The BLTS Archive - Rationality second in the Collectivity series by Sasscat Bu-to-y (fitchett@netaccess.co.nz) --- That's right, there's actually a plot! I'm so proud... Second in the "Collectivity" series, after "Individuality". Disclaimer: Paramount owns all. Archive: ASC and Sasscat's Home for Wayward P/7 Writers (obviously). (c) Sasscat Bu-to-y 1999 --- "Well," B'Elanna sneered, standing over the table, "isn't this cosy?" Tom put down his fork, feeling the heat rise to his face. "Yes, B'Elanna, it's called having friends. Maybe you should try it one day." "Don't get smart with me," she hissed, eyes glinting dangerously. "Why?" Tom said innocently. "Do you--" "Tom," Seven said flatly. He stared at her for a moment, then looked back up at B'Elanna. "I'm not going to fight you," he said, sounding less than convinced. "Do you do everything she tells you these days, *Ensign*?" B'Elanna demanded. "If she--" "I'm not going to fight you," Tom repeated, more firmly. He stood, abandoning his lunch tray. "Come on, Seven, let's go." B'Elanna looked a little taken aback, then launched herself after them. "Don't just walk away from me," she snapped, reaching to grab Tom's arm. Seven blocked her path, eyes cold. "You seem excessively irritable today, Lieutenant. If you are menstruating, perhaps the Doctor has something that could be of assistance." B'Elanna stared at her for a moment, then let out a little sound of outrage. "Why you--" "Come on," Tom said, pulling Seven hastily out of the mess hall and harm's way. "You shouldn't have said that," he admonished her, but his eyes were dancing. "I fail to see why not," Seven said lightly. "It was a valid observation, and it did not unnecessarily damage Lieutenant Torres'-- feelings." It sounded almost as if Seven was trying to swallow the last word. Tom shook his head, grinning. "It was necessary to annoy her? You're more human than you let on." Seven favoured him with one of the small smiles that indicated that she was particularly pleased with herself. "I could not let you be placed in the brig for misconduct," she stated. "It seemed prudent to... distract the lieutenant." "Uh huh," Tom agreed knowingly. He turned around, walking backwards, so he could face her. "Hey, want to work on the mural some more?" "That would be accept--" She stopped herself halfway through the sentence and started again. "I would like that." A delighted smile broke over Tom's face at her effort. Seven could feel the corners of her own mouth turning upwards in response. "There is a wall behind you," she informed him, to distract them both. Tom stopped just in time to avoid hitting the wall, and started walking normally again. "We still haven't decided where to put it when it's done." "We could make a gift of it to Lieutenant Torres," Seven said dryly. Tom laughed. "Or we could let Tuvok's security teams use it for target practise." Seven gave another small smile. "We could enter its molecular structure into the replicator and create a copy," she suggested, more seriously. "Ye-es..." Tom frowned. "I don't know, I'd just-- I guess I want something unique that we made together, something that we share." They reached the turbolift and he hit the button to call it to their floor. "Something other than the Delta Flier," he added, smiling artificially. "I believe I understand," Seven said, a little hesitantly. Tom looked at her as the turbolift arrived and they stepped into it. "Deck four. You do?" "I believe so," she repeated. "You feel that if we each have a copy, there will be nothing to stop one of us leaving the other." "No-- well-- I didn't say that," Tom objected. "There is more to human communication than words. You told me that yourself." Seven turned her whole body to face him. "Creating a copy would take time and power. I suggest that we keep only our original version, to save replicator energy." Tom smiled gratefully at her for the out she'd given him. More to communication than words indeed. "Good idea. So, we're back to square one." Seven lifted her metal eyebrow at him. "Square one?" "Figure of speech," Tom explained. "It means we're back to our original problem. Like 'back to the drawing board', which means we have to try and find another solution from scratch." Seven paused, assimilating this, then nodded. "Thank you." "No problem." They stepped out of the turbolift and walked silently the brief distance to Seven's 'quarters'. To one side of the expansive cargo bay were three sheets of transparent canvas with pieces of mural on. The first