From fnkaiser@aol.com Fri Jul 31 16:33:51 1998 Path: news10.ispnews.com!hub1.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!152.163.199.19!portc03.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: fnkaiser@aol.com (FNKAISER) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW "Denaturing the Beast" 1/10 [PG-13] VOY (J,Q) Lines: 396 Message-ID: <1998073123335100.TAA22866@ladder01.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Date: 31 Jul 1998 23:33:51 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Xref: news10.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1522 NEW Denaturing the Beast 1/10 [PG-13] VOY (J,Q) Title: Denaturing the Beast Author: m.c. moose (fnkaiser@aol.com) Series: VOY Part: NEW 1/10 Rating: [PG-13] Codes: J, Q Summary: Q asks Janeway to change the system from within. Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom holds all copyright, trademark, and patent rights associated with Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Voyager, and all original characters of those series. No infringement of those rights is intended or implied by their use; I merely claim this story. Warning/Notes: I posted this story to a.s.c. about a month ago. Laura Taylor suggested I cross-post it to this group. This story is actually the third of a trilogy I wrote, but since it's the only one in which Q appears, I won't bore you with the others. If you're interested, they will appear at some point in the a.s.c. archieve (under the titles "Seventh Seal" and "Thoughts of Home") or can be found at my web page: http://members.aol.com/FNKAISER/m.c.moose_Voyager_Stories.html Assuming most won't want to trouble themselves with these earlier stories, here is all you really need to know from them: *SPOILER****SPOILER****(but for "Thoughts of Home")***** About three months prior to the start of this story, Janeway and the crew of Voyager come to the aid of a stranded hive-ship. As a token of their gratitude, the hive ship gives Janeway a message crystal, and instructs her to take it to one of their research stations, which lies along the route to the Alpha Quadrant. Okay, then... on with the story. DENATURING THE BEAST by m.c. moose (c/o fnkaiser@aol.com) (copyright, 1998) Time Frame: In the Sixth Year of the Journey (three months after the events of “Thoughts of Home”). The morning alarm pulled at Janeway’s slumber, dragging her from deep sleep towards the surface of awareness. Before breaking surface, she came to the hazy realization that a warm body was sharing her bed. *Chakotay,* she thought with drowsy satisfaction, *he was able to join me after all. Too bad I wasn’t awake at the time. Oh well,* she gave a sleepy smile, *better late than never,* and draped a leg over his body. But she immediately sensed something was wrong. She knew the shape, the fit, of her lover's body, and this definitely was not it. Attaining full consciousness at warp speed, she recoiled at the realization: this wasn’t Chakotay, this was… “Q!” That it was possible for Kathryn Janeway to squeeze so much disgust, anger, and outrage into a single syllable, a single letter actually, amazed even herself. “Really, Kathy, that is *such* an inappropriate tone of voice for pillow-talk,” Q chided as he flipped over to face her. “What are you doing in my bed?” She really should start counting the number of times she’d asked that of Q. His single- mindedness was incredibly annoying; were all omnipotent beings this adolescent? “Trying to improve the quality of your bed partners, my dear. At the very least, I don’t try to seduce you with ancient legends. How cliché! Nor do I steal the covers.” Q sat up against the headboard, looking all the more absurd for the archaic sleeping cap perched on his head. “For such an interesting woman, you certainly have chosen a most pedestrian parade of lovers! Shall we hit the highlights? Chebb Parker, well, I’ll forgive that one; probably just hormones. But that moody Boy Scout, Justin Tighe! Where did you possibly think that relationship could go? And that pedantic philosopher Mark Johnson! A member of the Questor group, a bunch of Q- wannabes. Why settle for a wannabe when you can have the genuine article?” Q leaned towards Janeway in what he hoped was a seductive manner. “Mark moved on. I suggest you do the same.” Kathryn wasted no time in exiting her bed and retrieving a robe. “And so I have, to my immortal beloved. We’ll have an eternity together. How blissful. How romantic. How, how challenging, to keep the bloom on the rose, millennium after millennium. How… depressing.” Q gave Janeway a dour look. “Well, thank you, Captain. You certainly know how to kill the mood.” Q took the nightcap from his head and snapped his fingers. He now stood in a Starfleet captain’s uniform next to Janeway, who was suddenly likewise attired. “But no matter. I really didn’t come here to discuss affairs of the heart. Just as well.” Q glanced back at Janeway’s bed and clucked, “Chuckles. It’s just too pathetic to consider. I can’t even think clearly in this environment, surrounded by his lingering… musk.” Q snapped his fingers again; he and Janeway were now sitting on the couch in her ready room. Coffee and pastry were laid out on the table at their knees. “Cream? Sugar? Oh, of course not. How could I forget? Mon petite Capitaine is a woman who likes things straight.” He handed Janeway her cup. “Q, what is it you want from me?” Kathryn asked with some irritation. She was already tired of his riddles and games. Being blinked from place to place was not her idea of enjoyment, although she had to admit his visit had added a certain efficiency to her morning toilette. “Thank you, Captain, for so adroitly demonstrating my point. My dear Kathy, I did not come here seeking anything so base as sexual favors.” He waited for her to take a drink of coffee before he continued. “But I do want your body.” Good. She was choking on that one. “And your mind.” “Sorry, no. Both are otherwise engaged.” Well, so much for the clean uniform Q had provided. “As you know, I dedicate most of my time to the small task of trying to get this crew home. It keeps me sufficiently busy, thank you.” “Ah, yes, that quaint hobby of yours. And one that may soon pay off, if the buzz in the Continuum is correct.” Kathryn's annoyance vanished. If Q was trying to capture her attention, he had certainly succeeded. "Exactly what 'buzz' is that?" "Oh, nothing much. Just that your recent encounters have been with a better breed of aliens. Ones that might actually be of some assistance in your odyssey, for a change." Q leaned towards her and whispered conspiratorially, "Hold on to that crystal you were given; it's a keeper." If no longer annoyed, Janeway was now increasingly suspicious. "When, exactly, did the Continuum decide it was acceptable for their members to inform us lesser species of our futures? I thought you had clear rules about such matters." "Rules? Oh, pish. Tosh. Whatever. Letting you read ahead a few pages is really a minor infraction. Especially when the knowledge of your ship's safe return might help sway you to help the Continuum deal with a much more significant matter." "And what matter might that be?" Kathryn wondered if Q was enjoying this little cat-and-mouse game. She certainly wasn't. "The Borg. I think you're familiar with them." Q and Janeway stared at each other. No, he wasn't enjoying this either. "We've met. Several times. I'd like to avoid any future meetings." Damn. Try as she might, Janeway couldn't match Q's light tone. She was actually trembling slightly. That last encounter... no, it had only been the threat of an encounter, and was well over a year ago now. And she and Seven had been rescued before Arturis could banish them to Borg space. Still, the terror of that experience, the possibility that she would be assimilated... "Those suckers really scare the bejesus out of you, don't they?" Kathryn met Q's question with a look of quiet fury. "Well, yes, me too, actually," he added with far less bravado. "They really have stepped far beyond their bounds. And they seemed like such a good idea at the time..." he mused wistfully. "A good idea? Wha...?" Kathryn's mind reeled at Q's implication. "You created the Borg?!" "Yes. Well, not me personally. I thought it was a bad idea from the beginning. But I couldn't persuade the others. You remember our friend Quinn? He was one of the principal architects of the project." "Wait... wait a minute. You're telling me that the Q intentionally created the Borg? To what end? To annihilate the other species in the universe?" "Please. Give us some credit. The original plan was rather noble, actually. Some of the Q were disappointed at the slow progress most species were making in their evolution. Three steps forward, two steps back. Or was it two steps forward, three steps... Never mind. The point is that a number of Q thought it best to intervene. We couldn't implement changes directly, of course. But what if we introduced a mechanism by which the best aspects of each race could be extracted and combined? What if we could distill the perfect beast? So we, well, they selected the most promising species in the Delta Quadrant, designated it Species 1, and granted it the ability to assimilate other species. I advised against it; I believed natural evolution the way to go. Still do. Call me old-fashioned." Kathryn was numbly attempting to absorb what Q was telling her. The Borg were an intentional creation, a "noble" experiment!? Was it possible? Well, what *did* the Federation know about the Borg's origin? That they came from the Delta Quadrant, and little more. Starfleet's energy had been focused on combating them, analyzing their strengths and weaknesses; their genesis seemed of little relevance. Until now. Even she had never thought to ask Seven about the Borg's origin. When Seven casually announced various species' Borg designation, it had never occurred to Janeway to trace the lineage back to Species 1. She struggled now to form a coherent question. "What happened? What went wrong?" "What I feared would happen. The project took on a life of its own. Quite literally. The Borg decided the original process for assimilation, one in which a few members of a species willingly joined the Collective, was insufficient. They sought more efficient methods. And more than just what the Q considered the best attributes of each species was extracted. As the Borg became self-organizing, they decided that aggressive traits had clear survival advantages. Pragmatics displaced perfection in dictating Collective goals. It's a old story, really. I believe you Humans have several instantiations in your literature. The Frankenstein myth?" "Yes, I'm familiar with it. And our experience with creations overtaking their creators is unfortunately not limited to myth," Kathryn added sadly. "So you're sympathetic to our dilemma," Q prompted. "Not entirely. We Humans may have been misguided or reckless in some of our more ambitious undertakings, but we've yet to destroy entire worlds and species in the process." "Only because of your limited capabilities, mon petite Capitaine. Admit it, Kathy: Humans' capacity for hubris more than rivals that of the Q." "Perhaps, but the severity of the consequences have not," Janeway countered. But it was obvious that Q had no interest in continuing this debate. She tried a different tack. "Do the Q intend to deal with the Borg?" "Yes. It's time to clean up the mess we've made, to remove the giants from the playground," Q elaborated sardonically. "How?" Janeway pressed. "That, dear Kathy, is entirely up to you." "To me?" Janeway had to give Q credit; conversations with him were never dull. "How so?" Q rose and walked to the viewport. He idly watched the stars as he continued. "The Continuum has two options. The first, the simplest and cleanest, is to annihilate the Borg." Janeway joined him at the viewport. "You could do that?" She knew the Q had the capability to destroy the Borg; her question spoke to whether the Continuum had the disposition to interfere on such a grand scale. "Yes, we could. They were our creation. We gave the Borg life; it is our right to take it away. We are willing to exercise that right." "Then do it." Q turned to look at Janeway, shocked by her quiet vehemence. A Starfleet officer, advocating the total annihilation of a species, even an enemy species? He was surprised. Perhaps he had underestimated the suffering Humans had experienced at the hands of the Borg. Perhaps he had overestimated Janeway's ability to transcend that pain, to recognize.... "If we did, have you considered what might be lost?" Q queried. "Lost? Lost!? No, I haven't considered what would be lost in ridding the universe of the Borg. I'm a bit more interested in what might be gained." She thought about the trail of devastation the Borg were blazing. "What might be saved," she added quietly. "Yes, there's no question that the Borg cannot continue on their current course. Left unfettered, the Borg will assimilate practically every worthwhile species by the end of the millennium. Then where will we Q be? Left with nothing to play with but boring drones and species of the Kazon's ilk, perhaps an occasional interesting species whose biological distinctiveness was, well, too distinct. Obviously unacceptable," he concluded dismissively. "But annihilation of the Borg will result in the loss of all remains, all remnants, of the cultures they have assimilated and otherwise destroyed. You Humans have been lucky in your encounters with the Borg..." "Lucky!" Janeway gave a derisive snort. "Sorry, but 'lucky' is not the descriptor I would choose for Wolf 359." "Wolf 359 did not result in the end of the Human race,” Q argued. Your people survived, your culture continues. Others were not so fortunate. If the Borg are destroyed, so are those races." "Those races are destroyed now. The Borg assimilated them. Their cultures no longer exist." "Ah, yet they do. Yes, their cultural uniquenesses have been suppressed by the Collective, but not destroyed. The knowledge still exists, unless the Borg are exterminated." Q reached out his hand and gently turned Janeway's chin towards him. "Would you condemn those races to extinction?" He saw that he had captured her conscience. Now he would capture more. "And consider carefully what you endorse. If the Continuum elects to destroy the Borg, it will kill every member of the Collective, present and past." Q paused to ensure Janeway grasped the implication: Seven. "But those separated from the Collective are no longer Borg," Janeway protested, pulling away from him. "My dear Captain, the Continuum is nothing if not thorough. If the Borg are to be purged, we certainly aren't going to leave former Borg running about. Who knows when the desire to start a new collective might assert itself. Why, you yourself have some experience in that regard. Well, your First Officer can speak to the question most directly." Yes. Most directly. Damn but Q chose the most painful exemplars to use as object lessons. "What is the alternative?" Janeway kept the question neutral, but had an increasing foreboding; she wasn't going to like Q's second option. "The Continuum is not convinced that the Borg are beyond redemption. Given the proper guidance, a restructuring of their goals and methods, we believe it is possible for the Borg to achieve their initial purpose. Well, not perfection perhaps, we should reserve that for the Continuum. But an emergent culture, far superior to any of the component races; yet at the same time, reflective of those cultures. A kinder, gentler Borg," Q concluded with a Terran cliché. "The Continuum wants to redeem the Borg," Janeway marveled at the absurd arrogance of the notion. "And who, might I ask, just who does the Continuum see in the role of savior? You?" "No, of course not. Not that I wouldn't be a wonderful choice. But a Q cannot be assimilated. Resistance, in our case, isn't futile; it's unnecessary. No, I haven't been selected as the agent of change. Still, the candidate *is* here in the room." "Me? The Continuum has selected me for this? You must be joking." Yes, Janeway thought desperately, this must simply be Q's idea of a joke. Hold on to that happy thought: a cosmic joke. "Kathy, I thought you understood me. I don't lie, and I don't joke. Well, okay, I do joke. But not right now. Yes, the Continuum chose you. You made quite an impression during your last visit. Making an impression on the Continuum is not a wise course of action for a Human, I'm afraid. And, then too, my recommendation played a role." "You recommended me?" Janeway was incredulous. Damn! She should have just had sex with the bastard and been done with him. "Why!?" "Because I knew you would agree that the Borg should be given a chance to survive. And I know you're capable of giving them that chance. With a little help. From me. And from Seven." "Seven? No. No! How could you ask that of her? She's only recently come to embrace the possibilities of humanity. Why would you ask her to return to the Collective?" "Because we will need her help. You, Captain, will need her help. She has stood in both worlds, she can form a bridge. I'm afraid you cannot succeed without her. You are a strong, stubborn being. Quite amazing for a Human, actually. But you have limits. Even you have been willing to admit that, on rare occasions. You will need Seven. Otherwise you will fail. If you fail, the Borg will be destroyed. At that point, any Q who would help the Borg, help any members of the Collective, would be banished from the Continuum. And no Q can survive long if severed from the Continuum." "Quinn did," Janeway countered without thought. Her mind was working on a thousand questions, but the fact that Quinn survived his banishment spontaneously jumped to mind. "Yes, he did." Q acknowledged. "But I couldn't." He was quiet for a moment, then moved towards Janeway. "Will you agree? Will you help the Borg?" From fnkaiser@aol.com Fri Jul 31 16:36:48 1998 Path: news10.ispnews.com!hub1.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!dca1-hub1.news.digex.net!digex!howland.erols.net!portc02.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: fnkaiser@aol.com (FNKAISER) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW "Denaturing the Beast" 2/10 [PG-13] VOY (J,Q) Lines: 429 Message-ID: <1998073123364900.TAA23248@ladder01.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Date: 31 Jul 1998 23:36:48 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Xref: news10.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1523 "Denaturing the Beast" - Part 2 (See Part 1 for Disclaimers) "This is insane, Q. Complete, unadulterated insanity." Janeway couldn't begin to structure her arguments; it was all too, well… "You must think *I'm* insane to even ask this of me." "Insane? In the clinical sense? Hmm, I do suppose that was open to some debate a few months back, but..." "Enough! Q. What you're asking... Chakotay risked destroying this ship in order to prevent exactly what you're asking." Yes, just a cosmic joke. Q couldn't be serious. "What I'm asking is that you allow yourself to be assimilated into the Collective and become Borg queen. Quite frankly, we thought this all likely to occur in the natural course of events. There was more than one opportunity, you know. I suppose we just underestimated your tenacity, your inventiveness. Yes, even Chuckles showed a remarkable degree of dogged determinedness during that last episode," Q grudgingly admitted. He reached out and grabbed her arm, holding her before she could walk away. "Kathy, I don't like to use the term 'destiny' with Humans; they always misconstrue the implications. But suffice it to say there is a certain, how should I put this, inevitability in your playing this part. Once it was clear that Picard wasn't going to resolve things when given the opportunity..." "Wolf 359 was hardly an opportunity. Picard was put in the position of being a pawn of the Collective, an instrument of destruction to be used against the Federation," Janeway couldn't see the logic of Q's argument. Q shook his head, remembering how out of touch Janeway was with events in the Alpha Quadrant. "I wasn't referring to Wolf 359; there was another opportunity, but, well, never mind, I shouldn't mention it. The point is that others did not step in when the opportunity arose. You need to do so now, if the Borg are to have a chance for survival." Sacrifice herself. To save the Borg. The idea was too abhorrent to consider. Unless. Unless this meant a chance for the species the Borg had assimilated. Unless there was a chance that the Borg were capable of change. "I need to think about this. And I will need to talk with Seven about her wishes." "Her wishes? What is there for her to decide? If she refuses, her life is forfeit." Now it was Q's turn to be confused by the conversation's logic. "It's still her choice. She might decide that death is preferable to..." Janeway's voice faded to a whisper. "It's still her choice." "And it's still yours, Captain. I know I am playing on your highest duties as a Starfleet officer, and your best instincts as a person. But it is still your choice." "Yes, it is. And no, it is not. Not really. I just wish..." again, Janeway's voice faded. "What, Kathy? What do you wish?" Q seemed genuinely concerned. "It's nothing. It's small. Human." When Q continued to regard her closely, Janeway continued. "It's just that so many things I've loved in my life have been taken from me. I thought that perhaps, finally, I had found some things I could keep. Things I might reclaim." Her crew, her ship, Chakotay, her friends. Her hope of reaching home with them; soon now, it seemed. Janeway brushed the thoughts away. "It doesn't matter. As I said, they're small, Human concerns. Nothing of consequence." She gave a small, sad smile. "Believe