Star Trek: Voyager: Endgame

she was in the Borg Queen's lair.
    My feet, my body, are still on
Voyager.
I should not be here, in a cube. How has she tapped into my mind?
    “What do you want?” she asked.
    The Queen hovered softly, without support. “Do I need a reason to visit a friend?”
    “We're not friends.”
    “No. We're more than that. We're family.”
    Such insult. Seven's nerve quaked.
    FAMILY: TWO OR MORE PERSONS RELATED BY GENETIC CODE. TWO OR MORE PERSONS WITH COMMON BACKGROUND AND DESIRES. TWO OR MORE PERSONS BOUND BY—
    “But while we're on the subject of old friends,” the Queen began again, “I see
Voyager
just got a visitor.”
    How could she know? Did she have tracers planted on
Voyager?
    Am I the tracer?
    “She's come from the future,” the Queen said, “hasn't she? Tell me why.”
    Seven steadied herself. “You may be able to communicate with me while I'm regenerating, but I'm no longer a drone. I don't answer to you.”
    The Queen tilted her head. This was a common human gesture indicating thought, but for the Borg Queen it was a command. A freefloating viewscreen entered Seven's periphery and descended to a place where both she and the Queen could witness its picture. On it was a distant vision of
Voyager,
cruising at impulse speed, coming toward them.
    “I've extrapolated
Voyager'
s trajectory. I know you're returning to the nebula. I suggest you alter course.”
    Perhaps while she was “here,” Seven thought, she might graft information from the Queen. “Why should we comply?”
    “You've always been my favorite, Seven.” The Queen regarded her with eyes like ballbearings. True to her reputation, she was too clever to answer a question so directly. “And, in spite of their obvious imperfections, I know how much you care about the
Voyager'
s crew. So I've left them alone. Imagine how you'd feel if I were forced to assimilate them.”
    Seven locked eyes with the Queen. Anger rose in her.
“Voyager
is no threat to the Collective. We simply want to return to the Alpha Quadrant.”
    “And I have no objection to that. But if you try to enter my nebula again, I'll destroy you.”
    To prove her point, she tilted her head again.
    Bolts of silver-green energy crackled through Seven's alcove, breaking across her body and mind. She tried to move her hands, her legs, to step out of the neuroelectrical storm. This was the Queen's warning, to fry the mind of her enemies if they wished to remain enemies. Be assimilated or be cooked alive.
    Pain raged through Seven's existence until she no longer remembered her name.
    Sparks carried her back to the brighter place where she had begun. She remembered something about this place, but could not put a name to it. Convulsions thundered through her muscles. Hard gray flooring came up to slap her, and she lay still.
    She heard only the buzz of her blood and the voice of the computer.
    “Warning: regenerative cycle incomplete. Warning . . .”
    * * *
    “Her cortical node was exposed to a low-energy electromagnetic surge. It could've been much worse.”
    The Doctor made his report, but neither Captain Janeway nor Admiral Janeway took much comfort in what they had just been told. Seven lay on a biobed, looking worn and even frightened.
    Captain Janeway took this as the first sign of things going mightily wrong.
    “What happened to you, Seven?” she asked. Her voice was stern and her throat rough with tension.
    “It was the Borg Queen,” Seven reported. “She wanted to make sure I'd be able to deliver a message. She said she'd assimilate
Voyager
if we attempted to reenter this nebula.”
    None of that made much sense. The Queen could assimilate them any time she wanted to, considering that she had forty-seven cubes within striking distance of the ship at this very moment. In all reality, there would be nothing, nothing, and nothing that could be done to stop her. The second fact, that
Voyager
was on its way back to the nebula, running directly into the swarm, was another contributing worry. They were heading to give the Queen even more advantage, if that were possible.
    “Why's it so important to her?”
    “It doesn't matter,” Admiral Janeway interrupted. “She's not going to be able to make good on her threat.”
    Janeway turned to her, suddenly stern. “I wish I shared your confidence.”
    “You would, if you had as much experience with the Queen as I've had.”
    Oh, such statements! That was a
big
damned statement.
    She shook her head. “It was one