer bent protectively over the inconsolable young baby, crying himself from relief and shock. Finally Tuvok stepped calmly forward, placing a calming hand on Chakotay’s shuddering shoulder but he pulled back. “Commander, the child must be taken to Sickbay.” He advised quietly, his Vulcan voice unusually gentle and remorseful.

Chakotay glanced down at his daughter’s red, tear stained face and inhaled sharply, trying and failing to stand up, his shaking knees glued to the floor. The ghostly white face of the Captain, her gaze previously fixed blankly on the transwarp coil, now came back to her senses slightly, “Yes…she needs to be checked over by the Doctor. You take them Tom…” The order was a strained mumble but Tom obeyed and stood, helping Chakotay to his feet and slowly guiding father and daughter away from prying eyes.

The Doctor slowly ran his tricorder over the wriggling baby, her cries having now softened to unsettled whimpers in her father’s arms, with a sigh of relief. “She’s alright?” Chakotay asked anxiously as he registered the sigh.

“Apart from being hungry, tired, and in need of a change, she’s fine.” The Doctor assured him. “Seven obviously got there quickly enough to stop them…” He trailed off, looking at him with heavy, saddened eyes.

“Yeah, Thank God…” Chakotay muttered, his grip tightening unconsciously around the baby and his gaze distant and unreadable.

“Commander…” The Doctor began awkwardly, gulping hard, “You’re not going to just leave her out there are you?”

Chakotay jumped off the biobed abruptly, glaring violently at the hologram. “No. No, I’m not.”

Janeway let her body sag into the contours of her ready room chair, nursing a headache and a sense of guilt along with her cup of black coffee. She’d barely had a sip before Chakotay uncharacteristically burst in, making her jump. “Chakotay! How’s Celeste?”

Chakotay sighed heavily, his relief evident. “They didn’t harm her.”

Janeway exhaled. “Thank God!” She exclaimed. “Well at least Seven’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain…” She murmured quietly.

Chakotay gave a start. “There isn’t going to be a sacrifice! We’re going to go get her back!”

Janeway backpedalled for a moment before trying to explain gently. “Chakotay, do you know how big Borg Space is? I can’t just risk the whole crew for her, even if we were to find her, she’ll already be…”

“I’m not asking for you to risk the whole ship. I’ll go myself and any volunteers who want to help me…” Chakotay interrupted sharply.

“And what about Celeste? What will happen to her if you get assimilated? Have you thought about that?” Janeway questioned angrily.

Chakotay felt like he’d been slapped across the face. “Of course I have!” he growled, “ And how am I supposed to justify to her that I left her mother to rot on a Cube, answer me that!” He snapped, his eyes darkening even further as he glared at her, “I’m going, with or without your blessing Kathryn.”

Janeway, who throughout this had paled and flushed by turns, sank further back in her chair as she recognised defeat. “If you come up with a reasonable plan, you can take the Delta Flyer.”

Chakotay felt his hackles drop, though only slightly. “Thank you.” He said as graciously as he could before turning back towards the door and speaking again in a lower tone. “Kathryn, I never want to hear you using my daughter as an excuse for your motives ever again, is that understood?” Her only reply was a stunned silence and with that he strode determinedly out of the door.