1-22 Sargasso Delta

Plagued by Computer failures things go from bad to worse as Voyager continues limping through the the void. Nerves and tempers are running high. Tom and B’Elanna have a falling out and the ship is swamped by ‘Seaweed’. The crew must work without the ever present computer to find a solution. Tuvok partakes in the Colonels confessional...

Voyager and characters (except the Colonel) in this story are copyright of Paramount. No resemblance is intended to any person alive or dead.

The story line and the Colonel are my own.

Constructive criticism and comments are welcome on e-mail story@rgower.plus.com.

If like me you like to know why things occur like they do, I would heartily recommend you start at chapter 1-01 Castaway.

This story is rated PG on the UK sensors ratings

©R Gower 2001

Captain Janeway inspected the contents of a new tray she had quietly installed in her quarters before dropping heavily into an easy chair.

The tray contained growing medium and seeds she had begged off of Ensign Hemmark. After he and the Colonel had pulled their stunt of having her grow them as a test of her Hydroponics skills, she had realised she had quite enjoyed the relaxed challenge. Less surprising perhaps, she had enjoyed the results. Her quarters had been almost a riot of colour for three weeks afterwards as Hemmark had slowly reaped the results and sent them to her quarters. Now they had finished, she missed them and the scent that filled the previously spartan room.

She wiped her tired hands over her tired face, there hadn't been much time to enjoy her flowers or sleep for the last few weeks. The tray had been her one and only luxury, time for its care snatched between panics.

"Captains Log!" She sighed.

She was grabbing a few minutes for herself and to try to bring her log up to date. The previous month had been a never ending succession of minor mishaps, irritating failures and near catastrophes. Their had been nine more today, ranging from the minor, a replicator failure in the Mess, to the major, a total failure of the shield matrix. There had also been three fights and four other disagreements that could have ended up a lot more serious if she had not turned up at the right moment. She seemed to be spending all her time running between Bridge and trouble spot, damping out the flames that were forming. She suspected that there were others that she did not know about. All around her, tempers were now running high. She noted that in her log.

Everything that was going wrong could be attributed directly to what had now been positively identified as a virus in the Gel Packs that controlled the Computers Neural Network, causing frequent seizures in the computer systems and false alarms. Such a major failing of the ships computer was, in her experience, almost unheard of in a Star Ship, certainly not in one that survived.

Where the virus had come from nobody was sure. The commonly held belief was that it occurred by accident, when the system was reprogrammed to cope with the new engines on Cathor. It had certainly could not be accredited to the Cathors as a hostile act, of that they were certain. Harry Kim and B'Elanna Paris had carried out the reprogramming themselves.

Corporal Miller, the Colonel’s small holographic computer wizard, was working hard to keep the systems running and identify and isolate the virus. She gave him full marks for effort, even if she did not, every twelve hours a report appeared on her screen listing the changes he had made to the system. It looked as if he was fighting a losing battle as the damage in the individual packs grew. She had been forced to take the Holodecks off-line a week ago, simply to give the Corporal space to work his damage control.

They had dropped the Warp Core three times because of false alarms promising imminent catastrophe and they had cut the reinstallation time to under three hours, from the normal eight. It was not a record she was particularly proud of. The fear of another warning demanding the core to be dropped, now prevented them holding speeds in excess of Warp, slowing their progress even further. Not that they really knew where they were going at the moment. Seven of Nine had not been able to complete a long range scan for three weeks and they were now flying blind.

She was willing to admit she was scared. Something that she had been several times since they had marooned themselves in the Delta Quadrant, but not like this.

This was different.

Until now the things she relied upon, the ship and its systems, had always worked. They had been damaged, certainly, but they had always been repairable. Now those essential and dependable services were failing. The things she took for granted- knowing where she was, unlimited coffee from the replicator, even the shower, they had all failed repeatedly at some point or other, sometimes all at the same time.

With B’Elanna Paris and Corporal Miller’s help, Seven of Nine had started developing replacement gel packs. The first four had been pressed into service as soon as they had formed to replace faulty units. But they were not as efficient as the originals, yielding less than half of the performance required. A fact admitted by the perfectionist and annoyed Seven of Nine. So she had set about developing an improved pack with some urgency. The fact that they were regarded as almost impossible to create on a star ship had not been lost on anybody. She noted her success firmly in her log as a positive point, there was not going to be many of those.

It was now a race against time to see whether Seven would succeed before the computer finally failed. The fact that Seven of Nine had never failed before in any task she had set herself was a small glimmer of hope. Another point for the log.

The Colonel’s actions were also noted. Although he had little to do with the daily running of the ship. He was appearing everywhere and at all times, night and day, calming frayed tempers, taking on tasks to help those that were struggling, or even simply stopping to talk to those that were plainly fed up. She wondered when he found time to sleep.

If her vessel had been large enough in Star Fleets eyes to warrant a councillor, she would be hard pressed to think of a better candidate amidst all the expert Betazoids and other telepaths that made up the roster, she noted that wryly.

Carefully she closed the file, then realising she wasn’t going to be interrupted immediately, allowed her eyes to close. Just for a moment, she decided. Nobody would object to a few moments of rest. Her head tilted back and she slipped into sleep, to be jolted up again fifty minutes later by Tuvoks voice reporting another sensor failure.

Naomi Wildman almost crept into Cargo Bay 2. She was looking for company. Ideally Seven of Nines and gain her help with a new project that the Colonel had set for her. Of all the people aboard the ship, only Seven of Nine and the Colonel ever seemed not to be preoccupied by the latest or next set of ships failures, that made them good company.

She spotted her stooped over a control panel from her alcove, her hands rapidly working the controls of the panel, intent on what she was doing.

"Seven?" She asked cautiously, fearful of distracting the ex-Borg.