two were incomplete; one a precise image of the interior of a Borg cube, and one an abstract of what Tom insisted warp ten had 'felt like'. The computer's third was finished, a simple representation of Voyager moving into warp. When each of the three canvases were ready, they would be lain on top of each other and molecularly bonded to form the multi-layered mural Tom and Seven had first conceived almost a week ago. Seven had provided the technique from the artistic styles of Species 1545, and Tom had come up with the idea of combining their different experiences of 'perfection' with their common life on Voyager. The only question left was where they were going to put the finished mural. Tom still had no idea. Seven was just mixing up another shade of translucent green paint when her commbadge bleeped. "Janeway to Seven of Nine; please report to Astrometrics." "On my way, Captain." She replaced the pot's cover and rose, glancing down at Tom. "Do you wish to continue without me?" He stood as well, comparing their canvases thoughtfully. "Yeah... I've got a lot to catch up. Pity you can't share some of that Borg efficiency, huh?" "Believe me, I have often had that same regret," Seven said dryly. Tom laughed. "Yeah, I bet you have. Okay, I'll see you later. Have fun with Pippi." Seven paused and gave him a curious look. "Pippi?" she repeated sceptically. "Um, long story. I'll explain later." She nodded, putting the matter easily to one side. "I should not be long." "I know." He brushed her cheek, touched by her reluctance to leave. "You'd better go, or you'll be the one getting put in the brig. And then I'd have to stay there with you, and you know how much I hate the brig." Seven smiled slightly. "I would owe you 'big-time'." She nodded and left the cargo bay. Tom grinned. Once he'd gotten her to understand that slang was a valid part of language, 'used to denote more casual or intimate conversation', Seven had made an effort to learn as much as she could. Maybe one day he'd even manage to get her to drop the audible quotation marks. But that might be pushing it. He grinned again and turned back to his third of the mural. --- "You wished to see me, Captain," Seven said, to let Janeway know she'd arrived. Janeway glanced over her shoulder before turning back to the display. "Take a look at this." Seven stepped up beside Janeway, immediately recognising the object of the captain's attention. "Spatial anomaly type 532. Rich in omicron particles which could be harvested to supplement the ship's antimatter supply. However, high concentrations of metreonic gas would make that harvesting a difficult task." "Bingo," Janeway said with a smile. "Got any suggestions?" Seven raised an eyebrow at the captain's apparent obtuseness. "The Delta Flier is adapted to high pressure environments. It is more manoeuvrable than Voyager, and should be able to avoid the gas pockets. It would be a simple matter to modify it to harvest the omicron particles." "Consider yourself drafted." Janeway walked towards the nebula's image, then looked back at Seven. "Work with B'Elanna to modify the Delta Flier. The two of you can go with Tom for the harvest. It shouldn't--" "That would not be advisable, Captain," Seven interrupted. Janeway gave her a dangerous look. "And why is that?" "Lieutenant Torres and I had a..." Seven paused, looking for the right term with which to designate their encounter, "confrontation this morning. I refused to let her cause Ensign Paris to be placed in the brig again. I would recommend refraining from assigning us to work together for a while, to let her... 'cool off'." Janeway looked amused - and possibly slightly relieved - at Seven's speech, and nodded. "All right, then. Since you and Tom seem to have grown so close, you can work with him. How soon before you'll be ready to leave?" Seven wondered if the captain realised just how close she and Tom had grown. "We should be able to complete the modifications within approximately two hours, Captain." "Tomorrow morning will do." Janeway made a brief gesture with one hand. "Dismissed." --- "We're approaching the rendezvous point," Harry reported. "Captain, they're not there." Janeway stood up, turning to look at him. "Then where are they?" Kim shrugged helplessly. "I can't find them on sensors. They-- wait! Back towards the nebula, Captain. I'm getting a distress signal, very faint." "On screen," Janeway ordered. The viewscreen flickered to life, but all she could make out was static. "Can you increase the resolution?" "I'm