Wonders of the House Presba
Book 1:
Modifications
By Katrina and Llachlan
bearblue1@yahoo.com
| llachness@gmail.com
This series can also be found at: http: www.merwolf.com/llachlan/seven
Series: Wonders of the House Presba
Book 1:
Modifications
Book 2: Transitions
Book 3: Encounters
Book 4: Reflections Part 1 | Part 2
Book 5: Diffractions
Book 6: Prisms
Appendix
TV Series: Voyager (with DS9 and ST:TNG Crossover)
Code: Slash Multiple. F/F/F... M/M. Alt/Het (7/J, T/J, 7/T etc.)
There is a lot to read from this point. Notes,
Disclaimers, Thank yous. If you want to bypass
all of this (understanding that you’re missing out on the disclaimers, which
are pretty comprehensive, and the notes and the thank yous)
then go here: Begin Modifications
Note from Katrina:
A special thanks, which will be repeated, goes to
Llachlan for writing with me. It’s been wonderful and I’ve learned so much,
including a bit of Klingon.
It was not my intention to start writing yet another series in yet
another fan fiction world. I intended to write a long story that was composed
of five parts. What I received were separate stories in what is apparently now
more than I ever thought it would be.
Katrina wrote this disclaimer thinking that there would be only one story.
It basically provides the warnings and so ons necessary to convey the idea.
Oh, and I should mention that this is a work in progress. It is
possible that there may be changes made to stories in the future and that there
may be stories that affect changes to previous stories. We will update as
necessary.
We will only post
stories that have been completed as an
arc. This should avoid the “unfinished story,” syndrome that sometimes occurs
in series and works that get posted.
As a commentary, one of the beautiful things about the web is that
it has provided the opportunity for many to see the writing process in action
(thus the incomplete stories that we sometimes must deal with). I hope to keep
the process somewhat transparent, but you may notice that there are errors.
That comes from reading and rereading and simply becoming blind to the error.
If it's major, please let me know. If it's minor, please forgive me. Hopefully
I'll catch it in the next reread. Llachlan is well on her way to convincing me of the power of editing
and past books may recieve some hefty editing in the future. .
Also,
the first story was written for and posted to a Yahoo group:
Voq_Je_Bang, which emphasizes the relationship between B'Elanna Torres and
Seven of Nine. You may notice that this story leans strongly that direction. Sequels will
generally favor the pairing, but as this is a multi-universal stories, other pairings and groupings are optioned
for the needs of the series.
The main goal, of course, is that you enjoy what you read. I hope
that will be the case.
Sincerely, Katrina
==^==
Thank yous: Thank you, Llachlan. WotHP is coming to glory because of you. :)
We would like to take a moment to
express our thanks to those who have taken time to pre-read and beta these
stories. Thank you Raven for your patience and telling me to keep writing.
Thank you Jillo and Honore
for seeing the errors that I just plain out missed. Thank you to Dee Jay,
Bonnie and Cirroco for being inspirational. Thank you
to Kym, always. Thank you to Tracie for joining the pre-reading party. Others
have joined in the beta list. And thank you to Karla for posting to me at just the right time.
And thank you to Silk for being there! You are all so awesome!
We'd also like to thank HW and TMM for being willing to provide insight and act as a final pre-readers for our stories. They truly would not be the same without their input.
Disclaimers: Though, technically,
disclaimers should not be necessary for any work of fiction, it has become
traditional to include various informational topics designed to help readers
determine whether they wish to move forward with a given piece or not.
Therefore, I bow to tradition and am including the following disclaimers.
This is not a children's story. For the purposes of reader
navigation you may consider that topics in this fictional work will range from
General to NC-17. This includes love-scenes, violence, language, etc. It may
therefore be considered NSFW, but it should be safe for an adult consciousness.
Also, if sexuality offends you, why are you reading this? This is fan fiction
for Pete’s sake. It's traditional.
Given the above, you may consider that relationships of a variety
of types will be explored. I have no One True Pairing (OTP). I just have
Favored Groupings. It is possible that this slash will burn out due to the heat
factor. (One can hope anyway...)
The relevance of the above declaration has to do with the fact
that will be a work of fan fiction. Specifically, it will be a ST: Voyager fan
fiction. There are a couple of reasons for this decision.
I was not originally attracted to the show until I read some
fantastic fan fiction about Voyager. Suddenly I was inspired. Inspiration is
the foundation for creativity. I had to.
The series is over, so I can not get upset when the producers
decide to do something that either reflects something I was writing so I have
to start all over again OR kills off/ changes a major character, which causes
me to be upset OR does something stupid with the plot that I have to take into
account.
I found out that this particular fan fiction genre has the option
of utilizing Alt-Universe (AU) settings. I found this idea appealing – since there
are several things I intend to disregard or completely revise as far as canon
is concerned. Therefore, for the purposes of informing the reader, these
stories are AU. All of them.
I have thought for awhile that I needed a playground writing
space. It's been a long time since I've sat down to fictionalize something.
Familiar characters and basic settings provide ... confidence.
Why the groupings? Well, Tuvok because I was shocked at how few
fan fics there were with him involved. Yeah, Ponn
Farr an obvious plot, but... I thought there would be
more than three. Or was it four. I completely expected dozens and was
disappointed. It had to be fixed. Why B'Elanna? She's Hot. Why Seven? She's
Hot. Why Janeway? She's Hot. You see the pattern here. Why Ro? She's Hot. Why
T'Pel? Because of Tuvok, silly. And she's Hot. Why
Lwaxana? Because I laughed my ass off when I wrote her in and then I realized
with complete shock that she was absolutely perfect as in, perfect , for the story. She made it make sense. And she's
Hot. Why the others? Because sexy is sexy and I'm writing it,
damn it. It is a practice in artistic bravery and it will either work or
it won't. But I won't stop just because I get cowardly about it. Sometimes you
have to let the story own you. (Maybe I shouldn't include this part. I suppose
it counts as spoiler. But this genre of fan fiction has the weird option of
including the slashes of the people involved. Which.. is a spoiler. Dang it.)