what you will, Kathy, but I do understand. And I can do some things to help. To make it easier for you to make the right decision. If you succeed, I can bring you back. You can return to Voyager." "How? If I'm Borg queen..." "Select a successor, another to be queen. Once you've redefined the Collective, others should be able to steer the new course. Seven, perhaps..." "No!" Janeway was emphatic. "I couldn't ask that of her." "Fine. Then another from the Collective. The difficult task is the reformation. Others can manage once that's done." "How can I ask another to sacrifice their freedom for mine?" "Typical Starfleet guilt. And I thought the Terran religions were adept at its infliction. The Borg have no freedom now. One can't sacrifice something one doesn't have. And if you succeed, members of the Collective will have no desire for your petty Human concept of freedom. Seven may have no desire. You, my dear Captain, may have no desire. If you transform the Borg to achieve its potential, well, 'the eye of man hath not seen, the ear of man hath not heard'..." Q's voice held a soft promise, "if you succeed." "I will want to return, if I can," Janeway replied with quiet resolution. "I know you find this Human existence puny and sad, but it's mine. I rather like it." "Yes, I suppose you do. And if you decide to return, I will bring you back close to the time you left. I know how precious you Humans consider time to be. Goodness knows, you have so little of it. Your task with the Borg may take a while to complete, but I will return you to this time. More or less." Janeway considered Q's offer, searching for subterfuge. But it appeared genuine, an attempt to minimize what he was asking of her. "Thank you, Q. I know it's not easy for you to consider the needs of others. I do appreciate your efforts." Janeway closed her eyes, and sighed. "I need to talk with Seven, and with, well, with some of my crew. I need to think about this." "When you talk with Seven, tell her this: the situation is unchanged. She will understand the significance. I will await your decision, Madame Captain." Q kissed her hand. Then, raising his own, he snapped his exit. Janeway walked over to her desk and sat numbly in her chair, struggling to gain some foothold on her thoughts. Before she could make much progress, her comm badge chirped. "Janeway here," she acknowledged. Tuvok's voice came over the line: "Captain, it is 08:10 and you have not yet reported to the Bridge. Is there a problem?" Janeway paused for a moment, considering whether it more appropriate to laugh or cry at Tuvok's innocuous inquiry. She decided there was time for neither. "No, Tuvok, there’s no problem. I simply had an early meeting this morning. But I do need you to maintain the bridge. And locate Seven; ask her to report to me as soon as possible. Janeway out." From his station on the Bridge, Tuvok relayed the Captain’s message to Seven of Nine as ordered. Yet despite Janeway’s assurance, he could not help but suspect something was amiss. The Captain did not dismiss her Bridge duty lightly. And over their years of close association, Tuvok had come to understand that Janeway’s calm “there’s no problem” implied only that there was no Trachon beast chewing off her leg at this specific moment. Of course, the Captain would brief him on the situation when she deemed it appropriate. In the interim, however, he could consult his security databases and collate the following information: Janeway had been in her ready room for the past 47.3 minutes, yet he had not seen her enter the room through the Bridge; the Captain had alluded to an early morning meeting, yet there was no indication of another crewmember occupying the ready room during that interval, or her quarters earlier – in fact, both doors had been sealed since late last night; finally, the transporter logs contained no entries of intra-ship transfers this morning. Analyzing these facts, Tuvok drew the logical conclusion, one which he found most disquieting. The Vulcan considered Q’s visits to unfortunately epitomize all that rendered his role as Chief of Security here in the Delta Quadrant such a challenge: he could not predict when or where these intrusions would occur, nor had he means to neutralize or defend against them when they did. It was indeed a most dissatisfying situation. He could only hope that this time Q would do nothing to unduly jeopardize the safety of his Captain, or the ship and crew. Based on previous experience, however, he thought such a positive outcome unlikely. ****************** "You wished to see me, Captain?" Seven asked as she approached Janeway's desk. Kathryn was momentarily taken aback by the realization that Seven had waited for her to acknowledge the chime before entering the ready room. When had Seven learned proper entry etiquette? It should have been a red-letter day, Janeway mused. But as was the case with so many of the former Borg's improved social graces, the milestone had gone unnoticed. "Yes, Seven. Please, sit down." Another milestone: Seven now sat comfortably in meetings. Well, at least as comfortably as Tuvok sat. Janeway wondered if she would live to see the day Seven actually slouched. "We have an important matter to discuss. It concerns the Borg." If Seven had been slouching, she would no longer be. "The Borg?" she questioned. "We are far beyond Borg space; why should they concern us now?" "Because I was visited by Q. He explained how the Continuum had created the Borg, how displeased it was by the current actions of the Collective. He asked that we, you and I, assist the Q with their plan to deal with the Borg. The plan would require our assimilation into the Collective." Janeway paused, realizing she was likely conveying this all too quickly, even for Seven. She looked to see how the young woman was responding to the information. Seven was regarding Janeway with a look of pure incredulousness. "I'm sorry, Captain. I do not believe you," she finally managed. "Yes, Seven, I understand. The idea of being asked to willingly submit to assimilation, well, it's insane..." Janeway began. "No, Captain," Seven interrupted. "You do not understand. What I do not believe is your claim that you spoke with a Q, with one of the Creators. They no longer speak to humanoids; they have not spoken with the Borg for over a century. Not even with the Queen. I hardly think," Seven's voice took on an unmistakably derisive tone, "a Q would choose to speak with a Starfleet captain." "Well, this Q has. With several captains, actually. And other officers as well. He finds social intercourse with Humans amusing, and, on occasion, quite useful." Janeway considered that she should have chosen a different term than 'intercourse,' but no matter. "This, apparently, is one such occasion." "Captain," Seven began, but paused. She was uncertain how to proceed in these circumstances. Perhaps the Doctor should be consulted. Yes, that was correct. Insanity was considered a medical dysfunction. "You need to visit Sickbay. The Doctor can deal with these delusions you are experiencing." "Frankly, Seven, I wish I was delusional. But I assure you, I’m not." Janeway was struck by an apparent inconsistency in Seven's reasoning. "The Borg assimilated Jean Luc Picard. Surely they must possess his memories of encounters with Q." "Those memories were dismissed by the Collective as fantasies or hallucinations. Or perhaps," Seven added pointedly, "delusions." "Well, Seven, if my memories of encounters with Q are delusions, they're shared with many members of the crew. Are you suggesting mass hallucinations?" "A rare phenomenon, even among Humans. May I seek verification of your claim?" "Be my guest," Janeway offered. "Oh, it’s best to stick with the Bridge crew. They’ve had the most encounters. Pick any one at random." Seven considered the possible choices, then activated her comm badge. "Seven to Lieutenant Paris." "Paris here," came the disembodied reply. "Mr. Paris, have you had any encounters with a Q, or witnessed the Captain having any such encounters?" Tom Paris paused a moment to consider Seven's bizarre inquiry. "Yeesss, I've witnessed a number of encounters and had a few myself. We've had three Q visit Voyager: two males and a female, at least those were the forms they took." "Did you speak to any of the Q ?" Seven persisted. "Did I speak to any..." Tom tried to recall. "Well, one spoke to me, addressed me." "By name?" "Not exactly, no," Tom admitted. "What did he call you?" "She," Tom corrected. "I beg your pardon?" Seven was confused. "It was the female Q who addressed me. She called me 'Helm Boy.' But I think she meant it in a nice way. For a Q," Tom amended. "I see. Thank you, Mr. Paris. Seven out." The young woman turned back to a greatly amused Captain Janeway. "'Helm Boy.' I'd wondered where that came from. I wasn't on the Bridge at the time; Q had taken me to the Continuum," Janeway explained. "Captain, I apologize. It appears that there is a high probability that you are telling the truth. Although, to be honest, I find what you are telling me to be troubling, disquieting..." Seven was not accustomed to having her belief system disrupted. "I'm sure yours is not the first existential crisis Q has precipitated," Janeway sympathized. "He hasn't done much to shore up my belief in superior beings, I must say." She waited a moment for Seven to collect herself. Janeway considered deferring the remainder of the discussion, but felt compelled to reach closure on her decision as soon as possible. She had to know Seven's decision before she could make her own; delay was not a luxury they could afford. "What Q has asked of us, I know will be hard for you. But if we are unable to change the Borg, to neutralize the threat they pose to other species, the Continuum will destroy them. All Borg, even those who have left the Collective." "Yes. That would be the wisest course of action," Seven agreed. Janeway marveled at how calmly Seven accepted this death sentence; clearly, at some fundamental level, Seven still perceived her fate to be tied to the Borg's. "When we are assimilated," Seven continued, apparently already accepting the proposal as fact, "you will be Queen?" Janeway nodded, "Yes, that is the plan." "Yes," Seven gave her agreement, her approval. "And I will be your consort." "Consort?" Janeway questioned. She had not thought to ask Q the exact nature of Seven's role, but this sounded... "I'm sorry, but in our society the term generally has a sexual connotation," she explained. That Q! Was everything about sex with him? "It has no such implication within the Collective, Captain. Sexual relations among the Borg are rare. Because acquisition of new members is accomplished largely through assimilation, they are of little relevance." "That is something we may have to change; mass assimilations cannot be allowed to continue," Janeway warned. "Understood. But our relationship would still not be sexual; such interactions between us would fail to produce offspring, and therefore still prove irrelevant." Janeway decided this was probably not the time to expand Seven's understanding of sexual dynamics. How had the conversation gotten to this point, anyway? Perhaps they should start over from that part about 'Helm Boy'.... "But, Captain," Seven interrupted Janeway's mental digression, "our relationship within the Collective will be of great intimacy, constant intensity. Physical interactions, of any form, would seem trivial by comparison." Kathryn considered Seven's statement. She was beginning to realize how alien her existence as Borg queen was going to be. She was also starting to appreciate how vital Seven's role would be, how dependent she would be on the young woman's understanding of the structure and dynamics of Borg society. "Q said I should tell you, 'the situation is unchanged.' He said you could explain the significance of the statement." "I can," Seven nodded. "He speaks to the disarray of the Collective since the death of our last true queen, the one who was killed by the crew of the Enterprise." The Enterprise had another encounter with the Borg? Had killed the Borg queen? Janeway had no idea that the Borg had entered the Alpha Quadrant again; there was no mention of this conflict in any of the letters they'd received from home. Was this event the opportunity Q had referred to? She tried to understand the implications. "The Borg have no queen? How do they function?" "The Borg have subsequently had a number of queens, none of whom was deemed acceptable. The queen killed by Picard had ruled the Borg for many years, had greatly expanded the Collective's domain. Such a powerful ruler is not easily replaced," Seven explained. "Was it she who corrupted the Borg's direction? Led them on a path of aggression?" Janeway ask. "It was she and her two immediate predecessors. The three were members of a dynasty. The two before her greatly increased the Borg's power in the Delta Quadrant. She desired to extend the Borg's domain to the Alpha Quadrant. She was strong and ambitious. The latter proved her undoing." "And the Borg's as well," Janeway mused, and considered the tactical implications of Seven's information. The Borg had been without an effective leader for several years; the ambitions of the last powerful queen had cost the Collective greatly. Their foray into the Alpha Quadrant had been repelled: not once, as she had thought, but twice. And here in the Delta Quadrant, the Borg had suffered massive losses at the hands of Species 8472. Perhaps even the Borg could be tired of war. Perhaps even the Borg could be open to change. She wanted to know Seven's opinion. "What do you think, Seven? Is it possible for us to achieve our mission? Do you think we can transform the Borg into a peaceful species?" Seven considered her response carefully. Concern for her own safety was not a factor. Concern for Janeway's safety was. "It is possible, Captain. The current chaos within the Collective presents a unique opportunity. A strong leader could significantly alter the future course of the species. But the risk to you is significant. I do not believe you should accept Q's request, nor do I believe my fate should influence your decision." "I appreciate your concern, Seven. And I do acknowledge that your well being is not 'irrelevant' to me. Q certainly recognized that. But quite frankly, we are dealing with much larger issues here than your life, or mine. What I need to know is whether or not you believe we have a reasonable chance for success. If we do, I am willing to undertake this mission, regardless of risk. However, if we are doomed to fail, I will tell Q that the Continuum should destroy the Borg immediately. Any delay would permit the Borg to continue wreaking destruction, and I cannot be party to such an action. So tell me, Seven: Can we do this?" "Yes, Captain, I believe we can. When I first came onboard Voyager, you explained to me the power a single voice can wield. I have observed the truth of your statement on several occasions. The Borg are in chaos; they seek a strong voice." Seven stood and looked unblinkingly at Janeway. "And we will have two." *************** From fnkaiser@aol.com Fri Jul 31 16:38:52 1998 Path: news10.ispnews.com!hub1.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!portc02.blue.aol.com!audrey03.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: fnkaiser@aol.com (FNKAISER) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW "Denaturing the Beast" 3/10 [PG-13] VOY (J,Q) Lines: 351 Message-ID: <1998073123385200.TAA25027@ladder03.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder03.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Date: 31 Jul 1998 23:38:52 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Xref: news10.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1524 "Denaturing the Beast" - Part 3 (See Part 1 for Disclaimers) “Chakotay. Say something. Please.” Janeway had told him everything concerning Q’s visit and her conversation with Seven. He had listened without interruption. At first she was grateful; she wanted him to hear her out before voicing his objections. But now his lack of feedback was started to disturb her. She had been able to read some of his facial reactions, but now needed him to voice his thoughts. Any thought. Any thought at all. She waited. “I knew I should have joined you in bed last night,” he finally offered with a slight smile. Janeway smiled in return, greatly relieved. He understood she had to do this. He was going to support her. God, she loved this man. “Yes, well, I’m always in favor of that. Although I’m afraid the only benefit in this case would have been to delay receipt of the message. And come to think of it, considering the messenger, we may not have even accomplished that.” Since she had brought up the topic of Q… “Are you sure you can trust him? How do you know this isn’t a trap, one of his games?” Chakotay didn’t trust Q. Not in the least. “Because he has never lied to me. Outraged me? Yes. Endangered me? Yes. But lied to me? No. I don’t think he sees a need to lie; he’s found sufficient ways to do harm with the truth. Both to the Federation and to the Continuum. And I don’t see what he could gain from lying to me now. If Q wanted Seven and me to be assimilated, he could accomplish that with a wave of his hand. The idea that he would gain some further satisfaction from knowing he could coerce us into causing our own destruction? That seems too petty for a Q, even our Q,” Janeway decided. “Do you think he’s been honest about the risks involved? What this might cost you? And Seven?” Chakotay continued. “Oh, yes,” Janeway answered softly. “I think he’s been extremely honest. Brutally so.” “And you still intend to do this?” Chakotay asked it as a question, but knew it really wasn’t. “Yes. I have to. You know that. I can’t allow the assimilated races to perish if there is a possibility that I can help save them. Nor can I allow the Borg to be destroyed if they are capable of becoming something better.” She took his hand, needing to touch him, needing to feel his touch as she continued. “You know I don’t want to this. But you know, we both know, I must. And I take great comfort from Q’s implication that Voyager will make it home. Even if something happens to me, you will get the crew home.” She nodded her encouragement. He nodded in reply, but then looked down at the floor. “You should be with us. It won’t be right if you aren’t." He looked back up at her. "Not for me. Not for any of us.” The two sat in silence. “Chakotay, have you ever been to a Seder?” Janeway mistook his confused look at her sudden change in topic to mean he was unfamiliar with the term. “The celebratory dinner at Passover,” she clarified. “I know what a Seder is, Kathryn,” he chided gently. "I may have grown up in a colony without Jewish settlers, but I did take a few courses in comparative religions. And I’ve even been to a Seder. Back when I was a cadet.” “Hmm, I was invited to one every year at the Academy. I had never been to one before that. There weren't many Jews in the our part of Indiana. I was invited to all sorts of religious celebrations. It seemed as though the other cadets took pity on us agnostics and made a special effort to include us. I think we were considered spiritually stunted or deprived,” Kathryn remembered. “Why do you mention the Seder, Kathryn?” Chakotay was more than willing to talk about anything she wanted to, anything she needed to; but it did seem an usual choice of subject. “I was remembering how charming I found the ceremony. No, ‘charming’ isn’t the right word: it sounds condescending and patronizing. What I mean is, well, I’m not a religious person...” Janeway chose to ignore the look of mock surprise Chakotay gave her, and continued, “My point is, even though I don’t subscribe to any formal tenants or belief system, I’ve found there are aspects of several religions which hold genuine resonance for me. I love the Talaxian celebration of Prixin, for example. It’s a wonderful celebration of home, of family." "Not to mention the fermented fruit," Chakotay felt compelled to add; he fondly remembered how Kathryn had gotten downright sloshed at the first Prixin party Neelix arranged. "Yes, Commander, I enjoyed that, too," she shared his smile at the memory, then turned somber again. "But seriously, I find much of the Seder to hold profound meaning for me. As a person. As a Starfleet officer. I love the retelling of the struggle for freedom, the story of the people’s flight. And I'm very moved by the tradition of leaving an empty chair at the table. While it's probably not theologically correct, I like to think of it as saving a place for absent family, fallen friends who could not join the celebration.” She paused to see if Chakotay comprehended her meaning. His quiet smile told her that he did. She smiled back, and continued, “And I love the final promise: ‘Next year in Jerusalem.’ For thousands of years, the same promise, the same hope: next year we will gather in the promised land. What a wonderful, optimistic belief for a wandering people! So when we found ourselves stranded here in the Delta Quadrant, I adopted that promise. For myself, for the crew. Each year I renew that promise. And this year, I think it may come true. I honestly believe, Chakotay, it will come true. *This* year in Jerusalem.” “But you should be there with us, Kathryn.” Chakotay could no longer hold back his tears. They were quiet tears, but insistent ones nonetheless. “You should be with us at the table.” “Yet if I’m not, you will still hold a place for me. And that is enough. Truly, that is enough.” She looked at him carefully to see if he understood. It was obvious how troubled he was by the idea. “Did you ever read much about Martin Luther King?” she asked, apparently changing topics again. Chakotay gave her a sardonic look. “I didn’t realize there would be a quiz, Captain. But yes, I read quite a bit of King and Gandhi. Some of their writings were rather disturbing to me. I found it difficult to reconcile the wisdom of their teachings with my actions for the Maquis. Although, upon reflection, I decided what Gandhi said about the Nazi applied to the Cardassians.” Since Kathryn felt comfortable going off on these tangents, so did he. It was a tendency she had, to talk around subjects she found emotionally difficult, to intellectualize things. Probably resulted from having had a philosopher for a lover, he'd decided. “What was that?” she asked. “He said that nonviolent techniques could only be effective against an opponent who possessed a conscience, a moral center; they wouldn’t work against the Nazi.” “Or the Cardassians,” she nodded her understanding and agreement. “Yes, I should probably read more of Gandhi’s writings. Or should have,” she added quietly. After a moment, she redirected her thoughts to her earlier topic. “I was thinking about the speech King gave where he spoke of seeing the promised land. He was advocating racial equality, and used the term as a metaphor for his movement's goals." Chakotay's nod indicated he was familiar with the historic speech, so she continued. "I was struck by what a powerful statement King made when he said it didn’t matter if he reached the promised land; it was sufficient that he had seen it. ‘Stood on the mountain top’ was the phrase he used. Such a wonderful image, don't you think? Standing on the mountain, seeing the valley below. Knowing your people will make it there.” She reached out and placed her hand on his check. “And having the wisdom to appreciate that this knowledge is enough.” “No,” he shook his head sadly. “No, it really isn’t. It was tragic that he didn’t live to see the fruition of his dreams; it will be tragic if you don’t see yours.” “I will try,” she promised. “You know that. You know I will do everything I can to come back to you. To come back to Voyager. My heart... is here," she pressed her hand against his chest. "With you. Now. Forever. And my heart will bring me back, if it is at all within my power.” She waited for Chakotay to nod his understanding, then pushed a small pouch into the palm of his hand. “But if I am unable to return, you must lead our crew home. Ultimately, that is what is most important; that is what I must be certain of, if I am to do this. You must promise me that you will get our people home.” Chakotay opened the pouch and removed the single item inside. It was the message crystal Kathryn received from the hive-ship; the promise of a way home. The promise Q suggested would hold true. Janeway was giving the crystal to him. For safekeeping. Or in case she did not return. He clutched it in his hand. “I will hold this for you. I will hold this ship for you. And I will hold watch for you.” She nodded her acceptance, her gratitude. But she needed him to promise more; he had to promise her one thing more. “And…” she encouraged, tears welling in her eyes. “And, if you do not come back, I will get our ship and crew safely home. They will enter the gates of Jerusalem. You have my word. My heart. My soul. You have my promise.” "Thank you, Chakotay," she whispered softly. Her tears now joined his as she leaned forward to embrace him. "Then I have… everything I need." ******************** Janeway stood in her ready room, gazing out at the stars. Even after six years in the Delta Quadrant, there was nothing familiar to her about these constellations, for Voyager was forever moving onward, seeking its course towards home. Yet her perception of the individual stars was familiar to her, and that afforded a certain comfort. She could identify the class of each star, draw reasonable assumptions of whether planets were likely to orbit it, whether those planets could support carbon- based life. She could make a rough estimation of the star's magnitude, its age and life-expectancy. Her perceptions were those of a scientist. A Starfleet captain. An explorer. A Human. What would her perceptions be afterwards? Would there be an afterwards? She had never summoned Q before, had never wanted to before. Nor was she certain she wanted to now. "Q," she spoke to the air, "it's time." Before her last word was fully formed, she saw his reflection in the viewport. "You've decided." It was not a question. "Yes. And I think you know my answer, my duty. I cannot condemn the Borg to extinction if it is within my power to redeem them..." Janeway hesitated at the apparent hubris of her words. "To help them redeem themselves." The amendment sat more comfortably with her Starfleet sensibilities. She turned to face Q. "I'm not sure I can do this. I have so much fear, so much hate." She shook her head. "Well, it will be hard to work past that. And I'm certain that I don't really want to do this. But I'm also certain that I must do this. You knew that before you came here." "Yes, of course. But it was still your choice." What was Q seeking? Clarification? Absolution? It didn't matter. Other issues did. "I have two conditions. Two... kindnesses you must promise." "If I can," Q agreed. "They are?" "First, you must promise that my crew will make it home safely. Not to an alternate timeline, not in an altered form. Home. Safely. No tricks, Q; no distortion of my intent. I want your promise." "Kathy, that course is already in motion. I've told you that. But yes, I promise. I will keep watch and ensure nothing interferes." Q held his hand over his heart and gazed at her solemnly. Janeway considered whether Q was mocking her. She decided he was not. And he had never lied to her; many other sins, perhaps, but never lied. She nodded her acceptance of his promise. "And the second?" Q prompted. He was hardly accustomed to allowing Humans to dictate terms, but he would allow it this time. From her, he would allow it. "If I fail," Janeway began. Q started to protest, but she cut him off. "I intend to succeed. Seven and I, " she clarified, "intend to succeed. But if we fail, I want you to see to it that the Continuum acts quickly on the... other option. I don't want to live like that, or to know that I've contributed to the Borg's aggressive actions." "That, my good Captain, is a promise I can make with ease. Should you fail, the Continuum will be swift in its action." Q was relieved to be finished with the matter. "Now, if there are no further conditions, when will you and Seven be ready to join me?" "I need the remainder of today, and tomorrow, to put things in order. We'll be ready the day after. She and I will take a shuttlecraft out to meet you. I don't want you to take us from this ship. That would be too... difficult. We will come to you." "As you wish, Captain. I think I understand. Do you want more time? The Borg have been running rogue for centuries now. A few more days..." "No. No, thank you. I don't think additional time will make this any easier. It might make it more difficult, actually. Another strange Human characteristic, I suppose," Janeway acknowledged with an ironic smile. "Very well. I will await your hail. Metaphorically speaking, of course." he raised his hand to snap his exit, but then paused and gave Janeway a serious look. "Back on earth, didn't you keep some sort of animal as a pet? A bear?" Q assumed the facade of struggling to recall the petty detail. "A dog. We called her Bear. She's a dog," Kathryn clarified tiredly. She found such feigned ignorance cloying in an omniscient being. And she really couldn't see where Q was heading with this tangent. "A dog named bear," Q grumbled. "Why some species are given the gift of semantics, well, never mind. My point is, you adopted this animal as a pet. You're fond of her, yes?" "Yes, I'm quite fond of her. I miss her, her companionship, very much." Kathryn had no idea where Q was going with this. "Hmm. I'm sure. It might even be said that you love her. After a fashion, of course," Q continued. "Yes. I would say that I love Bear. I've loved many of my pets." "How very Human of you. But tell me, Kathy, even if Bear were the dearest pet you'd ever had, even if you believed she might have once saved your life, would you be willing to die for her?" What a strange question. She had just agreed to sacrifice her Human existence to offer the Borg the possibility of redemption. Now Q wanted to know if she would die to save Bear. Was this his cosmic version of the old joke about whether a woman was willing to prostitute herself for a million bars of gold-pressed latinum? No, Q was posing a serious question; Kathryn would provide an honest response. "I don't know that I've ever considered the question. It's funny, I once actually chose to live to save a dog..." "Yes, yes. You decided not to abandon yourself in an Indiana snowstorm so that you could rescue that pathetic little puppy, Petunia. A truly touching, if overly maudlin, tale. 'Petunia'. 'Bear.' Heaven forbid you and Chuckles ever be given the opportunity to name a child. But I digress. As do you. Would you willingly, with full knowledge and forethought, sacrifice your existence to save the life of your beloved pet?" Kathryn thought for another minute. If Q was setting a trap, she couldn't see it. Would she die to save Bear? No. In the heat of an emergency, she might place herself at risk to rescue her dog. But would she knowingly give up her life? "No, I suppose I wouldn't." This was such a bizarre inquisition, even for Q. "Why in God's name are we discussing this?" "Because, my dear Kathy," Q placed a gentle hand on her cheek and gazed at her fondly, "I needed to ensure that we fully understand one another." And then, in a flash, he was gone. *************** From fnkaiser@aol.com Fri Jul 31 16:41:10 1998 Path: news10.ispnews.com!hub1.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!152.163.199.19!portc03.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: fnkaiser@aol.com (FNKAISER) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW "Denaturing the Beast" 4/10 [PG-13] VOY (J,Q) Lines: 383 Message-ID: <1998073123411400.TAA23816@ladder01.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Date: 31 Jul 1998 23:41:10 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Xref: news10.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1525 "Denaturing the Beast" - Part 4 (See Part 1 for Disclaimers) She was working at her desk in her ready room, diligently attempting to tidy up details of the ship’s business before she left the next morning. It was not very late in the day, but Neelix had planned a special dinner in the Mess Hall which was to start in… she glanced at the chronometer: damn, just under two hours. She couldn’t be late for the dinner. It meant so much to Neelix, to the others. And it meant a lot to her, really, to be able to spend one last evening in the company of her crew, her friends. It was just that this past day had been filled with so many ‘lasts.’ She thought she now knew what it felt like to be a condemned prisoner, and realized what a hateful existence it was. On several occasions in her life, Janeway had been held prisoner, but it was never like this. As a prisoner, she always held hope, sought a means of escape. She had felt fear in those situations, but never despair; she had never confronted the thought of an inevitable, final, dark fate awaiting her at a specific time. But that was exactly what faced her now. And yet it was still incumbent on her to maintain a facade of strength: the proper Starfleet captain, certain and unafraid. Except when she was alone with Chakotay. He knew her fears, her uncertainties. He probably experienced some of his own, although he was being careful not to show them. Hell, she knew he must have doubts. It was he who warned that attempts to alter the Borg’s nature would prove futile: years ago, when she first proposed forming a pact with their mortal enemies. She had agreed, assured him that she had no intention of trying to change the Borg. And now that was exactly what she hoped to do, exactly what she had to do. Her life depended on it. Seven’s life depended on it. And so, in fact, did the Borg’s. Could she make them recognize that, or would they simply destroy them all? What, in the final analysis, would be their nature? What would be her fate? She looked at the stack of unfinished work before her. There was no possible way for her to complete it all. It would fall on Chakotay to deal with it. Another burden she would place on him. Because she had no choice. Because he chose to take on her burdens. Her musings were interrupted by the entry chime. “Come,” she called, and was not surprised to see Tuvok enter the room. He had asked earlier for this meeting; she assumed he was not comfortable bidding his goodbye in the public forum this evening’s dinner would be. “Captain,” he began without preamble, “there is a matter I would like to discuss prior to your departure.” “Of course, Tuvok. Please, sit down.” She indicated the chair in front of her desk. He sat, stiffly as always. She suspected he would be just as comfortable standing, perhaps more so. But she felt more comfortable when he sat. “What’s on your mind?” Tuvok had always found that Terran expression odd, but he would accept it from Janeway. “I am concerned that your decision to undertake this venture has been influenced by an inappropriate factor.” “And what would that be?” Janeway asked. “That you hold yourself responsible for the destruction of Arturis’ homeworld and people. That you believe you must offer some form of restitution for the damage the Borg inflicted.” “Why do you think I would believe that?” “I have heard Humans refer to the phenomenon as ‘guilt.’ It is the unjustified sense of responsibility for the misfortune that has befallen another,” Tuvok explained. “I know what guilt is, Tuvok. And believe me, the sense of it is not always unjustified. But I don’t feel it has played a role in my decision.” “Are you certain, Captain? I know you found our encounter with Arturis quite disturbing. I know he believed the Borg would never have attacked his planet had we not intervened in their earlier war against Species 8472. I know he held you responsible for our intervention.” “I found our encounter with Arturis disturbing for a number of reasons, not the least of which being it nearly resulted in the assimilation of, well… never mind.” Janeway took a moment to mentally regroup and tried again. “I was quite disturbed to learn of the fate that befell Arturis’ people. And it is true that the opportunity to give races such as his a chance to reclaim their heritage, their existence, is a major motivation for my accepting Q’s proposal. But I honestly do not believe I am responsible for the damage the Borg inflicted on his world, or any other world they’ve attacked since our encounter with them. I gave the Collective the means to defeat Species 8472, not simply to ensure our safe passage through Borg space, but because I truly thought Species 8472 posed an even greater threat to the Delta Quadrant, possibly the entire galaxy. The Borg threaten assimilation, world by world. Species 8472 threatened the imminent destruction of all life, and looked to have the means to carry out that threat. I chose what I felt to be the lesser of two evils. I still stand by that choice, even though it enabled the lesser evil to survive,” Janeway explained. Tuvok considered his Captain’s rationale, and decided it was valid. “Very well. I will accept that guilt is not the motive for your decision.” “I want you to understand what *are* my motives, Tuvok. To rid the universe of the evil that is Borg, yes. But the Q could do that in an instant, and certainly do so without my help. What I have been given is the opportunity to do something more, something finer. To help the Borg evolve into something better, perhaps even noble. To help those races that the Borg decimated re-establish themselves, their cultures, in a new Collective. It is an opportunity, my friend, that I cannot refuse,” she looked at Tuvok for his understanding, possibly his approval. “Yours is,” he acknowledged, “a most logical decision.” It was his strongest possible statement of approval. “I will do whatever I can to assist you.” To a naive listener, Tuvok’s offer might sound a trite platitude. Janeway, however, appreciated the gravity of his promise. If she asked him to walk naked into the primary warp core, he would do so without question or complaint. Fortunately, what she required of him was considerably less lethal, although not without its own challenges. “What I need you to do, Tuvok, is to be as good a friend to Chakotay as you have been to me. Things are going to be difficult for him while I am away. And if I do not return, well, then he will need you all the more. Should that come to pass, I know you will be a fine First Officer. And a fine friend to your Captain.” Tuvok stood before her as he spoke, “As I strive even now to be. Fare well on your journey, Kathryn Janeway." He raised his hand in a familiar salute, "Live long and prosper.” Tuvok lowered his hand, turned, and left the room. He felt it best to leave before emotion became a factor in their discussion. ******************** The evening meal had been truly lovely, Janeway reflected. Neelix found just the right tone to strike: not overly formal and subdued, nor injected with a forced gaiety. Instead, he wisely cast the gathering as an opportunity for the crew to 'wish their two comrades Godspeed as they journey forth on a new challenge.' Talk of risk was minimized; discussion of potential emphasized. And there was much good-humored banter about all that would await them upon their return. An endless supply of coffee for the Captain. A faster Astrometrics Lab interface for Seven. Unlimited holodeck time for both, along with Harry’s enthusiastic promise to teach Seven to better appreciate holodeck technology. His offer was met with ribald laughter as the crew intentionally misconstrued exactly what aspects Harry would teach her to appreciate. Yes, it had been a fine evening, a warm, wonderful celebration of family and friendship. Not the horrible pseudo-wake Janeway had dreaded. Now she lay in Chakotay’s bed, softly caressing her lover's sleeping form. Their lovemaking had been very slow and gentle that night, the erotic inverse of the heated, passionate session they'd shared the night before. Tonight they’d taken time with every movement, with every gesture, every touch. Janeway had held him tenderly, longingly, wishing she could meld their bodies into one. As she felt her excitement build towards a crescendo, she clung to him tightly, afraid to loosen her hold of him even in this sea of pleasure. And when they climaxed, her satisfaction was tinged with regret, a sorrow that this special communion was over for now. Possibly for a long time. She would not think that it might be forever. Even now, her hand continued to roam over his body, following every contour, tracing every line. Her survey was intentional and thorough. She wanted to burn every detail of his physical form into her mind, embed each memory so deeply that no one, nothing, could steal them from her. He would stay with her in her mind, in her heart. There was no power in the universe that could take him from her. He would be hers, always. She slept very little, and woke long before the morning alarm. By the pale starlight illumination, she rose from the bed and donned her clothes, watching him all the while. She kissed him gently, as a mother might kiss a sleeping child, taking care not to disrupt the fabric of his dreams. Then she left his quarters without waking him. As she said she would. As they both wanted. **************** Seven glanced at Janeway, who sat in the pilot's seat of the shuttlecraft. The two had said little since meeting in the Shuttlebay over an hour ago. Even now, the Captain absorbed herself with the minutia of checklists and course planning, details which were likely to be rendered moot when Q joined them. Seven recognized Janeway's avoidance; she decided it was incumbent on her to initiate the discussion that was needed. "You are afraid." Her statement was without concern or accusation, a simple statement of fact. Janeway sighed with exasperation. "Seven, please... " she began. But then she stopped herself. Soon Seven would share her every thought, her every feeling. An unwillingness to discuss them now, at a time when they could confer without others in their minds, seemed disingenuous at best, a foolish waste of opportunity at worst. "Yes. I am afraid. Terrified, actually. I try not to be, but there it is. The Borg have always embodied my worst fears. But you know that." "Yes. I am aware of your fears. But they are truly not warranted. You must," Seven paused to consider a proper phrase, "rise above them." "Not warranted? I must disagree. I have heard descriptions of the assimilation process. I have witnessed its results." "The cases you speak of involved drones. You will be queen. The experiences have little in common." Seven spoke with calm certainty. "And the descriptions you've heard were tainted by Human fears. You should not be afraid." Seven studied Janeway's face. Her words had done little to allay the Captain's concerns; she must try a different tack. "You were joined with the hive-ship. Did you find that experience unpleasant?" "At first, yes. It was extremely frightening. I didn't know what was happening. I thought I was going insane. The inexplicable thoughts and feelings, the sense that I was no longer in control of my mind..." Janeway closed her eyes at the disturbing memory. This was definitely *not* the conversation she wanted have right now. "But later, when you understood the hive-ship's communicative process, was it still frightening?" Seven persisted. "No, not frightening. Difficult, especially on the planet, where