trying, Captain." Harry sighed. "It's no good. We've got to get closer to the source." "Helm, set a course for the nebula." Janeway glanced beside her at Chakotay, seeing her worry reflected in his eyes. She looked back at the helm, forcing herself to straighten. "Maximum warp." "Aye, Captain." The bridge was tensely silent for several minutes, then a scattering of coherent language from the speakers brought Janeway's attention back to the viewscreen. "...require immediate assist..." "Harry," Janeway started, but she could already hear him trying to clear up the message. Slowly, the image onscreen came into focus. "Voyager, this is the Delta Flier," Seven stated. The shuttle was rocking with weapons' fire, and her hair was beginning to escape from its usual efficient coiffure. "We are under attack from the Borg. We require immediate assistance. Voyager, do you read? We require *immediate* assistance." The shuttle rocked again, more violently this time. There was a cry from off-camera. Seven looked towards the noise. "Tom!" she cried before the communication cut out. Janeway had been starting to turn back to Harry, but at that she shot a sharp look towards the viewscreen. It sounded-- There wasn't time for that right now. "How long ago was that message sent?" she demanded. Harry studied his console before looking up at her. "An hour... maybe two." Not immediate enough. Janeway bit her lip. "Captain, we're coming into transporter range of the Delta Flier," Harry offered. "It's still intact." "Life signs?" Janeway asked automatically, but she knew the answer before Harry shook his head. "None." She stared at the floor for a moment, then nodded. "Tuvok, you're with me. Chakotay, you have the bridge." She walked to the turbolift without looking at either of them. --- The Delta Flier was still on red alert when they materialised. Janeway turned full circle, but the shuttle was obviously empty. "They're not here," she said flatly. "It would be logical to assume that they were assimilated." Tuvok's voice dropped into the oppressive air like pebbles. Janeway walked down to the helm without answering. There was a small smear of blood on one of the controls. Tom's. She walked back up to the tactical station and called up the sensor logs. "They were beamed on to a Borg cube about an hour and a half ago. Then the cube took off. They didn't go through a transwarp conduit, so we may still have a chance of catching them." She didn't look at Tuvok. "Bring the Delta Flier back into the shuttlebay. As soon as you arrive we'll set a course to follow the Borg cube." Tuvok was silent just long enough to make her look at him. As soon as their eyes met, he nodded. "Aye, Captain." "Janeway to Voyager," she said, watching him walk to the helm and take Tom's seat. "One to beam up." Then she was in the transporter room, disoriented once again by the apparently sudden shift. Of course she couldn't be conscious while her molecules were separated, but it always seemed like she *should* be. She nodded at the transporter operator and headed out the door. Despite her confidence in front of Tuvok, she had no idea how they were going to get Tom and Seven back. The Collective would no doubt be prepared for them; it had been difficult enough to rescue Seven the last time the Borg had had her in their clutches. This time Janeway was in enough of a bad mood to consider an all-out assault. --- "You want to *what*?" Chakotay repeated in astonishment, looking at her like she was the one with the crazy gene. Janeway looked evenly at each of the senior staff gathered in the conference room. "Think about it, people. This has happened to us before. We know that, and the Borg know that. They're going to be prepared for our old tactics. We won't be able to just sneak in the back door this time around. The last thing they'll be expecting is an attack." "Voyager is no match for a Borg cube," B'Elanna objected. "You'll get the entire crew assimilated. They know Voyager almost better than we do. Whatever we try, they'll be able to adapt to it." "I don't think so," Janeway said, shaking her head. "We've had a lot of contact with other races in the years we've been out here. We've gathered a lot of information about alien technologies that we never bothered to make use of. Hirogen, Voth, Malen, 8472 and the Borg themselves. I think it's time to make Voyager a real ship of the Delta Quadrant." "That's going to be an awful lot of adaptation," B'Elanna said warily. Janeway smiled dangerously. "Are you saying you're