You will fail.
Trevor Blake lies unconscious and separated from the collective, Seven thought. Your hologram has been deleted. You cannot progress further. You know Starfleet will destroy the building and all the lives within it if it has to in order to stop you.
Starfleet is weak. It will have no stomach for what it perceives as deliberate murder.
Then believe this. If it must, Voyager will act alone and do this thing. Resistance is futile. You are more human than Borg. If you surrender, you may be spared, despite what you have done.
• • •
The queen, her eyes blank and unseeing, opened her mouth and laughed aloud, startling those who watched the struggle between Covington and Seven of Nine. Janeway suppressed a shudder. Anything the Borg queen would find amusing was not something she wanted to know about.
• • •
You are discovering you cannot disconnect me from my precious drones. I will die rather than abandon them.
Precious? Abandon? You speak as if you cared for them. I know well a queen cares nothing for her drones. Perfection is the only thing of value to her. To any of the Borg.
Then you do not know me, Seven of Nine. I am a new queen, a different sort of queen. My reign will be glorious and beautiful. I know that you were always the favorite; the Royal Protocol mentions you specifically. You can join me and—No!
• • •
Seven’s blue eyes opened. She had employed the same tactic that Data had used so effectively—distracting the queen. She knew what she needed to know. She stared at Janeway.
“Fire,” she said.
Even as Janeway lifted her phaser to take aim at the queen, Montgomery fired. Covington’s body spasmed. He fired again, and this time, with a long, soft groan, she slumped slowly and her head fell forward. She did not fall; she was supported by the mass of black, twining cables. She no longer looked like the ruling spider in her own web, but a hapless fly, caught in the trap that had killed her.
Janeway closed her eyes in relief, but opened them quickly when Chakotay said, in a warning voice, “Admiral…Seven hasn’t come out of it.”
Seven stood rigidly, her lips parted, her eyes unseeing.
“Oh, no,” breathed Janeway.
• • •
The little girl sat alone in a circle of light. She played, solemn-faced, with a doll that had no head. Annika Hansen, clad in a flowing red dress, walked up to her and sank down beside her.
“Hello, Brenna,” she said.
The girl looked up at her. “You need to watch out for the Hand,” she said. “It will find you. It will touch you in wrong places. It will make you lie, and scream, and cry, and hate.”
Images flashed through Annika’s mind: horrible, grotesque scenes of violation, and beating, and childish flesh fondled by adult hands. She shrank from them, but they were downloaded into her brain. She felt everything. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she sobbed.
• • •
“What’s going on? The queen’s dead,” said Montgomery, looking perplexed as Seven of Nine started crying, tears running down her strangely expressionless face.
“Somehow she’s still connected,” breathed Janeway. “I think the queen…may have transferred the Royal Protocol to her.”
Montgomery looked at her. “Then tell me, why are we letting her stay alive?”
“Because she’s fighting it,” said Janeway, staring raptly. “Come on, Seven. Keep resisting.”
• • •
An adult Brenna Covington stood before Annika now. She reached out and clasped Annika’s hands, two tall, fair-haired women, so similar and yet so different.
“Take it,” Brenna implored. “Take it. Take them. You know what I have endured. You know what I feel for them. They need a queen. They need you. You can be better than the original queen. You can exceed the programming. You can look at your drones as beloved children, not as things to be used and discarded. They can be glorious. You can take them to perfection. There’s nothing they and you won’t be able to achieve.”
Annika clutched Brenna’s hands. This was no trick, no lie. The Royal Protocol, modified and adapted by Brenna Covington, surged through her. She could feel it already, closing off some parts of her body, opening others, exploring, downloading information. Brenna was right. Already, she could hear the voices of the confused hive, turning to her, seeking solace. She could be a new type of queen, a benevolent, loving monarch, to lead her people to perfection and—
No. She would not be seduced by the glory. Sweet though it was, it was an illusion. The Borg represented suppression of individuality, no matter how the queen thought of her drones. Brenna sensed her decision.
“No,” she cried, “please, don’t abandon them!”
“I am sorry,” Annika said, sincerely, and slowly, deliberately, closed the door on the Royal Protocol, the clamoring drones, and her last, best chance to be a part of something infinitely greater than herself.
Chapter 24
WHEN SEVEN’S EYES fluttered open, she saw Dr. Kaz and Admiral Janeway smiling down at her.
“How are you feeling?” Kaz asked.
“That is a complicated question,” Seven replied.
“How long have I been regenerating?”
“Three full days,” Janeway said. “You needed it.”
“What has transpired?”
“Quite a lot,” Kaz said, examining her with his medical tricorder. “We’ve all been debriefed, and as soon as you and Icheb feel up to it, Starfleet Command will want to see you as well. Everyone is off the hook, in case you’re wondering. Myself and Data, too. Since we were such a key part of the solution, Starfleet’s going to overlook our…interference.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” Seven replied. “What is the status of the virus?”
“Once you severed the connection with the collective, they all were released. We’ve really pushed the ‘having delusions’ aspect of the Xanarian Flu, and even most those who began to manifest implants seem more than willing to believe they imagined it.”
