Chapter 5
by E.L. Zimmerman

The palace halls were empty, dank, and colorless as Kathryn remembered them upon first entering. Dull fluorescents threw down scant light on their bare surroundings.

"This place sure could use some color," she muttered as she walked.

"Color is irrelevant," Cole replied.

"Cole, Cole, Cole..." she said. "How little you understand Species 5618! Oh, you say that you understand us. My guess is that you've been Borg so long that you've forgotten what it means to be truly human."

She heard the Borg stop behind her. She turned to him.

His face was expressionless. "I am Borg."

"Curious," she replied. "Not, we are Borg?"

"The One severed our link to the Collective."

She rested her hands on hips. "Doesn't that anger you?"

Again, she watched as Cole's sole human eye pivoted. He's trying to reason, she thought, but he can't.

"Commence movement to your quarters," he finally ordered. "Or, I will take you there forcibly."

"I don't even know where my quarters are!" she admitted. "You brought me here, whisked me from the Spaceport to meet his Highness, and then attached this prosthetic to me! I haven't seen my quarters!"

"I will provide directions," he explained. "Commence movement at once."

Tilting her head, Kathryn smiled. "You might be cut off from the Collective, but trust me when I say that you have the same sparkling Borg personality." She turned and started walking again. "You know what really gets me, Cole? It's you and your Borg Army. Why do you follow the One? I can understand those other species. By Borg standards, they're weak. By Borg standards, aren't we all? Surely there are enough Borg sentries on Besaria to rise up and overthrow a single shapeshifter."

"Ambassador Janeway, what do you know about shapeshifters?"

"What makes you think I know anything?"

"CCF Omega 3-5-1."

Classified Command File Omega 351.

Kathryn stopped. She whirled on Cole.

"How dare you!" she spat.

Cole tried to shove her onward, down the hallway, but she countered with her Borg limb. Their mechanical limbs clashed! Sparks showered from the both of them. Somehow, she wasn't exactly sure, she activated her own whirling blades near the limb's end. Fearing she would injure Cole, she yanked the prosthetic away, and the blades died.

Cole lowered his arm, and he stared at her.

"How do you know about CCF Omega 351?" she asked.

"It is saved in the Voyager computer core," he answered.

"It's classified and encrypted. Captain's eyes only." Glowering at him, she challenged, "You've been onboard the Voyager, searching our files. For what purpose?"

"What do you know about shapeshifters?"

"CCF Omega 351," she taunted. "If you know that, then you know precisely what I know about shapeshifters."

"Our link, severed from the Collective, has posed tremendous difficulty in deciphering CCF Omega 351."

She smiled. "Poor little Borg. It's a shame to hear that you're experiencing difficulty with pesky Federation technology."

"CCF Omega 351 will be decrypted," Cole stated coldly.

"Then why are you asking me for its contents?"

Cole's glare softened, turning fully emotionless again. "You are to return to your quarters."

"Answer my question, or we go right back to the One with this information."

Suddenly, Cole glanced at the floor.

"Cole?" she tried, softening. "What is it?"

Not facing her, he repeated, "You are to return to your quarters."

"Cole, I know what's in CCF Omega 351," she replied. "The question is ... why are you asking for my help?"

Mechanically, the sentry glanced up. "You are to return to your quarters. At once. Failure to do so will result in immediate termination of your life signs."

Turning, she walked briskly ahead of him. "Don't try and fool me, Cole, playing games with life and death. You don't have the authority here."

A Borg sentry stood guard outside her quarters.

Her residence - a main room, a bedroom, and a washroom - was sparsely furnished with a single bed and a series of oddly-shaped chairs. Kathryn surmised that, whatever furniture was on Besaria, had been taken from the one hundred and twenty-seven cultures assimilated here.

Before Cole had left for the evening, he had directed her curtly on instructions for using the food dispensers. Realizing she was hungry, Kathryn dressed in her Starfleet uniform and then ordered the dispenser to provide her with some indigenous fruit. The unit hummed, sounding much like a replicator, and a large green sphere appeared on the lit platform. Taking it, she munched, finding it soft, juicy, and mint-tasting, but uncertain of what effect it might produce on her stomach.