Seven of Nine straightened and turned from her alcove. “Crewman Naomi Wildman!” She observed calmly. The Borg alcove had been in dire need of calibration. Now she did not use it as regularly as she once had, preferring to use it simply for re-energising her implants rather than a refuge, it was more important than ever to try and keep it working as well as possible. So she had taken the chance between system failures and the need to examine her developing Gel Packs to do so. It still was not perfect, but a certain fatalism persuaded her to get it within specification and no more.

Share stared at Naomi. “You were supposed to be working with Neelix. State the purpose of your visit?”

“He had to go with Tuvok,” the girl informed her. “The Colonel suggested I should come and ask you for help.”

Her eyebrow rose quizzically. “State the nature of the assistance you require?”

Naomi’s face cracked into a smile of joy that the ex-borg was prepared to listen to her. “I’ve got to show it to you,” she explained quickly. “It’s something the Colonel made for me. He suggested it would make me more useful to the Captain as her helper!”

Seven raised her eyebrow even further. Naomi's desire to be helpful to the Captain was commendable, but it amused her as much as the prospect that she may be so. “Perhaps it might. State the nature of the device the Colonel has built?”

The Naomi's face screwed up into a worried frown trying to remember the Colonel’s description. “He said it was like something they used to navigate with in the old days before Star Ships. A Sextant,” she described in the end.

“He showed me how to use it, but he said you would be able to work out the mathematics without getting confused.” She added hopefully holding out her hand for Seven to take.

"I must inspect the replacement computer gel packs," Seven of Nine pointed out automatically, then considered the proposal more carefully.

She knew the Colonel was active in trying to stop the crew from brooding upon their situation. This had all his hallmarks, finding something to break the monotony for those he considered most in need.

"I can spare 1.5 hours," she agreed, taking Naomi's hand as she danced around her. "You will assist me in inspecting the new packs first."

“The Colonel has been adaptable,” Seven commented in cautious approval thirty minutes later, examining the sextant the Colonel had built.

It appeared to be three gun sights mounted on slides that allowed each set to be swivelled and tilted independently. The angles measured using carefully engraved vernier scales, giving a derived accuracy of better than .05 degrees. Whilst she was by no means impressed by the mechanical device or its accuracy. The principles behind it did make sense as a learning tool and she fully appreciated that the Colonel learned best by physically doing things. Naomi seemed to fall in the same category.

“It will not be accurate in the accepted sense of the term. But you may learn the principles of Astral Navigation, using this instrument.”

“We thought so!” Naomi declared happily. “We took bearings of three stars during the last computer failure.”

Seven of Nine glanced up and sighed as the lights flickered, signalling another computer failure, mentally noting the time using her internal chronometer, it was 09:58:20.

“Given the reliability of the computer at present, this device may be our most reliable method of plotting our position,” she mused dryly.

“You will realign your sights now. Then we will calculate our position in relation to your last sightings. Perhaps we can compare them with the last positional fix from Astrometrics later.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

When the lights dimmed, Tom and B'Elanna Paris were heading for brunch, a well deserved and recently rare meal together. She swung around wild eyed, reversing her smart trot towards the Mess and colliding with her spouse.

“Get out of my way!” She screamed at him, aiming a hard blow at his face before the surprised Lieutenant could respond, sending him reeling into the wall.

From there she ran back towards the Computer room, leaving him confused and nursing a cut lip.

He wondered if she had done any other damage, as he probed the area of impact. Certainly it felt as if at least one tooth was loose.

He also turned, but his route was towards the Sick Bay.

It was the Colonel who seemed to be on duty there and he greeted him cordially. “Good Morning Lieutenant. If you want to be treated professionally you will have to come back in two hours. Doctor is off duty.”

“You’ll do, Colonel,” he assured him.

“Suit yourself. Sit down on the chair and tilt your head back,” he agreed taking one glance at the bruised Lieutenant.

Tom Paris looked a little surprised but complied, the Colonel as always was working differently to everybody else. The Doctor preferred his victims to lay on the couch.

“Don’t tell me. I ought to see the other guy?” The Colonel suggested lightly, as he examined Toms growing bruises and mouth with gentle fingers and a pocket torch. “Who was it? B’Elanna?”

He nodded weakly.

“She must be spitting fire with all the system problems,” the Colonel mused, turning away for a moment to pick up a lint pad. “Now, sit still and don’t struggle. It won’t hurt as much.”

Grabbing his head firmly with one hand, he pushed finger and thumb of the other into his mouth. “You will feel me push and pull a little. The tooth is loose, so it will have to come out.”

A few seconds of struggle was it all it took, but it felt like a life time, before the Colonel handed him the fang and the lint cloth. “Don’t chew on it for a while, and avoid the Neelix’s nut ice cream, like the plague,” he recommended brightly.

“Would you like me to have a quiet word with Mrs Paris?” He added more sombrely. “You knew how difficult she could get before you married her, so you must have expected a few bumps on the way. But it was a little excessive if you didn’t do anything more than get in her way.”

Carefully Tom Paris shook his head. “I’ll try and keep out of her way until she calms down,” he declared. “You are right, she is not happy at the moment.”

The Colonel nodded. “Don’t leave it too long, or it will fester,” he warned. “When she has calmed down a little, perhaps you could get her to show you how to fix some of the simpler problems. It would mean you could give her a break from watching the damned computer.”

“Do you think she would trust me?” Tom asked.

“I don’t think she is at the point where she would trust me and an axe in the same room with it,” the Colonel opined. “But she must be getting close by now!”

Tom Paris grimaced at the level of desperation that B’Elanna would have sunk too, to entertain that idea. “I think I will go and have some of the days soup,” he said. “Before trying to see B’Elanna.”

“Excellent. I’ll join you,” the Colonel enthused. “Mrs Nine should be about ready to join me there.”

It was a less than convivial atmosphere in the Staff Meeting that afternoon. Every face showed its own tell tale signs of the strain they were suffering.

