Seven of Nine - Christie Golden [36]
Seven had already been through that particular trauma. The memory had come, threatened to destroy her and those who had befriended her, and finally been resolved.
Would she go through it again, this time-for the second time-as Annika Hansen? What would it do to her? Would she relive the violation of assimilation?
Would she become Borg once those memories returned, or would there be anything of Annika, of the Seven who had become a crewmate?
Tough questions, and Janeway didn't even know what to hope for.
"Captain," said Paris, startling her out of her reverie, "we're closing in on Waystation Number 109."
She uncrossed her legs and sat up straight in her captain's chair.
"Bring us out of warp, Lieutenant."
The vessel slowed to impulse power. Waystation Number 109 was a homely thing. No green signs of life on this planet. It was a barren rock, save where the evidence of technology marred its plain countenance.
There were many ships in orbit about the Imperial checkpoint. Janeway had opted not to cancel yellow alert, although at this point no one appeared to offer them a hostile reception. They had been through too much for her to not be as cautious as possible at this juncture.
"Captain, we're being hailed," Kim said.
So far, so good, Janeway thought to herself. This was exactly how things had played out at the other waystation, until of course things had gone drastically bad.
"Onscreen," she ordered.
The visage of a new alien race appeared. In contrast to the Lhiaarians, this one was humanoid, the only exception being a split upper lip, no visible ears, and plating across the head. Catlike eyes gazed at the captain and slit nostrils flared. Janeway recognized the yellow-andered official insignia of a stationmaster on the being's shoulder.
"Waystation 109 to approaching unknown vessel, please identify yourself," droned the alien stationmaster in a bored male voice.
Here goes nothing, thought Janeway. She lifted her chin.
"I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager. We are hoping to-" That was as far as she got.
The screen went blank. From among the masses of ships, ten behemoths separated themselves out and flew straight toward Voyager. Immediately Janeway recognized them as Imperial transport vessels.
"Red alert!" she cried. "All hands, battle stations!"
No sooner had she gotten the words out than the ships veered off. Huge cargo bay doors that comprised most of the length of the Imperial ships slowly opened. And pouring forth, with all the purpose and implacability of locusts descending on Pharaoh's crops, were dozens of small, black, shiny Ku ships.
CLEVER. THOUGHT JANEWAY, OUMAGE AT THE DECEPTION welling inside her.
They hid in the bellies of the Imperial vessels so that we wouldn't realize they were here-just waiting for us.
The shields were already up, but Voyager took a beating nonetheless as the round, evil-looking ships proceeded to fire upon them.
"Damage report!"
"Shields down eighteen percent, still holding," intoned Tuvok.
"Seventeen casualties on decks seven, four, eight, and twelve."
"Return fire," she ordered. "Janeway to Chakotay,
,116 report to bridge immediately." A pause, then, "Bring Annika with you.
This ought to jolt her memory."
The black Ku ships fired again. Again the ship pitched under the attack, and this time several bridge members hurtled out of their seats. Someone cried out in pain. Casualty on the bridge.
"Shields down twenty-six percent. More casualties are coming in.
Lieutenant Torres reports that the warp engine is off-line."
Tuvok uttered the devastating news in a calm voice.
Janeway's gut clenched and her palms grew wet. The last time they had encountered the determined Ku, they had escaped by fleeing to