not up to it?" B'Elanna lifted her chin. "It will be an interesting challenge." "Good." Janeway faced the entire table again. "Now, there's the matter of what happens once we get inside the cube. I want the biggest range of firepower available. But if it's an energy weapon, the Borg will eventually adapt. I think it's time we looked at projectile weaponry." "We never thought of that before because we're used to thinking of projectiles as primitive," Chakotay agreed, looking around the table. "We'll need something pretty powerful to get through their body armour, though." "That's Tuvok's problem," Janeway said, with a smile at her tactical officer. "What about cloaks?" Harry asked. "I mean, last time we used Doctor Hansen's research, but we've had enough spies on Voyager over the years to be able to come up with something pretty workable. We can take the best features of each different technology and combine them to make a..." "A mongrel," Janeway finished in satisfaction. "Get on it. Work with B'Elanna if you have to. Anything else?" "The Borg have personal shielding," Tuvok said. "Perhaps we could create some shielding for our away team." Harry leaned on the table enthusiastically. "We could modify those phase discriminators I rigged up a few years ago for the-- for my Captain Janeway," he corrected himself, blushing slightly. Janeway nodded slowly, recognising the reference to the time Voyager had been duplicated, and Harry's version destroyed by the Vidiians. "Good idea. But if it won't work, don't waste time on it. We need all the time we can get." She looked around the table one last time. When there were no more suggestions, she nodded crisply. "Dismissed. Let's get to work, people." --- It was almost a week before they caught up with the Borg cube. "It just gives us more time to prepare," Janeway had said, but her eyes had grown darker with every passing day. Now the away team was getting ready to transport over, equipped with Tuvok's projectile weapons and Harry's personal cloak-and-shield devices. Janeway gave the transporter operator a grim nod. "Energise." Dim green lights signalled their arrival on the cube. Vision clouded less than she'd expected from Harry's description of his cloak's drawbacks, Janeway motioned them down a corridor, projectile rifle firmly in hand. She'd opted for a small team; only Tuvok, Harry and B'Elanna accompanied her. Several drones passed them, apparently oblivious to their presence. Janeway tried to force herself to relax, taking a firmer grip on her rifle. "Any sign of them?" she whispered. "Not getting anything human," Harry whispered back, studying his tricorder, "but I can't be sure our modifications will be able to read through the Borg implants." Suddenly the corridor seemed sharper, clearer. Janeway spun around to face her team. "What was that?" "Our cloaks cut out," B'Elanna said, fiddling with hers. It fell off her sleeve with a lifeless click. Growing footsteps announced the arrival of several more drones. These didn't pass obliviously by; their red laser eyes seemed to gleam with menace. "Open fire," Janeway ordered, moving to one side of the corridor and obeying her own command. The drones jerked as the small projectiles pierced their body armour, one by one. It didn't take long for them to fall to the ground, still twitching. Janeway held up a hand to the away team behind her and cautiously approached the drones. "Captain Janeway," stated a flat voice from behind her. She whirled, moving back to Tuvok's side. "Tom?" She looked around, holding her projectile rifle warily in front of her. "Lower your weapons," the drone Tom commanded. She hesitated. "You will not be harmed." Slowly, Janeway lowered her rifle. "Do as he says," she said in a low voice. "Captain--" "Do it." She watched the direction the voice had come from, waiting. Finally Tom - if you could call the drone Tom - walked into view, carrying an unconscious Seven in his arms. "She is undamaged," he said, stopping a couple of metres from Janeway. Janeway walked slowly towards him, motioning for the crewmembers behind her to stay where they were. "You're releasing her?" "She would not comply." Tom held her out like a birthday present. Janeway took Seven, struggling with the weight for a moment until Tuvok moved forward to help her. "Get her back to the ship," she said quietly, then looked back at Tom. "Release my other crewmember," she addressed the Collective. "We will not." "Release him," Janeway commanded, voice almost as flat as the drone's. The