I may unconsciously borrow recognizable references to other works.
It is not my intention, however, to stray into other writers' territory. But I
believe in the power of the Jungian Consciousness and things do happen
sometimes. That said... As far as I know, this is, barring the fan-fiction
element – my own contribution.
The technology of this story will be mixed. Some will be canon,
some will be ... logical extensions of the storyline. I hope. Unfortunately, I
am not an expert in Trek Tech. I will do my best not to be overtly obvious
about it though. I did, after all, watch a lot of Trek in my time.
This story starts from a point that is apparently somewhat
controversial. For those who have not watched the end, it may spoil a bit. The
finale, however, is somewhat important to the beginning and the middle and
maybe even the ending of this series, so I apologize now for any offense. It is
entirely unintentional. I know what it is to love something and have it go
wrong. Hopefully, in some ways, this will fix some of those issues.
Star Trek: Voyager as an enterprise is owned by
Archive Permissions: This series may be archived as long as the
disclaimers, my name and the whole stories are posted and as long as readers
are informed that the stories are part of a series. It would be nice to be
informed of the posting, so I can share it with my friends. Post me at: bearblue1@yahoo.com
Feed the Authors: Please Do! We love positive feedback. We’re
somewhat okay with positive criticism. We hate 'you suck,” messages, so We will probably ignore those. Feedback Llachlan and I back
at: bearblue1@yahoo.com | llachness@gmail.com
Playground Permissions: This is a living series. I intend to write
on the series until it's finished, but I recognize that there are some fun places,
people and things being developed here. If you care to play with them, I'm not
entirely opposed. I just have a few rules. 1. You must tell me, because I'll
want to read it. I'm a fanfic-aholic. 2. If you post
the story, you must include a reference link to this page, thus providing
credit. Also, if you post the story, I'll make a link to it as an auxiliary fic and thus you get more famous. Also, if you want a place
to post your contribution, I'll be happy to provide it. See, win/win. 3. Any
story involving the House Presba as delineated in this series must have a happy
ending. Must. The major groupings must be intact by
the end of the story and they must be happy. Happy ending.
Can't emphasize that enough. I can deal with angst so
long as we arrive at the happy ending. 4. Stories must be complete in and of
themselves and must not conflict with the canon as put forth in the series
(meaning, my stuff, not
Title: Modifications
Summary: Kathryn Janeway finds herself
alive and well in the past and begins to set changes in motion. Things will
never be the same for Voyager, its crew or their universe.
Slash multiple – het, f/f, m/m
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 |
Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21
Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29
Begin Modifications
Part 1 | Bookmarks
Kathryn Janeway drew in breath abruptly
and deeply, hard enough to make her chest hurt. She jerked awake, feeling in
her bone and sinew as if she had been shocked back to life. It was entirely
possible that she had been. Either that or this was the last dream before
dying.
The woman breathed in shakily and sat up, trying to quickly calm
herself and assess her situation. She noted that she was on a soft, oddly
familiar surface, in the dark. She was undressed, but felt covered. As her
hands briefly explored the area around her, she recognized herself to be on a bed.
Her eyes began to adjust to the small amount of ambient light. She brushed her
hair away from her face, tucking the medium length strands behind her ears for
the moment as she listened for any unusual sounds. She recalled that her hair
had been shorter just moments ago. She was sure of it, and she was equally sure
that she had not been dreaming, had not been asleep at all as millions of
connected beings had shared her terror.
Fear clawed at her belly, made her want to panic. But she had
mastered iron control long ago. She touched her head, her neck and shoulders,
noting the absence of implanted harshness. As she recalled, she had not yet
adapted. The cybernetic “enhancements” had not yet been a part of her – only an
invader to be fought, however subconsciously.
She had, after all, gone willingly. She just couldn't help the
fighting. Adrenaline still coursed through her, spurred on by her current
situation. She dreaded the come-down. But that was for later. Right now she
needed to be calm, gain more information. Determine threat levels.
Kathryn wondered what other changes she would discover. She stayed
very still, waiting. As the harsh pounding of her heartbeat settled, she began
to recognize the familiar hum, tones and scents of a ship. She shivered, though
she knew the temperature to be otherwise comfortable. She tasted copper on her
tongue, an after-effect of fear. She thought quickly, tapping into all her
experience to force herself to settle down. It wasn't easy. Her last known
location had been much warmer, more humid and acrid. It had been blowing up.
She vividly recalled the burning, twisting, painful last moments of her life.
She should not be here.
Kathryn waited a few moments more, to make sure her voice was
stable, then uttered a husky command. “Computer,
lights. Thirty percent.” The revelation was more than
she expected. She gazed around the domicile, taking in the room with a sense of
wonder and trepidation. Her chest began to ache for different reasons.
Home. She was home.
That was her first emotion beyond fear.
“Computer, time and date.”
The computer issued forth an absolute impossibility.
She managed, somehow, not to cry or to gasp. She strangled that
sensation away. There would be time enough for tears later, if she needed them.
Right now she had to think, to strategize, to
determine what was real versus imagined; what was temporary versus permanent;
what was a trap or just odd truth.
She gathered her courage around her, along with the bed's blue
sheet, and folded it close to her heart. Then, feeling the impossibility of it all, stood up and walked to the replicator. There was one
test she wanted to conduct, one incontrovertible proof to make, before she put
any belief into this ... not-quite-dream. She pressed the button which signaled
the machine to wakefulness. “Coffee. Hot. Black.”