Seven frowned. “Certainly not everyone believes that what they suffered was a hallucination.”
“No,” Janeway agreed, “but those people have been convinced that it’s best to keep their silence.”
Seven did not reply. She thought of the Interrogator, and wondered who had done the “convincing” and how.
“The important thing,” continued Janeway, “is that the threat is over and there’s been no panic.”
“What will you do now?” Seven asked, looking at both Janeway and Kaz.
“I’ve gotten a bit disillusioned with my position after this incident,” Kaz admitted. “I like being able to contribute on such a large scale, but I miss the intimacy of a ship. I’ve asked to be reassigned, but I’m not sure where I’ll go next.”
Janeway looked at him sharply. “I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Kaz. As for me, I’ll go back to teaching at Starfleet. Tuvok and I are thinking of teaching a class together. Also, there’s a little project I can’t mention yet that has me quite excited. And you,” she said, handing Seven a padd, “may have some exciting projects ahead of you as well.”
Seven looked at the padd. It was an offer from a Starfleet “think tank” for her…and the Doctor.
“It seems as though they’ve finally learned to value you and the Doctor at last,” Janeway said.
“Yes,” said Seven, absently. Janeway looked at her shrewdly. Kaz didn’t miss the exchange, and excused himself.
“Seven…what happened? When you were linked?” Janeway asked, gently.
“She transferred the Royal Protocol to me. For a few moments, I was the Borg queen,” Seven said quietly.
“Was it…dreadful?”
“No,” Seven said. She met Janeway’s gaze. “It was wonderful. Admiral…Covington wasn’t a monster. She was a very wronged, very damaged woman. And she loved them.”
“Loved who?”
“The drones. She loved her drones
. And so did I.”
• • •
“It seems wrong somehow,” Carla said, as she and Janeway shared croissants and café au lait in a Paris bistro. “It’s lying.” She seemed troubled, her attractive face furrowed in a frown.
“I know,” said Janeway as she took a sip and hid a grimace. Why did she keep trying to learn to like coffee with milk? Paris or not, next time she’d order it black. “But you have to balance that out against the panic that would erupt.”
“You’re right, as usual,” Carla said, still staring into her oversized cup. “What was really wrong,” she added softly, “was me thinking that somehow you were to blame for it.”
“That was absolutely a logical conclusion,” said Janeway. “We couldn’t possibly know that Kevin had been chewing on a piece of Borg debris that day on the beach. You had every reason to suspect I had somehow given him the virus.”
“Maybe. But it shouldn’t have been the first conclusion I jumped to, and I’m sorry for that.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through any of it,” Janeway replied. “But as Shakespeare liked to say, all’s well that ends well. Now,” she said, leaning forward, “I think we really ought to splurge on a delicious French pastry while we’re here.”
Carla finally looked up, and Janeway was heartened to see the familiar impish grin spread across her face.
• • •
Janeway materialized in her apartment feeling uncomfortably stuffed. Not only had she and Carla splurged on fine French pastries, they had splurged on fine French cheeses, fine French wine, and fine French cream-based dishes. Her computer was chiming, and she rushed over to it.
“Admiral Montgomery,” she said, surprised. “What an unexpected pleasure. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to let you know there’s been more from Baines,” said Montgomery, “but I think we may have seen the last of him.”
“Really?” she answered, keeping her voice even. Thus far, no one had connected her with Baines. In the excitement that followed Montgomery’s appearance on Voyager, the admiral had never gotten around to asking her about how she managed to get past security.
“Several people, including Starfleet personnel, were abducted and then released after a brief time,” Montgomery said. “They were forced to jump through a lot of hoops. Seems that Baines got some kind of pleasure out of making humans act like holographic characters in some of the more, er, lurid holonovels.”
“Really,” she said again. So Baines had listened to her comments about the Doctor’s holonovel but, as usual, had gotten the message all wrong. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Not seriously. There was some mistreatment at the hands of the holograms. Whip lashes and cuts and so on.”
“Whips?”
“They were returned to report on how badly holograms suffered,” said Montgomery, with an expression that made Janeway believe he thought the whole thing was ridiculous. “And shortly after that, we got a tip which led us to Baines’s body. Looks like suicide.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Janeway said. “He had the fight to live for, the fight for holographic rights. Why would he kill himself?”
“Crazy guy like that, who knows,” said Montgomery. Janeway felt a brief stab of sorrow. Baines wasn’t an evil man, just dreadfully misguided. “Anyway, thought you might like to know. Looks like everything’s all wrapped up now. Except for one thing that still bothers me.”
“And what’s that?”
“I want to know who this Peregrine is. The one who helped you out with the mysterious messages.”
“Does it really matter? He was instrumental in helping us determine the identity of the Borg queen. Maybe we ought to just let Peregrine fade into the woodwork.”
“Hmph.” Montgomery looked stern, but his eyes were bright. He was off to fight another battle.
Janeway leaned back in her chair, thinking. She wondered what would become of the holographic rights issue, now that its leader was dead. It wouldn’t go away, that much was certain. Perhaps the Doctor would choose to become more involved. He’d spoken with pride of his progress on Photons, Claim Justice. No doubt, it would be a best-seller. She wondered what had happened in Baines’s little scenario, if it had done what he wanted it to do, if being treated like a hologram had truly changed anyone’s mind or heart.