Captain Janeway studied them all as they settled uncomfortably to the table. B’Elanna’s was an almost permanent scowl. Tom Paris’s had obvious bruises, his face was swelling badly. She did not know where they had come from, but she could guess. Chakotay’s was a picture tiredness and worry lines. Even Ensign Kim and Neelix were unusually subdued. That left the Doctor, who had no choice about his appearance, yet still managed to convey a feeling of despair. Seven of Nine, seemed to be clutching the Colonel’s hand for comfort. She envied the ex-Borg that small comfort. And the Colonel. He had obviously dusted off the mask he used to wear, before Seven and he had crashed their way into each others lives. Tuvok’s face was impassive as always, it was never easy to tell with him. She wondered what was going through his mind.

She sighed regretfully. This was not going to be a good meeting. “We’ll start with the Computer,” she decided. “B’Elanna?”

B’Elanna scowled at her. “It is getting worse. Miller is doing everything to it, short of writing everything in the databases onto paper to keep it working.”

“I have another four gel packs ready for installation,” Seven of Nine offered. “The modifications appear to be satisfactory.”

“That will help,” B’Elanna admitted. “The first four are still in use and appear to be immune to the virus. It’s just they aren’t capable of the processing required.”

“How long before there are more ready?” Chakotay demanded sharply. “At the rate we are losing the system we will be down to stopping essential services.”

“If the packs are suitable we will produce four units per day. We need 110,” Seven of Nine announced.

The Captain did the required mental arithmetic and didn’t like the answer. “Four weeks. Isn’t there something we can do to speed it up further?”

Seven of Nine shook her head. “The development tanks were designed to operate independently of the ships systems. They have a limited generation capacity.”

“Can we survive four weeks?”

She looked pointedly at Neelix and the Colonel. “I’ve had fourteen people before me for disciplining. I suspect you have hidden or otherwise dealt with more, Colonel?”

“A few, Ma’am,” the Colonel admitted, rising to nibble at the bait. “I think, we have too many people with too little to do.”

“We can’t put anymore into stasis,” Chakotay snapped. “If there is a problem we will be struggling for crew as it is!”

The Colonel considered his hands for a moment.

“You have a suggestion?” Tuvok asked picking up on the action.

“It isn’t one that will be popular,” the Colonel admitted unhappily. “And it is a solution I’ve said I would not have anything to do with in the past. But I could drill them. It will take their minds of our current problems for most of the time. It depends upon how bad you think the situation is?”

The Captain lifted her eyes to the heavens and said a silent prayer. “I hope it won’t come to that,” she said quietly. “Star Fleet is not a military outfit like the one you belonged to, Colonel. We don't bully people like that. They are all skilled, intelligent people. I hope they will be able to control themselves.”

“Forgive me, Ma’am,” he acquiesced quickly. “But I have seen intelligent people that have gone to the limits of what they can endure. Those limits tend to be lower than the peasants, simply because they think they understand what is happening around them.”

His response was not received well by the rest of the meeting, soliciting more scowls.

“When will be out of this void?” The Captain continued doggedly, eager to avoid further discussion on the topic, before something was said to antagonise the proceedings further.

“That is unclear. I have not been able to carry out a full Astral scan since the computer failures began,” Seven of Nine pointed out. “I am attempting to approximate our position, using a device the Colonel built for Crewman Naomi Wildman.”

“Is there anything else? Like some good news?” The Captain sighed.

There were no more takers, leaving her to sum up and delegate. “B’Elanna and Seven, keep working on the computer. Try to keep it operating as well as possible. Chakotay and Harry, start looking for more systems that we can survive without. Shut down all but essential replicators, compress the decks, anything that will take the load off the computer. Alan, you and Neelix try and keep things calm on the decks. Dismissed” She finished trying to sound more positive than she felt and gazed around the assembly as they scrambled to their feet and left.

Only the Colonel remained. He appeared not to have heard her command and was still considering his hands.

“Alan. Did you hear me?” She tried again.

He started in surprise. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. Were you referring to me?”

She smiled weakly, leaning forward. It was true, he did not always recognise his name. “Yes. You are the only ‘Alan’ aboard the ship. I need your help and support to look after the crew.”

“You know that is always there, Ma’am,” he pointed out, his hands flat on the table. “One suggestion though, Ma’am. Go and see Miss Wildman. She wants to show you her mapping. It might do you both good.” He rose, saluted and left.

The Captain did as the Colonel had suggested and went in search of Naomi Wildman. She accepted without question his comment that Naomi would appreciate her visit, but was less certain about his opinion that she would benefit as well.

She found the young girl on her own in the forward observation lounge, fusing over large sheets of paper.

“Well what have we here?” She asked gently, casually walking upto Naomi to examine the paperwork she was working on.

“It’s an astral chart,” Naomi explained proudly looking up, her face breaking into a huge grin of delight at the Captains interest. “Seven gave me the details of the stars that we can see from her map in Astrometrics, then helped me to place the markers so I could find suitable stars.”

“Then what do you do with it?” The Captain asked in apparent interest, leaning over the sheet and examining the small dots and the less neat numbers written beside them.

“I take sightings of the three major ones and plot them on the chart, like these.” Naomi pointed to a series of small ‘x’s also drawn on the chart, again a series of numbers were written against them. Correlating to the numbers against some of the star positions.

“It’s nearly time I made another set. You can help me if you like?” She offered.

“I think I might like that,” the Captain admitted with a grin of her own. “Is that the instrument you are using?” She pointed towards the sextant that was mounted in the observation window. “I’ve never seen anything like that!”

Naomi grinned at her. “Nor had Seven, but she said it was more reliable than anything else we had. It is very easy to use,” she enthused. “It’s the mathematics afterwards that I can’t do properly. Seven tried to explain it, but I didn’t understand all of it. Would you help me. Please!”

