Kudara's Stories

Deadlier than a Scorpion's Sting - Ch. 1

Deadlier than a Scorpion’s Sting – Chapter 1

By Kudara

Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager and crew belong to Paramount/Viacom and no infringement of copyright/trade marks is intended.  The only thing I lay claim to is the solar system I created for Pegasi 51, the background and culture of the Pegasians, and the original character Alexa Nikoleon.

Note:  This story diverges from the canon storyline during the events of Scorpion II, and thus is essentially an AU story.

Rating:  PG-13

Feedback: Always welcome, feedback is what encourages me to keep writing.  Please let me know what you like and what you dislike about the story.

Revision History:  02/16/06; 02/22/07

Summary:  Curiosity can lead to unexpected events.

****************************************************************

Stardate 51004.2 (Wed, 02 Jan 2374 13:15 GMT)

Lt. Alexa Nikoleon entered the mess hall and glanced around, she flashed a quick grin in the direction of her friends as she noted the empty chair between Lt. Chapman and Ensign Hickman.  Susan Nicoletti and Chapman returned the smile, drawing the attention of Hickman and Vorik who turned and nodded at her before returning their attention to the conversation the four had evidently been involved in before her entrance.

Continuing over toward the counter, she greeted the Talaxian behind it, “Good afternoon Neelix.”

Neelix turned and smiled as he recognized Alexa’s voice, his eyes going reflexively to the tattoo covering the left side of her olive skinned face.  Even though he had seen her multiple times almost every day for the past three years, he still found himself fascinated with it.  The flaming reds, oceanic blues, earth toned rusty browns, and glittering blue white designs surrounded the central tattoo of a winged horse.  The design was as distinctive as it was colorful, and marked her as a native of Pegasus, one that had completed all four sets of trials on both Pegasus and Crucible.  Alexa had given him a brief explanation of her tattoo after he had asked her about it several years ago, and then Neelix had looked up the details of the trials in Voyager’s computers.  It had made for some fascinating reading.

“So what’s for lunch today?” she smiled, amused, watching his eyes move quickly from her cheek back to her eyes.  It was a reaction she had gotten used to after leaving Pegasus for Starfleet Academy, and one she was quite used to with Neelix, he looked at her facial tattoo almost every time he spoke to her.

“Pleeka rind casserole, it’s been so busy ever since we entered Borg space I haven’t had time to fix anything more complicated.” He replied apologetically.

Alexa shrugged, “Pleeka rind casserole it is then,” she said philosophically, having gotten only too used to eating the dish during their time in the Delta Quadrant.  It was at least marginally better in her opinion than Leola root stew, which she had half-way been expecting given the replicator rationing that had been instituted since the decision had been made to take the Northwest Passage across Borg space.  And besides, either dish was considerably better than some of the things she had learned to eat during her training for the tests.

“So what’s the latest news on our passage through Borg space?” she asked curiously as she sat down between William Chapman and Marie Hickman.  All four of her friends stared at her in surprise.

Sue Nicoletti shook her head disgustedly, “You’ve been in the Jeffries tubes all day haven’t you.”

“Yes?” Alexa drawled the answer out.

Maria Hickman snickered, “Torres has a long memory,” she noted, referring to the fact that both before and after Torres had been made Chief Engineer, Alexa had made comments about the half-Klingon’s lack of control over her temper.

Alexa had rather coolly informed the half-Klingon Marquis, after one of her spectacular fits of temper, that she had seen four year olds with better emotional control.  Once Torres had been made Chief Engineer she had offered to start off with a clean slate with Alexa, just as she had with Carey.  Alexa had agreed, but only a few days later she had watched with open disgust as Torres had yelled curses at the engineering crew in what in her opinion was a dramatic display of unprofessionalism.

Torres had noticed her expression and pulled her into her office.  Once there, when Torres had asked Alexa at volume what her problem was she had calmly informed her that she had never seen Worf, whom she had met during her assignment aboard the Enterprise before asking for the transfer to Voyager, act like a petulant child.  Thus she had to assume that Torres was using her Klingon heritage as an excuse for the lack of control over her temper.  Alexa had thought Torres would attack her for a moment, but she had controlled herself and only snarled for Alexa to leave.  Not surprisingly, it was a moment that Torres had never forgotten or apparently forgiven, judging from the assignments she regularly handed Alexa which kept the Pegasian far away from Engineering.

“There are Borg drones on board, they beamed over with Captain Janeway and Tuvok when the cube was destroyed,” blurted out Chapman.

Alexa paused mid-bite, “What?” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Janeway and Tuvok are in Sickbay, and the drones are being held somewhere, but only security knows where and they aren’t telling.” Nicoletti replied.

“Probably the Brig, it’s the most secure location on the ship,” Chapman theorized.

Alexa’s eyes were drawn to the movement of the mess hall door’s opening, “I think someone’s looking for us,” she commented quietly upon seeing a displeased looking Lt. Torres enter and immediately look toward their table. 

“I see we’re lazy engineers once again, daring to pause for a bit to eat.” Hickman commented quickly before Torres came within hearing range.  Everyone, except Vorik who merely raised one angled brow at the comment, suppressed their grins as the Lieutenant crossed over to their table.

Testily, the half-Klingon commented, “If your done with your lunch we still have several repairs to make after that last attack.”  Torres watched as the other three rose, taking their trays with them to recycle.  The half-Klingon glanced quickly at Alexa, who was still eating, but did not say anything to her before following them out.

