Chapter 23

“DOC?” PARIS SPOKE FIRST. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s not our Doctor, Tom,” Janeway said calmly.

“Admiral Janeway is correct. I am Her Majesty’s personal doctor. The Royal Physician, you might say.” The phaser never wavered.

“Of course,” said Janeway. “She couldn’t become a Borg without surgery, and no human would be twisted enough to do it. It would utterly violate the Hippocratic oath and everything a real doctor holds dear.”

“I’m surprised that the queen would consent to be operated on by such an antiquated version,” said Chakotay. Contempt laced his words. Janeway was perplexed at his attitude, but didn’t bat an eye. He knew what he was doing.

Just like their own Doctor would, this EMH Mark One bridled at the insult.

[256] “How rude,” he said, “and how incorrect. I’ve done a magnificent job on her.”

He didn’t fire. He should have, but he didn’t. Suddenly Janeway understood why—he wanted them to see Covington, to praise his handiwork.

Now, too, Janeway understood what Chakotay was doing, and played along. “Not as good a job as the current version of the EMH would have done. You’re obsolete. You’re just a computer program that’s run its course. Oh, but silly me ... Covington wouldn’t have been able to get an up-to-date EMH to override its ethical subroutine.”

The hologram turned its full affronted attention to her. “You scoff now, but when you are brought before Her Majesty, then you’ll see. No one could have done a better job than I. There are no scars, all her implants are completely internal, her skin is—”

Janeway never got to learn what the queen’s skin was. While the EMH’s full attention was focused on Chakotay and Janeway, Paris, Montgomery, Seven, and Tuvok had slowly moved into position. Now, at Seven’s nod, they fired—not at the hologram, but at the rows of holographic emitters that ran along the baseboard near the carpeting. The hologram had enough time to realize what was happening and fix Janeway with a horrified stare before he disappeared.

“That was disconcerting,” said Paris.

“I really hate holograms,” said Montgomery.

“It was brilliant of her,” Seven said. “Only a hologram would be able to perform the surgery with the required skill level and a lack of scruples.”

“Look at this,” said Montgomery. There was a large [257] door on the south side of the room. It looked heavy, metallic, and very well secured, sharply at odds with the efficient stylishness of the room.

“That wasn’t here before,” said Chakotay.

“Correction,” said Tuvok. “It was always here, hidden behind a holographic disguise. When we destroyed the emitters, all the holograms in the room disappeared.”

Seven’s eyes were on the tricorder. “There’s an extremely intense Borg resonant signature approximately twelve meters straight ahead. And a large power center.” She lifted her gaze and met Janeway’s eyes. “Regeneration chambers. Her laboratory is through here.”

Janeway touched her comm badge. “Data,” she said, “we’ve made it into her office and we think we’ve located her lab. Can you—”

She heard the sound of phaser fire on the other side of the door. The Borg had found them again.

“That door won’t hold for long,” Montgomery said.

“Data, can you erect a force field by the entrance to Covington’s office?”

“I will attempt to do so, Captain. I suggest you proceed with both caution and alacrity.”

“We intend to do so. Phasers aren’t going to get through this door. Is there any way you can unlock it?”

Data was an expert at being able to do several things at once, all flawlessly and efficiently. He was being put to a real test now, however, as he tried to keep up the various force fields he had erected to protect Janeway and her crew, reestablish power, prevent the queen from gaining any more access than she already had, and trying to open the door.

[258] “There are two life signs behind the door you indicate,” he said. “Both of them are Borg. One of them is the queen.”

“Can you unlock it?” Janeway repeated. Data attempted to do so and was met with a surprisingly forceful resistance. She did not want that door opened, and was concentrating a great deal of her efforts on keeping it locked.

“You are going to have to use your phasers,” said Data.

They exchanged glances. The door behind them was much less difficult to break down than the one in front of them, and the drones had a head start and probably more phasers. Data had just signed their death warrant with his words.

Nothing more was said. These were all Starfleet officers, and good ones. Janeway lifted her phaser and took aim. The rest silently followed suit. They would keep trying until the door behind them was opened, and the drones burst through and killed them.

The sound of over a dozen phasers operating simultaneously was hard on the ears, but Janeway endured it, knowing that it might well be the last sound she heard. They all concentrated on the same spot, right where the locking mechanism was located. Behind them, the drones continued their onslaught.