The Captain smiled warmly. It would not hurt to let herself relax for a little while, even if it was with a rather abstract mathematical problem. “Of course. But I haven’t done any mathematics like that for years. I’m going to be a little rusty,” she warned.

“That’s alright, Captain. Even Seven struggled for a while and the Colonel couldn’t do it at all!” Naomi assured her.

The sudden thought of Seven struggling over a primitive mathematical equation had the Captain almost giggling and gave her hope for her own attempt. “You take the readings and I’ll brush up on the formulae,” she said encouragingly, setting herself at the table.

Curiously she watched Naomi expertly sight down the three gunsights and read off the numbers against the scale. She wrote down the numbers on the girls command. Then watched as she drew out a series of triangles on more sheets of paper. Another Colonel influence, she reasoned, using paper doodles to try and make problems simpler.

Together they settled at the table to manually work through series upon series of triangulation formulae.

The Colonel, devoid of any specific duties, wandered the ships corridors. Stopping to talk quietly with those that seemed to have the time, need for distraction or simply needed a helping hand. Always addressing them by name, but always managing to combine ‘friendly’ with ‘formal’. It was not anything that he had learnt or could be taught from a book, it was born from long experience and made easier by his strange status aboard the ship. A crewman and officer, but not one. It made the crew, in general, open with him as he begged to be shown what they did and how.

The fact that he still insisted on saluting those he talked to and frequently used the honorifics ‘Sir’ and ‘Mister’ as appropriate from his training, universally amused the crew, even now, after two years aboard. A factor that had not passed his notice and there were times he deliberately played the role to its fullest extent. There were times when his progress down the corridor had his right arm whirling like a windmill.

It was something he was consciously doing now. He could positively feel the strain on the ship as the systems failed. He knew what it was and why, but had no idea where and when it would flare up. If it did come to a head, he was not even sure of what he could do about it. His Rules of Engagement against which he had promised to follow, prevented any direct assistance to an internal dispute. But a failure of discipline would spell the end of Voyager. He would simply have to be indirect and try and prevent it coming to a head.

This conclusion led him to direct has saunter towards the central computer room. Whilst he had made a half promise to Tom Paris not to get involved directly in his tiff, he felt there was still scope for a quiet chat with B'Elanna and lay the seeds for something more if needed.

He found her glaring at the Computer Core, daring it to crash again.

“May I offer the assistance of a steel toe capped boot in the delicates, Lieutenant?” He offered brightly. He did not look at her as he came to a halt by her side.

She scowled, but said nothing.

The Colonel sighed, she had been like this for over a week and not just with Tom Paris. “Don’t take it so hard,” he counselled. “The problems are not your fault.”

“It was my idea to run the simulation that caused the damage,” she hissed tensing as if she wanted to strike out at him.

“The simulation may have been, and as the intended victim perhaps I should be get more worked up about it,” he agreed mildly. “But the problem may have appeared at any time. It could have been much worse. As it is we have to live with it, you and Mrs Nine have to try and fix it. But you don’t have to try and do it alone. There are others that can help and one that is hurting because you won’t let him.”

“This isn’t something Tom can do. He knows what I am like,” she snapped.

“And if he can’t take the heat, he should get out of the kitchen!” The Colonel interrupted. “I know those sayings by heart. I’ve used them myself. But have you considered what happens afterwards? When you have become used to company, it can become very lonely when it isn’t there anymore. Don’t take my word for it, ask Mrs Nine.”

She whirled around at him as the implication struck her. “He wouldn’t?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he assured her. “But the crack you gave him this morning, damned near broke his jaw. How many of those would you accept? Think about it Lieutenant. Even if he can’t patch this box of crap for you, he may be able to help you in ways other than being a punch bag.”

He saluted, turned and was about to leave when B’Elanna’s comm sounded. “Lieutenant Torres-Paris to Engineering. Immediate.”

It looked for a moment as if B’Elanna was not going to respond to the summons. It prompted the Colonel to interrupt her seeming deliberations.

“May I be permitted to escort you, Ma’am?” He held out an arm, as if offering an escort to a date.

Despite herself, B’Elanna could not resist the giggle at the strange and inappropriate action.

She took the proffered arm, whispering. “If Seven finds out and objects, I’ll break your arm!”

“If Mrs Nine finds out, she will probably break the other one,” he responded, leading her out.

"Engineering to Captain," B'Elanna's voice disturbed Captain Janeway as she was watching Naomi making the latest neat mark onto her chart.

She stretched uncomfortably before responding. She had spent over an hour going over the calculations with Naomi. Despite that she had been enjoying the careful calculation and recalculating the complicated equations. It had proved a refreshing change to intentionally attempt to manually calculate an answer as opposed to simply asking the computer for an answer, allowing her to forget, however temporarily, her larger problems. Briefly she wondered if that was what the Colonel had intended. It would be typical of him.

"We have a new a problem. There is a constriction in the collectors."

A new twist of dread hit her with B'Elanna's announcement.

"You're sure it isn't another computer glitch?" She demanded without much hope.

"Checked it. It's not a computer fault. Miller has confirmed it."

She gripped the table in alarm. If there was a problem with the Bussards, then the ship would be in deep trouble very quickly, they would be starting to expend more fuel than they collected.

"I'm on my way," she responded leaping to her feet.

She turned back to Naomi. She was looking up at her in concern. "Will everything be alright, Captain?"

Captain Janeway forced herself to reassuring smile. "I'm sure it will be. And you should keep up your mapping, it is an important role for a Captains Assistant. To be able to give her answers to questions."

"Like the Colonel?" Naomi responded brightly. "He always finds answers."

The suggestion made her pause uncomfortably. The Colonel's forte was providing answers to questions she did not know she had yet. "Something like that," she agreed, patting her comfortingly on the shoulder and heading for the door.