There was a humming sparkle of light and a black cup appeared on
the replication surface. The liquid within the cup was steaming and the scent –
despite being just a little bit off and otherwise perfect – was disturbingly
reassuring. Her hand trembled as she retrieved it. She brought the cup to her
mouth, blew on the dark concoction to cool it, and then took the risk and
sipped.
It was dreadful. Awful. She winced as the
hot liquid flowed over her tongue, abusing her taste buds with its gruesome,
memorable mouthful. She swallowed and loved every torturous moment of it, even
as she cussed. It still took everything she had not to drop the cup onto the
floor and run screaming out the door – sheet and all.
Instead she lifted the cup again, and took another sip of the
terrible-wonderful stuff and carefully made her way to the small desk that she
knew would be just... over there. She set the cup down, sat in the worn chair
and assessed the patina of the quarter’s ... her quarter's desk unit. In gazing
down, she noted the youthfulness of her shaking hands, which she steadied by
placing them firmly on the desk.
She knew, if she opted to look in a mirror, she would look
completely different than she last recalled. Her white hair would be auburn.
She would be just a little taller, though maybe not stronger. She had still
been in good shape for her age. Her skin would be pale and smooth, without the
wrinkles and familiar spots and marks. The evidence of passing of time would be
gone. Except, perhaps, in her eyes. Her eyes would
tell her a story of a lifetime lived, even if they were brighter and more
focused.
Dead people would notice her once she stepped out of this
temporary haven. Old friends long gone, but – she knew – here now, would notice
what seemed to be arbitrary changes in her attitude. If this were at all real,
changes would be made. It was unavoidable. If she were here, if she were alive,
she would make ... different decisions for some things.
The temporal directive be damned. She
would do things right this time. Or different. If she could.
If she were alive, and this was a second
chance...
Alive.
She was alive.
Kathryn's body shuddered with primal awareness. She felt her own
vitality, her hunger for life. She felt urges she had long thought buried.
She should be dancing. She should be whooping it up.
Years of ingrained stateliness held her grounded. She was, after
all, an admiral.
Hah.
In another lifetime...
She wondered, very briefly, why she had not forgotten that
lifetime yet. Her memories lingered, bright and sharp.
She had always had a good mind.
She guessed, though, just by the fact that her memories were
intact that this might not be the working of those who monitored time lines. It
was... something else. She considered all kinds of possibilities, even notions
of heaven. She discarded most of those random ideas. She decided, for the time
being, to just take it a moment at a time.
Voyager had been a state-of-the-art
Federation starship a long time ago. Well, not so long ago now. That inner
commentary caused Kathryn to chuckle. Very briefly.
The ship was shaped somewhat like a giant version of her mother's garden
trowel, with two warp nacelles appended to where the handle would have been.
The vessel was designed for science and exploration, had 15 levels, and could
move faster than Warp 9. Unlike many of the Federation’s larger ships, it could
land on planets. The vessel and the crew had been dragged far from Federation
space by a powerful alien entity who died before they
could be sent back. And thus they had traveled through the Delta Quadrant
trying to return to the Alpha Quadrant, where the Federation and Starfleet
resided.
She had been in two realities previously. In one reality, her
first, they had made the long journey and arrived - traumatized, weary, with a
ship that was held together by hope and a prayer - after decades. There had
been so many losses. Enough that, when she had a chance,
she'd gone to Klingon space and retrieved an item of temporal power – just so
she could change the time line. In that second reality, she had given –
or attempted to give her life – so Voyager could go home within the first
decade. She had no idea whether they made it or not. Now, she was here. Back on Voyager.
Kathryn stayed with her thoughts a few minutes longer, drinking
that terrible, precious coffee, and tried to decide which was
the dream – the long, full life she recalled with the last few moments of
terrifying Borg connectivity or the frightening possibilities of her new now.
==^==
Moments or millenia later, after the cup
was long empty and cold, Kathryn Janeway – Admiral or Captain - felt a little
more ready to contemplate what ought to be done next. Reasonably, she decided
to take time to read up on the last three days worth of personal logs and a few
other important records. It was like opening a bookmark to a familiar page. She
felt, if not caught up, at least refreshed.
She had come to four conclusions during her time of meditation.
First, current data indicated that she really was back in the
Delta Quadrant on Voyager. The coffee had not been holographic and there was
nowhere else that it could be found. She knew. She had tried. It was amazing what
one could come to love.
Second, she was no longer in her later years and there was no
record of her having been an admiral. In the meantime she retained all the
memories of her personal past. Every single joy and sorrow remained hers. Every
thing she had managed to learn remained hers. But she no longer had files with
her. There were no data cubes, no redundant measures for recreating what had
occurred to allow her to rescue Voyager that last time. She could not use the
same methods.
Third, there were no indications of another Captain Janeway on the
ship or that a temporal anomaly had occurred. Nor was she in the universe of
opposites. The Federation was something she recognized, though not yet
triumphant in their war. She could not, at the moment, recall whether they had
won yet or not in her old universe. In this universe, the war in the Alpha
Quadrant raged in all its fiery glory. That was worrisome in its
own way, but it would resolve itself in time. Her quiet investigation, was quick and deep, if not thorough. She did
not plan on informing any of her staff, nor adding to
the logs any information regarding her past. It wouldn't do to alert an
interventionist. She believed in her heart that there was a reason for her
presence now.
But that reason was not instantly apparent. On the other hand, she
had years of experience on which to rely and a long time to contemplate her
past. She would play Captain. It was a familiar role and if her crew thought
her a little mad for a short time, well, she wouldn't blame them. It was, after
all, very possible that she might be.
Finally, she decided, the puzzle of why she was here would be
revealed in due time or it wouldn't. It was possible that she was dreaming. It
was possible that there had just been a loop created or collapsed. It was
possible that the time patrol had simply reverted the
time stream to the last, best location and had assumed her memory would be
wiped. It was possible that Q was in play. It would be like him. So many
possibilities, but the real truth lay in the opportunity.