When the room started to fade in her vision, Janeway almost laughed with joy. The clever Data had not alerted them to an alternative lest the queen also know, and was in the process of initiating a site-to-site transport to the other side of the door. She only hoped he had done it swiftly enough so that the queen couldn’t put up a block.

[259] They materialized inside Covington’s laboratory. There were only two people in the room, as Data had informed them. Sitting rigidly at a console was a young man in civilian clothing. Except he really wasn’t a man anymore, he was, like everyone in the building, Borg. He had linked with the computer and completely disregarded them. For the moment.

But Janeway barely had time to register his presence. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the terrifying sight of the Borg queen. The EMH had been right. He had done a fine job on this queen. She stood naked in the regeneration chamber, bathed in eerie green lights. Her smooth, gray flesh was unmarred. No harsh implants jutted out from her body or face. The only signs that this was not a normal human were the hue of the skin and the two tubes that ran from the base of her skull into her body. Her eyes were open, but they were presently unseeing, and she was swathed in various cables, looking like a spider in her web.

Despite the horror of the image in front of her, Janeway felt a renewed surge of hope. A true queen would not need to be so exposed, so physically bound to the machines with which she shared her existence. She would walk freely, connected only by thoughts. Would carry on conversations. Would look at them with mingled contempt and triumph.

The queen in front of her was more to her liking.

She heard Montgomery mutter an oath and lift his phaser. “No!” Janeway cried. “We don’t know how she is linked to her collective. Kill her and everyone who’s infected could die!”

[260] “We don’t kill her and everyone on Earth gets infected,” he replied, but lowered his phaser.

“It would have been futile regardless,” Seven said, looking at her tricorder. “She has erected a force field between herself, her drone, and us.”

“Data, well done,” Janeway said. “There’s a force field about two meters in front of me. Can you get it down?”

“Negative, Admiral,” came Data’s voice. “Seven of Nine will have to proceed with the force field still in place. The queen is concentrating all her efforts on it.”

“I can attempt ... our plan,” said Seven, careful not to reveal anything in words. “It will not be as easy.”

“Do it,” said Janeway. Seven moved to the same console as the young man. He ignored her until she touched the controls, and then he sprang into action. He whirled on her, and Janeway saw that his assimilation tubes were fully extended. Seven turned to evade him, but the drone was quicker. He seized her and was about to jab his tubes into her throat when Montgomery fired. The young man dropped like a stone. Seven took a step back, settled herself, and then continued to access the computer.

“Poor Blake,” Montgomery said. “I never should have let her have him.”

“You knew him, then?” Janeway asked.

“Yes. He was one of the top Borg specialists in the Federation. No wonder she was able to get as far as she did.”

Seven listened to their conversation with half an ear. She was more interested in finding out how this Blake had initially engaged the link. Her long, slim fingers flew over the controls, but at each turn, no matter what [261] she tried, the queen intervened to block her. It was as if they were two consummate professionals engaged in a tennis match, except this was a very deadly game. She tried everything she could think of. Nothing succeeded. The queen was aware, and able to protect herself.

Seven turned and caught Janeway’s eye. Janeway read her look and, with a pained expression, nodded. Seven swallowed hard. This was the last resort, the one she had hoped she would never need. But if her sacrifice could ensure the safety of the Earth, she was prepared to make it.

She opened the panel, turned and faced the queen, extended her tubes, and let herself connect.

It was a sensation that was at once familiar and comforting and alien and terrifying. A part of Seven was appalled at the ease with which she settled into the collective. Suddenly she could hear the minds. They were far fewer than she remembered. Of course. This queen had a small collective, fewer than a hundred, perhaps. The true queen had had billions.

It would be so easy to take her place, be once again only a part of a whole. Being an individual was so much more difficult ...

“What’s she doing?” Montgomery demanded.

“She’s linking with the collective,” Janeway answered.

“What?”

“Infiltration from the inside,” Janeway said.

“Do you really think she can do it? Disconnect the queen and not lose herself?”

“It’s our only hope.”

* * *

[262] You are attempting to disconnect me, Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One.

There could be no lies, no deception, in this most intimate of sharing. All of Seven’s memories and thoughts were laid bare before the queen.