the communion was so powerful," Janeway explained. "And later. When you partook of the hive-ship's celebration?" "That was wonderful. Truly wonderful. I could share their consciousness, yet still clearly possessed my own. I felt their joy." Janeway smiled quietly as she reflected on the experience. "Yes, that was an amazing sensation." "You must remember that experience, Captain. You must embed that memory firmly in your mind," Seven advised. "Why?" "For two reasons, Captain... Kathryn," Seven amended her term of address. Where they were going, Starfleet ranks were of no relevance. "First, the thought of what a positive experience shared consciousness can be will help allay your fears. That will be critical in dealing with the Borg. A queen who is weak, a queen who shows fear, will not survive. Second, you must be able to convey that image to the members of the Collective; they must understand, be able to extract from your consciousness, the goal you wish them to attain." Janeway considered Seven's advice. "So I should think happy thoughts? I will. That's always been my policy with the Borg." Her comment was sardonic, but Janeway recognized the wisdom of her companion's advice. Yes, she decided, Seven would prove to be an invaluable ally. Probably her best, last hope. A check of the shuttlecraft's instruments indicated they were now out of Voyager's sensor range. For some reason, this had seemed critical to her. Whatever was going to transpire, Janeway wanted it away from her ship, away from her people. "I'm cutting engines," she told Seven. It was probably an unnecessary announcement, but she wanted to make it. It might be her last act in command of a Starfleet vessel. She had to stop doing that, cataloging each act as a possible last. These were definitely not happy thoughts. And Seven was correct: such doubts could only undermine them. "Time to call Q," Janeway decided. Now it was Seven's turn to look uncertain, fearful. Kathryn was fascinated at the prospect the young woman faced; Seven would, quite literally, be meeting her Maker. Or a member of her Makers' race, at the least. It was an awe-inspiring concept. A pity it was wasted on Q. "I heard that, Kathy! Snideness does not become you," Q chided from a bench in the aft compartment. Janeway and Seven turned in their seats to face him. Both wore expressions of amazement: the latter because she was in the presence of a god, her god; the former because Q was now privy to her inner thoughts and feelings. Q approached the two women. "Come now, Captain, you must adapt to sharing your thoughts with others. It's a brave new world, Kathy; embrace it as your own." He turned to the younger woman. "And you, Seven; do you understand your duty to your queen?" "I do, my lord. I will not fail her," Seven promised. "See that you don't." Q's command was without threat or malice, but it was clearly a command. "Then we are ready," he pronounced with a flourish of his hand. The interior of the shuttlecraft was replaced with a catwalk of a Borg cube. Janeway felt a wave of déjà vu. She had been here before, or a place identical to it, to negotiate safe passage for her ship, to propose an exchange with the Borg. That time had been rife with danger, not just for herself, but for her entire crew. And that day she had stood alone. Alone and afraid. This time, she did not stand alone. Seven and Q flanked her shoulders as the voice of the collective rang out. "We are the Borg. Life as you know it is ended. You will be assimilated; your biological and..." "I know who you are," Q announced. "And you know who I am." He paused. The silence in the cube was eerie; it was as if all the Collective's functions had come to an abrupt and complete halt. "I bring you your new queen. She is to be obeyed without question. She is the source of your salvation, your only hope for survival. To defy her is to place your existence at peril." Q turned Janeway to face him. He gave her a parting touch. "That is the strongest endorsement I can provide. The rest is up to you." With those words, he was gone. Janeway turn to the sound of heavy footfalls on the catwalk. Two drones were approaching, but not with the usual Borg militaristic march. Instead, their movements were hesitant, almost deferential. Janeway straightened, steeling herself for the approaching encounter. Then, in a blur of motion, Seven stepped around and in front of her. "I will allow them to assimilate me first," she calmly stated. Janeway started to protest, but Seven cut her off. "It is my duty to go ahead and prepare your path. This is our," Seven almost smiled as she chose her word, "our protocol." Her former captain nodded, conveying her assent; the small smile she added conveyed her gratitude. The drones now stood before Seven, awaiting a signal of permission from the queen’s consort. When it was granted, one raise its hand to her throat; the micro-tubules punctured her skin. Janeway watched with rapt fascination as Seven's skin began to mottle and acquire the characteristic Borg hue. She regarded the new Borg's eyes as they transformed, turning cold, hard, distant. Janeway swallowed back her fear as those eyes turned to her and Seven nodded her command to the drones. It was time. Janeway elected to remain focused on Seven. She saw the blur of the micro-tubules in her periphery and felt the sharp sting of penetration. And then the voices filled her head. Powerful, overwhelming, confusing, demanding....what is your wish? what is your wish? you are the queen; what is your bidding?.... she felt herself start to flounder, and in panic reached out for a lifeline, an anchor. She found one in the clear, strong voice of Seven. "You are the queen, Kathryn; you must direct them. I will help, but you must lead." Janeway fought down her panic, focused her mind. She found her mental voice and projected it as best she could. "I am Janeway. I come to lead the Borg. I am Janeway; I am Borg." Her announcement was met with silence, then a buzz of confusion. "You are the queen; you are Borg. The Collective will determine your designation. You are here to serve the Borg." The voices grew louder, assumed a tone of protest, of challenge. "NO!" Janeway was adamant. "I am Janeway. I choose my own designation. I am queen; I will lead. The Borg will follow a new path. I will show the way. I will lead, you will follow. You must comply. I am Janeway; I am Borg." She waited. There was a murmur of response from the Collective, but it was no longer one of protest. As best she could tell, it resonated of anticipation. And inside her mind, surrounding and supporting her, Kathryn felt the approving smile of Seven. **************** From fnkaiser@aol.com Fri Jul 31 16:43:05 1998 Path: news10.ispnews.com!hub1.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!dca1-hub1.news.digex.net!digex!howland.erols.net!portc02.blue.aol.com!audrey03.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: fnkaiser@aol.com (FNKAISER) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW "Denaturing the Beast" 5/10 [PG-13] VOY (J,Q) Lines: 381 Message-ID: <1998073123430700.TAA25538@ladder03.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder03.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Date: 31 Jul 1998 23:43:05 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news10.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1526 "Denaturing the Beast" - Part 5 (See Part 1 for Disclaimers) A month. It had been a month. Well, almost a month: twenty seven days. It had been forever. Chakotay paced the Bridge of Voyager. He had never been one to pace. She had been the one to pace; no, not pace: prowl. Filled with energy, she never sat in her command chair for long. Instead, she would migrate from station to station, talking with her Bridge crew, collecting reports, praising their efforts. Even when she was commanding from center Bridge, she preferred to stand; often she walked towards Conn to get a better view of the main display screen, check on Paris' inputs. Always in motion, an orbiting electron. And he was the Bridge's nucleus, rooted in his First Officer's chair. A source of calm and strength; a constant, an anchor. But now he paced, displaying far less purpose that she in his wanderings. The two center command chairs sat empty. Tuvok retained his station at Security. Chakotay had never shifted to the other chair. It was not a change he was willing to acknowledge, to accept. Not yet. Not for a while. It had only been a month. Less than a month. From time to time, he would attempt to analyze Q's promise that Janeway could return to Voyager close to the time she had left: the same time, more or less. But what did "more or less" mean to a Q? Days? Weeks? Years? It had been nearly a month. Did that mean she and Seven had failed? How would he know? When would he know? "More or less." It frustrated him. It haunted him. Voyager had made little progress towards the Alpha Quadrant this past month. At a rational level, Chakotay knew that physical distance was irrelevant. If she and Seven were going to return, distance wouldn't matter. Q could return them to the Alpha Quadrant as easily as to the point of their departure. He knew, intellectually, that lingering was a pointless exercise, a meaningless gesture. Yet there was an irrational, emotional, Human reluctance to leave. Loyalty dictated holding position, standing watch; continuing the voyage felt like an abandonment. So a week was spent on major engine overhauls; several more days used to replenish supplies on a nearby M-class planet. But finally, valid excuses for delay were exhausted; the course for home was resumed. So Chakotay paced the Bridge and contemplated the temporal definitions of a Q: more or less. "Commander," Harry Kim interrupted Chakotay's reverie with an excited summons. None of the crew called Chakotay "Captain"; it was unlikely he would have accepted the title, command protocol be damned. "A ship has just appeared on sensors; it's the shuttlecraft." Kim knew that it was unnecessary to specify which shuttlecraft. "We're being hailed. Audio only." Chakotay indicated that Kim should put the hail on open speakers. "Chakotay here. Captain, it that you?" "This is Seven of Nine, Commander. The Captain is with me. We request permission to dock. Our ETA is twenty point three minutes." "Permission granted. I will meet you in the Shuttlebay." Chakotay almost started for the turbolift before remembering that the transit time from Bridge to Shuttlebay was far less than twenty minute. "No, Commander. That won't be... necessary." It was Janeway's voice, although Chakotay noticed it was somewhat different, distorted. Strained perhaps? "When we dock in the Shuttlebay, Seven and I will require a site-to-site transfer to Sickbay." "Understood." Gods, no, he didn't understand. What was happening here? "Are you injured, Captain?" "We're okay, Chakotay. Seven and I just have some matters that require the Doctor's attention." She hesitated a bit before continuing, obviously uncomfortable saying more on an open comm line. She found appropriately neutral words. "I will see you in my quarters later." "Fine, Captain. When?" To hell with appropriateness. There was another pause, an obvious consideration required on her part. "Tomorrow morning. 08:00." "08:00 it is. We've waited for you a month, Captain. I suppose we can wait another day." He hoped the use of plural was a sufficient diffuser of his personal message; her voice held such a strange tone, he couldn't read it. "Welcome home, Captain. Seven." "A month?" Janeway's voice over the comm line with a strange break in it. Amusement? Surprise? He couldn't tell. It also sounded as if she didn't realize the link was still open. "Captain?" Chakotay responded. There was a pause as Janeway realized her mistake. "Nothing, Commander. We'll be in rendezvous range soon. Janeway out." And then the link was closed. Chakotay glanced around the bridge to gauge the reactions of the others. Obvious joy, relief. But also concern and curiosity. The Captain's voice sounded unusual, unsure. Why had Seven initiated the hail? And why did Janeway react as she did when Chakotay referred to the length of their absence? After all, it had been a month; more or less. The bridge crew's reactions mirrored his own, except that Chakotay had already formed a working hypothesis concerning the last question: it had been a month for Voyager, but substantially longer for the Collective. ***************** He entered without announcement, just keyed in the code and walked through the door. He would make that presumption. It was 08:00; he had waited as she asked. It had been almost an hour since he'd heard her return to her quarters from Sickbay. He was tempted to go to her then. But he would wait until 08:00, as she had asked. She stood by the viewport, gazing out at the stars. It was something she'd often done; he felt reassurance seeing her in such a familiar position. He did noticed a slight difference in her bearing; it was similar to her old command stance, but with a subtle alteration. It appeared, he realized, slightly more regal. He gave an ironic smile at the cliché. She had not yet turned to look at him. He understood she was doing this intentionally, to allow him time to examine her without having to meet her gaze. He availed himself of the opportunity. He first noticed her hair. Of course. He had always noticed her hair. That and her eyes. But he could not see those now. Truth be told, he couldn't see much hair, either. It was extremely short, scarcely longer than his. Obviously, the Doctor had been busy with other repairs and had deferred the follicle stimulation procedure until the end. If Chakotay stood here long enough, he might actual see her hair grow, like the movement of the hour hand on an old-fashioned chronometer. There were a few small dermal patches on her face, and tell-tale bulges suggesting more underneath her uniform. Of course she worn her uniform. She would want to reclaim that familiar skin as much as any biological piece the Doctor might repair. She permitted his inspection and deferred her own. She probably assumed he had changed little in the past month. Largely, she was correct; even the lines of worry and fatigue that had etched into his face in her absence were softened by the sleep he'd finally found last night, lulled by the knowledge of her safe return. She seemed hesitant to face him, reluctant to make any movement towards him. That was all right, he decided. He was content just to look at her; just to stand in the same room, breathe the same air. "How long were you gone?" In the abstract, it was a strange question for him to ask. In reality, it was the most critical one he could. "It's difficult to know, exactly. Q was truthful about having the encounter occur outside our linear time. And the sense of time within the Collective is... different. Apparently, the Borg are careful about... preserving their queens; the doctor could find little... evidence of my aging: a month or two at most. His examination of Seven indicates her body to be about three years older; that's probably our best... our best indicator." Her voice was soft, hesitant. As if she was having difficulty finding the words to express her thoughts. It worried him. "Are you... " he wasn't even certain how to phrase the question. Sensing his hesitation, she finally turned to face him. He realized he was holding his breath. Her eyes... her eyes were her own. *Thank the gods,* he exhaled. For some reason, he had been most afraid that they would take those from him. "Back to normal? Fairly much, yes. I still have some Borg implants, some the Doctor can't remove. The nanoprobes, of course. And I still have a sense of Seven in my mind. We were... very close. For a long time. I suppose it's to be expected. But even that... it's fading," she assured him. "Will you miss it?" he asked her softly. "What? The connection to Seven? Or the Collective?" Janeway sought to understand his question. "Yes. Both. Either." He wasn't sure what his question was, he just wanted to hear her answer. "Yes. No. It was a remarkable experience. Extraordinary. But I think, at my soul, I am too Human to permanently live such an existence." She was quiet for a moment before concluding, "I'm glad to be back." "Are you?" he asked. At her confused look, he clarified. "Glad? Back?" "Yes. Yes, I am." And tears started to fall from her eyes. Human tears. From Human eyes. Chakotay could contain himself no longer. In four long strides he closed the distance between them, and clutched her to him fiercely. "Thank the gods," he murmured into her hair, "thank the gods." *Yes,* Janeway thought as she nodded against his chest. *Them, too.* ***************** It was actually rather surprising that they were just now having this celebration. Janeway and Seven had been back for four days now, five counting the afternoon and evening they had spent in Sickbay. But both seemed hesitant to have a ship- wide party; Janeway repeatedly told Neelix to give her a little more time, "time to feel, and look, more like myself," she explained to him. Finally, she relented and agreed to a gathering (a quiet gathering, she'd insisted) this evening. It was time, she knew; she owed it to the crew. Chakotay thought he understood the source of her hesitancy, or at least a good portion of it. When he returned to his home on Dorvan V after fighting in battles, first for Starfleet, later for the Maquis, he always found it difficult to adjust to the quiet normalcy forced upon him. That must be what Kathryn felt now, he decided. So recently returned from her traumatic experiences with the Borg. "Too soon returned from battle," a friend had once phrased it. That must be what she was going through. It must be hard. He gathered a drink from the service bar and found a quiet corner of the room from which to observe the festivities. As always, Neelix had done a splendid job of transforming the routine mess hall into something far more inviting. Tonight, it seemed, he'd made a special effort in his preparation; this was his act of love for Janeway and Seven. Most of the crew were here in the room, at least those who were not on duty. There was a sufficient crowd that Chakotay could fade into the background and simply observe the two women, the guests of honor. Regarding Seven, he realized she actually seemed more socially at ease since her return than she’d been before. She smiled a bit more easily, a bit more often: even laughed on occasion. Clearly, sharing consciousness with Kathryn Janeway for three years had improved her sense of humor. Yet Seven was still not fully comfortable in large social gatherings. She stayed clustered with a small group of friends: Harry, Tom, and B'Elanna. Other crewmembers would drift by to exchange a few words, but it was clear Seven felt most content when surrounded by her small nucleus. Janeway, in contrast, circulated among the crew. Chakotay was pleased to see the physical awkwardness that plagued her upon her return had vanished. She moved once more with a sure, fluid grace. He felt a smile of satisfaction and pride play across his lips as he watched her. The smile died, however, as he observed her engage in discussion with Carey and several of the other Engineering staff. It was clear that she was struggling to focus on the stream of conversation. He saw her pause and stumble over words; saw the crewmen exchange uneasy and embarrassed glances at the Captain's difficulties. It was obvious her social coordination was not faring as well as her physical. She handled herself as best she could. When words failed her, she used touches and smiles to convey to her crew how glad she was to be back among them. Nonetheless, Chakotay noticed all parties' relief when the Captain excused herself. As she moved towards the food table, Janeway glanced about the room. Probably scanning for him, Chakotay realized. He was about to move out into the room to afford her a more visible target when he realized Janeway had abandoned her search. She was now gazing over at Seven. A smile grew on Kathryn's face; she raised her hand to cover a small laugh. At the same moment, Seven turned to catch Janeway's gaze, laughing as well. A breath caught in his chest as Chakotay realized what he had just witnessed: Kathryn sharing a private joke with Seven. But not as she shared jokes with him in such settings, with a knowing look or a subtle pantomime across the crowded room. No, this was the actual transmission of thought, silent and direct. The two women were communicating through their mental link. Chakotay found the realization strangely unnerving. He looked around the room to see if anyone else had noticed the exchange. In Seven's cluster, Tom and B'Elanna were having one of their nonsensical debates about God-knows- what. The two of them, and Harry as well, clearly interpreted Seven's laugh as a reaction to the absurdity of the argument she was witnessing. And no one was proximal to Kathryn. So likely, he concluded, no one had noticed. No. That wasn't right. There was someone who would have noticed; someone who noticed almost every exchange and interaction in settings such as these. Chakotay scanned the room to check on Tuvok's reaction. The Vulcan had clearly observed and understood the significance of the interaction, but appeared nonplused by it. Of course, Chakotay realized. Tuvok would not find such a telepathic communiqué odd or threatening. But Chakotay found the whole episode unsettling. He was finding a number of things disquieting these days. Janeway's language difficulties for one thing. She had always been so articulate, so exquisitely clear-spoken. Now, it was almost painful to engage her in conversation. He worried the Borg had done something to her mind. She kept assuring him that she had simply grown unaccustomed to verbal exchanges. It would