smallest of pauses. "We will not comply." Janeway gave him a sharp look. "Tom--" "Our designation is Six of Eleven, secondary adjunct of Unimatrix 131," he interrupted, almost defensively. "The individual you knew as Ensign Paris no longer exists." "Tom," Janeway repeated, "I know you're in there. Fight it, Tom. Come back to us." She kept her gaze locked on his. The Tom drone stared at her for a moment, then lifted a hand jerkily. "Cap-tain..." "Tom," she repeated, taking the last step towards him, "come on, Tom, I can hear you--" She cried out as the hand he'd lifted whipped towards her, assimilation tubes burning as they burrowed into her neck. Pain lanced along her spine as they wrapped themselves around it. She might have screamed. She was dimly aware of the away team behind her opening fire again, the projectiles detonating harmlessly on a forcefield. Something was growing on her, insinuating itself around her vertebrae. She clawed weakly at the tubes where they pierced her skin. Fire consumed her body as millions of nanoprobes poured out of the implant on her spine. Skin crystallising, dissolving so that its place could be taken by more efficient constructs. She understood the entire process, somehow, through the tubes in her neck still connecting her to Tom. "Help," she gasped, eyes locked on his. He looked back, emotionlessly. /Seven of Twelve,/ someone said. /Seven of Twelve./ God, no, it couldn't be him. /Tom,/ she pleaded, feeling the last of her control slipping away as the changes slowed. /That is not our designation, Seven of Twelve./ He stared at her implacably. The transceiver forming in her neocortex jumped to life, and she staggered under the onslaught of information as she was joined to the Collective. Species designations, spatial anomalies, the Omega Particle, and cube upon cube upon cube of drones whose voices she could hear, beating down on her. Six of Ele-- Six of Twelve's assimilation tubes disengaged and his voice became just one of billions. Slowly, she adapted to the change. Seven of Twelve straightened and began to walk along the corridor to Junction 147-beta, sure of her place in the Collective. --- "Retrieve them," Seven demanded, glaring at Chakotay across the biobed. "We're trying to work out how to do that," Chakotay said through gritted teeth. "We can't just go waltzing in and ask the Borg Queen to let them go, you know." "Sarcasm," Seven identified, folding her arms. "You are afraid." "And you are not thinking," Chakotay shot back. "I want them back as much as you do, Seven, but it's just not feasible yet. If you want the captain and Tom back so badly, get down to Engineering and give B'Elanna and Harry a hand with the new cloaks." As if on cue, his commbadge beeped. "Kim to Chakotay; Commander, the new cloaking devices are ready." "Will they work this time?" Chakotay asked. "I think so-- We figured out what the problem was with the others; there was a tachyon leak, and--" "Save it, Harry. Just rig up enough for a new away team." "We've got five, sir; is that enough?" Chakotay looked at Seven. "That's fine, Harry. I want you, B'Elanna and Tuvok to meet me in transporter room two five minutes ago. Are we still in range of the cube?" "Yes sir; we only just caught the last conduit with them, though." That was too close for Chakotay's liking. If they missed a transwarp conduit, they'd never get Tom and the captain back. "Then we'd better act now," he said grimly. "See you in the transporter room. Chakotay out. Seven, you're with me." --- The cube was busier than the last time they'd materialised there. Harry swung his tricorder around, but couldn't find any human life signs within a hundred metres. At least he knew it worked, since it had picked up Tom's appearance on the last rescue mission. Borg were moving in all directions. B'Elanna had managed to clear up the visual distortions the cloaks had been producing, but there wasn't a lot to see anyway. Harry took an involuntary step back as one of the drones seemed to look straight at him. That was a sight he could definitely have done without. The drone passed without incident, however, and the away team walked cautiously down the corridor. Finally Harry's tricorder beeped. "Commander," he whispered. Chakotay moved to look at the readings. "This way," Harry gestured to the others, indicating a corridor branching off the one they were on. The readings grew stronger as the away team continued along the new corridor. Before long the blips separated into two distinct patterns; Tom and the captain. