Cohesion

  For just a moment, she let her thoughts stray to Tom, wondering what his predicament might be at that moment. Was he dead, or were they right in their assumptions that Voyager had been forced to flee? She had to know. And if he needed help, if they all needed help, she, B’Elanna, would be the one who made certain they got it. No trusting the Borg, she decided, and as soon as the thought came, she knew it was unfair. Seven wouldn’t abandon Voyager or, at least, the captain. And once they found the ship, the Doctor would be able to help her. For all she knew, the injury was temporary. Her vision might return at any moment.

  “Is there anything else you wish to say?” Seven asked.

  B’Elanna exhaled sharply. “Not at this moment, no.” She felt for her combadge, and found it missing.

  “Mine is gone as well,” Seven said.

  “They might be able to understand us, so we should try to talk as softly as we can.”

  “Agreed.”

  B’Elanna waited, but she didn’t hear sounds of someone moving. “So why don’t you come over here? That way we won’t have to talk too loudly.”

  “I cannot,” Seven said dully.

  “They bound you?”

  “No. I am simply unable to move. I am paralyzed below the waist.”

  B’Elanna muttered a Klingon phrase so caustic it probably removed rust from a nearby wall.

  “I concur,” Seven said.

  “But we still need to keep our voices down,” B’Elanna said. “How far am I from you?”

  “Less than three meters,” Seven said. “And there are no obstacles in your path, though you should be careful to stay near the wall. The guardrail is in poor condition. If you rested your weight against it…”

  “I won’t. Just hold on. This is harder than it looks.” B’Elanna rose carefully, both her hands pressed firmly against the wall, then inched toward the sound of Seven’s voice. Her boots scuffed against the floor, dislodging small pieces of grit and debris, every tiny piece sounding like a tumbling boulder in the cavernous chamber.

  Finally, Seven said, “Stop there. I am less than ten centimeters away.”

  B’Elanna slid gratefully to the floor, her boot touching the Borg’s leg. She jerked it away, then remembered that Seven said she was paralyzed. “Can you feel that?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Are you in any pain?”

  “No.” She felt dry, cool fingers against the flesh beneath her eyes. “Are you?”

  The thought hadn’t crossed her mind. “No,” B’Elanna said. “Which is strange when you think about it.”

  “I detect a faint astringent odor,” Seven said, keeping her voice low. “I believe we have been given first aid. Our captors may have saved our lives. We should consider that as a factor in our negotiations.”

  “Negotiations?” B’Elanna asked, struggling to keep her temper. “What do we have to negotiate with? We’re prisoners.”

  “Possibly. But knowledgeable prisoners. Between the two of us, we know a great deal.”

  The thought was reassuring, though B’Elanna believed Seven was being optimistic. “Maybe. We’ll see. Do you remember what happened?”

  “I remember everything that happened up until the moment I lost consciousness. Some element within the console detonated.”

  “Rigged?” B’Elanna asked. “Or just sloppy work?”

  “We cannot know until we ask.”

  A thought struck B’Elanna. “Shouldn’t your nanoprobes be repairing you?”

  “They should. Unfortunately, I have not regenerated in more than a day. Many of my systems have lapsed into dormancy.”

  “Being unconscious doesn’t do it?”

  “No. Nor sleep. Without the regeneration chamber, my Borg implants will ultimately fail. The nanoprobes are merely the first to fail.”

  From somewhere above them came a piercing, grinding sound. “A hatch,” Seven said under her breath. “In the ceiling. A male with a large weapon is descending a ladder. He is followed by five others, all armed.” She paused. “It would be a mistake to do anything…impulsive.”

  B’Elanna wished she knew precisely where the Borg’s head was so she could give her a thwack on the side of it. “I’m blind,” she said. “You’re crippled. You think I’m going to make a break for it?”

  “I have noted that you can sometimes act quite…”

  “Impulsively?”

  “Yes.”

  “But stupidly?”

