Day of Honor - Michael Jan Friedman [20]
The Borg blinked. "I'm finding it difficult to spend
so much time alone," she said. "I'm unaccustomed to it. The hours don't pass quickly."
Chakotay couldn't help but sympathize. He knew how great a loss it had been for Seven of Nine when she was disconnected from the Borg collective.
"Also," she said, "I had a sense of accomplishment among the Borg. I wish to experience that sense again."
"I can understand that," Chakotay said. "How can we help?"
But even before the Borg opened her mouth, he had an idea what her answer would be.
"I have been considering the matter carefully," Seven of Nine told him. "I would like to request a duty assignment."
It was just what the first officer had expected. He mulled over the ramifications before he spoke again.
"Did you have something specific in mind?" he asked.
The Borg blinked. "Yes."
Then she told Chakotay what it was.
He sighed. Why couldn't she have asked to help Neelix in the mess hall? Or to take a shift in astrophysics?
"I'll see what I can do," he told Seven of Nine.
The corridor outside the turbolift was empty except for B'Elanna. Abandoning any pretense of decorum, she sprinted down the hall as if the devil and all his demons were after her.
That is, she thought wildly, the devil of my father's people. Klingons didn't really have such a thing.
As B'Elanna approached the doors to engineering, she had to decelerate to give the metal panels time to slide aside for her. Naturally, they did this with the most agonizing slowness. Then, with what she estimated as seconds to spare, the lieutenant burst into engineering.
As she stood there, illuminated by the brightly pulsating warp core, she wondered where everyone was. Instead of the four engineers she had expected to see, only two were present-Carey and Vorik. Both of them were sitting at consoles, performing diagnostics in accordance with standing orders.
Carey looked up at her. "Ah. Moming, Lieutenant." After a moment, his brow furrowed. "Say ...
are you all right?"
"Fine." B'Iklanna breathed. "Why?"
The redheaded man shrugged. "You seem to be perspiring. I thought it might be a symptom."
She returned his stare. "A symptom of what, Mr. Carey?"
He shrugged again. "You know, the thing that's got Nicoletti and Chain under the weather." Suddenly, understanding dawned. "Wait a minute. You don't know about Nicoletti and Chafin, do you?"
B'Elanna shook her head. "No."
"They are ill," Vorik interjected. He swiveled his chair around to face his superior. "The Doctor informed us a moment ago."
Annoyed, B'Elanna tapped her commbadge. "Torres to sickbay. Are you there, Doctor?"
"Indeed," came the response from the ship's physician"-actually, a holographic manifestation of the Emergency Medical Program. "If you're concerned about Nicoletti and Chain, don't be. They have a simple virus, for which I possess a simple cure. In four or five hours, they should be as good as new."
"In four or five hours," B'Elanna echoed.
"That's correct," said the Doctor. "Now, if there's nothing else, Lieutenant, I'll finish up with my patients."
"Go ahead," said the chief engineer. She turned to Vorik, then Carey, and realized she'd acted like a complete madwoman for nothing. "I suppose it's silly to overhaul the fuel cells when half the shift is absent."
"It would seem so," Vorik agreed.
B'Elanna sighed. "Let's do it tomorrow, then. I'll notify Nicoletti and Chain. And while I'm at it, I'll remind them that I'm to be notified personally whenever they're sick."
"Whatever you say," Carey told her.
Abruptly, a throaty yet eminently feminine voice cut into their conversation. "Janeway to Lieutenant Torres."
B'Elanna looked up at the intercom grid hidden in the ceiling. "Torres here. What can I do for you, Captain?"
"Harry's having some trouble with his console," Janeway told her. "Can you send someone up here to take a look at it?"
"Right away," the chief engineer replied.
"Thanks," said the captain. "Janeway out."
"I've fixed that console before," Carey