The dark haired, olive skinned woman sighed as she watched them leave, Lt. Torres was correct, there were still many repairs that needed to be made, and made as quickly as possible, for another attack could come at any moment.

An hour later Alexa had just finished repairing the plasma relays in Jeffries tube 9 alpha section 5.  Looking at the PADD of tasks Lt. Torres had given her first thing in the morning, she mentally computed the quickest route to the cargo bay on deck 8 section 4, and realized that the shortest way was actually through the Jeffries tube she was currently in now.  Just a few meters to her left was the hatch to a ladder leading down to Jeffries tube 8 alpha section 5 and a few meters further along that tube was an opening to the cargo bay where the next repair needed to be made.

Humming cheerfully to herself, Alexa unlocked the magnetic seals of the Jeffries tube hatch and swung it open, then went silent in startled surprise.  The on and off green glow was her first clue that something was drastically different about the cargo bay, her second clue was the chilly female voice challenging her presence, “State your intention.”

Armor sheathed legs entered her view, and as her gaze moved upward, and yet upward still, she leaned further out of the opening, her brown-green hazel eyes widening as they wandered over the curves of definitely feminine hips, and a narrow waist.  Alexa blinked once as her eyes traced the clearly defined contours of full breasts, and then she finally met the drone’s one grey-blue eye, the other either replaced or covered by a large implant that wrapped around the side of the drone’s head and protruded outward a good six inches or so.

‘Well they definitely aren’t in the Brig,’ Alexa thought to herself after she recovered from her surprise, and decided that there was immediate threat of assimilation.  Belatedly, remembering the drone’s question, she restrained herself from making a completely unacceptable comment such as asking if the body armor was possibly removable, and simply answered, “I’m supposed to repair the EPS power relay for this cargo bay.” 

Alexa silently chastised herself for the lecherous direction her thoughts had taken, and cursed yet again the sheer bad luck that she had managed to find herself not only on a vessel stranded 35 years from Earth, but one on which, despite the percentages which said there should be at least three other gay women aboard given the crew size, she was as far as she could tell after almost four years, the only lesbian.

The drone examined her dispassionately for a few seconds, and then stepped out of the way, “Proceed,” she ordered, and then turned back to whatever task she had been doing before Alexa’s entrance.

Alexa craned her head around to watch her leave, noting with amazement that even with the unattractive grey cast to her skin, the body armor, and plates and tubes sticking out from the female’s head, that the drone still managed to be attractive. 

Even though her instincts were screaming at her that she was walking into a lion’s den, curiosity and her own Pegasian nature were insisting that she do just that.  She wasn’t usually wild or reckless, but she had an intense need to prove that she could match anyone else’s achievements, meet and pass any challenge placed before her.

She knew that Worf along with others, had been on a Borg ship and escaped, and the Captain had bargained with the Borg aboard their own Cube just yesterday, and despite being injured had and returned alive and unassimilated.  The idea of being able to walk among these drones and escape assimilation herself was just too much of a challenge to pass up.  And besides, given the female drone’s reaction, assimilation was not on these Borg’s list of things to do, at least not at this moment.  The repair should only take ten or fifteen minutes, and then she would leave and have quite a story to tell her friends over dinner tonight.

Having talked herself into entering the cargo bay, she grabbed her engineering toolkit and cautiously slid out of the Jeffries tube, looking around the cargo bay curiously as she stood.  The entire right side of the bay had been taken over by the Borg drones, and now contained two rows of what she recognized as regeneration alcoves, one row against the original wall, and the other row, which faced it, placed in the middle of the cargo bay.  New pylons were placed where there had been cargo racks, and she could see that the rounded columns contained data interfaces of some type.

There were four other drones… no five, all male, present in the cargo bay besides the female drone.  They moved around performing their tasks, or stood unmoving in their alcoves and completely ignored her presence, just like the drones in the stories she had heard about the Borg.  In fact, the one drone who was acting decidedly different from the drones in the stories, and, for that matter, unlike the other drones in the cargo bay, was the female drone who had challenged her.

Alexa looked over at the female who was working at one of the new pylons, tapping the dots on it in rapid order and looking at the results, and examined her curiously.  The drone turned around, regarding her alertly and returning her look stare for stare, sharp intelligence unmistakable in the one remaining eye, “What’s your name?” Alexa asked.

“My designation,” the drone corrected her haughtily, “is Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix Zero One.”

Before she could censor the words Alexa commented, “You act differently than the others; you’re more alert, more aware.”  Only after she had made the statement did she think that, attractiveness and unusualness aside, perhaps engaging the female drone in conversation was not the quickest way to get her task done and get herself out of a potentially dangerous situation.

“I am an adjunct,” the female drone replied, as if that were all the explanation needed, and perhaps it was, whatever it was that an adjunct was and did.

Alexa nodded, deciding that discretion was definitely better than continued curiosity at this point.  She walked over to the left side of the bay and pulling the correct panel from the wall began scanning the malfunctioning plasma relay.

She had almost completed her repairs when a deep male voice announced, “Species 8472 has penetrated Matrix 010 grid 19.  Eight planets destroyed. 312 vessels disabled.  Four million, six hundred, twenty-one Borg eliminated.  We must seize control of the Alpha Quadrant vessel and take it into the alien realm.”

Alexa cursed silently to herself and tapped her communications badge, “Lt. Nikoleon to Commander Tuvok,” she whispered into it hurriedly, instinctually maintaining her calm as she had been taught when still a child on Pegasus.  There was not even the characteristic chirp to indicate that a communication’s channel had been opened.  Whirling around, she saw the drones closing in on her location.