"Captain. Where have the stars gone?" Naomi burst out.

Naomi's sudden cry made her spin around before she reached the door. "What did you say?" She demanded sharply.

Naomi was sitting staring at the view port pointing at it. "I could see stars when we sat down. They aren't there anymore!"

The Captain gazed out the window herself. Naomi was right the small flecks of light that had been there a few hours ago were missing. She starred at it dumbly.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I am going to find out!"

With renewed determination she headed for the Bridge.

"What has happened?" She demanded storming onto the Bridge.

"B'Elanna has reported a problem with the Bussards. She is working on them now. Ship is stationary until the problem is fixed. External sensors have just failed. We are checking for a computer malfunction," Chakotay briefed her quickly.

"It isn't a computer malfunction," she snapped irritably, collapsing into her seat. "There is nothing to be seen out the view ports either! I want a full briefing in an hour." Nervously she reached for her comm badge, then suddenly realising there was nothing to do, she headed for the Ready Room.

"I can't clear the constriction," B'Elanna announced in the Captains briefing. "It's external. I'm having the ducting stripped to see if we can identify what it is."

"How can it be external, there's nothing out there? And there is no fault in the sensors, diagnostics proved clean," Kim argued.

"There wasn't, and now there aren't any stars either," the Captain corrected him. "Why did the sensors miss it? Another computer fault? Tuvok? Seven?"

"The sensor routines were running at 80% efficiency, except during the system failure at 09:58," Seven of Nine responded.

"That would be too long ago for this," Chakotay mused. "Do they offer any idea as to what there is or why they can't sense what it is?"

"The sensor systems are currently operational," Tuvok said blandly. "They give no indication of any objects outside the ship."

"Something is blocking the Bussard collectors," B'Elanna insisted her eyes flashing in anger. "Whatever it is it's big enough and thick enough to stop them scavenging the hydrogen we need for power!"

The discussion raged on for another fifteen minutes, before the Colonel, getting bored with the circular arguments, coughed loudly. It forced a moments pause between the bickering voices.

"We'll solve the argument by physically looking," the Captain decreed, shooting the Colonel a grateful look as she did so. "We will have to to clear the Bussards anyhow. Chakotay, arrange a work party."

“I will go! We require additional data,” Seven of Nine volunteered.

“That is settled then," the Captain decreed. “Dismissed.”

“What happens if we haven’t actually dropped out of Warp?” The Colonel asked pensively, as the suited team of nine prepared to emerge onto the ships casing. Silently he cursed Seven of Nine for volunteering to go outside. If she had not, he would not be here either. Unusually for him, he had taken his comparative failure to get the hang of space walking as a sign that it was something he did not wish to become proficient in and was quite prepared to wait until it was necessary. But she had asked him to act as her partner on the ships casing, he could not refuse a request like that. Besides she was stepping into dangerous territory. That alone was enough for him to want to join her. Now he was hoping he would manage to avoid being sick again.

“If we haven’t and you go outside you won’t feel a thing, Sir,” a crewman chuckled. “You will dissolve into atoms as soon as you leave. That’s why we push out a marker first.”

“So comforting,” the Colonel muttered, pulling down his visor.

Seven of Nine turned and checked he had locked it into place properly, then purposefully clipped a line to him. The other end she secured to her own belt.

“So we both go together?” He suggested over the intercom.

“I will not have you getting into danger,” she asserted turning to follow the crew as the outer hatch opened.

“Seaweed?” The Colonel claimed in surprise, as he stepped out onto the the lower section of the saucer. “The ship is covered in seaweed!” Then shut his eyes as his mind started to reel from the distances involved.

The analogy was well made. The ship did appear to be covered in long green and brown tendrils. They appeared to be growing perceptibly as they watched.

The warp nacelles themselves appeared to have turned into thick bushes under the weight of the green fronds that they were wading through.

The crew, using suit thrusters jetted away to investigate the problems with the nacelles. Leaving Seven of Nine and the Colonel standing together near the airlock watching their expert progress.

Seven peered into the Colonels visor. “You may open your eyes now," she sounded amused. "We will take a sample of the Seaweed. Perhaps you can identify the species.” She bent forward to pull at a frond.

The Colonel did as he was told but kept his eyes pointing firmly downwards, fighting of the dizziness.

“Assist me,” she demanded as she pulled harder on the fronds anchor, finding it stuck hard.

“You wouldn’t let me bring anything sharp,” the Colonel pointed out mildly.

“Slow down a little, this stuff is slippery!” His voice ended in a cry as Seven of Nine tugged harder on the object of her interest and losing her footing as the weed gave up its tenuous grip of the hull.

She span away, temporarily out of control, tugging on the safety line that joined them, making his own boots slide. Desperately the Colonel grabbed for and held a handful of fronds, wrapping them around his arm until they checked his own slipping.

“You're supposed to stop me running off!” He chided, feeling his nausea returning as he pulled them both back to the safety of the ship.

“I miss-calculated the level of adhesion,” she excused herself hurriedly. "Your response was sufficient."

Over the intercom she heard his chuckle. “And if I hold my hands up to your visor I can feel the embarrassment through my gloves. Still no harm done, Ma’am. And you still seem to have your prize.”

She didn’t respond to his teasing, instead she concentrated on retrieving and examining her tricorder. “There is an atmosphere forming,” she announced in bemusement. “I am detecting a low level of Oxygen and Nitrogen!”

“Excellent. I think we can safely conclude there is something out here. Can we go and have a cup of tea?” The Colonel enquired nervously. He didn’t like the way the fronds seemed to be growing around him.

“We should see if this growth is present on the sensor array first.”

She sounded very insistent and determined he decided. “Carry on, Ma’am. I think if we stand here for long we are going to look like ivy covered garden gnomes. Good grief this stuff grows quick! I thought the ground laurel at home was bad!”