come back to her, she insisted: "like riding a gyro -- it's just going to be bumpy for a while." He hoped so. He prayed they hadn't permanently damaged her. But the thing he found most unnerving was her sexual appetite. It was ironic, of course. He had waited over four years for her to respond to his overtures, and now he was concerned about her sexual voracity. But it wasn't just that she wanted sex; it was the sex she wanted. Their first time together after her return, he was just as eager as she. After their initial awkwardness was overcome, after he made it clear that she need not be concerned, or ashamed, of any of her physical alterations, they tore into each other with a ravenous hunger. A trail of clothes marked their path to the bedroom as each desperately peeled layer after layer of Starfleet issue to reach the flesh they craved. He never did find his turtleneck. Both wanted to crawl into the other's skin; both made a fairly valiant effort in that regard. No, he gave as well as he got that day... that night as well; he wasn't complaining about that. The following evening was a different story. He approached her tenderly, hoping they could slow things down, savor rather than devour. But Kathryn clearly intended a different course. She launched into him aggressively, her appetite not abated in the least. And hers was not simply the hunger born of long abstinence. That he has seen in her before: when they first became lovers, after long years of denial and unfulfilled desire. Whatever means or methods she'd been using to release her sexual tensions were obviously a poor substitute for what she drew from him. He found her enthusiasm gratifying, physically and emotionally. No, that was wonderful; this was different. Then, he felt she viewed him as a precious gift finally given to her. Now, he thought she wanted to devour him whole, body and soul. She wanted to take from him, not give to him, not share with him. And last night, he realized why he could not simply accept her behavior as a temporary need, as a void in her soul he would gladly help fill. He couldn't because it scared him too much. It reminded him of Seska. The feeling repulsed him, terrified him. He tried to shove it from his mind, but it would not be dismissed. This was how it had been with Seska. The woman would tease him unmercifully and take him to bed, for almost always she was the initiator. And rarely was the sex about his pleasure; she wanted it for herself, to fulfill her needs. Her words of seduction, such as they were, admitted her intent. "Come on, Chakotay," she would purr, "I want to fuck you dry." Not that he had minded all that much at the time. His experiences with the Maquis were brutal and draining. His time with Seska, well, at least he could feel alive. At least he could feel something other than hatred and pain. And if it pleased her, he could draw some satisfaction from that as well. When he saw Seska for the last time, when he laid a sheet over her body and thought that she could hurt him no more, he realized the sex she'd had with him hadn't been a lie. No, it had been entirely consistent with their entire relationship, with everything she had done to him. She had lied to him, raped him, humiliated him, betrayed him. She had used him totally; their sexual encounters were simply a part of that use. He knew that none of this was relevant to what was happening with Kathryn now. He knew that she would never so use him, would never betray him. But there was knowledge and there was feeling. And his feeling would not be denied. It felt like it had with Seska. He wished he could rid himself of the notion, persuade his memory to delete the associative link. But there it was. He couldn't help himself. After all, he was only Human. **************** From fnkaiser@aol.com Fri Jul 31 16:44:52 1998 Path: news10.ispnews.com!hub1.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!dca1-hub1.news.digex.net!digex!howland.erols.net!portc02.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: fnkaiser@aol.com (FNKAISER) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW "Denaturing the Beast" 6/10 [PG-13] VOY (J,Q) Lines: 381 Message-ID: <1998073123445200.TAA24260@ladder01.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Date: 31 Jul 1998 23:44:52 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Xref: news10.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1527 "Denaturing the Beast" - Part 6 (See Part 1 for Disclaimers) It was Janeway’s eighth day back, her sixth day of Bridge duty. Chakotay watched her as she made her rounds of the various stations. Her interactions with the Bridge crew were getting better, but they still weren’t good. She was now standing near Harry at Ops. Her exchanges with the young Ensign seemed particularly strained, Chakotay thought. Janeway had always been patient with Kim, encouraging him to elaborate on his ideas and observations. Often, it seemed, the Captain used these informal briefings as tutoring sessions, and Harry basked in her personal attention. But since her return from the Borg, Janeway seemed distracted, even bored, listening to Kim’s reports. She would nod impatiently, conveying her clear desire that he impart his relevant information quickly. For his part, Harry became increasing flustered and disorganized, which only served to further try her patience. It was a painful, frustrating feedback loop to watch. And Chakotay had been watching it now for almost a week. "A vessel is approaching at high warp. Its weapons appear to be charged." Tuvok's announcement provided a welcome, if rather ominous, interruption. Suddenly, the Bridge lurched violently in response to a focused energy strike. Crewmembers who weren’t sitting in their seats or holding onto a station console found themselves stumbling off balance; Janeway’s head slammed into the Ops station, cutting her above the eye. “Captain!” Harry cried, catching her by the arm. “I’m fine, Harry,” she assured him. “Thank you,” she added, then turned and addressed the Bridge. “Red alert, shields at maximum. Hail them, Mr. Kim.” Janeway had a pretty good suspicion of what was happening; it had happened far too often during their time in the Delta Quadrant: Voyager had unintentionally trespassed into someone’s protected space. On lucky days, the offended party would hail and inform them of their encroachment. On unlucky days, the injured party would view the violation as sufficient provocation for an unannounced attack. This, apparently, was an unlucky day. “No response to our hail, Captain. I tried all frequencies,” Kim replied. “Mr. Paris, evasive maneuvers. Use your discretion.” Janeway had learned long ago that Tom Paris was usually able to devise more effective means to escape enemy ships than those specified by standard Starfleet patterns. “Tuvok, target their weapon systems and fire.” Despite several other jarring jolts to the ship, Janeway had managed to make her way to her command chair. Chakotay glanced at her to assess the extent of her injury. The cut didn’t look bad; in fact, it was bleeding remarkably little for a head wound. Janeway seemed unaware of it as she followed the course of the battle. “Mr. Paris, can you tell me what you are doing?” “Captain?” Paris was clearly taken off guard by her question. “Can you describe for me what actions you are taking?” Janeway attempted to clarify. “Evasive maneuvers?” Paris still didn’t understand the question, and was clearly finding it a source of distraction. Chakotay intervened. “Very good, Tom. Maintain evasive actions. Tuvok, how is our counterattack faring?” “The enemy ship’s shields are down by 89%. The next phaser burst should disable their primary weapons array.” Tuvok paused as he examined his console readouts. “Primary enemy weapons disabled. They are retreating.” Tuvok chose not to add a term of address to his report since he was not certain whether the Captain or the Commander was currently directing the engagement. Apparently, Chakotay was. “Tom, lay in a course in the opposite direction of the retreating vessel. Let’s assume they're headed home, and an opposite course will take us out of their space,” he reasoned. Chakotay looked over at Janeway to see if she intended to issue any further commands. After several seconds, he decided she wasn’t. So he continued, “Stand down red alert. Maintain yellow alert; extend sensor scans and tune them to the phase harmonics of the enemy vessel. We don’t want to be surprised again.” When it was clear that the crisis was past, Janeway stood and started up the stairs to her right. “I’ll be in my ready room, Commander. You have the Bridge.” “Captain, that cut…” he called after her. “I’ll see to it,” she called back. Then, as if remembering something she’d forgotten to do, added, “collect damage and injury reports from all decks.” The doors to her ready room closed behind her. Chakotay reviewed the incoming reports, confirming that no significant damage and only minor injuries had resulted from the attack. He waited an appropriate amount of time, then assigned the bridge to Tuvok and headed towards the Captain’s ready room. When she did not respond to his hail, he discreetly entered the pass code and entered. Janeway stood at the viewport. She held a dermal regenerator in a hand at her side, but obviously hadn’t used the device. Chakotay walked over and took the regenerator. He steadied her head with his left hand while he passed the instrument over her wound. “Do you want to tell me what happened out there just now?” he asked. “I was having difficulty tracking what everyone was doing during the encounter. Especially Tom. I should have ordered a standard evasive pattern.” “I don’t see why. We both know Tom can come up with a better solution than any manual.” Chakotay chose to focus on her second comment rather than her first. “Yes, but it… it confused me. I didn’t know what he was doing,” Kathryn persisted. “Saving our butts. That’s why we pay him the big bucks,” Chakotay responded, attempting a light tone. But Janeway would have none of it. “I just found it all so confusing. So difficult to coordinate. When I led the Borg in battle, I knew instantly, instinctively, what every person was doing. All I had to do was think my intention, my next command, and it would be carried out.” “You led the Borg into battle?” Now Chakotay’s voice assumed a much darker tone. He let his hands fall away from her. Her cut was already healed, anyway. Damned nanoprobes had repaired it. Kathryn realized the turn this discussion had taken, in both tenor and topic. “I led the Borg’s defenses when we were attacked, yes. The Borg still have quite a few enemies. There are a good number of people who aren’t yet willing to accept that the Borg are no longer aggressive, that the Collective no longer poses a threat to them.” Kathryn waited a moment for Chakotay to respond; when he didn’t, she added quietly, “I think one of them may be here in this room.” “Kathryn. No. I’m sorry. I guess I just hadn’t considered all the,” he hesitated, “all the functions you would have fulfilled as Borg queen. And to be honest, yes, I guess I am finding it difficult to move beyond my own memories of how the Borg behaved in combat. We haven’t encountered the new Borg.” “You’ve seen me. And Seven,” Janeway suggested. “But you’re not Borg,” Chakotay countered. It was a statement, not a question. He hoped. “No, but we were. And the new Collective is not that different from us. In their attitudes, their sense of morals,” she clarified. Chakotay wasn’t sure he fully understood what she was trying to explain. He decided to return to the more immediate concern. “Your problem on the Bridge just now. That’s just a temporary situation, right? I mean, you have more than a dozen years of command experience. Surely everything will come back to you, even after three years of doing things this… this other way, right?” Janeway regarded Chakotay carefully. She wished he wanted to hear more about her time with the Borg. Instead, he seemed to want assurance that she could put the entire experience behind her, return to what she had been before. Fine. She would do what she could to reassure him, allay his concerns. “Yes, I’m sure everything will come back to me. It just may take a little time. In the... the interim, I’d feel more comfortable if you or Tuvok take command in crisis situations. For the safety of the ship. Agreed?” “Okay. Sure,” he agreed. But he wished he was sure that it was okay. "I'll let Tuvok know." Chakotay turned and headed for the Bridge. At the door, he stopped and turned back to her. "I'm glad you're okay," he said. She gave him a strange look. Confusion, perhaps? "Your head. I'm glad your injury wasn't serious," he clarified. "Oh. That. It was nothing. Thanks for coming to check." If he was going to focus on the superficial, so could she. Chakotay nodded and headed out the door. On the other side, he was greeted by inquisitive looks from the Bridge crew. Well, he had to tell them something. "The Captain is fine. I think she was just a bit dazed by the blow to her head. She's fine now," he assured everyone, and was gratified to see the accepting nods of Paris and Kim. He didn't think to check Tuvok's reaction. If he had, he would have seen the Vulcan give a scowl of disapproval at this feeble dissemblance. As if Captain Janeway would permit a minor injury to interfere with her command ability. Tuvok returned to work, but was left with a disquieting question: why was the Commander unable, or unwilling, to acknowledge the obvious difficulties the Captain was experiencing? ****************** Janeway worked at the terminal in her ready room. She was finding it increasingly difficult to keep pace with the endless stream of reports and communiqués flooding her virtual inbox. She heard the chime of the door and absently called for her visitor to enter. Her guest approached the desk, then waited silently for Janeway’s acknowledgement. Finally, the Captain glanced up from her display. “Seven,” she acknowledged, somewhat surprised. Surprised as she realized the young woman had reverted to proper Starfleet protocol for entering the Captain’s office. Surprised as she realized she had not sensed her former consort’s approached, had not felt the proximity in her mind. “What can I do for you?” “Captain,” Seven began. The form of address still felt strange to her. After so much time. After so much else. “I am no longer able to hear you without verbal exchange. I wished to inform you so that you could make appropriate accommodations. I wished for you… to know. I wish…" She dropped her gaze to the floor. "I am sorry. I am finding this difficult.” Janeway got up and walked around her desk. She placed her arm around Seven, and led her towards the couch. “I know you are. I am, too. I miss having you… with me.” The two sat on the couch, facing each other. “What we shared in the Collective was very special to me. I will always value the way you supported me, protected me.” Janeway reached out and stroked a strand of Seven’s hair. “I would not have survived without you, you know.” She stood then, and walked towards the viewport. “I realize how difficult this must be for you. I’m having more than a little trouble myself. And when I think about the fact that this is the second time you’ve had to undergo this… this severance…” she turned to face her young friend, “well, I admire your courage, your… strength. I know you did not find the decision to return an easy one to make. If you are having any doubts…” Janeway offered. “No. I am content with my decision to come back to Voyager. Unlike you, I do not view my decision to return as final and absolute. At some time in the future, I may choose to rejoin the Collective. At this point, however, I want to learn more about existence as an individual. I have spent most of my life as a member of the Collective; there is much I want to explore outside of it. I want to see Earth, accompany Mr. Tuvok to Vulcan to study the Kohlinar. I seek to experience those societies, those cultures directly, not just through the few representatives here on Voyager. If I later desire to rejoin the Collective, that is my privilege; Q did promise that to me as well as to you,” Seven concluded. “Yes, Q has been most generous with his promises,” Janeway responded. Seven wasn’t certain how to interpret this comment. The words were complimentary, but the tone was not. Janeway saw her confused look, and waved a hand in apology. “I’m sorry, Seven. I know you are dealing with issues of your own right now. I shouldn’t burden you with mine.” “Perhaps,” Seven replied. “But I believe Humans have an expression: burdens become lighter when shared. Perhaps there is a way we can help one another with our current… burden.” “What would you suggest?” Janeway asked. There was more curiosity than caution in her voice, but there was still some caution. “I believe you are likewise finding mental isolation difficult, is that not correct?” Seven queried. “Yes, that’s correct,” Janeway softly confirmed. “I have spoken to Commander Tuvok about this matter.” At Janeway’s sharp look, Seven clarified: “I have spoken only of my own difficulties.” Seeing the Captain was sufficiently placated, she continued, “Mr. Tuvok has offered to mind meld with me in order that I might once again experiencing shared consciousness. Of his own initiative, he suggested I extend his offer to you as well.” Seven regarded Janeway: she was definitely intrigued by Tuvok’s offer, enough so that Seven thought it safe to relay Tuvok’s final suggestion. “He also thought it would be possible to serve as a bridge between our two minds, such that the three of us could experience the meld.” Janeway regarded Seven carefully. “Wouldn’t that be dangerous for Tuvok? The chaos of a single Human mind is a challenge, but two…” she left the specifics of her concern unvoiced. “We did discuss that. Mr. Tuvok feels that our minds are sufficiently structured that it would not pose an undue threat. I agree. In fact, I believe that our linked minds would possess a more cogent organization than either singularly,” Seven proposed. Janeway considered Seven’s argument, and was inclined to agree. She realized she had felt a loss of mental clarity and precision as Seven’s presence gradually faded from her mind these past twelve days. It was quite possible her counterpart was feeling the same; in the Collective, they had often calmed one another's fears. And if Tuvok considered it safe… “Yes, Seven. I would be very interested in what you propose. Tell Mr. Tuvok the three of us should meet in my quarters at 17:00 hours. We will all be off duty then,” Kathryn instructed. ****************** Janeway barely felt Tuvok’s fingers on her face, scarcely heard his words in her ears, before she felt her consciousness begin to merge with his; the words now emanated from within. It was as if her mind was primed to join with a willing mate. And now she felt Seven there as well; Tuvok had initiated the meld with her first. Thoughts flowed easily among the three, feelings passed between the two women, touching Tuvok only lightly in their passage. The experience was more relaxing than any Janeway could remember since her return. She was luxuriating in the comforting warmth, amazed at the naturalness of this union when she was struck with a sudden realization: Tuvok and Seven had melded before. Of course, she and Tuvok had melded on several occasions; she and Seven had a shared consciousness for almost three years. But she had never known of the other pairing. It was no wonder this meld had proceeded so smoothly. Curious, she sought the others’ memories of their earlier unions. The melds began shortly after their journey to The Raven, the ship from which the Borg abducted Seven as a child. Tuvok clearly perceived how disturbing the experience had been for the young woman, first to think she was being drawn to rejoin the Collective, then to relive the horror of her family’s assimilation. By the time the two returned to Voyager, Tuvok vowed to help Seven deal with the trauma, and her profound sense of isolation as well. Tuvok could well relate to the latter. He experienced his own isolation from his wife and family. Exacerbating his loneliness, there were few onboard he counted as friends; one of his closest had departed the ship at almost the same time Seven arrived. In some ways, it could be said, Seven became a substitute for Kes. Both young women appealed to his parental tendencies; both benefited from his tutelage and guidance. Seven’s relationship with Tuvok had grown to one of near-equals. Yes, it was he who possessed the ability to enable the melds; but once joined, both contributed richly to the mental tapestry they explored. And now Janeway expanded the dyad to a triad, further enriching and extending the exploration. It was an experience all valued greatly. Three minds, each isolated from the communions familiar to them: Tuvok with T’Pel, Janeway and Seven with the new Collective. Three minds, seeking to recapture even a faint impression of those prior raptures. What they could create together was indeed but a pale substitute; still, it provided them great comfort nonetheless. The comfort drawn by the three in Janeway’s quarters was not shared by the one who listened from the room next door. During his Bridge shift, Chakotay realized he needed a data PADD he’d left in his quarters. Standing at his desk, he was somewhat surprised to hear muffled voices coming from the other side of the bulkhead; the Captain seldom entertained guests at this time of the day. Whether his eavesdropping was by design or accident, he could not say. He only knew he was initially intrigued and progressively disturbed by the sequence of sounds that followed. A few moments of conversation, followed by the muted drone of Tuvok’s incantation. Then silence: complete, eerie silence. After a moment, Chakotay retrieved the missing PADD and left for the Bridge. He wasn’t sure why he was so disquieted by what he had overheard. He just knew that he was. **************** From fnkaiser@aol.com Fri Jul 31 16:46:56 1998 Path: news10.ispnews.com!hub1.