• • •
It was the first day back at work for Vassily Andropov. He had been debriefed and visited a counselor; Starfleet felt it had done all it could for him. Andropov could barely get through the day, so anxious was he to return home.
When he transported into his kitchen, they were waiting for him. He held out his arms and Allyson rushed into them, smiling happily. Andropov hugged her fiercely and planted a kiss on top of her head.
And, grinning, he extended a hand to the dark-haired, male hologram who stood off to the side.
“Welcome home, Vassily,” said Oliver Baines.
• • •
The thin, high-pitched wailing woke Tom Paris from a deep and very pleasant dream in which B’Elanna had returned home and they were getting reacquainted. He blinked, and despite the hour, smiled. It was good to have his daughter back with him, loud screams and all. It felt…normal. And after the ride he’d had recently, normal was good.
As he went to pick her up, he heard the computer chime softly. Who could it be at this hour? Not Jane way, not anymore. He sat down, holding Miral, and touched the controls.
“B’Elanna!” he exclaimed, and then immediately wedging his foot in his mouth added, “You look awful! You’re not hurt, are you?”
She did look dreadful. She was covered in mud and what looked like dried, crusted blood. She was wild-eyed and very thin, and she looked like she was about to cry.
“She’s dead.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” He cuddled Miral, who had gone quiet at the sound of her mother’s voice.
B’Elanna swallowed. “It’s all right. I want…Tom, there’s so much I want to tell you, and my little baby, I’ve missed you both so much….” She fought backsobs. Collecting herself, she continued. “I’ve talked to Commander Logt and the Guardians, and they’ve agreed to let us live here and study.”
It took a few seconds for his sleepy brain to register the information. “On Boreth? Why would you possibly want to do that?”
“I know it seems sudden to you, but after what I’ve been through…I know this is the right thing. Would you be willing to do this?”
He didn’t know. In his entire life, he’d never anticipated living on the holiest planet in the Klingon Empire. She saw the expression on his face and said, “Just come here for a while. Let me tell you about the Challenge. Let me tell you about…about everything. Please.”
He loved this woman with his whole heart and soul. He could deny her nothing, and was simply very grateful that she was still alive. Something profound must have happened, to turn her from hating her Klingon heritage to wanting to live in the temples and study it.
Very well. If she wanted to live on Boreth, they’d live on Boreth.
“We’ll be on the first transport out. I love you.”
• • •
The weeks passed pleasantly enough. Janeway took up a position at Starfleet Command, juggling her duties there on her “project” with teaching a joint class with Tuvok at the Academy.
When Chakotay contacted her after spending several weeks with his family to let her know he was returning to San Francisco, Janeway promptly invited him to dinner. “It’ll be just like old times,” she said. He agreed happily.
Smiling in anticipation of a wonderful evening, she replicated lamb for herself, an aromatic wild mushroom risotto for Chakotay, and had opened a bottle of fine old merlot. When he arrived and she handed him a glass, he accepted it appreciatively.
“It smells wonderful in here,” he said. Indicating the wine, he asked, “What’s the occasion?”
“A quiet lull,” she said, and meant it. “It felt so awkward b
eing home at first, and then of course we had the Borg and the holograms to keep us busy. Now, things are settling down. I’ve found a rhythm again.”
“Miss your chicks?”
She stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
He smiled. “On Voyager, you often struck me like a mother hen protecting her chicks. They’ve grown up and, to use an old cliché, flown the coop.”
She finished setting the table and he lit the candles. “Of course I miss my chicks,” she said. “But they seem to be doing just fine. Icheb’s back at the Academy.”
“That’s wonderful news. How did that all turn out?”
“According to Tuvok, one of the four cadets involved in the assault had been expelled, two youths had been suspended, and one young woman had received a reprimand.” As she went into the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, “And apparently Icheb’s dating the girl.”
“Icheb is a forgiving person,” said Chakotay, “but forgiveness of that nature is remarkable. Good for both of them. It speaks well of their characters. I hear Harry’s back together with Libby.”
“A delightful young woman, and so talented. Sounds like our boy may be ready to settle down,” said Janeway, bringing in the food-laden platters. “Speaking of settling down, Tom and B’Elanna and their adorable Kuvah’Magh are studying Klingon culture on Boreth now.”
“Really? Something big must have happened on the Challenge of Spirit,” said Chakotay. “Did I tell you I heard from the Doctor yesterday? He sent me a preview copy of Photons, Claim Justice.”
“How is it?”
“I haven’t dared look at it yet. Apparently Seven has been critiquing it quite severely.”
“I’m surprised he’d show it to her,” Janeway said.
“Maybe she’s just down the hall and it’s convenient. Speaking of working together, how’s the class you’re teaching with Tuvok?”
“We’re locked in battle. He wants it dry and factual, I want it juicy and interesting. I imagine we’ll meet somewhere in the middle.” She eyed Chakotay sharply. “Which now leaves just you for this mother hen to worry about.”
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