She could make a few assumptions based on her current predicament.
The termination of the Borg was not the correct solution. The arrival of
Voyager in the Alpha Quadrant that early might also have been a mistake, though
that awareness tore at her heart. But now... there were possibilities. She was
farther back than she had originally intended. Perhaps a solution could be
found for those who had fallen irretrievably ill in the Delta Quadrant if she
had the Doctor working on it – though discreetly. Perhaps... she might try a...
different... approach to her most valued relationships.
The rules had changed. Who knew what the future held – aside from
familiar faces? She thought of that old story about butterflies and hurricanes.
As she was here, the butterfly must have flapped its wings. The future was
already changed. They would encounter who they might. They would do what they
must. Voyager would return home, but perhaps with less... personal damage.
Yes.
Captain Kathryn Janeway, who used to be an Admiral, stood up
resolutely and discarded the sheet, letting it drop to the floor. Then she
paced towards her refresher with a bit of a predatory gleam in her eyes. It was
time to take a good look at what she had to work with.
==^==
Part 2 | Bookmarks
Sometime later,
B'Elanna Torres stalked angrily down the corridor. People swerved out of her
way instinctively as the fiercely determined woman passed by them. The Voyager
crew had long been familiar with her temperamental ways. If she was swearing
volubly, there was no doubt a good reason; often it was something to do with
the state of the ship, Tom Paris or Seven of Nine. There were circumspect
betting pools about which of the culprits, plus other miscellaneous options,
would set off the volatile woman next. Thus, even as her fellow crew persons
stepped hurriedly out of her way, some of them were trying to listen in on what
her extensive vocabulary of curses aimed at. In this case, though, it was
almost a sure bet. The Chief Engineer was heading toward the scientific domain
of the Borg, Seven of Nine's state-of-the-art Astrometrics department.
There was a second betting pool regarding one particular
relationship of B'Elanna Torres. This one had originated as a joke by her
sometimes romantic partner Tom Paris, the prime Voyager Helmsman, – where he
opened a pool early on to determine the date that B'Elanna Torres airlocked the statuesque Borg. The original bet took on a
life of its own as someone added in the option for kissing, another added
public fisticuffs, and then others added sundry and perhaps not entirely
impossible results from the fiery – and so far unfriendly – relationship.
Seven of Nine was
light to B'Elanna Torres's dark. She was perceived as emotionally distant and
enclosed, while B'Elanna was seen as fearsome, but approachable. Seven, who was
originally named Annika Hansen, was a descendant of Norse ancestors, while
B'Elanna was descended from Spanish Conquistadors and the race of Klingon. B'Elanna was
muscularly compact, naturally tan and brown-eyed beautiful with dark hair and
the finely decorative ridges of her Klingon heritage on her forehead and .... perhaps evidenced
discreetly elsewhere. Seven of Nine was tall, blonde
and blue eyed and proportioned like a human male's wet dream. She was also Borg. So upon her person were the metallic cybernetic implants
of her alien home of youth, which rather than detract from her exotic beauty
added to it. Both women were incredibly strong, enhanced either by genetics or
by technology. Both women were incredibly intelligent and capable. Both could
hold their own in a fight. Both frightened people with their intensity.
There were other issues.
Seven of Nine, former Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix
01, frightened much of Voyager's population simply by existing. She was a
constant reminder of their vulnerability toward those dangerous empire-building
aliens. There were those who thought of her as mostly machine rather than
human, or else they were completely envious of her beauty and brains, and their
prejudices were often vocalized in her presence. There were others who simply
could not process that Seven of Nine's unique beginnings might affect her
co-mingling with the crew. They unrealistically expected her to behave in known
human ways and she simply did not. She was also proud of her Borgness, though she was often pressured by social
expectations to be different. There were very few of the crew who considered
themselves her friend.
Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, who was of the Maquis, was more socially
adept than Seven of Nine, since she was raised in both Human and Klingon
populations. That had its own drawbacks, however,
since cultural expectations differed between the races. The Klingons were
fiercely proud and had social codes based on warrior traditions. Human
approaches to life were sometimes diametrically opposed. Then there was the
physical conflict that raged within B'Elanna, since many of her bodily
processes reflected her Klingon heritage. Her blood, under certain light, glowed lavender. She was constantly repressing her
needs--especially in romantic encounters – just to make sure she didn't
seriously hurt anyone. Very few people realized how much effort she put into
channeling her passions.
Especially when it often seemed she wasn't channeling them very
well at all.
B'Elanna finally
arrived at Astrometrics. She aggressively started forward through the doors,
already beginning her tirade, then stalled at the
sight before her. The room fairly buzzed with activity. She spotted the red-headed
Delaney sisters, Megan and Jennifer, to her left. They were busy communicating
with another set of twins – the recent Borgling
arrivals Rebi and Azan.
And wasn't that just what she needed in her life? More liberated
Borg. She growled sub-sonically, enough that the attention of the cybernetically enhanced twins was drawn toward her – though
they didn't stop talking with the Delaneys. B'Elanna
pulled that hostility in sharply.
They were just kids. Borg. But kids. And
she wasn't after them.
The twins' conversation ping-ponged in
the air as both sets finished each other's sentences. The adults were holding
their own, since the Delaneys were no slouches.
Starfleet attracted the best and the brightest, after all. But it was obvious
that the young boys were giving them a run for the latinum on the topic they
were investigating. B'Elanna stared a few seconds, then
shook her attention away to find the woman who originally inspired her ire.
To her right she spotted Seven of Nine,
who was leaning over a smaller, brown-haired Bajoran woman, Ensign
Tal Celes. Seven was speaking earnestly with the shy and bumbling Celes and
actually physically guiding the young woman's hands along the console. B'Elanna
thought Celes looked ready to faint. She wasn't sure if it was due to
nervousness or the physical nearness of Seven of Nine. B'Elanna concluded that
it was probably both.