You will fail.

Trevor Blake lies unconscious and separated from the collective, Seven thought. Your hologram has been deleted. You cannot progress further. You know Starfleet will destroy the building and all the lives within it if it has to in order to stop you.

Starfleet is weak. It will have no stomach for what it perceives as deliberate murder.

Then believe this. If it must, Voyager will act alone and do this thing. Resistance is futile. You are more human than Borg. If you surrender, you may be spared, despite what you have done.

The queen, her eyes blank and unseeing, opened her mouth and laughed aloud, startling those who watched the struggle between Covington and Seven of Nine. Janeway suppressed a shudder. Anything the Borg queen would find amusing was not something she wanted to know about.

You are discovering you cannot disconnect me from my precious drones. I will die rather than abandon them.

Precious? Abandon? You speak as if you cared for them. I know well a queen cares nothing for her drones. Perfection is the only thing of value to her. To any of the Borg.

[263] Then you do not know me, Seven of Nine. I am a new queen, a different sort of queen. My reign will be glorious and beautiful. I know that you were always the favorite; the Royal Protocol mentions you specifically. You can join me and—No!

Seven’s blue eyes opened. She had employed the same tactic that Data had used so effectively—distracting the queen. She knew what she needed to know. She stared at Janeway.

“Fire,” she said.

Even as Janeway lifted her phaser to take aim at the queen, Montgomery fired. Covington’s body spasmed. He fired again, and this time, with a long, soft groan, she slumped slowly and her head fell forward. She did not fall; she was supported by the mass of black, twining cables. She no longer looked like the ruling spider in her own web, but a hapless fly, caught in the trap that had killed her.

Janeway closed her eyes in relief, but opened them quickly when Chakotay said, in a warning voice, “Admiral ... Seven hasn’t come out of it.”

Seven stood rigidly, her lips parted, her eyes unseeing.

“Oh, no,” breathed Janeway.

The little girl sat alone in a circle of light. She played, solemn-faced, with a doll that had no head. Annika Hansen, clad in a flowing red dress, walked up to her and sank down beside her.

“Hello, Brenna,” she said.

The girl looked up at her. “You need to watch out for the Hand,” she said. “It will find you. It will touch you [264] in wrong places. It will make you lie, and scream, and cry, and hate.”

Images flashed through Annika’s mind: horrible, grotesque scenes of violation, and beating, and childish flesh fondled by adult hands. She shrank from them, but they were downloaded into her brain. She felt everything. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she sobbed.

“What’s going on? The queen’s dead,” said Montgomery, looking perplexed as Seven of Nine started crying, tears running down her strangely expressionless face.

“Somehow she’s still connected,” breathed Janeway. “I think the queen ... may have transferred the Royal Protocol to her.”

Montgomery looked at her. “Then tell me, why are we letting her stay alive?”

“Because she’s fighting it,” said Janeway, staring raptly. “Come on, Seven, Keep resisting.”

An adult Brenna Covington stood before Annika now. She reached out and clasped Annika’s hands, two tall, fair-haired women, so similar and yet so different.

“Take it,” Brenna implored. “Take it. Take them. You know what I have endured. You know what I feel for them. They need a queen. They need you. You can be better than the original queen. You can exceed the programming. You can look at your drones as beloved children, not as things to be used and discarded. They can be glorious. You can take them to perfection. There’s nothing they and you won’t be able to achieve.”

Annika clutched Brenna’s hands. This was no trick, no lie. The Royal Protocol, modified and adapted by [265] Brenna Covington, surged through her. She could feel it already, closing off some parts of her body, opening others, exploring, downloading information. Brenna was right. Already, she could hear the voices of the confused hive, turning to her, seeking solace. She could be a new type of queen, a benevolent, loving monarch, to lead her people to perfection and—

No. She would not be seduced by the glory. Sweet though it was, it was an illusion. The Borg represented suppression of individuality, no matter how the queen thought of her drones. Brenna sensed her decision.

“No,” she cried, “please, don’t abandon them!”

“I am sorry,” Annika said, sincerely, and slowly, deliberately, closed the door on the Royal Protocol, the clamoring drones, and her last, best chance to be a part of something infinitely greater than herself.