String Theory_ Cohesion (Book 1) - Jeffrey Lang [66]
“Is there anything else you wish to say?” Seven asked.
B’Elanna exhaled sharply. “Not at this moment, no.” She felt for her combadge, and found it missing.
“Mine is gone as well,” Seven said.
“They might be able to understand us, so we should try to talk as softly as we can.”
“Agreed.”
B’Elanna waited, but she didn’t hear sounds of someone moving. “So why don’t you come over here? That way we won’t have to talk too loudly.”
“I cannot,” Seven said dully.
“They bound you?”
“No. I am simply unable to move. I am paralyzed below the waist.”
B’Elanna muttered a Klingon phrase so caustic it probably removed rust from a nearby wall.
“I concur,” Seven said.
“But we still need to keep our voices down,” B’Elanna said. “How far am I from you?”
“Less than three meters,” Seven said. “And there are no obstacles in your path, though you should be careful to stay near the wall. The guardrail is in poor condition. If you rested your weight against it…”
“I won’t. Just hold on. This is harder than it looks.” B’Elanna rose carefully, both her hands pressed firmly against the wall, then inched toward the sound of Seven’s voice. Her boots scuffed against the floor, dislodging small pieces of grit and debris, every tiny piece sounding like a tumbling boulder in the cavernous chamber.
Finally, Seven said, “Stop there. I am less than ten centimeters away.”
B’Elanna slid gratefully to the floor, her boot touching the Borg’s leg. She jerked it away, then remembered that Seven said she was paralyzed. “Can you feel that?” she asked.
“No.”
“Are you in any pain?”
“No.” She felt dry, cool fingers against the flesh beneath her eyes. “Are you?”
The thought hadn’t crossed her mind. “No,” B’Elanna said. “Which is strange when you think about it.”
“I detect a faint astringent odor,” Seven said, keeping her voice low. “I believe we have been given first aid. Our captors may have saved our lives. We should consider that as a factor in our negotiations.”
“Negotiations?” B’Elanna asked, struggling to keep her temper. “What do we have to negotiate with? We’re prisoners.”
“Possibly. But knowledgeable prisoners. Between the two of us, we know a great deal.”
The thought was reassuring, though B’Elanna believed Seven was being optimistic. “Maybe. We’ll see. Do you remember what happened?”
“I remember everything that happened up until the moment I lost consciousness. Some element within the console detonated.”
“Rigged?” B’Elanna asked. “Or just sloppy work?”
“We cannot know until we ask.”
A thought struck B’Elanna. “Shouldn’t your nanoprobes be repairing you?”
“They should. Unfortunately, I have not regenerated in more than a day. Many of my systems have lapsed into dormancy.”
“Being unconscious doesn’t do it?”
“No. Nor sleep. Without the regeneration chamber, my Borg implants will ultimately fail. The nanoprobes are merely the first to fail.”
From somewhere above them came a piercing, grinding sound. “A hatch,” Seven said under her breath. “In the ceiling. A male with a large weapon is descending a ladder. He is followed by five others, all armed.” She paused. “It would be a mistake to do anything…impulsive.”
B’Elanna wished she knew precisely where the Borg’s head was so she could give her a thwack on the side of it. “I’m blind,” she said. “You’re crippled. You think I’m going to make a break for it?”
“I have noted that you can sometimes act quite…”
“Impulsively?”
“Yes.”
“But stupidly?”
“There are degrees of impulsiveness.”
“I might just have to push you off into the water.”
“Thereby proving my point.”
B’Elanna listened as first one, then four more heavy figures dropped onto the walkway and marched toward them. As they approached,