Seven of Nine - Christie Golden [3]
They had beamed into the midst of a swirling sea of people. Some were humanoid, some most definitely weren't. Some of them practiced... different hygiene from those aboard Voyager. All of them were loud and apparently annoyed. Janeway almost had to shout to be heard above the din. Her translator struggled to interpret the various yelps, groans, squeaks, whistles, and purrs and finally, exasperated, Janeway yelled, "I'll update you as necessary, Chakotay. I'm turning off my commbadge and so is the rest of the away team." And she did.
Her team of Paris, Seven, Kim, and Tuvok imitated her, grimacing at the noise and smells into which they had found themselves abruptly plunged.
A faint ripple of displeasure marred even the normally tranquil surface of Tuvok's face.
Seven of Nine glanced about with curiosity. The place, a poorly lit and poorly ventilated single chamher, was crammed with bodies. There were clearly supposed to be lines, but such niceties had been ignored, probably for some time. A few scanning booths, designed to detect weapons or unauthorized communications devices, were set up at various locations. Few people seemed to be passing through without a lot of very loud arguments.
Seven recognized many of the alien life forms present at this waystation. There was a member of Species 2822, approaching the bored, irritated, and apparently hungry people in line with some sort of food.
They were a species which thrived on opportunity, surviving apparently devastating natural disasters with ingenuity and skill.
Their distinctiveness was added to the Borg several decades ago.
Over there was a cluster of Species 181 I. Not added; dismissed as unworthy. They would have weakened the whole. They did not adapt well to the rigors required of the drones and died quickly.
"This line does not appear to be moving with any rapidity," observed Tuvok.
"This line does not appear to be moving at all," said Paris, "nor does it appear to even be a line.
Captain, this is ridiculous. It could be hours before we even get to talk to anyone."
"At the rate in which the line is progressing forward," said Tuvok coolly, "it would be nine point seven hours."
Janeway sighed deeply and rubbed her temples.
"Any suggestions? I'd rather wait nine point seven hours than spend a year going around the Empire's space."
Idle chitchat and complaints. Something that Seven had observed comprised a great deal of human conversation. She returned her attention to the crowd.
Analyzing the variety of life before her was more interesting than listening to her crewmates squabble.
She narrowed her eyes. A small group of Species 4774 had noticed them and was now pushing through the crowd in their direction.
"Captain," said Seven. "We are being approached by- "I see them, Seven," said Janeway. The aliens took a few more moments-the press of the crowd was tight-but it was clear that the five members of the Voyager crew were the object of their interest. At last, one who appeared to be their leader stood before them.
Species 4774. Known as the Skedans. A race of telepaths with a protective ridge of bone on the skull that protrudes down the back.
Non-aggressive. Resistance was minimal The young are inefficiently nurtured in pouches. Physically, they did not make good drones, but their telepathic abilities were analyzed and added to the technological and biological distinctiveness of the Borg.
The alien looked at them expectantly, and uttered a series of whistles and clicks. Belatedly, Janeway seemed to remember that they had switched off their communicator/translators and quickly activated hers.
She smiled at the alien, but the smile grew quizzical as she sniffed the air. Janeway shook her head and chuckled. "If I didn't know better, I'd say someone was brewing coffee." Seven marveled, not for the first time, at the human capacity for distraction.
"I'm sorry, our translators weren't active. Can you repeat what you just said, please?" asked Janeway, apparently