String Theory_ Fusion (Book 2) - Kirsten Beyer [60]
Turning back to the fragmented display console, Seven paused. Then, resolved, she stepped back toward the desk and closed her right fist, extending her assimilation tubules into the exposed circuitry.
“Seven, what are you…” B’Elanna began, pausing when a spasm of shock momentarily convulsed through Seven’s body.
Undeterred, Seven maintained the connection. Low, guttural sounds, formed in the back of her throat, began to pour from her mouth like a dull growl as her eyes rolled into the back of her head.
“Seven!” B’Elanna demanded, stepping closer, but too disconcerted to touch her. “Seven, can you hear me?”
The growls became more like hisses, as Seven struggled to form words.
Silently cursing Seven’s rash actions, B’Elanna steeled herself and firmly grasped Seven’s right arm with both hands, determined to sever whatever link she had just made by force.
A voice, Seven’s, but lacking her irritating inflection and infinitely more menacing, escaped Seven’s lips.
“Get… off… my… ship,” it said.
B’Elanna had no idea who or what Seven was communicating with but she already knew she didn’t like him, her, or it one bit. For a few seconds, Seven’s face was again her own.
“Not until we retrieve the data we require,” Seven said forcefully.
The next words that came from Seven’s lips only served to strengthen B’Elanna’s initial dislike of the entity.
“Then… you… will… die.”
The first long corridor that Chakotay, Tom, and Harry entered after clearing the docking bay’s airlock was as dull and utilitarian as any Tom had ever seen. Though reasonably well lit, it appeared that no creativity of design or decoration had been considered in its construction. He could hear a rhythmic clank echoing within the walls every few meters, but Harry’s tricorder offered no indication as to the mechanism that might be the source of the noise.
A few hundred meters later, he no longer noticed it. They were approaching a fork in the path ahead. One well-illuminated corridor led to the engineering center. The other was shrouded in darkness, but Harry paused as they approached, scanning the area.
“Commander,” he said softly, “I’m detecting minute traces of tetryon radiation emanating from this corridor, maybe a hundred meters down.”
“Suggesting what?” Chakotay asked.
“This might be our transport,” Harry replied. “There are dozens of junction points where the configuration of the relays is similar to the coherent tetryon transporter used by the Caretaker. We don’t have much data on that system, but the similarities are striking.”
“Let’s check it out,” Chakotay decided, leading the way into the darkness. Harry stepped aside for Tom to follow as he recalibrated his tricorder, looking up when Tom did not immediately fall in line.
“What is it?” Harry asked.
“I don’t know,” Tom answered. “We have a perfectly well-lit corridor here to our right that we know leads to the engineering center. And on our left, we have the dark spooky hallway. You want to check it out? You first, my friend.”
Harry shook his head and followed Chakotay, Tom trailing behind.
They soon came to a large control panel embedded into one of the walls. Stretching beyond it on either side were dozens of alcoves. As he waited for Harry to analyze the panel, Tom thought of Tuvok. He knew that every moment they spent trying to reach him might be a moment that Tuvok couldn’t spare. He had been alone and injured for several hours. Tom and Tuvok weren’t exactly friends. It was hard to crack that stoic Vulcan veneer, though Tom was more sensitive than some to Tuvok’s well-shrouded depths. He could have hated him, however, and still not wished him a lonely death. Tuvok had worked tirelessly for four years to keep Voyager and her crew safe. He deserved better than this.
Suddenly more anxious than he had been at any time thus far to find Tuvok and return him to the ship, Tom stepped quietly past Chakotay and Harry, who were murmuring to one another over Harry’s tricorder readings. As he passed the plane where