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Unimatrix 131," Seven stated quietly at the next junction. Harry stopped and nodded at Chakotay. Chakotay nodded back, and Harry and B'Elanna crept around the corner. There were a crowd of drones, at least ten, moving from console to access panel to wall station. Twelve, actually, Harry corrected himself. Of course - Six of Eleven, Tom had called himself, and the captain made twelve. B'Elanna elbowed him in the ribs, and Harry looked where she was pointing. Two drones that looked awfully familiar were working side by side at a wall station. Harry took a breath and moved towards them, pulling out his spare commbadge. Beside him, B'Elanna did the same. They attached the commbadges to the drones as soundlessly as they could. Even a small click of activation could alert the Borg to their presence, but the drones made no sign of hearing anything. Harry closed his eyes for a moment in relief, then moved as quickly as he dared back to the corner with B'Elanna. "Chakotay to Voyager," the commander was already saying; "seven to beam directly to Sickbay. Jam all frequencies and get us the hell out of here." And then it was Sickbay. The two drones were the first to react, staggering at the abrupt removal from the Collective mind. They turned to the away team. "Voyager," the Janeway drone hissed. "Take us back." "I can't do that," Chakotay said evenly. "Doctor--" "We cannot hear the Collective!" she protested. Chakotay didn't move. Then the Doctor was at her side, pressing a hypospray into her neck before she could react. The Tom drone flinched again, turning towards her as she collapsed. "Seven of Twelve--!" "Time to go nighty-night, Ensign," the Doctor said brightly, waving the hypospray. "Return us," Tom gasped, putting a hand to his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that." The Doctor sedated him in an easy movement, shifting him up onto a biobed. "If someone would care to help me with the captain - thank you, Commander - then I can begin removing their implants." "I will assist you," Seven said, ignoring the sudden attention she received as everyone looked at her. "Thank you," the Doctor said. "Commander, I expect you're needed on the bridge. I'd hate to remove all the captain's implants and then be blown to smithereens anyway." "Notify me when you're done," Chakotay said, looking at Janeway's body. "Harry, Tuvok." "I'll get to Engineering," B'Elanna announced to no one in particular. It wasn't long before there was no one left in Sickbay but the Doctor, Seven, and the two unconscious drones. "Well," the Doctor said cheerfully, "let's begin, shall we?" --- Janeway - Seven of Twelve - no, Janeway. Dammit. Whoever she was, she was awake, and she didn't like it. "Mmph," she complained. "Captain," said a cool, flat voice that almost made her think she was Seven of Twelve after all. But that wasn't right. *She* wasn't Seven; the owner of the cool voice was Seven. So she must be Janeway. Janeway opened her eyes slowly. The light was bright and the wrong colour; she had the feeling it ought to be greener. There ought to be more people, too, more voices. Friendlier voices. She didn't want to be alone with Seven. "I'm... on Voyager," she said slowly, the memories beginning to come back to her. "That's right," Seven said. "You are the captain of Voyager. You--" "Seven," someone interrupted urgently. The Doctor. "He's going into neural shock again. I don't understand it! I'm using the exact same techniques developed by Doctor Beverly Crusher--" "He's fighting the removal of his implants," Seven stated, moving away from Janeway. "You said that this happened to me when you were removing my own implants." Janeway sat up to see what was happening, and felt a jolt of recognition run through her at the convulsing figure on the other biobed. "Six of Twelve," she whispered. "Yes, but then Kes was around to dissolve the implant that was threatening your life." The Doctor sounded frustrated. "In case you hadn't noticed, we have a shortage of telekinetic Ocampan nurses at the moment." Six of Twelve... but someone else as well. Someone important to her. She stared at his face, the woven strips of metal where an optical implant had been. She lifted a hand to her own face instinctively and encountered only smooth skin. "Let me speak to him," Seven suggested. "I will initiate a direct neural interface." "A Borg mind meld?" the Doctor said dryly. "It could be called that." Seven reached towards the body and plunged her assimilation tubes into its neck. Her eyes closed briefly-- --and Seven of Twelve could almost hear what was being said. The voices were so close. /Six of Twelve,/ she called, but she couldn't understand the reply. /Six of Twelve,/ she repeated. /Answer me!