They started walking towards a vantage point that would allow them to see the main sensor array towards the front of the engineering hull, holding each others arms to prevent each other slipping.

“I think there is a problem down there,” the Colonel announced slowly as they viewed where the deflector dish was supposed to be from their vantage point. Like the nacelles it had disappeared in a riot of weed. "It's a ruddy jungle down there!"

“I think we need to get back,” he added, a warning bell sounding in his mind. “When we came out this stuff was barely up to our knees. Now we appear to be wading through it waist deep and its only been twenty minutes!”

“Agreed!”

“The weed is too tough to pull away!” A disjointed voice came over the intercom. "We will have to cut it!"

“Is anybody else's visor going green?” A second interrupted.

There was several moments silence as the whole party considered their small windows on the world.

Seeing a green tint starting to show on his visor had the Colonel shouting in alarm. “Everybody in! At the double!”

Quickly he started back, pulling Seven of Nine with him. Scrapping at the green haze over his visor. It wasn’t working, he could now barely see through it.

“Has your visor furred up, Seven?” He asked quietly, after a few minutes and coming to a halt. “I think we may be lost. I can barely tell light and dark!”

“Yes. I have been attempting to scrap it off,” she admitted.

“So have I,” he agreed. “I don’t suppose you have a phasor?”

“No.”

“Any ideas as to which way we should go?”

“No.”

“Should I start worrying?”

“You will be efficient!” She instructed him.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he responded calmly. “But I use my eyes like you use computers. The problem is there is no uphill here. We could be walking around the edge for all I know!”

"Colonel to Voyager. Is anybody listening?"

The ships comm also appeared dead.

He pondered for a moment. “There are emergency hatches on every deck. If I can find one can you open it from outside?”

“Yes. But they are not airlocks. If we use one, air will be forcibly ejected until a force field establishes itself. It will blow us off the hull and may prove a danger to the crew,” she pointed out.

“We’ll deal with that when we have to,” he responded. “I want you to stand absolutely still. I’m going to walk around you as best I can in this jungle. Keep the safety line taught and give me a tug when you feel the line is straight ahead of you. If I don’t find one on the first lap, join me, then I can try again.”

The ships computer controlled communications system failed shortly after the work party set out. Sending B'Elanna scurrying to find the fault and the Captain pacing impatiently upon the Bridge.

They had heard the Colonel's comment about seaweed and his recapturing Seven. Then nothing until the airlock started to recycle forty minutes later. It had her flying towards the Suiting Room as a bag of nerves, Chakotay close behind her.

“Where is the Colonel and Seven of Nine?” The Captain demanded as the work party as they divested themselves of their suits.

“They went to try and inspect the Sensor Array, Captain,” a crewman claimed. “They were on their way back, when the Colonel ordered us back.”

“So where are they?” She demanded.

“I don’t know, Captain,” he answered wretchedly. “We only just managed to find the hatch ourselves. The weed is shoulder level out there and I couldn’t see a thing through the visor!” He waved at his helmet to prove the point.

She turned to examine the helmet and suit he had removed. The once white space suit was now covered in a fine green moss.

“Get another team suited to go and find them!” She demanded. “Then take a sample of this stuff to the labs for examination.” She indicated at the moss.

“We may not be able to examine it adequately until the computer is brought online,” Tuvok pointed out calmly. “Nor is it wise to send another crew outside until we have some idea of what we are facing.”

“I already have two crewmen outside,” the Captain stormed. “They are lost and I want them back. They can’t wait for the computer! If they’re lucky they will only have a couple of hours air left!”

Seven of Nine felt the line in her hand tug hard, then heard the Colonel gasp and curse as he slipped and landed heavily. For nearly an hour they had been performing their improvised search pattern. The Colonel moving around her as far as the lead and the weeds would permit, searching for any clue of a possible opening into the ship, often on his hands and knees amidst the thick undergrowth. Desperately groping through the base of the weed for signs of deck plates. When he returned to his start position, Seven moved to meet him and he would start again. They both knew it was a desperate measure, they could, despite her caution and keen senses, be working in circles of their own and he could quite simply miss an entrance. The whole exercise was getting more difficult as the weed grew around them at an increasing rate, making movement ever more difficult. I factor that was impressed upon Seven of Nine when the tether joining her to the Colonel was suddenly snatched from her hand.

“Colonel!” She called pensively, bending to try and retrieve the line.

“I’m alright. I think,” he claimed cautiously. “I tripped on something. I think I may have damaged the suit. It doesn’t feel right in here. Two moments.”

It seemed like an eternity for his reply to come to her. Not knowing exactly where the Colonel was, unbeckoned thoughts started to crowd her mind as to the seemingly endless silence from her partner.

“I seem to have a puncture in the leg,” he announced at last. “I’m holding it closed at the moment. But I think I could use a little help about now. If you’re not too busy, please Seven?”

She tried to move towards him, but found she couldn’t. The now opaque visor preventing her from seeing that the fronds of weed on her suit had entangled with the fronds attached to the ship, effectively tying her to the one spot. She could feel them tugging at her though, it felt as though they were pulling her down.

“I am unable to move!” She exclaimed in alarm.

“Okay. Stay calm,” he responded gently. “I’ve found the puncture kit. Heaven knows if it will hold on all this muck though!”

As quickly as he could he set about the repair of his suit.

The uncertainty led him to apply almost the whole tube of instant sealing solution. Not just over the cut, but through it onto his leg as well. Finally pushing the ends of the slit closed and pressing it firmly to his leg. As an added precaution he pulled several of the fronds that festooned his leg and wrapped them tightly over the cut, tying them off.

“I think that might hold for a while,” he muttered.

“Are we still talking, Seven?” He asked lightly.

“I am still here,” she promised, recognising the danger signs of the Colonel’s forced humour. He always reacted like that if he felt in imminent danger. It was one of his self protection systems cutting in. It helped him withstand stresses he could not deal with.