B'Elanna ignored the rush of hormones she felt flush her system as
she caught scent of her Bor... the
Borg and then there was the follow up flash of irrational jealousy. She nearly
growled again.
B'Elanna called herself automatically to heel even as she flashed
back to a bite given to her during one of Seven's ... growing pains. She dragged
her attention forward in time, forward in reality. She was here on a mission.
That woman was a Borg and emotionally unavailable. Everyone knew it. And there
was Tom to think about ... And there were reasons ... there were reasons...
She couldn't finish the thought. Instead she instinctively
retreated into anger – a portion of which related to what she thought about the
being she could never have.
“You!” B'Elanna began, and then continued with
the cussing. She stalked forward, waving a PADD in Seven's general direction.
“I want an explanation, Borg!” She just – at the moment – couldn't quite
remember which thing she wanted an explanation about. B'Elanna held onto the
PADD like a lifeline to rationality, even as she swung it in the Borg's
direction.
Seven of Nine gently released Tal Celes'
hands. She spoke softly to the ensign, “You are excused. Please return at your
regularly scheduled time tomorrow. We will try again.” There was a remarkable
amount of patience in her voice. It surprised B'Elanna. She knew how
frustrating working with Celes could be and she knew that Seven
had her own moments of expressed intolerance for the Bajoran. But something had
changed, though B'Elanna could not think when it might have occurred. It must
have been recently, in any case.
B'Elanna observed the ensign's retreat and, again, stifled an
unfriendly growl at the young woman. Tal Celes had very nearly bowed to Seven in an act of gratitude and Bajoran courtesy, but
caught herself, instead satisfying those social obligations with a nod. Then
the young woman stepped away, nodded fearfully to the Lieutenant, and exited as
quickly as was decently possible.
By that time Seven had turned around to
face the Chief Engineer.
Seven of Nine did not speak immediately, but
first took a moment to observe the irate woman. In her case, observation
included a multitude of data, knowledge-based and sensory. An overload of
information was instantly available for Seven's access. She knew, though Seven would never admit it, exactly how hard B'Elanna was
holding back – was always holding back.
Seven often wondered what would happen if she initiated
exploratory touch at moments like these, since she was highly aware of B'Elanna
at a primal level. If there were ever a vase in Astrometrics, she might have
thrown it long ago. Seven, however, coolly stopped the familiar impulse. She
would not take advantage of B'Elanna's current state. Though she was, slowly
and patiently, whittling away at the Klingon's hostility and moving a good portion
of their interactions into better directions. Despite B'Elanna's accusations,
Seven of Nine was a very honorable individual.
Seven clasped her hands behind her back and gazed with an
unflappable attitude at the other woman. “Lieutenant Torres, I request that you
cease swearing at this time. There are children present. Please convey your
message alternatively.”
The smaller woman spluttered to a halt and then took a breath to
calm herself. She grimaced as she held back her temper. Then
she calmly, if a bit sharply, extended the PADD in Seven's direction.
“Perhaps you could explain this, please,” she said through gritted teeth.
Seven of Nine's brow arched, raising her ocular implant, and she
gathered the PADD from B'Elanna. She was rather impressed with the small
warrior engineer's self-control – given how much she knew that B'Elanna's
temper was roiling. She glanced down at the information tool, reading through
it quickly. “Interesting,” she commented.
“Interesting?!” There was a bite to the question.
Seven of Nine returned her attention to
B'Elanna. “I have no knowledge of these changes, but I note that they are
effective. I am not sure why you are upset. On the other hand, I am willing to
investigate it further, if you will allow ...” She hoped to buy some time. But
the engineer was having none of it.
“Excuse me?” B'Elanna stepped dangerously close and poked her
index finger at the PADD. “Those are Borg enhancements! Are you telling me you
didn't have anything to do with this? Only you have the clearance ... ”
Seven of Nine held very still, though she
urgently wanted to step back. It wasn't because she was afraid. She could match
and exceed any violence that B'Elanna might throw her way. But she struggled
with the rush of responses she was experiencing to the other woman's proximity.
It was... disconcerting.
It always was.
Then there were other things to consider. She had long ago
researched appropriate responses to the bracing behavior B'Elanna displayed and
Seven was aware that, with a distressed Klingon,
retreat had to be practiced carefully. Also, she was beginning to feel the stir
of her own anger. No one liked being accosted unfairly, and it happened often
enough to her that there was always that small trickle of resentment. But she
was trying to set a good example. She had obligations of a personal nature now.
“Lieutenant, I am sure there is a logical explanation.” There was
a touch of heat to her reply and she knew that she must diffuse the moment or
suffer emotionally. There was always a subjective cost to arguing with the
Klingon hybrid.
Seven of Nine broke her attention away
from B'Elanna's hot gaze. She instead turned to look at two sets of twins who
were gaping at her. “Ensigns, I request that you take a 15 minute break. Azan, Rebi
attend me.” Seven of Nine pointed imperiously at the
ground before her with her cybernetic hand.
The science officers didn't need any more prompting. They left in
a hurry, sending sympathetic glances at the other set of twins. Azan and Rebi,
the two young boys, jerked forward, since there was no avoiding that command.
There was no dawdling at all.
B'Elanna moved away, a bit startled at the tone in Seven's voice.
Oddly, she recognized it and she felt her blood charging in instinctive reaction.
The only thing missing was the middle and last name. Well, and there was the
formality of the demand. Her mom had never been that curt.
B'Elanna's gaze sharpened as she realized she was indeed
witnessing something unexpected. But... Seven? She had held stringently to the idea that Seven was Borg. Now she was being given an abrupt new vision
and it was skewing something on the inside.