  “There are degrees of impulsiveness.”

  “I might just have to push you off into the water.”

  “Thereby proving my point.”

  B’Elanna listened as first one, then four more heavy figures dropped onto the walkway and marched toward them. As they approached, she heard several short, sharp clicks and trills, the nonverbal language Chakotay had mentioned. Would they have the combadges with them? If not—or if their captors had made the mistake of trying to disassemble them—this would be a very short interview.

  The first figure stopped less than a meter away. B’Elanna could hear his heavy breathing—climbing down a ladder with a heavy rifle must be difficult—and caught whiffs of wet hair, some kind of machine oil, and the ozone tang of an old, overtaxed power pack. Some kind of energy weapon, B’Elanna figured. Probably unreliable as hell, hard to use, and so poorly shielded the guy who’s carrying it is already dying of cancer, but just as effective as a phaser in its way. The rest of the gang stopped short, obviously not wanting to crowd the boss too much or get too near the aliens.

  The boss said, “You’ll answer questions now.”

  Seven, predictably, spoke up before B’Elanna could say a word. “We have nothing to hide. There has been some kind of mistake. We are here to help.”

  They have the combadges, B’Elanna thought. One piece of good news, anyway. Feeling she had to add something so she wouldn’t be excluded from the conversation, B’Elanna added, “Someone is going to be really ticked off that you stopped us.”

  Behind the boss, B’Elanna heard the other Monorhans burst out in astounded chatter. “It works!” one said. “Amazing!” another replied. “Are they speaking the same language or does each of them have their own and they use the device to communicate?”

  They don’t talk like kidnappers or thugs, B’Elanna thought. Who the hell are these people?

  “Quiet,” the boss snapped, and the gaggle of commentators grew quiet. “Who are you? Who do you think you are helping and why did you break into this facility? Where do you come from, that you don’t know about private property?”

  Seven said, “Lieutenant, would you like to answer? The captain said you were in command.”

  Surprised but pleased, B’Elanna said, “My name is B’Elanna Torres. My companion is called Seven of Nine. We’re from a vessel named Voyager. As you may have surmised, we’re not from around here.”

  “Thank you for crediting us with rudimentary observational ability.” The boss made a clicking sound that B’Elanna interpreted as laughter. “Where is your ship, B’Elanna Torres? Why are you here alone? Please try to be brief, for I fear we may not have much time together.”

  What does he mean by that? B’Elanna wondered. Partly to relieve a cramp and partly to play for time, she adjusted her legs. This boss doesn’t sound quite as threatening as he did a moment ago. Deciding that honesty was the best policy, she said, “We’re here because your Emergency Council asked us to come help with the shields that protect your cities. We know a lot about shielding technology where we come from, and my commanding officer decided we should try to do something while they investigated the star that is creating all the radiation. You do know that, don’t you?”

  One of the mob behind the boss let go of a sharp exhalation and said, “Of course we know.”

  “No offense meant,” B’Elanna said. “I just need to know who I’m…who we’re dealing with.”

  “Be quiet, Bria,” the boss said. “We agreed I’d do the talking.”

  “Sorry. Right,” B
ria said apologetically. “Carry on.”

  Less and less like thugs all the time. “So, to continue,” B’Elanna said, “we were on our way to a city—did we ever get its name, Seven?”

  “No.”

  “The city to the north of here, anyway, when this energy wave bounced us out of the sky. Our ship—a shuttle—landed a little way from here and we decided that we would attempt to figure out where the wave came from.”

  “Why didn’t you just go back to your vessel in orbit?” the boss asked.

  “The shuttle was damaged in the crash and something happened to Voyager. We can’t contact her and we think you might know something about that.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because your machine—the one we were looking at—had an image of Voyager in its databank.”

  A new voice—a high-pitched, fast talker—spoke up. “Kill them now!”

  “Hey!” B’Elanna said. “We’re here to help! Why would you want to kill us?”