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!dca1-hub1.news.digex.net!digex!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!portc02.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: fnkaiser@aol.com (FNKAISER) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW "Denaturing the Beast" 7/10 [PG-13] VOY (J,Q) Lines: 348 Message-ID: <1998073123465600.TAA24533@ladder01.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Date: 31 Jul 1998 23:46:56 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Xref: news10.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1528 "Denaturing the Beast" - Part 7 (See Part 1 for Disclaimers) Tongues of flame danced in the hearth, constantly transforming their forms and interplay. She stood before the fire, transfixed by the sight. It drew her attention almost as strongly as the stars in the heavens. Both a source of wonder. Both a source of warmth. She turned as she heard the doors to the Holodeck open, smiling as the new occupant approached her. Chakotay had always liked this program of hers. Leonardo's workshop. It suited her. Much better than those silly gothic holonovels she used to play out. He’d never understood what attraction those could have held for her; perhaps they served as mindless diversions. They never seemed suited to her character as this place did. And he liked that she had invited him here today. This place had a history of helping them heal wounds, bridge emerging chasms, re-establish bonds. He remembered what she had said when he found her here after their encounters with the Borg and Species 8472: 'it felt more Human, somehow'. She was speaking in particular about writing her log with paper and pen, but he believed her words applied to the setting as well. He wasn't sure exactly what wounds and chasms they needed to deal with today. They hadn't lost their bond, certainly. But both of them were clearly feeling strained, feeling tensions between them difficult to acknowledge or name. Perhaps their time here would help. Perhaps that's why she had invited him here. He joined her before the fire. "I'm glad you could make it," she greeted him. "I know you still have questions, possibly concerns, about my time with the Collective. I also know I haven't done a very good job explaining... describing it. I'm not sure words would prove adequate under the best circumstances, and my verbal abilities haven't been... well, they certain haven't been adequate for this." She gave a tight smile. "So, I thought I'd try showing you some things I brought back with me. Things that might help me explain." She took his hand and started to lead him towards the stairs. "They're up in the loft. The light's better up there." Chakotay followed her, intrigued and eager. What could she have brought back? How could they explain her experience? As they reached the top of the stairs, he was amazed to see a large array of art work, perhaps a hundred pieces of various media, arranged about the loft. It was an incredible display, striking in its richness and diversity. Some pieces possessed an almost photo-realistic quality, others were highly abstract. Still other defied simple description by those versed only in the vocabulary of Terran art. Chakotay stood silent for several minutes, slowly scanning the works. Kathryn spent the time studying his face; her own expression was expectant, hopeful. Finally, Chakotay found voice for this thoughts. "These are amazing, Kathryn. You brought all these back with you?" He wasn't even sure how she managed to fit them all aboard the shuttlecraft. "These are holoimages, actually. I left the originals back with the Collective. It didn't seem right to remove any. The Collective is establishing a number of artistic... oh, what's the word? 'Repository' isn't right..." she hesitated. Chakotay winced. He so hated this. It was such a painful reminder of how she had been altered by her experience with the Borg. His articulate, succinct Kathryn, flailing to find a word. Yes, she had gotten much better, thank the gods for that. But every now and again she would still verbally stumble; it cut him like a knife every time. And he was never sure whether he should try to assist her or pretend it wasn't happening. He hated it. "Museum?" he suggested. "No, that still isn't right. Too, uh, static. These are places for the artists to engage in discussion and exchange... Gallery! That's the word. Like where Phoebe used to show her work," Kathryn concluded with a clear satisfaction. The Borg were establishing art galleries? Chakotay could not make his mind wrap around that idea. He decided to return the discussion to the works before him. "I'm impressed with the diversity, the range in styles. Are these from different periods of your time there?" "No, these are all fairly recent creations. And they're really just a small sample, the ones I could capture well with a holoimager. Oh, wait; there's a piece from our early efforts." Kathryn walked to one of the more abstract paintings. The colors were dark, the brush-strokes harsh, chaotic. She picked up the canvas and considered it. "Yes, this is from the end of our first period. There was a great deal of anger in the Collective then. As the repressed cultures started to re-emerge, members expressed a great deal of resentment about what had been stolen from them. They felt a good deal of hate. And really had no appropriate target for it, except to direct it back within the Collective." Kathryn seemed momentarily lost in her thoughts, lost in the painting. "It was a difficult time. Seven and I called it the 'Year of Hell'," she paused as if distracted by a stray though. "Although, of course, we have no idea how long it actually was." She pulled herself away from her thoughts and placed the painting back on the its easel. "Well, I guess it's difficult to have growth without some growing pains. I think having the art helped. Many of the Borg found it useful… therapeutic. I know I did," she added with a wry smile. "Well," Chakotay moved closer to comfort her, "at least that's behind you, now." "Oh, that was over quite some time ago. That's what I wanted to show you, what I hoped you could see in this art. I want you to understand the way the Collective is now. We've reclaimed so many of the assimilated cultures, allowed those races to reassert themselves. Can you see it, Chakotay?" She indicated the artwork surrounding them. "The varied colors, the myriad textures and patterns? That's how the Collective is now." She saw that he was trying to comprehend, but still struggling. She decided to expand her object lesson with metaphor. "Try thinking of it this way: The old Collective, the one we battled at Wolf 359, the one Voyager dealt with, was a hive. A vicious swarm of insects, absorbing or destroying everything in its path. To feed the hive, please its queen." She check to see if this metaphor held resonance for Chakotay; his intense expression confirmed it certainly did. Perhaps too much. She matched his intensity as she continued, "But the new Collective is nothing like that. Nothing. The new Collective is... it's like a tapestry. A vast, intricate... interweaving of unique individuals. Each a separate thread, together forming a coherent whole. Like a tapestry, there are smaller groupings within the larger context; each Borg ship, every Borg community, sets its own goals and agenda. The queen and the council still coordinate activities, but it's more like the Federation president and council. And the diversity, Chakotay; you can't imagine the diversity. The Borg assimilated thousands of cultures. Many so long ago that they were beyond recovery; the Collective's distillation process was too complete. But we managed to save quite a few. Hundreds of cultures will survive, and thrive, within the new Collective." She looked very pleased, perhaps even proud, at the thought. Chakotay found it difficult to share her joy at the notion of a thriving Collective, even a new Collective. "What about the assimilations?" he asked cautiously. "Oh, the Borg haven't assimilated a new member since a few days after our arrival. That was the first change we implemented. And the Collective is no longer driven to expand its domain; it merely wants to allow the natural growth of the tapestry. The Collective is rediscovering the joy of bearing children, of passing a heritage to a new generation. I don't think many outsiders will be allowed to join the Collective; there's a fair degree of caution concerning that." So now the Borg had art galleries and exclusive membership selection. Chakotay couldn't accept these possibilities; they were just at too great a variance with his concept of the Collective. "Of course," Kathryn was continuing, "members who leave will always be allowed to return. Welcomed, in fact." "Did many leave during your time there?" Chakotay asked. Another strange concept to entertain. Not escaping the Collective, but choosing to leave. Being given that choice. "Quite a few, actually. Almost a fifth of the Collective members who had been assimilated from the Delta Quadrant left, most in that first period. But even those who had a home planet they could return to often found there was no home for them there. Many were shunned, ostracized by their own people. As I said, it was a very painful time, filled with a great deal of anger. So, a good number of them decided to return to the Collective, to build a new home there." She was quiet for a moment, watching Chakotay listen to her story. Wondering how much of it he could really understand. Wondering if he could understand what she would tell him next. "Riley Frazier and her people joined us, early in that second period." Riley back with the Borg? After all she had done to secure her people's freedom? After all she had done to him in order to preserve it? "She's Borg again?" he asked numbly. "New Borg," Kathryn clarified. "She understood what we were trying to do with the Collective. She had actually achieved it with her own group. On a much smaller scale, of course. Her assistance, her insights, were a tremendous help to us, Chakotay." Janeway wasn't certain how to interpret his expression. Nonetheless, she had a message to deliver and would do so. "She's very sorry that she used you, hurt you. The guilt still haunts her, I think... well, I know it does. She honestly thought it was the only possible way to save her people. And she blamed me for putting her in that position." "She blamed you? Why?" Chakotay seemed bothered by this. "She believed it was my refusal to help that forced her to use you in that way. And she felt my refusal was based on unreasonable concerns, on my primal fear of all things Borg. She may have been right. It is a difficult fear to overcome," Janeway added mildly. Chakotay wasn't sure if she was speaking of herself or of him. Possibly both. He was struck by a sudden thought. "Is she queen now?" "No. She's a member of the council, but not the queen. Not that it matters that much. The queen, well, she isn't a figurehead, but it's a fairly symbolic position. You do know the queen, though; at least you know of her." Kathryn gave him a crooked smile. "It's Mariah Hanson. You know her daughter Annika." "Seven's mother? I thought she was dead." "No, Seven's parents were both assimilated. Her father died several years later as a warrior drone. But her mother rose fairly high in the Borg hierarchy. And, of course, Seven sought her out. She was one of the first to embrace our cause, and was highly instrumental in gaining acceptance for our ideas. Mariah is a remarkable woman, Chakotay. Still quite unconventional, of course, but quite remarkable," Janeway smiled at the thought of her friend. Chakotay was shocked at the realization: Kathryn had friends in the Collective. He hadn't considered the possibility. He still thought in terms of her neutralizing the Borg, not forming friendships with them. And one of her friends was the current queen: Seven's mother. He couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. "Isn't she rather old?" Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "She's just a few years older than me, Commander. She was fairly young when she had Annika, her mid-twenties. Unusual for a Federation woman; I guess that was part of her nonconformity. It makes for an interesting balance, a rather poetic symmetry: half her life as individual Human; half as collective Borg. It gives her good insights to lead the new Collective. She's a fine queen, Chakotay. I think you'd like her." "I probably would. I've come to like her daughter a good deal. It's a strange notion, though, Seven's mother as Borg queen. Small world. Small Collective," he shook his head at the thought. "It actually is, Chakotay. Despite the billions of members, it's remarkably easy to find a desired individual, to touch a particular consciousness. It's amazing, Chakotay. It truly is amazing. I hope you can understand." Seeing her expectant look, Chakotay gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Much of what Kathryn had told him, had shown him, was reassuring. But some of what she'd said, well, he was having difficulty understanding, perhaps even believing. And some of what she'd said, or perhaps only implied, actually disturbed him: she had good friends among the Borg; she greatly valued things she'd left behind. Yes, Chakotay was most troubled by the conclusion these facts suggested. Drawn from all he had seen and heard today, Chakotay had a new realization: Kathryn missed the Collective. *********************** "I really wish you'd consulted me about this, Captain." Chakotay waited until the other senior officers left the conference room before voicing his objection. "And why is that, Commander?" Janeway had announced at the staff meeting that she intended to extend Voyager's exploration of the current sector for two weeks. "Because I don't feel the extension is necessary. The delay is unwarranted," he explained. "How can you say that? Our survey of the sector is incomplete." "It's sparse, but I believe it's sufficient. It's as complete as many of the surveys we performed before we created the new Astrometrics Lab," he reasoned. "I'm not going to justify sub-par work now on the basis of not having had proper facilities for the early surveys," she countered. "If we're going to do these surveys, we should do them right." Chakotay hesitated. He knew they weren't really discussing a damned astrometric survey. He wasn't sure whether or not she'd be willing to discuss the real issue. But he had to try. "Kathryn, we have over five years' worth of surveys. I really don't think completing this one matters all that much. The crew wants to move on. If a way home is waiting for us, they're eager to find it. That's our primary mission. It's time to move on." "I'm only asking for two more weeks, Chakotay. I don't think that's such an unreasonable request." Although she wouldn't admit it, she wasn't just talking about the time she needed to complete the survey. She needed time to complete other things. She couldn't possibly cope with the idea that a way home might be waiting for them less than a month ahead. Home in a month? She'd never be able to deal with that. She knew when Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant, she'd have critical decisions to make, important battles to fight. For her ship, for her crew. She could anticipate what many of them would be. How could she manage in her current state? She didn't even fully trust herself to function in her familiar, day-to- day routine. She needed more time. Why was this so much to ask? "It's only unreasonable in light of the other delays we've had. And how excited the crew is about the possibility of getting home." Why was she delaying them? It was almost as if she didn't want to find the means to get home, as if she wanted them to linger in the Delta Quadrant. Why? What was there to keep them here? "This may be our last chance for exploration in this quadrant, Chakotay. I just want to complete what we've started." Recognizing that he would not be swayed by this argument, she reluctantly acknowledged her true concern. "And I'd appreciate a little more time to get back on top of things, get things in proper order." It was an obtuse admission, but it was the closest she was willing to come to admitting her need. "It's been three weeks, Kathryn. How much time do you want?" He knew his comment sounded insensitive, but he was frustrated. With each passing day, she seemed less interested in the affairs of running the ship. She was hardly "getting things in proper order." At least not any order he could recognize. "Three weeks!" she responded derisively. Her thoughts were far more bitter. *How generous, Commander. After three years, I'm permitted three weeks to reclaim my life. Perhaps when we return to the Alpha Quadrant, Starfleet will allow me four!* God, why didn't anyone understand? "Kathryn," Chakotay tried to take a gentler tone, "it's just that the crew is so eager. I don't wait to disappoint them. They deserve better." He winced, knowing she would mistake his meaning. She did. The look she gave him was full of hurt. "You sound as if you wish I'd never came back." "No, Kathryn," he responded sadly. "I just wish I knew for a fact that you did." He turned and left the room. ********************** From fnkaiser@aol.com Fri Jul 31 16:48:49 1998 Path: news10.ispnews.com!hub1.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!204.59.152.222!news-peer.gip.net!news.gsl.net!gip.net!portc01.blue.aol.com!audrey03.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: fnkaiser@aol.com (FNKAISER) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW "Denaturing the Beast" 8/10 [PG-13] VOY (J,Q) Lines: 268 Message-ID: <1998073123485000.TAA26231@ladder03.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder03.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Date: 31 Jul 1998 23:48:49 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Xref: news10.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1529 "Denaturing the Beast" - Part 8 (See Part 1 for Disclaimers) The Chief Engineer of Voyager circled her Captain warily. As Torres side-stepped, she subtly shifted the weight of the weapon in her hand, looking for a opening to strike, a weakness in Janeway's defense. *Damn,* thought Torres, *there must be a way to bring her down.* She faked a move to her left, then pivoted to the right, hoping her attack would catch Kathryn unaware. But Janeway was not fooled by B'Elanna's initial motion, and easily parried her actual strike. Torres' bat'leth fell wide of its target; she had to scramble to dodge Janeway's counterthrust. *Shit!* Torres cursed, *where did she pick up that move?* In fact, Kathryn was surprising Torres with new moves as often as they sparred together on the Holodeck, which was to say practically every day now. The Captain had expressed an increased interest in these hand-to-hand battle exercises ever since her return to Voyager; Torres was her favorite opponent. The two women were reasonably well matched in weight and size. Before leaving for her encounter with the Borg, Janeway was at a disadvantage for skill and strength. That was no longer the case. Torres had always considered her Captain a scrappy opponent; what Janeway lacked in ability, she made up in tenacity. B’Elanna could reliably defeat her, but had learned the hard way not to count Captain Janeway out of the battle prematurely. Yes, a scrappy terrier: Janeway would try to nip Torres to death. But that was before. Now Kathryn fought with a graceful brutality. Or perhaps it was a brutal gracefulness. In either case, Torres found her Captain an opponent to admire. Perhaps to fear. The first few days after her return, Janeway's movements had been hesitant, a bit awkward. Almost as if she were not fully comfortable in her own body. But that clumsiness quickly passed. In its stead was a newfound level of lethal competence. B’Elanna had to stay in top form to keep up with "the old woman." Janeway was loving this: the physical activity, her sense of balance and efficacy. Before, the fighting arts had never been one of her strong suits. In the course of her Academy training, she’d managed to acquired several strategies for hand-to-hand combat that were effective for her. Most were based on exploiting an opponent's underestimation of her. Kathryn would strike viciously and quickly, knowing that if she did not vanquish her opponent in the first ten seconds, the fight was likely lost. Her tactics were of little use against members of her crew; none were so foolish as to underestimate their Captain. So Janeway sparred with Torres only on limited occasions, usually to begrudgingly fulfill Tuvok's requirement for recurrent training. Kathryn knew that matches with B'Elanna inevitably resulted in multiple falls to the Holodeck floor, a desperate effort to reclaim some degree of dignity through perseverance, and a tired, limping trip back to her quarters, if not Sickbay. But now she faced the half-Klingon as an equal, perhaps a slight superior. And this freedom of using her body, exposing it to risk: this was exhilarating. As Borg queen, she had been cloistered and protected. The Collective took great measures to ensure that the queen was safe from physical harm. For nearly three years, Janeway had never been cold or hot, physically tired or hungry. She had not strained a muscle, nor felt wind or rain on her face. It was a completely safe and physically protected existence; she’d hated it. Well, that aspect of it. Now she was sweating and straining, working her lungs hard to get enough oxygen. It felt marvelous, almost as good as sex. And certainly a lot more available just now. Janeway grimaced at the thought. She and Chakotay had not shared a bed in almost a week. She wasn't fully certain when the falling-out occurred, but now it had reached an uneasy stand-off: neither of them asked; neither of them offered. She had almost offered yesterday. The two of them were in her ready room. It was late; Gamma shift had begun. They were still settling ship's business, dealing with endless details and arrangements. Their conversation had taken on a comfortable, familiar rhythm: small shared jokes, completing each other's sentences. Over the course of their conversation, the physical distance between them decreased; she felt a parallel decrease in the emotional distance. They were sitting on the couch; it was so natural, so normal. She reached over and placed her hand on his chest. She raised her eyes to look at him, to invite him to her quarters. But then she saw the look in his eyes. He masked it quickly, but she saw it: fear. Her hand fell away as if burned. The invitation died on her lips. She covered with some lame comment about them not really getting any more work done that night. She couldn't remember when she had ever felt so hurt, so alone. Fear. Goddamn him! What a fucking coward! Janeway lashed into Torres will a renewed intensity, and sent the Lieutenant reeling. Weak, Human coward, what was wrong with him? Why couldn't he understand what she was feeling? Why couldn't he stand by her? The bastard. The cowardly bastard! Torres recovered; Janeway's attack had clearly enraged her. She was in full Klingon mode now, no doubt about it. *Good, B'Elanna, fight me. Let me fight against your anger. Give me something I can fight against. Give me something I can feel.