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By Root 461 0

Their movements were too coordinated, too effortless and smooth. B’Elanna had tried to explain earlier that Seven had once been part of something called a Borg collective and that each member of the collective was not an individual at all, but a cell in a larger organism. Given his own unusual circumstances among other Monorhans, Kaytok had initially thought this idea appealing, but then watching the mini-collective’s eerie silence and flawless interaction began to prey on him. Oddly, Kaytok had noticed that Seven of Nine was smiling with beatific satisfaction, while Torres grew more quiet and grim with every passing moment.

“We will be ready in three minutes,” B’Elanna said. “Have you assembled your comrades?”

“They’re waiting outside. You know none of them is too happy about this.”

“About our taking the generator?” B’Elanna asked. “It is to be anticipated. Many of them have devoted years of their lives to the project and they do not know if we will be doing anything to benefit either them or your world.”

“Tell them to get over it,” Seven said. “We’ll take good care of it.”

“I do not think your attitude is productive,” B’Elanna said to Seven, “though I agree with your sentiment.” Turning back to Kaytok, she said, “We’ll be able to use the device more effectively in the shuttle. Also, if, as you suspect, the Emergency Council will track us here, then we need to move it anyway.”

“You think we’ll be able to move it by ourselves? The console’s not so bad, but getting the dish off the roof…”

“We have antigrav pads,” Seven said. “Once we have disconnected the dish, we’ll be able to hustle it off the roof.”

“Antigrav?” Kaytok asked incredulously.

“Hustle?” B’Elanna asked.

Pad scuffled into the room at the same moment that Seven’s portable scanner began to sound an alert. “Company,” he said. Seven retrieved her scanner and studied the display. “Two large ground vehicles—trucks—are entering the compound. There are eight Monorhans in each one, including the driver. Most are carrying weapons.”

“Emergency Council security team,” Kaytok said. “Trouble.”

“Not necessarily,” B’Elanna said. “I talked the last group of soldiers into releasing us. I believe I can do the same again.”

“But you may fail,” Seven replied, snapping the scanner shut. “And you are needed to complete the work on the shield generator.”

“You could do it…”

“But not as well or as quickly as you,” Seven retorted. “I believe that our recent…merger…means you have all the skills you need to finish this task, whereas I feel better equipped to kick these jerks’ collective tails.” She stopped, evidently surprised by her own words, but then a slow grin spread across her features. “I will return as soon as I can,” she said, and headed down the stairs.

They had warned Corek that there might be Voyagers with the Dissenters. He had resolved that should this turn out to be true, he would attempt to be diplomatic. If the tales were true, the Voyagers possessed impressive technology, but the report from the other teams also noted that they were physically unprepossessing. The word “puny” stuck in his memory.

But then he caught a glimpse of his first Voyager and he concluded that the reports had omitted an important detail. They were shameless. This woman, this creature, marching toward him—at first he thought she was naked, but then Corek realized the blue tinge was clothing and not the color of her flesh. Were they all like this on Voyager? If so, how did they ever get anything done? And then he realized that the female only had two arms. Perhaps…perhaps she was some kind of special neutered gender—a drone—and the normal females were responsible for child rearing.

The giantess halted within an arm’s length of Corek’s vehicle and barked, “I am Seven of Nine of the Starship Voyager. Explain why you are here. We are performing very delicate engineering operations and your presence is disrupting our work.”

Corek sensed his second-in-command staring at him, probably eager to see how his superior officer would respond to such an outrageous claim. Unfortunately, an appropriate