  “They know too much,” the fast talker chattered in a rapid burst. “They were looking at the generator! If these aliens make it to Araxs and tell the rih-hara-tan, she won’t be able to ignore us anymore! Soldiers will come no matter how much she wants to pretend we don’t know anything!”

  “We don’t know anything,” B’Elanna protested.

  “Kill them or they will betray us!”

  “I don’t even know what you look like!”

  “I do,” Seven said, her only contribution to the conversation.

  “Shut up, Seven!”

  “You are not affiliated with the Emergency Council, are you?” Seven asked.

  “Kill them!”

  B’Elanna felt the boss shift his weight and heard the low whine of the portable generator grow more shrill. “No,” he said slowly, “we’re not part of the Emergency Council. And you,” he concluded, “might very well be spies.”

  * * *

  Sem clicked loudly twice and every Monorhan in the dining room sat up straight, spines rigid. As one, the Monorhans stood up and pushed their chairs away from their seats, though Morsa maintained his grip on his plate of lasagna. Sem said formally, “Thank you for the meal, Commander, and for the conversation. We will be returning to our quarters now. My people have had a difficult day and require rest.”

  Chakotay stood and moved to block the exit from the conference room. “I think I need to know what Captain Ziv meant by his last statement.”

  “Captain Ziv,” Sem said flatly, “is overwrought. You, of all people, must understand what it means to lose a ship and a crew. He does not know what he is saying.”

  The mountainous Morsa took a half-step forward, but Chakotay crossed his arms over his chest. “I want to know,” he said slowly, “what Captain Ziv meant.”

  Sem stared at him for several seconds as if slightly puzzled by his response, then turned her gaze back to Ziv. Voice pitched high, as if she were speaking to a child, she asked, “Ziv? Do you have anything else to say?”

  Ziv appeared to struggle to tear his eyes away from Sem’s, but could not. Haltingly, he replied, “No. Not…I…have nothing…” Gasping, he finished, “Good night!” Then, Ziv and his hara briskly filed out of the room. When the doors closed behind them, the two remaining Monorhans relaxed, though Sem appeared taxed and woozy.

  “I’m going to have to report this to Captain Janeway,” Chakotay said.

  “Do as you please, Commander,” Sem said imperiously. “After all, we are in your power.”

  “You’re our guests,” Chakotay said. “But no one enjoys having their hospitality abused.”

  Sem considered this, then looked up at Morsa, then down at the plate still held in his hand. “I believe Morsa would enjoy more of your hospitality. Is that right?”

  Morsa nodded, then sat. A second later, the sounds of chewing once again filled the small room. “There you are,” Sem said to Chakotay. “Someone to interview.” With that, she pushed her own chair under the table and swept out of the room. Chakotay and Neelix watched her leave, but as soon as the doors closed behind her, their eyes were drawn to the sound of relentlessly grinding jaws. A very long minute passed while the Monorhan finished chewing and swallowing.

  Slowly, Morsa lifted his napkin to his mouth and daintily patted his lips. Then, lowering his hands into his lap, he locked eyes in turn with Neelix then Chakotay and, speaking slowly, in a low, unexpectedly gentle voice, he asked, “What would you like to talk about?”

  * * *

  Seven of Nine pushed herself up on her elbows and addressed the group’s leader. “We could be spies,” she said. “But consider this: If we come from a superior culture, why resort to spying? You have seen our technology: the translators and our scanning devices. I suspect you have attempted to use our weapons. Correct?”

  The leader pulled a phaser out of one of his many pockets. “This, you mean? We could not operate it.”

  “A safety device prevents anyone but Lieutenant Torres or myself from operating it; however, carelessness could damage the power supply, which might result in the destruction of this structure.”

  The leader clicked softly, then slid the phaser with respectful care back into his pocket.