Off the main room was a balcony. Kathryn Janeway stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. Maybe it'll clear my head, she thought.

Besaria City was dwarfed in thundering rainclouds, as it had been the day she arrived. How long ago was that? Yesterday? Two days? Three? She didn't know. She guessed the Borg procedure couldn't have taken long, but, without the ship's logs, she had lost complete track of time. It's the little things in life that we miss, she mused, smiling.

"In case you're wondering," she heard from overhead, "it's nightfall. You should be asleep."

Glancing up at the overhead balcony, she saw Ambassador Packell's green eyes glimmering in the darkness above.

"Packell," she said, "I can't tell you how sorry I am for what happened to your people. It was ... the act of a lunatic."

The Trakill smiled. "My people thank you for your compassion, Ambassador Janeway."

"Do you know ... how long have I been here?"

"Two days," he replied. "Today is your second day."

"Is the weather always ... does it only rain here?"

Packell laughed. Kathryn smiled back at the alien who had the courage and strength to still find humor after witnessing the annihilation of his race.

"Welcome to the Besarian springtime," Packell explained. "We call it the Eternal Spring. Yes. It always rains. It is our natural climate."

Kathryn returned the smile.

"Packell, how long has the One been here?"

He looked away, glancing toward the distant horizon. "I'm sorry, but that question I cannot answer. I've lost track of time. Suffice it to say, I cannot think of a time that he hasn't been here."

"Are you the original Trakill Ambassador?"

He shook his head. "I inherited the post," he replied, "from my father. He died at the hands of the One, his royal Highness.

"You see, when the palace was maintained by the Trakill, it was exquisite with our native tapestries. The tapestries told the legend of our people, from their inception into the galactic community, up until the coming of Solah."

"Solah?"

Packell nodded. "The Trakill spiritual guide. The Essence of my people. He changed our race forever. The way we thought. The way we behaved. He taught us how to better cultivate the soil and to grow foods more plentiful. Certainly, we still traveled space, but he defined our purpose in this universe. Simply put, that was to produce the finest grown delicacies this star system would ever know."

"I sampled your fruit," she replied. "Something round, green, and wonderfully juicy."

"Gallush," he explained. "The juice is the benefit of all the moisture in our atmosphere."

"It was delicious," she complimented.

"There are some Trakill who would tell you that Solah is mythical," Packell continued. "They will tell you that he never existed. My father taught me differently. He taught me to respect the Solah's teaching and to always put my best effort into your land. The land will always provide for you, Solah told us. Take from it gratefully that which it provides. The tapestries told us that, after the arrival of Solah, the Trakill were so enraptured with cultivating the land that our efforts turned even our eyes green!"

The two laughed together.

"It is a fable told to children," Packell concluded. "The tapestries, along with our history, were our only record of Solah's message."

"Your father wanted the tapestries hung," Kathryn concluded, "and the One wouldn't allow it. That's why these palace walls are blank."

Packell sighed heavily. "The all shall serve the One. By decree of the One, there was no place in Trakill society for Solah."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I thank you. To tell the truth, my father wasn't arguing that the tapestries be returned to their rightful place on the walls of the Grand Hall and throughout the palace. He was simply asking for color. In retaliation for what was termed disobedience, the One killed my father. That might sound ruthless, but it was actually quite lenient. The One intended on wiping out my species. That ... that would have been ruthless."

She felt a faint breeze blow rain droplets across her face. Her heart ached for these people - for all of these people - but she was powerless to do anything about it.

"It's late, Ambassador Janeway," Packell said. "You sleep now. I am going inside as well. I'll have a Gallush for myself."

"Packell?"

"Yes, Ambassador?"

"Where are the tapestries now?"

He paused. "They ... they were burned ... along with my father's body ... in the city's main square ... near the Spaceport."

"I promise you, Packell," Kathryn said, sensing her own rising anger. "We will find some way to stop this madman."

She wasn't certain that he had heard her, as there came no reply. After a few seconds, Packell said somberly, "You sleep now, Ambassador. We do not speak of such things in the palace. It is ... bad luck."

With that, Kathryn stood alone, quietly staring at the dark that was Besaria City.