* Oh, yes. Kathryn wanted this; she wanted this intensity. She needed this intensity. She yearned for even more. B'Elanna wasn't exactly sure what happened next. She charged Janeway, her Klingon blood inflamed. She swung her bat'leth overhead and brought it down with all her might. At the last instant, she saw Kathryn drop her guard. Desperately, Torres tried to halt her weapon's trajectory, but the motion was largely ballistic at that point. The holodeck safety provided some protection. Still, the tip of the bat'leth sliced viciously into Janeway's shoulder and down her chest. Blood quickly flowed from the gaping wound, soaking Kathryn's shirt and dripping to the floor. Janeway gave Torres a look that was difficult to interpret and fell, first to her knees, then onto her side. Torres was beside her Captain in an instant, pressing one hand against the wound to staunch the flow of blood. "Kahless! Captain, I'm sorry! Oh, my God, where's my goddamn commbadge?" Torres fumbled frantically at her tunic until Kathryn grabbed her hand. "Calm down, B’Elanna. It's okay. It doesn't hurt. Really. It just feels," Janeway gave Torres a strange smile, "interesting." B'Elanna froze and stared at her Captain. The expression on her face, it was, well, it was provocative, seductive. Torres was shocked. Shocked at Janeway's expression; shocked at the primal response she felt rising within her: Klingon blood lust. No! God! This was so inappropriate! "Torres to Ops!" she called loudly to activated the Holodeck's emergency comm system. "Activate the EMH and beam the Captain directly to Sickbay; she's been injured!" Janeway's form shimmered beneath her and disappeared. It was several more minutes before Torres' thoughts and respiration had slowed enough for her to leave the holodeck and make her report to Commander Chakotay. And she still wasn’t sure what the hell had just happened. ***************** Starfleet engineers could not have devised a better performance test for the Sickbay doors’ auto-open function than its ability to accommodate the charging entry of Commander Chakotay. The doors barely cleared his form as he strode purposefully towards the petite form sitting on the far bed. “Ah, Commander,” the Doctor moved to intercept him, ready to allay his obvious concern for Captain Janeway. “The Captain will be fine. She has already made an almost full recovery. Actually, the immediate nanoprobe response to her injury…” the EMH aborted his report as Chakotay roughly shouldered past him and continued his dogged trajectory towards Janeway. *Strange,* thought the Doctor, *the look on the Commander’s face is not his usual expression of concern.* The Doctor turned in time to see an even more unexpected sight: the Commander grabbed the Captain by the shoulders, lifted her from the bed, and practically shoved her against the wall. “Commander!” he shouted in shocked disbelief. Chakotay ignored the EMH; his focus was directed at the woman before him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? What the hell is going on, *Captain*?” He spat her title as an invective. To the Doctor’s amazement and dismay, Janeway met Chakotay’s animosity with equal measure. “Let go of me!” she seethed, and knocked his arms away with surprising ease. The EMH was uncertain what to do next. Clearly, this was a discussion he should not be privy to, and, contrary to his usual curiosity about crew interaction, did not want to be privy to. But in their current state, he wasn’t certain the two commanding officers weren’t going to injure one another. He decided the best course of action was to quietly retreat to his office and monitor the situation from there. Frankly, though, he doubted whether either the Captain or the Commander would notice if he stood on a biobed, stripped off his uniform to display his holographic enhancements, and started singing an Italian aria. In Chakotay’s case, the Doctor could also set himself afire and it still wouldn’t have registered. The Commander was too focused on the way Janeway had pushed off his determined grip as if ridding herself of an unwanted wrap. As if he were a trifling, beneath her concern. When had she become this physically strong, this emotionally removed from him? Janeway was vaguely aware of the Doctor’s exit, but her attention was likewise focused elsewhere. On Chakotay’s eyes. The anger, the fury she saw there. And when she knocked his arms away, she saw another emotion once again, quickly masked as before: fear. He was afraid. Not for her. Of her. Goddamn him. Goddamn him to hell! She turned away from him swiftly. “I can’t believe you’re upset about this. It was nothing!” “No, it wasn’t ‘nothing.’ I just don’t know what it was. Maybe you can explain it to me. A sorry attempt to end it all? Or are you just into pain now, enjoying the nanoprobe rush? Does it move you closer to Borgdom?” he had moved very distinctly into her space, forcing her to look at him. “You have no conception of what’s happening with me!” she hissed back at him. “No? Then I’ll hazard other possibilities. Was this your attempt at seduction, to add B’Elanna to your little group, your personal collective? Are you trying to introduce your new order to the crew now?” he accused her. “What are you talking about?” Confusion momentarily overtook her anger. “I’m referring to the clandestine meetings you hold with Seven and Tuvok, and God knows who else, reliving Borg memories, building mental links. What are you planning, Captain? What is your mission? Don’t say to get this crew home. Don’t tell me that lie. I’ve watched you. I see you on the Bridge, going through the motions of command. You delay our progress, offload every duty you can on me. I don’t think you’ve read or approved a single report in over a week… You aren’t commanding this ship; you aren’t working to get us home. What are you doing? What is it you want?” Janeway was reeling from Chakotay’s accusations. How could he think these things of her? Starting a collective on Voyager? What an absurd idea! Couldn’t he understand how lonely she and Seven felt after years of communal consciousness. How desperate she was to feel a connection, a belonging? Yet he just stood and watched while she floundered; this man who had promised to love her, to stand by her. She was alone. Again. Here in the Sickbay, fighting with him. Again. Torn apart by their fears: fear of the Borg, fear of what the other might do. Again. The Borg. Always the goddamn Borg driving them apart from each other. She had neutralized the Collective’s threat to the entire galaxy, yet could not remove its threat to them. How ironic. How absurd. How tragic. Once before when they stood in this position, Seven’s inadvertent wisdom had saved them. Now they had nothing to save them. Nothing. How had they gotten to this point? She spoke with more pain, with more loss, than she had ever felt in her life. “I’m sorry you can’t trust me, that you feel it necessary to spy on me. I’m sorry you don’t understand me. I wish… I truly wish…” No, she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t continue. She had nothing left inside. Chakotay clenched his fists as he looked at her. He wished he could believe that he was simply misunderstanding her motives, her needs. He wished he could believe that she still loved him, still shared his desires and goals. But he didn’t know; he simply didn’t know. He had been deceived so many times before. By people he had trusted. By people he had loved. None as much as he loved and trusted her, but then none had gone through what she had. He wasn’t sure he knew who she was. And he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, risk Voyager to find out. “I made a promise to Captain Kathryn Janeway that I would get her ship and crew safely home. I intend to keep that promise to her. And if you interfere with my efforts in any way, I will relieve you of command. Consider that a promise.” He turned and walked away. *************** From fnkaiser@aol.com Fri Jul 31 16:50:37 1998 Path: news10.ispnews.com!hub1.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!news2.acs.oakland.edu!news.tacom.army.mil!news.he.net!newspeer.monmouth.com!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!portc02.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: fnkaiser@aol.com (FNKAISER) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW "Denaturing the Beast" 9/10 [PG-13] VOY (J,Q) Lines: 420 Message-ID: <1998073123503700.TAA24970@ladder01.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Date: 31 Jul 1998 23:50:37 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news10.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1530 "Denaturing the Beast" - Part 9 (See Part 1 for Disclaimers) Janeway exited Sickbay and headed towards her ready room. Her quarters should, in principle, afford greater privacy. But Chakotay might have retreated to his; she couldn't deal with his presence on the other side of a thin bulkhead, hearing his sounds filter through the wall. She had to be away from him right now. Besides, it was Gamma shift. None of the Bridge crew would bother her; they were accustomed to her late-night work habits and knew to minimize their interruptions. And if any were unfamiliar with the established protocol, the aura she projected as she strode across the bridge left no room for misinterpretation: the Captain did not wish to be disturbed. Once inside her sanctuary, Kathryn felt no relief in the privacy, no comfort in the familiarity of the room. If anything, the latter mocked her. This room largely defined the person Captain Janeway had been: the mementos on the walls and shelves, the coffee service on the table, the neat rows of PADDs laid out for her review. She felt so little resonance with any of it. This was all from another lifetime, from someone else's life. She picked up a PADD from her desk and gave it a cursory glance: Engineering Report. She tossed that one aside and picked up another: Security Report. She took up another: Medical Officer's Report. Each small department, each separate function, reporting to the Captain. Fifteen, twenty such reports a day, plus monthly reviews and special addenda. Not to mention the verbal reports, the chain of officers to convey her orders. All to communicate the information needed for Captain Janeway to command a single, small starship. It was so inefficient, so painfully slow and incomplete. It was all so Human, so limited, so... "Sadly pathetic?" Q suggested helpfully. "You!!" Janeway hurled the stack of PADDs at him. "Get out! I don't want you here. I need to be alone!" She was trembling with her anger. At Q. At Chakotay. At herself. "No, I don't think so. Actually, I think your aloneness is a major source of your problem." "I don't have a problem. Thank you." "Of course not. And throwing small microelectronic devices at omnipotent beings is a perfectly rational behavior for a Starfleet captain. As is picking fights with Klingons, fights you intend to loose, I might add. As is kicking Chuckles out of your bed; well, now that action might have some merit after all..." Q considered thoughtfully. "Q. Please. Leave," Janeway gave a quiet plea. "It's difficult, isn't it?" Q asked softly. "What?" Suspicion lay underneath her question. "Readjusting. Coming back to what you were. Accepting being less." "You know nothing about what I'm experiencing. Nothing." It was both an accusation and a simple statement of fact. "Ah, but I think I do. I think I'm actually in a very good position to understand your experience. Let me tell you a little story," Q offered. "It's a bit too late for stories, Q. Late in the day. Late in my life." "Yes, well, I think you'll find this one of interest.” Q took an exaggerated breath and began his recitation: “There was once an angry warrior..." he started, then stopped when he saw the unabated fury in Janeway's glare. The look was unnerving, even for a Q. It really was a wonder that it hadn't caused spontaneous combustion when directed at mere mortals, he mused. "Sorry. Wrong story," he apologized. "Once upon a time, there was a Q whose actions so displeased the Continuum that it decreed this Q should be banished. His punishment was terrible and absolute; he was condemned to the worst imaginable fate: he would live his life as a Human..." "I've read Picard's report," Janeway interrupted. "You were briefly Human. You complained incessantly, endangered the lives of the Enterprise's crew, and were re-admitted to the Continuum. I fail to see the relevance." "You fail to see the relevance,” Q retorted, clearly wounded, “because you read Picard's report. The man has not a gram of poetry in his entire body. And, in any case, he didn't know all of the story." "What, Q? What didn't Jean Luc know?" "He didn't know, he would never have thought to ask, what I felt when I became a Q again." "I imagine he assumed you felt relief. You certainly didn't hide your disdain for your Human experience." "No, I suppose I didn't. But when I lost it, I missed it." "You what?" "I missed it. Oh, not all of it. Many aspects of being Human I found incredibly distasteful, dreadfully limiting. Well, you can imagine. But there were some facets that were actually quite lovely. Most unique. And novel. You can't imagine the allure of novelty for a Q. Remember, we even try being the scarecrow to gain a new point of view. By comparison, being Human was a fascinating, intriguing experience. And then, in an instant, it was gone. Yes, I was a Q again, and glad of it, I assure you. But there was a loss as well." Q paused for a moment, ready to rebut Janeway's inevitable protest. But none was forthcoming; she was simply listening, so he continued, "There really wasn't anyone with whom I could share these feelings. The other Q? They would find the notion absurd. How could an eagle regret no longer being a worm? Picard? No, thank you. He would no doubt have viewed my suffering as an opportunity to espouse some overwrought moralistic sermon. Unbearable. So I dealt with my loss alone. Well, no, that's not fair. There was one individual in whom I could confide. One being who could appreciate my dilemma." Q looked up to meet Janeway's inquiring stare. "Commander Data. That tin man actually has quite a heart." Kathryn remembered her own interactions with Data; while limited, they were quite memorable. Her first had been as a child, accompanying her father to Mars. Cadet Data had been assigned to escort her on a tour of the colony. She remembered how patient and honest he had been in responding to her many questions, including those about him. Her questions had been abrupt, likely considered rude by adult standards. But Data had taken no affront; his answers were straightforward and truthful. Her later interactions with the android had been as a fellow Starfleet officer. Then too she had found him open and honest, completely devoid of hidden agendas or unwarranted sensitivities. Yes, Data would have served as an excellent confessor for Q in that time of need. "Indeed," Janeway concurred, "Commander Data has a fine heart, a fine soul. You made a wise choice." "Let me return the favor, Madame Captain. I admit the circumstances are not the same. Personally, I believe you have sacrificed a greater potential to reclaim your humanity. But if anything, that would make your sense of loss greater." Janeway regarded Q carefully. Perhaps he was actually willing, actually able, to help her. "I can relieve you of this suffering, Kathy. I can take you back to the Collective." "No!" Janeway responded forcefully. "No. That is not what I want. I'm not willing to give up on this life. Not yet. Not yet," she shook her head. "Then let me relieve you of the burden of remembering your loss. I can remove your memories of your time as Borg queen. Simple Captain Kathryn Janeway, just as before." Janeway weighed this possibility, considered its attraction, and why she could never seriously entertain it. "No. I won't do that either. We Humans work quite hard to earn our memories. They define who we are. I won't, I can't, willingly relinquish mine." She was quiet for a moment before continuing. "I just wish this wasn't so damn difficult." "It's him, isn't it? Chuckles. He's making it so hard for you." "Yes. No. Yes, it's hard with Chakotay, but not just with him. Everything is difficult. Different." "I'm sorry this has cost you so much, Kathy. I'm actually even sorry about Chuckles. Really. I thought he would be able to help you. I failed to realize how directly all this would feed into your strongest fears, both yours and his." "Our fears. Whatever can you know of Human fear, Q?" Janeway was willing to acknowledge that Q could have some grasp of her sense of loss, but the notion that he could understand her fears, or Chakotay's... "I know you, Captain. And I know him. And I understand more than you suspect. You Humans like to think your inner workings are so vastly complex, so amazingly intricate. But your drives are actually quite fundamental. A small number of motivations lead you, shape you." Q realized Janeway was bristling at the notion that her psyche was simple and transparent, so he adopted a somewhat softer tone. "Take you and Chuckles. You share a common set of drives: love and loyalty. The objects of your devotion may differ, and those differences have proven a source of tension for you, but the underlying drives are the same. It's a bond you've shared. I think you share it still. But you are both also subject to fears. It's shockingly simple, actually. He fears betrayal; you fear loss. Loss of what you love, loss of control, and now," he brushed his hand against her check so that she would look at him, "loss of what you were. Human, Borg. Your choice, but a loss either way." Janeway was dumbfounded. Once again, she had underestimated Q, underestimated his capacity for understanding, compassion. He had certainly nailed her situation. Yes, his analysis was simplistic; she could argue about subtle nuances. But fundamentally, he understood. And she was grateful for that. She was at a loss for words, so merely nodded her head, mutely. "I am truly sorry for all this has cost you. I wish you would let me help, let me minimize the loss." Q's face reflected a sudden inspiration. "You need a sense of perspective. This is all so immediate, so overwhelming. You need to place this difficult time into a proper context. Yes, of course!" "Q. Please. No more. Don't ask me to look beyond myself, to experience a new existence. I can't even see myself anymore; I don't understand my own existence." Janeway's voice reflected the exhaustion of her soul. "Exactly my point. You're too bogged down in the forest to see the trees. Or is it in the trees to see the forest?" Why did Humans so embrace these absurd metaphors? Still, here was one that would hold resonance for Janeway. "You choose the rocky path. I don't understand why, but I now accept that you do. It's your nature. Fine. But right now you're stumbling so badly on the rocks before you, you can't even see where the path leads. Let me show you. Let me give you a broader view, provide the larger context. Kathryn, please. Let me return Data's favor." Had Q ever called her Kathryn? She didn't think so. If for no other reason than that, she would accept his gift. She nodded. She was no longer in her ready room. She was no longer in any place, or at any time. She was in her life, the entire diverse tapestry of it. It was almost like being back in the Collective, but instead of being connected across the consciousnesses of myriad beings, she flowed among the many instantiations of her own consciousness, the events, thoughts, and feelings that defined her life. Her past, her present, her future. She could reach out with her mind and touch any moment, connect with any feeling. And she saw that her current pain, her current confusion, was but a small, fleeting moment in the long day of her life. It was a critical moment, one that would shape much of what lay ahead; but it was a small one, nonetheless. And then she was back sitting on the