Seven ignored B'Elanna for the moment and tapped the communicator
above her chest. That movement caused all sorts of interesting things to happen
to B'Elanna's consciousness even as she was aware that Icheb and Mezoti were
also being called into Astrometrics to experience this... parental moment.
A few minutes later, the other two young people arrived and made
their way to Seven.
B'Elanna stepped away from the group. She needed a little distance
from the strange domesticity. Though Seven had spoken
sharply in commanding the children to her presence, she had not continued with
that tone of voice once they were there. In fact, she'd gave
the assignment to the Borglings with an impressive
neutrality.
Seven handed the PADD to Icheb. “It has come to my attention that
certain enhancements have been made in Engineering. This needs further
investigation. Please review this PADD and consult with your siblings. You will
report on who instigated these changes and by what authority. You will begin
now.” Icheb didn't even blink at the demand. He simply looked down at the PADD
and began talking with his siblings.
B'Elanna took a moment to observe the children. The children had
been on Voyager only a comparatively short time. They originally came from a
Borg vessel where the adult population had been decimated by a biological
weapon and were still adapting to their new – probably temporary, given the
Captain's preferences - home.
There had been a total of five children rescued, including an
infant. The youngest was located in Sickbay in a specially created maturation
chamber. She had no idea how long the baby would remain in the unit. But she
guessed that Seven probably knew.
Icheb was the oldest – a teenage Brunali, but there was no real way of knowing how old any of the
children were. The best guess would place him somewhere between 16 and 17 – old
enough to be responsible for his... siblings and to think of Starfleet with a
gleam in his eye. He was a tallish young man, and probably going to get taller,
slim with short, dark hair and dark eyes. He had a ridge running down the
middle of his forehead and along the line of his nose. He smiled easily.
That always took B'Elanna aback. She was so used to Seven's
reserved mode of behavior that any display of emotion by the children always
caught her off guard. She figured, however, that she would eventually get used
to it. Certainly, even Seven of Nine had been emoting more – if in a more adult
Borg way.
After Icheb there was Azan and Rebi, the Wysanti twins. They
were somewhere between 10 and 12, quick witted and active. Like Icheb they had
a nose ridge, but it was as if someone had pressed the line in at decorative
intervals along their foreheads. They would often converse silently between
themselves via their Borg enhancements. It was probably a twin thing, but it
did make B'Elanna wonder if this meant that Seven and the children were only
speaking out loud to avoid being rude.
Then there was Mezoti. Mezoti was a
pretty young girl, about 8 years old. She too was blonde and blue eyed. Her
original species were the Norcadians, but
she had always been Borg. She also had a nose ridge, though it did not extend
all the way up her forehead like the boys' did. Originally she and Seven had
not gotten along, because Mezoti had been testing her boundaries. Now though,
B'Elanna noted that Mezoti stood very close to Seven
and watched the Klingon with a cautious gaze.
Of course, all of the children – even the
baby - had implants, some more visible than others. They would never not be Borg. There would always be that strike against
them...
And suddenly B'Elanna's double-hearts clenched with awareness and
she winced as if in pain. Memories of her own childhood difficulties stirred
within her.
“Lieutenant?” Seven, who had turned her attention away
from the children and back to the hybrid, began to query.
B'Elanna gruffly waved the question off. “It's nothing.” Actually it
was a spasm of guilt, but there was no way she would admit that. Klingons, even
half Klingons like herself, didn't do apologies – if they could avoid them. But
that didn't stop her stomaches from protesting as her
own history kicked her in the gut. “I just remembered something.”
There was a pause. “I .... see,” said
Seven, though she really did not. The Borg decided to let the matter drop.
Icheb then captured his caretaker's attention. “Seven?” The name
was spoken gently, affectionately.
Seven nodded formally, “Yes, Icheb. Do you have an answer?”
“I believe so. Our report is as follows: None of us did it, though
we are all capable of it. Instigator of the changes: Unknown. Authority: Upper
level clearance needed. Captain's choice. Unknown individual and command.” Azan and Rebi nodded in
agreement. Icheb continued with some enthusiasm, “However, the changes made
were effective. If we might make recommendations for further...”
Seven of Nine raised her hand to
forestall the offer. “The Lieutenant prefers to pursue more official channels
for recommendations and changes. Thus the crisis today.
Modifications were made without consultation. If you have suggestions in
relation to changes and this ship, please submit your recommendations to me via
the usual formats and I will see that they are delivered to the Chief Engineer
or the Captain in a timely manner. Will you comply?”
The Borg children spoke as one. “We will comply.”
“Please check your schedules now. I believe it is time for 'rest
and relaxation.'” In general Seven and the children were pleased with the
schedule they had finally arranged. There had been a bit of a learning curve,
but they had learned to work together – as individuals in relationship to one
another. Someone who didn't know that their relationship was not formalized
might have simply called them a family. The Borg would have simply called them
a collective.
The children's expressions changed a bit, as if they were looking
inward. Then they nodded.
“Icheb, you will supervise. Holodeck 1 has been reserved for you.”
“Yes, Seven.”
“You are all excused.”
“Yes, Seven.”
B'Elanna watched as Mezoti reached up to Seven
for a hug. Seven leaned over and embraced her young charge, closing her eyes to
fully enjoy the sensation. The beautiful woman then whispered something in
Mezoti's ear, which caused the young girl to smile. B'Elanna did not hear what
was said, though she did technically have preternaturally good hearing. She
suspected that it had been some sort of sub-tonal sound that only a Borg could
pick up. But she wondered. And she could almost guess, just based on that
smile.
Then the children left and she and Seven were alone.
Seven offered the PADD back to the Chief Engineer. “I believe I can
say with 99.9% certainty that it was not one of us. Do you agree?”
“I guess I have to. Borg don't lie.”