“I am glad,” he responded. “I feel as though I’ve had a night on the Razz!”

“Explain?” She demanded, becoming more alarmed.

“A night drinking strong alcohol. Thumping headache, dizziness.”

His speech was also slurred compared to his natural crisp tones.

“You have decompression sickness,” Seven announced immediately. “You require immediate medical assistance.”

“I don’t think the Doctor is going to make a house call anytime in the immediate future,” he slurred. “I’m coming to find you. Can you pull me in?”

Gently she started to haul on the tether that held them together, then harder as she felt the resistance increase.

A second team of four men stepped out an hour after the Captain had called for the assembly of a second squad. Led by Commander Chakotay, each was tethered to the next by a long length of line. They also carried phasors.

“The weed must be over four metres in length!” He gasped. “I’m going to try looking from aloft.”

With that he deactivated his boots and drifted into apace until he was stopped by the line. From this vantage point he could see almost a quarter of the lower side of Voyagers saucer section, the section they thought Seven of Nine and the Colonel were still on, and the sea of weed that covered it. The weed waved gently, almost as if there was a breeze blowing across it. But of Seven of Nine and the Colonel there was no sign.

“Chakotay to the Colonel!” he tried his intercom.

He was relieved by the almost immediate but drunk response. “Lovely day for a walk, Sir!”

Despite the situation he smiled at the Colonel’s response. “Where are you?” He asked.

“Specifically or generally?” The Colonel fired back. “Generally. I think we are still on the saucer. Specifically. I haven’t a clue. We haven’t been able to see anything for at least an hour!”

“Where is Seven?” He asked.

“I am with the Colonel, Commander,” she acknowledged calmly. “Be aware that the Colonel has decompression sickness and I am entangled in weed. We are sharing our air supply.”

“We are coming to get you. Don’t move!” He declared, trying to get a fix on their broadcasts. The implication of what Seven of Nine had said and his own command struck him as he did so. “Sorry!” He added apologetically, he could almost see Seven of Nine’s quizzical eyebrow rise at his command.

“The fix on your transponder signals is not as accurate as it could be,” he commented. “I could walk right past you and not know!”

“Commander?” The Colonel spoke up suddenly. “If I cut free of Mrs Nines pack, she can pay me out like a balloon. Would that help you find her?”

“What about your air supply?” He demanded.

“It isn’t exhausted,” he assured him. “Just a little thin. I’ll last for a while.”

“How short is he, Seven?”

“Uncertain,” she admitted. “We cannot ascertain the extent of the loss after the damage to his suit.”

“Do as he says,” Chakotay sighed. “I can use the thrusters to get to you. We have enough line to reach almost the whole of the saucer.” The last statement was a lie. He was not wearing a thruster pack and they had barely 100 Metres of line between them. But he was hopeful that they would not be too far away and he would be able to pull them back before his own visor furred up too badly to find his way.

Seven of Nine considered the Commanders command carefully.

Neither she nor the Colonel had any idea how much air he had lost. She knew precisely how long they had been outside, 2 hours 12 minutes. She even knew precisely how long the Colonel had been linked to her survival pack, after she realised how short of the life giving commodity he was, 32 minutes. That would give them about twenty minutes of shared air. It might not be enough if they were any distance from the air lock.

It was a difficult decision. One that the Colonel quietly took away from her in the 4 seconds she considered it, by disconnecting his air pipe from her set.

“I’ll see you aboard,” he whispered shallowly as he floated up out of the weeds.

She felt the tug of the line as it reached its extents, and the answering tugs from the fronds that bound her.

“The Colonel is aloft,” she announced. “Arrive quickly. There is insufficient air in his suit for him to survive for long.”

“I see him! Looks like a bundle of weed, 80 Metres away,” Chakotay declared. “I’m coming.”

He struck out. Swinging his arms back in an exaggerated breast stroke, he started drifting towards the Colonel.

“Pay out the line and follow as it finishes!” He demanded of his crew as he drifted gently towards the Colonel.

He covered the distance in a few minutes, and grabbed at the hanging man as he arrived, wrapping his arms around his waist. He did not appear to notice, though the impact in the weightlessness of space must have felt like the impact of hitting a wall at the run. It certainly stung Chakotay. Seven of Nine did notice and she let out a yelp of her own as the entangling vines tightened around her body.

“I’ve got him, Seven! But he doesn’t seem to be over communicative!” He declared. “I’m following the line towards you.”

Hand over hand he pulled his way down towards the struggling Seven of Nine. He could just make out, through his fogging visor, another bundle of the weed that appeared to be moving independently of the rest.

“Is that you, Seven?” He asked quietly. Giving the bundle an experimental tug.

“Yes!”

“I’m going to try and burn you free. Stand still!” He demanded. Unshipping his phasor rifle he set it for a wide beam and started to play it around the the area in which she stood.

Gradually she felt her bindings become less restricting, until with a last tug she was free and starting to float off the hull.

Chakotay sprang after her. Grabbing at her rapidly receding boot.

“Got you!” He exclaimed. “Start pulling us in!”

The Doctor crouched over the Colonel as soon as he was dragged from the airlock and his helmet removed. He was slightly blue from the lack of oxygen, but otherwise seemed to be in one piece.

“He is not badly affected!” He declared in surprise. “There hasn’t been any severe oxygen shortage. He should make a full recovery in a day or two. I’ll give him a stimulant to suppress the oxygen starvation. What has he done with his leg?”

“There is a puncture under the weed,” Seven of Nine gasped, blinking after the bright lights compared to the darkness she had suffered for the previous few hours. Still struggling in the weed bindings that the crew were trying to pull from her.

“He sealed that,” the Doctor admitted casually, cutting the suit away from around the rubber emergency sealant. “But did he have to glue his leg to it as well?”

