Seven of Nine - Christie Golden [61]
Ahead of you are the representatives from the Shamrik Moon and petitioners from Orlis Two, Four, and Eight. Considering there are thirty seven, and the petitions will most likely continue throughout the night and well into tomorrow, you're actually in a good position."
"How fortunate for us," replied Janeway, keeping a forced smile on her face.
"I will leave one of my personal guards with you, and return for you when the Emperor is prepared to greet you. It is unfortunate that you have arrived during Tribute, when there are such demands on the Emperor's attention. According to custom, Beytek is not permitted to leave the Octagon until all the petitions are completed."
"I stipulated a private conversation," said Janeway.
"And private it shall be. I've arranged for you to meet in an area below the stage, away from the public eye. More I cannot do, unless you wish to wait a few days."
Janeway shook her head. "As long as I may speak freely and not be overheard by anyone save the Emperor and the lora, a sequestered area below the stage will do." It had to.
Xanarit flicked his black tongue and dipped his head, then turned and was swallowed up by the crowd.
"It's going to be a long wait," said Janeway, sighing as she watched Xanarit go. "I hope everyone remembered to visit the head before we left."
Seven of Nine observed the results of yet another scan on the alien weapon. Nothing.
She glared at the radiant orb, as if somehow she could force it to yield its secrets by the very strength of her displeasure. But that was a foolish thought.
The twenty black birds watched her impassively.
"Do you have any ideas?" she asked them sarcastically. One or two fluttered their wings, but they remained silent. They had come to her aid once before, helping her unlock the fragment of the nursery rhyme that had eventually led her to the discovery of this very weapon, but now the birds were silent and uncooperative.
She had searched her memories over and over again, but nothing she had learned about the Skedans had prepared her for this weapon. She suspected it was new, improvised technology, developed in the years since the Borg-since she-had assimilated the Skedans. The image of Rhly, her eyes fastened on the hostile skies as she reached out in a futile gesture to save her children, appeared in Seven's mind. She blinked, hard, and deliberately banished the thought.
Such emotions would not serve her now.
Seven went over what she did know. That the Skedans were able to generate mental, measurable energy in order to shape the thoughts of others, she knew. Thgt this energy was now projected onto-and perhaps inside of-this orb, she suspected.
Any energy field had a frequency that generated it, and a frequency that could terminate it.
She just had to find it.
In Engineering, B'Elanna Torres moved fluidly, with a half-smile on her face. Whatever had been wrong with Tom was most decidedly not wrong anymore. He had been the perfect gentleman last night, taking her to the most romantic hologram program he'd ever designed for her-sunset on the beach of Talos IV. He'd ferried one of the native crafts along the shore, and they had swum in crystal clear waters.
He'd even packed a picnic lunch with real food, using up half a week's worth of rations.
The perfect gentleman. Until the time had come when she hadn't wanted him to be the perfect gentleman and had let him know it in no uncertain terms.
Her mind on their wonderful evening, she moved through a routine maintenance chore.
Except she didn't press the proper buttons for routine maintenance on the warp core. Her fingers moved deftly over the special program she had created to adjust the Doctor's subroutine.
The Doctor was bored out of his skull. Or would have been, had he had an actual skeleton.
Seven of Nine was in sickbay-his sickbay-doing