Star Trek Voyager: The Gift

Star Trek Voyager: The Gift 32. A Personal Crisis

“Seven, what happened to you?” Celes exclaimed in horror when she saw her friend return to the Bridge. The ex-Borg’s normally coolly poised exterior was in disarray. Her hair lay loose and tangled around her shoulders, looking as if it had been yanked roughly from its pins and her dress, still stained with Chakotay’s blood, had a thigh high slash in the skirt that made several pairs of eyebrows rise questioningly as they took in her wild expression and the unnatural flush colouring her otherwise ghostly pale skin.

If Seven saw her crewmates’ expressions she ignored them as she did Celes’ well-meaning question, almost running to the console when Tuvok sat, her eyes oddly glazed over as she thrust the small data stick clenched tightly in her fist into the Vulcan’s palm. “These are Gul Ishek’s security codes.” She reported tersely.

“Good.” Tuvok replied in a calm, businesslike tone as he loaded the codes into his console and transmitted them to the station’s Bridge, “The false meltdown alert we triggered would not have distracted them for much longer.” Seven couldn’t help but take a sharp intake of breath as she realised her crew had inadvertently been her saviour, rather than the other way around, but she stiffened as she felt Tuvok’s eyes studying her. Irrationally, she couldn’t help but fear that behind his guarded, unreadable gaze he knew what she had done, had narrowly avoided. That thought, the shame brought on by it, upset her more than she would have thought possible, but like her Vulcan crewmate, remained relatively impassive as he guided her shaking body down onto the nearest chair without another comment.

The bark of a Cardassian voice down the comm. made Seven jump violently despite herself but she allowed herself to breathe when she realised it wasn’t Gul Ishek. “This is Security hailing the Bolian trading vessel Valjean, your assessment exemption codes have been validated, you are free to be on your way.”

“That was a close one.” Seven heard one of the newer recruits hiss to a friend as Tuvok began the procedure for leaving the station as quickly as he could without raising the suspicion of the station’s authorities.

“The danger is not yet over.” She addressed the Bridge crew sharply, “We must remain on alert.” She turned to Dalton as the group nodded hurriedly in cowed agreement, realising it was too early to celebrate. “Where is the nearest secure hospital for the wounded?” Seven asked Dalton, anxiety now obvious in her tone.

“On Selok II, 20 light-years from here.” Dalton answered briskly as he wiped the sweat from his brow, “Its outside Cardassian space and they’re known to have sympathy for the Maquis.”

Seven’s brow furrowed in frustration, “You are not certain they will help us?”

“It is rare, in my experience, that the Maquis are certain of anything Seven of Nine.” Tuvok reminded her gently as he dialled in the coordinates for Dalton’s suggestion without delay.

Seven felt her heart stop in fear, her feet freezing to the floor, when she saw Seska and B’Elanna standing outside Sickbay. “What happened?” she asked, for once not caring that all of her emotion could he heard in her voice, “Is he…”

B’Elanna was painfully struck by how stricken Seven looked, any trace of her Borg iciness had been melted away by fear and delayed devastation. She saw at once in the younger woman the same feelings that she herself had gone through when she’d heard of Chakotay’s injuries and didn’t hesitate to step forward compassionately, “No Seven, he’s stable for now, thank goodness.”

“Yes, thank goodness.” Seven murmured thickly as she exhaled heavily in relief, but with that breath and those heartfelt words releasing some of her pent up emotions, some of her usual reserve returned to her, her back straightening as she spoke again, “Dalton has recommended a hospital, Mr Tuvok is taking us there now.”