“They do not,” agreed Seven of Nine, as she disregarded – once
again – B'Elanna's original accusation. It was an old game with them..
“But why only 99.9%?”
“One must take into account the impossible.”
“Ah. I see.” B'Elanna finally took the PADD back, carefully
avoiding touching any portion of Seven of Nine. She wasn't sure she could trust
herself.
“Are you sure you are ... all right?”
“I'm fine.” She gazed at the PADD and then looked at the blonde.
“But, Seven, if it wasn't you or the children ... who was it?
The Borg looked thoughtful and then gave B'Elanna a look that was
almost as good as a shrug. “I do not know.”
==^==
Part 3 | Bookmarks
Captain Kathryn Janeway had a very busy if surreal day. True, in
her past, it hadn't really been that long since she'd walked these familiar
halls. But that had been as almost a stranger. This time it was different.
She'd been making changes throughout the day, starting with some
simple coding enhancements to the vessel. It was possible that someone's
red-flag would go up, but no one had brought the changes to her attention. She hoped
that the individual was smart enough to recognize the benefit to Voyager. The
improvements she had coded in the morning had been nothing overtly demanding on
the physical systems of the ship. But she'd half-expected B'Elanna to come
storming into her office at any time. That event had not been forthcoming,
though Kathryn had been looking forward to seeing the expression on the
engineer’s face when she told her who had made the changes. On the other
hand, she wasn't sure she was ready to deal with the temperamental woman at the
moment.
Then Kathryn had moved onto some staffing issues that she felt
needed immediate attention. Chakotay had not been prepared for her interference
in what was mostly his domain, but he would do what she'd asked, including finding
assistants for helping Neelix. “People who can cook,” she'd said rather
pointedly. Chakotay wasn't quite sure how he would go about finding those
precious individuals, but it was an order from the Captain.
Chakotay was a burly, darkly handsome
man. He was a member of the Kolopak tribe,
descendants of Native Americans – the tattoos of which were displayed upon the
left side of his forehead. He had been the captain of the Maquis ship, which
Voyager had been chasing per the orders of Starfleet.
The Maquis were a fairly successful
revolutionary group, fighting against ... well... everyone. At that time the
occupying Cardassians, an unsavory reptile culture, and the Federation were
still negotiating compromises that eventually failed. The Maquis had used
whatever means necessary to win their cause, which was liberation of the
planets that the Federation had deeded to the Cardassians as territory. A
striking number of Starfleet officers had given up their commission to join
them. Their efforts were starting to have a real impact and Cardassia had done
more than protest. All of that combined to bring the Maquis to the Federation's
attention. This particular ship with its crew had been brought to the Delta
Quadrant at the same time as Voyager. They had combined forces when they'd
realized that they were both stuck more than 70,000 light years away from home
and Chakotay had become her first officer.
At one time he and Kathryn almost made a go of it, but that was
something that hadn't worked out. Instead they'd become friends and sometimes
adversaries, depending on their current adventure. He was, usually, an
excellent first officer – but he could be willful. The captain was grateful
that today he wasn't showing signs of disagreement. She really didn't want to
have to argue her cause with him. It might reveal too much.
So she brought up the next topic and told him that she wanted him
to start developing protocols for new crew integration. “It can't go on as
haphazardly as we've done before,” she'd said to Chakotay. “We've lost so many
already. I want to start considering the possibility of recruitment and
training. That will be your job.”
“Recruitment, Kathryn?”
The captain had nodded firmly. “We have a good crew and our
progress has been excellent. But we're explorers in a part of the galaxy that
has no Federation representatives. Starfleet only exists with us, but – after
long thought – I think we're eventually going to need help. We will need able
bodied people to go on. If we have the training schedules on hand, we can begin
as immediately as they come. I want these potential new people thoroughly
integrated. And if we have people who want to try their hand at something else,
let them. Let's give them what they need. I want our people to be the best that
there are, because that is their destiny. I want us to be as strong and
flexible as possible, Chakotay.”
Chakotay was looking at her strangely.” It sounds like you're
putting us more on a military footing, Kathryn.” He tapped the corner of the
PADD with his index finger, keeping tempo to some unknown rhythm.
“Maybe I am. But that's not quite what I'm thinking. I'm thinking
more in terms of something more... holistic.” She leaned forward. “There are
many in this crew who claim to come from warrior traditions. Call these people
in. Find out their traditions.” She hoped she wasn't pushing too fast, but
honestly, she had no idea how long she would be in this reality or whether or
not those memories of the past would begin fading. “Get together and start working
with Tuvok on scheduling specialized training sessions for the crew. It’s time
we took advantage of our knowledge base. It's time we start thinking beyond
terms of mere survival, which is where we've been for years. We need more and
we can be more. We have people who are experts in areas that aren't covered in
the handbook. Let's use them. Someone knows how to use throwing knives. Let's
get more people learning how. You understand? Shared knowledge is shared power.
We have the files that Starfleet has been transmitting to us. At our next beam
out, send a request for training manuals, procedures, holodeck sessions. I want our crew as up to date as
we can make them.
“Plus it will keep them from getting bored. Boredom is a killer
out here, even with all the adventures we go through.” She paused, trying to
give him time to gather his thoughts. “We have such a small population to draw
from, but also more than many small villages on earth. Surely we can do more
than just ... “
“...try to make it to the next port.” Chakotay inserted.
Kathryn nodded. “We already have a strong ship's culture. Let's
see if we can't make more from that.”
“I think I see where you're going with this Kathryn.”
This caused the captain to lean back in her chair and smile at him
with those ancient eyes. “Good. Thank you.” He smiled back, and she continued,
“So in that spirit, I want you to talk to Neelix about establishing crafting
and mercantile classes. I know that we have creative people on board. I want
them to build up their talents – to contribute to our home. Besides, when we
visit other planets it opens up the possibility of personal trade goods. That
will also bring a sense of pride to my... our people.