couch, looking into the eyes of Q. "Thank you," she said softly. "Thank you, very much. I know you aren't suppose to show us such things. I hope this doesn't cost you too dearly." "If it has helped you, I consider the cost nothing. Your memories of the future will fade, but should persist long enough to serve your needs. Farewell, my Captain. Live with joy. Yours is a life of value." He gazed at her fondly as he faded, not blinked, away. Janeway considered Q’s parting glance. She couldn’t be certain, of course, but she didn’t think she’d ever looked at Bear like that! ************** Q left the Captain's Ready Room, but he was not yet ready to leave Voyager. He had one last visit to make that night, one final favor to grant Janeway. He would take one last opportunity to play Marley's ghost, to improve these sad Humans' comprehension of their pitiful existence. And unlike Janeway, the party he was about to visit likely wouldn't even be grateful, the wretch. Chakotay sat cross-legged on the floor of his cabin. For the past hour he had been attempting to achieve a meditative state, to seek the counsel of his animal guide, the wisdom of his father. He acknowledged his failure with a frustrated sigh, and removed his hand from the akoonah. Opening his eyes, Chakotay saw a mock mirror-image of himself: Q sitting in a lotus position with an oversized caricature of Chakotay's tribal tattoo plastered on his face. "Hey, baby," Q purred with a leer, "want me to introduce you to your animal guide?" Q folded his arms and gave a look of disgust. "I ask you, in the history of mating rituals, has there every been a more pathetic pick-up line? I can't believe Kathy fell for it!" The irritating immortal rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Although her reaction was rather delayed, as I recall. Over four years, wasn't it?" "Her actions took four years. Her reaction was more immediate, actually." Chakotay gazed at Q steadily. "She told you that? And you believed her?" Oh, this wasn't any fun; Chuckles wasn't rising to his bait. Q sighed. "Of course you did. And should. Our fair Captain does not dissemble about such things. Or much else." "Perhaps." Chakotay rose to a standing position. He had to put some distance between himself and this being, try to diffuse his anger. "After all you've put her through, I don't know what she's capable of anymore." He walked across the room towards the viewport. It was a careful tactical move on his part: put some distance, play Q's game. "Oh, and your tattoo? It's still too small." Q gave a snort of derision. "Don't even attempt to banter with me as she does. You can't possibly fathom how beyond your realm you are." The demigod regarded the Human with clear distaste. If he was willing to acknowledge Kathryn as a beloved pet, Q would dismiss Chakotay as a much-hated mongrel he’d happily banish from his cosmic lawn. The loathing was clearly mutual. "Then why are you here, Q? What do you want? What more could you possibly want?" "What I want is not within your comprehension, nor is it your concern. Why I'm here is to attempt to expand your pitifully limited comprehension to a sufficient degree that you can help your Captain." "Oh, I can see how concerned you are for her well being. Like your trick with time. Did you even consider how it would affect her to live years of her life while time barely passed for us?" "She'd have never agreed to help otherwise. And do you actually think the alternative would have been better? To have you and the others return to the Alpha Quadrant without her, to come back only to find all the people she cares about have moved on with their lives? I think she's experienced quite enough of that, don't you?" "It's torture for her now," Chakotay commented quietly. "Only because you make it so. Have you really no understanding of what she has endured? Have you really so little compassion?" "There's a first, a Q lecturing on compassion." Chakotay was outraged at the bastard's arrogance. Q's next remarks were not likely to improve Chakotay's opinion. "I know you are a small, limited Human, but can't you at least rise to the greater potential of your pathetic species? No, I suppose you can't. Not without help." Q moved close to Chakotay, and the Human tensed, poised to strike. "Don't even consider it," Q muttered, and took Chakotay's arm. "I'm now going to share something extraordinary with you so that perhaps, just perhaps, you can understand. Do try." Q raised his hand to snap his fingers, but stopped to give the Human a final dismissal. "Just so you know, I'm not doing this for you, small- minded cretin; I'm doing this for her." With a snap, Chakotay was no longer in his quarters. He was on a Borg cube; in his mind he heard the voice of the Collective, growing louder, growing more insistent. It was his worst nightmare come to life. He couldn’t think. He was losing all sense of self. And then the voices were demanding of him: he must decide, he must choose. Is this species to be assimilated? Should this planet be destroyed? Demanding, demanding. And he could not find himself to give an answer. At the instant he was about to surrender to despair, to give voice to the overwhelming terror in his mind, he was suddenly back in his quarters. Q supported him by the back of his shirt. “That was then,” Q leered at him. “And this is now.” Q waved his hand. Before Chakotay could even voice his protest, before he could even gasp sufficient breath to plead for mercy, he found himself immersed in the Collective once more. But the experience shared nothing with the nightmare of a moment ago. Now Chakotay found himself floating within a web of consciousnesses, shared yet distinct. In some ways, it reminded him of his experience with Riley Frazier’s people, but on a scale far more grand and diverse. It was as if that former experience had submerged him in a small pond, and now he was immersed in a vast ocean. He could follow any of a billion threads to experience another member’s state of being. It was like being on a wondrous vision quest; he could explore a nearly infinite number of existences and share his own in return. The sensation was incredible; he wanted to stay here and explore forever. He wanted to… Again, he abruptly found himself back in his quarters. He gave a tight cry of surprise, of pain at his sudden lost. He looked imploringly at Q. “No, please…” he began, bereft at the loss of connection. “Now you know how the loss hurts. And after only a few moments. Imagine after several years. You see what she had. That is what she and Seven created. That is what she sacrificed to return to you. And you begrudge her even her sense of loss, her small efforts to recapture some of what she had,” Q berated. Chakotay was still numb from his experience. “I had no idea,” he murmured softly. “I had no conception.” “Of course you didn’t. You are far too limited. Far too small.” But Chakotay was too absorbed in his own thoughts to respond to Q’s insults. “How could her life here rival that? What could I possibly give her to compete with that?” If Chakotay intended his questions to be rhetorical, Q wasn’t planning to cooperate. “Your love. Your faith. Your understanding. For reasons I cannot begin to fathom, those mean more to her than anything in the universe.” Then Q turned on the Human with obvious anger. “And yet you deny her all of these. You leave her alone. With nothing. Nothing but her loss. Will you drive her away and then blame her for leaving?” Chakotay gave him a hard look, then turned. He walked to where his medicine bundle laid spread out on the floor. Retrieving a sparkling object from the collection, he headed for the door. “It’s gratifying to know,” Q called after him, “that even you aren’t that stupid.” ******************** From fnkaiser@aol.com Fri Jul 31 16:54:44 1998 Path: news10.ispnews.com!hub1.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!news2.ais.net!jamie!ais.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!portc02.blue.aol.com!audrey03.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: fnkaiser@aol.com (FNKAISER) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW "Denaturing the Beast" 10/10 [PG-13] VOY (J,Q) Lines: 296 Message-ID: <1998073123544400.TAA26984@ladder03.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder03.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Date: 31 Jul 1998 23:54:44 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news10.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1531 "Denaturing the Beast" - Part 10 (See Part 1 for Disclaimers) The computer's response surprised him. Why the hell was she in her ready room at this hour? Why hadn't she gone to her quarters when she left Sickbay? He was struck by the sickening realization: to avoid him. She wanted to be away from him. Not that he blamed her. He had been a fucking idiot. God, how had he been so blind? How could he have hurt her so badly? He had to see her; he had to set things right. Well, at least set things on a course for recovery. He did not expect she could easily forgive him. The Gamma shift crew looked mildly surprised to see the second of their senior officers make his way across the bridge. Was something going on that they should know about? A quick look at Chakotay's expression gave them their answer: probably not. Chakotay rang the chime to the ready room; he waited for her acknowledgement before entering. He prayed she wasn't too upset, hoped he wouldn't find her crying. Taking a deep breath, he walked through the open door. Janeway was sitting at her desk, working on reports. She didn't look up, yet somehow knew who stood just inside the threshold. But she wasn't aware of his dumbfounded expression. "Okay, I've gotten through all the Engineering reports. I realize I'm cheating... B'Elanna does manage to raise the art of brevity to a new level. But it's a start, you must admit." Janeway had been reading and approving reports for the past forty minutes. This madness held a clear method in her mind: If she was going to properly command this ship, she had to bring herself up to date on departmental operations. And if she was going to reclaim the loyalty of her First Officer, she had to properly command this ship. And if she was going to regain Chakotay's love and trust, she had to first mend the gaping rift that divided them as Captain and First Officer. Hearing no response from him, she looked up and was taken aback at his surprised disbelief. "What?" she asked with exasperation. "Didn't you recently say how far behind I am on these damned reports?" "Yes, I suppose I did say that. That and a hundred other things I shouldn't have. God, Kathryn, I'm sorry. I had no idea." She wasn't sure how she knew, but she did. "Q?" she asked. "Yes," Chakotay nodded. Janeway rose from her desk, angry and concerned. "What did he do to you?" she demanded. "Not to me, Kathryn. For me. He helped me see things I've been too misguided to see for myself. He helped me understand, at least a little. I'm so sorry, Kathryn. I've been incredibly blind." Janeway relaxed perceptibly at the reassurance that Q had not harmed him. And then she realized what else he was saying, acknowledging. She knew she had sins to admit in kind. "I've been blind as well, Chakotay." At his protest, she amended, "Well, if not blind, then astoundingly myopic. I'm sorry, Chakotay, I've been so very focused on my own problems, my own fears; I've not been sensitive to yours." They regarded each other with an embarrassed recognition of their mutual shortcomings. "I can't believe we had to depend on the intervention of Q. Pretty pathetic, don't you think?" she suggested with a sad smile. "I don't know. It sounds pretty Human to me. We accept help from wherever we must in order to extend our vision," he offered with a smile. "And what did Q show you?" Janeway asked. "The Collective. Both the old and the new. Kathryn. What you and Seven created, it's amazing. I could never have imagined." Excitement and pride shone in his eyes. "I am so glad, so grateful, to be given the chance to understand what you experienced, to realize what you sacrificed." Chakotay stepped forward to enfold her in his arms. "Thank you, Kathryn. Thank you for coming back." "It's good to be back," she told him huskily. "To finally feel that I really am back." She reveled in how wonderful it felt to have him hold her this way. For several moments, she simply enjoyed the peaceful sensation. "And now that you are back, there are several things I need to return to you." He pulled back from her slightly, enough to gesture and lead them to the couch. They sat closely together. "First, Captain, I return your ship. It's under your command. In all situations. Without question or suspicion. You'll find her to be in excellent shape. Except perhaps, for a unwieldy backlog of paperwork," he added with a small smile. She acknowledged his joke with a smile of her own. "I would complain, Commander, except that I believe that is the exact condition in which I left her." "Yes, I do believe so, Captain." Then his eyes grew more somber as he took her hand and placed the hive-ship crystal in her palm, mirroring the action she had taken with him. "I need to return this to you as well. You gave it to me for safekeeping, in case it fell to me to lead our people. I am," he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, "truly beyond joy that this did not come to pass. You are again here to lead us, to take us home. Welcome back, Kathryn." "Thank you, Chakotay. For holding these precious things for me. For giving them back to me. For standing by me now." "Now and forever. Which brings me to the last thing that I hold for you." He raised his hand to her cheek and gently caressed her face. "I will give it back to you if you wish, but I would prefer to keep it." "And what is that?" she asked, although she suspected she knew. Still, she did want to hear him say it. "Your heart. I hold it here." He touched his chest. "I would like to keep it there always, if I may." "That would be my preference as well," she nodded through her tears. "And I would like to hold on to yours. Or perhaps, now that we are together, we can share them. I believe the two belong together." "Always," he agreed and embraced her gratefully, relieved at the passing of the horrible storm that had raged between them. They were at peace again. Remarkably, after all that sought to drive them apart, they had found each other again. Chakotay moved slightly, shifting her to the comfortable niche under his arm. He still had one sin he needed to confess. "I must admit, as much as I love sharing hearts with you, I do envy Tuvok's and Seven's ability to share minds." "Hmmm, yes. I've thought about that as well. I've considered that it might be possible for Tuvok to help us share consciousness; he could perform a meld with the two of us." She shifted so she could look at him, gauge his reaction to the idea. Clearly, he found the idea intriguing, so much so that she thought it best to add a caveat. "But I'd want to wait until we got back home. It's a bit risky to try out here, especially with the ship's three senior officers." "Kathryn, he acts as a bridge for you and Seven now. Do you really think my mind is such a chaotic mess that it would reduce the three of us to drooling catatonics?" He was partly hurt, but mostly curious. He really didn't understand Vulcan mind melds as well as he should. "Ordinarily, no. Well," she amended playfully, "probably not." She moved quickly to avoid his poke. "But it's just I was hoping Tuvok might agree to provide a bridge while we were, uh, well, being intimate, you see." She blushed slightly and looked away. He couldn't believe it; she was blushing. And to think he had suspected her of wanting to establish a collective here on Voyager. She couldn't even think of having one of her oldest friends witness their lovemaking without becoming embarrassed. He remembered how it had been having sex with Riley while her people lingered in the mental shadows. The idea that Kathryn could be comfortable making love to him while linked to the likes of Tom Paris and Harry Kim, not to mention Neelix... A broad smile spread across his face. Oh, this was too much fun. "Being intimate? In what sense do you mean that? Intimate conversation?" he asked innocently. "Well, no," she stammered. She had not yet looked back up to notice the joke he was enjoying... at her expense. "I mean while we were actually, uh, having relations..." Now she looked up. She recognized his game and gave him a reproving look. "'Having relations?' Are you still experiencing problems with your vocabulary, Captain?" he asked solicitously. Kathryn shot him her 'don't-be-an-asshole' look. Had he been taking lessons from Q? "Apparently only when talking with my smart-assed First Officer, Commander," she replied archly. "Ah, well. Then may I suggest we pursue a less verbal form of intercourse?" he offered with mock formality. "You may," she echoed his tone. "Are your quarters available? Since you extended the invitation..." Chakotay considered her question. His place was a bit of a wreck. He found his living space often mirrored his emotional state; both had been in total disarray these past few weeks. Even his medicine bundle was still strewn out on the floor. And, come to think of it, he never actually saw Q leave his quarters. Well, that clinched it. He gave her a quick wink as he stood and pulled her to her feet. "We'd better make it yours." **************************** A month later, Janeway stood on the Bridge, her hands resting lightly on her helmsman's shoulders. A charge of anticipation filled the air as the crew waited to discover whether the structure picked up on the sensors would prove a match to their hopes. "Slow to impulse, Tom. We should be approaching the station's coordinates soon." "Yes, ma'am," Tom acknowledged. He adjusted Voyager's speed and heading to intercept the coordinates Janeway had entered into the navigational database over six months ago. Janeway smiled as she remembered the protest Seven had raised over the entry. Here was a waypoint the Captain wanted marked, yet they possessed no objective evidence to verify the landmark's existence, at these or any other coordinates. "Humor me, Seven," Janeway had insisted. "Even if the research station is a product of my hive-addled imagination, a single erroneous entry will not overly compromise the integrity of your astrometric database. Besides," she added, "I think it's real." Chakotay couldn't help but chime in on this battle of wills: "Second star to the right, straight on until morning. Right, Captain?" he teased. Janeway did not find the Commander's contribution helpful, especially when she saw the look of confusion on Seven's face; evidently, the Collective had deemed the story of Peter Pan irrelevant. But Janeway's expression softened when she saw the twinkle in her First Officer's eyes. "Perhaps, Commander, although I am reticent to associate the word 'Never' with what I hope is a way home." Now every eye was on the forward screen, watching, waiting. "Maximum magnification, Mr. Kim," Janeway called. She took a step toward her chair, to gain a more centered perspective on the display. She planted her feet, reminding herself to not pace, reminding herself to breathe. Where was it?! Q had promised. "There! I see it!" Harry Kim called out. Janeway sighed in frustration. Were his youthful eyes really so much sharper than hers? Or was it simply his youthful enthusiasm that was. But wait! She saw it now, too. A tiny, glowing blob; too small to discern much detail. Yet as minutes passed, the image expanded and the structure emerged. It was a research station: massive, glowing, organic. Then Kathryn saw it clearly. No, she didn't just see it: she recognized it! She remembered this place, the significance it held, or rather would hold, for them all. She remembered, although she felt the memories fading in her mind. Just as Q said they would. As if moved by an unseen choreographer, the Captain and the First Officer of the U.S.S. Voyager drifted towards one another. Neither took their eyes from the screen before them, yet their bodies docked softly, his shoulder slightly behind hers. Both remained transfixed on the sight before them, for Chakotay recognized the station as well. He knew it from the nights he'd spent alone in his cabin, waiting for Kathryn to return, fearing she would not. Sleepless nights he spent seeking comfort as best he knew how: in meditation, in walks of faith. He had included the hive-ship crystal in his medicine bundle, hoping it might possess wisdom to guide him, to help him find the path home should it fall to him to lead his people. And finally one night, a vision had come to him: a vision of a massive living structure, hanging alone in space. A waypoint. A station. This station. Slowly, cautiously, as if they feared the station might cease to exist should they look away too quickly, the commanding officers turned their gaze to each other. To verify the other saw what they saw. To validate their own interpretation in the other's eyes. To celebrate how their different paths had led to the same wondrous knowledge. Chakotay reached his arm to gently enfold his Captain, his lover, and was infused with the joy of their shared recognition. She gave a tearful smile at their common realization of what lay before them: The gates of Jerusalem. They were taking their crew home. They were finally going home. Together. THE END Comments/feedback greatly appreciated (FNKAISER@aol.com). I realize this is more a Voyager/Janeway story than a Q story, per se (which is why I initially posted to a.s.c.); still, I would very much like to hear from the Q-philes. I also realize it's a major leap of canon to presume the Q created the Borg, but that idea I stole from Laura Taylor anyway. Thanks, m.c.