/ But the answer was still too faint for her to make out. /I am alone!/ This time she thought she could hear him. /Never alone.../ Or perhaps she imagined the response. The voices stopped. She opened her eyes, seeing Seven, the other Seven, pull away from the no longer convulsing drone. "Well?" the Doctor asked impatiently. "I am not sure," Seven said, watching and waiting. Six of Twelve stirred. "He's regaining consciousness," the Doctor said irritably. "That wasn't what I had in mind." "Seven..." he whispered. Seven grasped his hand, watching him intently. "I'm here, Tom. You are safe." Ahh... Tom... Janeway relaxed as she finally placed the drone. Tom pulled his hand away, looking around blindly. "Seven... Seven of Twelve..." Seven of Nine recoiled, stepping back blindly towards the wall where it intruded on the room. Janeway shook her head in confusion, trying to work out whether she was Seven of Twelve or not. "Seven of Twelve," Tom repeated plaintively. She made up her mind and slid off the biobed to stand beside him. "Six of Twelve?" she queried. He looked at her, seeming to register her presence for a moment, then looked away again. "Seven of Twelve...?" He closed his eyes in defeat, and a moment later lapsed into unconsciousness again. "Excuse me, Captain," the Doctor said quietly, guiding Janeway back to her own biobed. "Seven, I suggest we try and finish quickly. There's no telling when he may wake up again." Seven was still staring at Tom. "Understood," she said quietly. --- Janeway was walking along Voyager's deserted corridors when she came face-to-dimly-lit-face with the Borg Queen. She gripped her tricorder firmly. /I'm going to find him. He doesn't belong to you./ /His biological distinctiveness has been added to our own,/ the Queen said in a hollow voice. /I'm going to find him!/ Janeway insisted. She turned and started running in the other direction, knowing she didn't have much time. The Queen stepped in front of her, even more shadowed than before. /Resistance is futile./ /No--/ Janeway stopped in horror as the Queen stepped out of the shadows. She had Tom's face. /We are the Borg,/ s/he said flatly. Janeway started backing away, but Tom followed at the same rate. /No--/ /You will be assimilated./ /No--/ /Your biological distinctiveness will be added to our own./ /No--/ /Our thoughts are one./ /No!/ Janeway cried, backing into the wall. Tom's optical implant shone directly into her face, half-blinding her with the bright red light. She flinched away from it, squinting. /Tom, fight it. I can hear you. Come on, Tom.../ /Captain,/ he breathed softly. She held her breath, waiting. They had to defeat the Borg. They needed Tom. She needed him. He kissed her. She kissed back, lips parting to grant his tongue access, clinging to him. /Yes,/ he murmured without speaking. /Seven... Seven of Twelve.../ And nanoprobes were shooting into her mouth from his, swarming into her lungs and her stomach to *change* her, make her machine, and he wouldn't let go and she couldn't get free and she could hear the Collective like vultures just waiting for her to fail, so many of them-- She didn't scream when she woke, just gasped a little and pushed at her covers. It took her a moment to reorient herself and to slow her heartbeat, then she brushed her fingers over her still-burning mouth. "I am human," she reminded herself. "I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager. I beat the Borg with coffee. I'm not going to let them beat me with Tom." Her eyes flickered upwards as she realised what she'd said. Tom wasn't Borg either. She had to get past this... learn to follow what Tom had called Starfleet's 'shit happens' mentality. Voyager had come through. Chakotay had rescued them, the Doctor had removed their implants. There was nothing to worry about anymore. Except that she could still hear the Collective. She tapped her commbadge. "Janeway to--" The ship rocked, violently. "To the bridge," she finished with a sigh. "I'm on my way; Janeway out." She grabbed her dressing gown and headed out the door, wrapping it around her. Tom was on the turbolift, still bearing remnants of his Borg implants. Janeway hadn't understood the exact mechanics of why his were more difficult to remove; it was