“It's not like we don't have the time. Certainly Harry and others
have been working on their hobbies while we've been out here. I just want to
encourage more of that, since not everyone is as motivated as Ensign Kim.”
Chakotay gave her a rueful grin. She continued on. “And we're in
here for the long haul, Chakotay.” She paused to give him time to grapple with
that pronouncement.
It wasn't something she'd really articulated so frankly before.
But she wanted him to know that she was aware of the passage of time. She
leaned forward and pressed her fingertips together. “Even if we were to get
rescued tomorrow, we've already been out here for nearly seven years. If we're
going to be out here longer, we might as well make it profitable and
meaningful. I want the crew to be able to take something back with them from
their journey. Works of the hands, Chakotay, as well as the
mind and spirit. I know everyone does their best. I know they're tired.
But I think ... I believe this will help. The ancient warrior cultures of earth
– at least the good ones – encouraged artistic pursuits as well as military in
order to build up the spirit. Our people have become restless. It's time to
wake them up, to give them a different kind of hope. We'll get home. But I want
to be more than rag-tag when we get there. I want them to be proud of themselves
for their incredible achievement. I want them to be ... family.”
Chakotay was nodding as he made notations on his PADD. His
expression was serious, but she could see he was already thinking hard. This
was good, because she needed him to be focused.
“We also need to think...” she inhaled a bit, to gather her
courage. “... about the notion of families on this
ship.”
Chakotay had sat back in his chair, stunned like an ox at that
statement. “Families.”
“Yes.” The captain had nodded firmly. “Families.
We've already got children aboard. We might as well adjust to facts. There will
be more. We will need to assess space needs, power, formal
instruction. I believe that Seven of Nine has developed...” Kathryn let a
brief, sharp smile curve on her lips, “several protocols for such things. You
may discuss them with her and with Samantha Wildman. Also pick other personnel
for the project... Let's just call it... Generations... and then you and they
will begin working on policies and procedures for handling integration and
development.” She looked keenly at him, “Is that something you can handle,
Chakotay?”
“I...Yes, Captain.” He was looking a bit overwhelmed, “These are
major changes, Captain.”
Captain Kathryn Janeway merely nodded. “There will be more to come.
Make it so, First.”
There had been one other thing that surprised him. She demanded a
team of assistants. Kathryn intended to spend her time differently now and she
planned on using what she'd learned as an Admiral. Delegation had its place.
“Find me good people, Chakotay,” she'd demanded after giving him details of
what she wanted – including the name of one specific person. Then she'd smiled
broadly. “Think of it this way. They can double as body guards on away
missions.”
Kathryn excused the stunned Chakotay and
then she'd called in Tuvok.
This moment held a bit of angst for her. In her first reality,
Tuvok had died much too early. It had nearly wrenched her heart out to lose her
longtime friend, and a part of her had always blamed herself for his untimely
demise.
Tuvok was her Chief Security Officer. He had been on the Maquis
ship acting as a spy for the Federation. He'd been very good at his job. None
of the Maquis had ever suspected.
Like all Vulcans, Tuvok had pointed ears and eyebrows that were almost
straight, giving him a sort of ancient-time demonic look whenever they narrowed
in thought. His skin was the color of fresh brewed coffee and he was a very
tall, slim man. Vulcans originated from a hot, desert world with a heavier
gravity than earth, so despite his slim size he was actually stronger than
might be outwardly perceived. He towered over Kathryn, but she didn't mind. She
always felt safe with her friend.
Because he was Vulcan, the opening pleasantries of conversation
were kept to a minimum. Vulcans were a logical, touch telepathic, and an
efficient people. They didn't usually need a lot of dialog to get their point
across. Kathryn knew that, despite the reputation for being emotionless, Tuvok
had a great heart. She admired him deeply for his intelligence and skill and
would do almost anything for him.
They began discussing in great detail defense and security issues.
That had taken hours, but she was pleased to be able to spend time with her
logical friend and find some resolution for the things that had long been at
the back of her mind. It had been.... healing. And if he was aware of her
tender mood towards himself, he made no overtly obvious indication. He simply
reciprocated in that ineffable Vulcan way of his.
Also, he approved of the changes in protocol. By the same time
next week, the crew persons on the ship – from lowest rank to highest - would
be required to go into combat conditioning. In a few months more, after
crafting certain weapons to meet Janeway's demands, everyone would be armed and
dangerous. Yes, there would still be a weapons cache to draw upon. Those would
be the higher level items that had always been stored – though she intended to
have teams working on improving those items too. But she wanted boot knives and
small, potent palm phasers for every member of the crew. The people of Voyager
would no longer be easy marks for boarding aliens, simply because they had been
unarmed and had to rush to a storage closet for armament. It was true, the method harked back to a more primitive, savage
time. There was, however, no sin in preparation, and they were indeed in the
wilderness – as their forefathers had been. It was time to acknowledge that
fact.
Tuvok promised her he would assemble a team to begin development
of training schedules and weapons design.
And then there were the changes she wanted made to the ship
itself.
Tuvok was no dummy. He made no comment as Janeway began describing
physical, futuristic changes to be made upon Voyager itself. He simply
listened, for the moment. He had been aware of certain security changes the
captain had already instigated. After all, he kept track of such things and this
morning was no different. He suspected, however, that Seven of Nine had
experienced an interesting visit from the Chief Engineer.
He knew there was something different about Janeway, just based on the conversation. There was also something that niggled on his consciousness in her interactions with him. It wasn't her affection. That was always present, if not so deep as today. She had not touched him, so he couldn't get more specific – since Vulcan telepathy relied on physical contact-, but there was a sense of ancient wisdom in her gaze; a strange mix of agelessness with experience and a youthful exuberance motivate