  Satisfied that she had made an impression, Seven continued. “We admit we were trespassing, but only because we did not understand the nature of your relationship with the Emergency Council. If you were affiliated with the organization that asked us to come to Monorha, then we were entirely within our rights to be cautious, seeing as your device knocked our vessel from the sky. Since we now understand you are not, the next logical step would be to determine your status and ascertain how you fit into the larger picture. Can you help us? Can we help you? Most importantly, what precisely is the device you have constructed?” Satisfied with her recitation, Seven shifted her weight and propped her back against the damp wall.

  In response, the leader shifted his weight, resting the butt of the large weapon against his hip. The hum from the rifle’s power unit echoed ominously.

  “She’s trying to trick you,” the small, shrill one said. “If we kill them, we can take their devices and maybe even find their spacecraft!”

  The leader turned to his small companion and said, “Quiet, Pad. Nobody’s killing anyone. Besides, I strongly suspect that if she wanted to, she could kill you without trying very hard.” Touching Torres’s shoulder, the leader asked, “Is she always this way?”

  Torres, though clearly surprised by the question, was not too surprised to answer: “Pretty much all the time.”

  He shook his head, then beckoned at them to rise. “Well, come on. We need to talk and there’s no reason we should all be uncomfortable. It’s damp and cold down here.”

  Torres said bluntly, “I can’t see you.”

  “And I cannot walk,” Seven added.

  The leader sighed. “Well, that’s what you get for playing with machines you don’t understand.”

  “We understood it perfectly,” Seven replied. “You arranged for it to explode if someone tampered with it.”

  The leader turned and stared at the one named Pad. “I told you not to set that. We’re all under too much stress as it is. What if someone had gotten caught by the explosives?”

  “Someone did get caught by the explosives,” Torres protested.

  “Someone who was supposed to be there.”

  “You don’t listen to anything I say,” Pad said. “They’re going to come for us now! The Emergency Council can’t ignore us any longer, especially after the test! We have to be ready for them!”

  “Your companion is correct,” Seven said. “The effect of your device was felt all over the planet. You must explain to us what you are attempting to do.”

  “Why?” the leader asked. “Why should we tell you anything?”

  “Because we can help,” Seven said.

  “You came to help the Emergency Council,” Pad said accusingly. “You said that.”

  “We came to help all Mono
rhans,” Torres said.

  “But now we need to help ourselves, too,” Seven added. “We will help you because we need you to help us.”

  The leader slipped the power pack off his back and set the rifle against the wall. Leaning forward, he pulled Torres to her feet. “That,” he said, “is a very convincing argument.”

  * * *

  “The first thing you must understand,” Morsa began in a reasonable tone, “is that until a short time ago the rih-hara-tan of the thirteen cities were the ruling authority of my world.” He had not been willing to answer the most obvious question—what had Ziv meant by his comment?—but was more than happy to discuss the origin of the energy pulse responsible for their current predicament. Chakotay settled back into his seat, calmed by the Monorhan’s resonating bass voice. “When it became obvious that the Blue Eye would be our collective death, the thirteen rih-hara-tan appointed a council to study the problem and make recommendations. There was a problem with this course, however.”

  “Scientists are not an esteemed class on your world,” Neelix inserted, speaking for the first time in many minutes.

  Morsa stretched his neck toward the Talaxian, then tilted his head. “Correct. May I ask how you came to that conclusion?”

  “Of course,” Neelix said. “The rih-hara-tan’s authority clearly has its roots in the worship of the Blessed All-Knowing Light. Your world is scientifically advanced in many ways, but the technology we’ve seen could be described as defensive in nature: reflective or inward-looking. I’m guessing that a central authority, which keeps a close watch on innovation, funds the sciences. This would certainly be possible given the hierarchical nature of the hara.”

  Morsa blinked once, opened his mouth once, closed it, then said, “Yes.” Turning back to Chakotay, the Monorhan continued, “For most of the history of my world, individuals who displayed exceptional scientific talent were closely monitored, their abilities funneled into activities deemed worthwhile by the rih-hara-tan.”