enough to know that he still looked unsettlingly Borg. They stared at each other silently for the short trip to the bridge, then each looked away at exactly the same time. Janeway shivered. "Report," she said, striding onto the bridge. The voices were a little louder. She remembered that Captain Picard had reported hearing the Collective whenever the Enterprise had come across a cube. Seven and One had heard them, as well. So much for it all being over. "A Borg cube came out of nowhere," Rollins said, gratefully turning Tactical over to Tuvok as the latter arrived. "Minimal damage, thanks to the new shielding." "They'll adapt," Janeway said grimly. Already they were analysing the frequency of the shields, the design-- "Tuvok, rotate shield frequency by random amounts every point two of a second. Tom, evasive pattern delta tuck'n'roll. Janeway to Seven of Nine; report to the bridge." She was running on instinct now, trying to keep one step ahead of the voices in her head as well as keeping them at arms' length. What was it Seven had said? 'The lure of perfection is powerful.' Damn straight. She braced herself just before the ship rolled, keeping Tom to one side of her mind. Then Seven arrived, another mind added to the clamour inside. Damn, she was going to have one hell of a headache when this was over. "Seven, take Tactical," she said quietly, never taking her eyes off the viewscreen. "Tom--" /Evasive pattern gamma three,/ he anticipated even as she spoke the words. /Full phasers,/ she ordered Seven. /Target Matrices Five through Seventeen./ /Firing./ /Evasive pattern lambda four./ /Target Matrices Thirteen through Twenty-three. Arm particle torpedoes. Fire./ /Matrices Twelve through Seventeen destroyed./ /Arm phasers. Target Matrices. Fire./ /Evasive pattern./ /Arm phasers. Target Matrices. Fire./ /Evasive pattern./ /Arm-- Look out!/ one of them cried, suddenly aware of the trap building in the vague voices. Voyager sheered to the left, narrowly avoiding the explosion of a jettisoned Matrix Twenty-five. Seven of Twelve was pissed off. She gathered her Collective, merging their minds. /Phasers. Firing. Evasives. Target. Torpedoes. Evade. Fire. Evade. Fire. Evade. Fire. Load all torpedo tubes and arm all phaser banks. Target Central Core. Destroy./ /Destroyed./ She swayed, and this time it had nothing to do with the ship's evasive manoeuvres. /Um.../ /Rest,/ two voices said simultaneously, and two pairs of arms were supporting her as she lapsed into grateful unconsciousness. --- "Well, this is just great," B'Elanna muttered, glaring at the table. "Who needs the Borg Queen when we've got our very own Borg Captain right here?" "Not now, B'Elanna," Chakotay said quietly. "Doctor?" "Don't look at me," the Doctor said lightly. "As far as I can tell, they're all perfectly healthy." "Perfectly healthy *drones*," B'Elanna said. "B'Elanna!" Chakotay glared at her for a moment then looked around the conference table. "Anybody have any suggestions?" Silence. B'Elanna looked up at him. "If you don't mind my saying so," she started caustically, and waited for his nod before continuing. "You could take command of the ship. We can't trust Janeway to make the best decisions for us right now. Hell, for all we know she could fly us straight back into Borg space and let those voices in her head assimilate us too!" "Captain Janeway defended us from those 'voices in her head' during our last encounter with the Borg," Tuvok reprimanded her. "Your fear is irrational, based only on the fact that she was Borg - for less than thirty-six hours, may I point out." "She does have a point," Chakotay said. Everyone turned to look at him. "The captain defended us from the Borg, but look how much it took out of her. Who's to say that next time she'll be able to hold up against the Collective? How many times did Seven turn against us in her first year on board? It was difficult enough keeping ourselves out of trouble then; if the *captain* were to go rogue..." There was a grim silence as everyone contemplated the possibilities. "Are you assuming command of Voyager?" Tuvok asked, a challenge in his voice. "I didn't say that." Chakotay looked at the table. "She hasn't done anything to risk Voyager, yet. Neither has Tom. We've got no grounds to relieve her of duty. When she gets out of Sickbay..." He paused. "Watch her closely. Watch them both." No one looked at anyone else. Chakotay turned to stare out the viewport. "Dismissed." --- continued in the third story in the Collectivity series 'Plurality'