The Farther Shore - Christie Golden [73]
“Then they already know,” she said aloud, answering her own question. Determinedly, Libby sent the message again.
* * *
[218] “Admiral,” came Harry’s voice, “Peregrine’s resending. I’m transferring it to you.”
“Good job, Harry,” Janeway said, absently. “Seven—”
Seven opened her mouth to speak. Chakotay and Montgomery were reading the message.
“The term Royal Protocol does not in this instance refer to the Starfleet manual,” Seven said, trying to keep a semblance of calm. “It is a Borg term. It refers to the computer program required in order to create a replacement queen if she has been terminated.”
Janeway felt the blood drain from her own face, knew that she was as pale and stunned-looking as Seven, perhaps more so.
Seven cleared her throat and continued. “This would explain why the assimilation process is taking so long. Someone here is trying to create a queen and they do not have all the necessary information to do it swiftly.”
Montgomery swore. “I bet I know who it is, too,” he said. “All that sitting alone in the dark, claiming she’s just naturally pale—”
“Admiral,” said Chakotay, his voice deep with anger. “Listen to this. Commander Brian Grady and Borg specialist Trevor Blake have been conspiring to create a queen—and that queen is Director of Covert Operations Brenna Covington of Starfleet Intelligence.”
For a few seconds, stunned silence filled the room. Everyone was too shocked. This was abominable, incomprehensible. And yet, as Data had said, all the evidence supported it.
“Put that damn phaser away,” Montgomery said to Tuvok, breaking the silence. “I believe you now. I’ve [219] never trusted Brenna Covington, never, and I think she’s fully capable of this. But Grady and Blake—God. I wonder how deep this goes?”
“Let’s find out,” Janeway said. “Harry, I don’t suppose you can reply to Peregrine this time?”
“He’s opened the communication this time, so yes, I can reply. But I’m not to attempt a trace. What should I tell him?”
Janeway looked over at Montgomery. He grinned, fiercely. She saw the man who had helped win the Dominion War emerge, and was glad of it.
“Tell him we’re going to take the bitch down.”
Together, the two Klingon women poured water over the fire and heaped soil on it. B’Elanna was sorry to see the cheery flames go, but knew she’d sleep better tonight than she had since the whole ordeal began. Miral’s cave was filled with furs gathered from over a year’s worth of kills. There was a cache of food and a water gourd. Compared to the existence B’Elanna had managed to eke out, this was a palace.
As Miral had predicted, the paste she had applied to her daughter’s wounds was falling off. The injuries felt better and were already closing cleanly. B’Elanna would still rather have had the Doctor, but she’d see him soon enough.
Miral extinguished the torch, and the darkness was almost absolute in the cave.
“Tell me more about the Klingons you met in the Delta Quadrant,” her mother said as they both lay down on the thick, soft furs.
B’Elanna smiled in the darkness. “They thought [220] Miral was a child of prophecy,” she said. “They called her the Kuvah’Magh.”
“The Savior,” said Miral.
Tones recounted the incident. Lying in the darkness, speaking in soft tones, it felt to her like this was the slumber party that human girls had. It was a tradition Miral had not encouraged, but was now, all unaware, participating in.
“When Miral’s cells helped cure them, they agreed that she was the Savior. Tom even wanted us to think about calling her Kuvah’Magh.” She smiled to herself. “He calls her that as a pet name. We both wanted her named after you.”
Miral was silent. Torres wondered if she had somehow offended her mother, and then Miral said, “It is much joy to me to know that my name will live on in such a precious child. I want to see this bat’leth the Klingon captain gave her. I am sure it is beautiful indeed.”
Her heart full, Torres