“He did not think the sealant would work effectively over the weed.”

“I need solvents to release it,” the Doctor mused. “I’ll get some from Engineering. In the mean time. If he wakes quicker than he ought. Then get him to rest,” he demanded. “Even if you have to tie him up in these weeds!”

“How is the Colonel?” Captain Janeway asked in concern, as her staff conference opened.

“He is annoyed. The Doctor has him restrained in sick bay,” Seven of Nine reported calmly.

"Restrained! Why?" the Captain spluttered.

Seven looked at her in wide eyed innocence. "He had a disagreement with the Doctor about his fitness for duty. He collapsed trying to escape."

“When will he back with us?” The Captain kept up doggedly hiding her amusement. The Colonel positively hated being in Sick Bay, especially as a patient.

“The Doctor has quoted six days before the effects have been overcome.”

The Captain sighed. “I’m sorry, Seven,” she apologised. “I didn’t expect things to be that bad outside.”

Seven of Nine shrugged. “He carried out the functions necessary for our safety.”

"What caused him to puncture the suit?" Tom Paris asked looking up.

"He thought it was a deck plate from the outer hull," Kim briefed them. "The weed is creating increased stress on the hull. But there are no breaches reported."

“Okay. The Computers?” The Captain demanded, quickly changing the subject. "When can they be brought up again?"

“Miller reports he lost four packs, before he could rescue the data, in the last outage," B'Elanna announced. "He wants us to restart the whole thing again. We can bring it down tomorrow."

"Is there some good news?"The Captain sighed.

"Seven's latest packs are working perfectly and Miller thinks he has a handle on the source of the virus. But he will have to rebuild a lot of the code himself to remove it and it will take several days."

"If he does that, he will become part of the system," Tuvok pointed out.

“I don't think we have a lot of choice," the Captain sighed. "We need the computer. Give him a freehand, but keep an eye on him. I'll advise the Colonel. Power?”

“The Emergency power system is stable and we’ve taken as many systems off-line to ease the load. We should be safe for quite a while. But we are now controlling some automatic systems manually," B’Elanna reported.

“Impulse Engines?”

“They have been cleared and are available. But until we know where we are going I dare not make them operational.”

“Warp Drive?” The Captain asked hopefully.

“Until the weed is removed from the nacelles, they will remain inoperational,” Seven announced.

That brought them uncomfortably to the subject of the weed that now infested the ship.

“What is the weed?” The Captain demanded. “Why did it infect the ship? How did it get here?”

“The source and nature of the weed is unknown, Captain,” Tuvok spoke up. “We will not be able to obtain additional data until the Computer comes on-line.”

“The Colonel described the weed as being like ‘Seaweed’,” Seven described.

“Okay. It’s seaweed,” The Captain agreed. “How do we get rid of it?”

There were blank looks and silence from around the table, broken at last by Kim. “We are finding it difficult to analyse,” he admitted. “Without the computer to interpret, we are having to rely on trying to understand the results from the tricorders. We don’t understand where it came from, let alone why it is growing on our hull!”

"Perhaps we should deploy the same methods as the Colonel advocates in these circumstances?" Seven of Nine suggested calmly.

"What! Guess?" Kim disputed scornfully.

Captain Janeway managed to look pained at the suggestion. Seven, herself, bit back at the Ensign’s scorn for her husband and his unconventional methods.

"The Colonel doesn't guess! He adapts to the situation," She asserted. "He assimilates the facts that are available. Then attempts to place a reasonable estimation to the solution."

"That is what we are attempting to do," Chakotay responded mildly.

"We are attempting to calculate answers that are irrelevant in our present state. We are attempting to discover 'How' and 'Why' it exists," Seven corrected him. "The Colonel does not attempt to do that. He responds to the facts he knows, to achieve an immediate goal- The release of the ship. He ignores the facts he does not know or are unnecessary to achieve the goal."

"So how does that work for us, Seven?" The Captain put in quietly, prepared to grasp for any potential solution to their quandary and lack of progress.

"We start by noting the features we do know about the weed, and the circumstances we are in. Starting at the most basic levels," Seven of Nine responded immediately. "Then discard any that do not appear to have a value and treat those we do understand. It is an approach we have observed him use frequently during his training on the ships systems."

"I think I understand," Chakotay mused, vividly remembering the Colonels struggles trying to get to grips with their world. "Don't bother looking for reasons, just find a solution. Don't worry about the details," he reinterpreted.

"Precisely!"

The Captain grinned suddenly. "That is a change in attitude from you, Seven," she said in amusement. "You are normally the one that wants to know how everything works!"

Seven of Nine regarded her coolly. "My attitude is a pragmatic one, Captain. I still desire to find the reasons for the existence of the weed," she admitted. "But we are unable to adequately explore the subject with the ship festooned and short of power."

"Okay!" She agreed readily. "As you seem to understand the difference between him and us, better than the rest of us. And you have first hand experience of the weed, you had better start. Call in anybody that you may need for assistance. How long will you need?"

"Uncertain," she responded. "I may wish to engage the Colonel's assistance. His methods are not logical."

The meeting grinned as one at the last statement. Seven had advocated the Colonel's methods, but she was accepting that the dividing line that lay between them was not going to be easy for her to follow.

Seven of Nine considered the pile of weed that lay on the bench in the science lab carefully. It was a mottled brown and green. Clammy, almost rubbery to the touch. The bundle that had been brought in was nearly four metres in length and had been held to the ships skin by ‘Bulb’ like growths at the end. A single 55mm wide ribbon emanated from the top of the bulb, whilst a number of root like cords grew from the bottom. The ribbon itself had a serrated edge which explained how they managed to tangle together, at least in one direction. At various points along their length a number of blisters appeared to be forming. She guessed that these were probably seed pods. The cords were strong and wiry, but they did not seem to be used to attach the weed to the ship, the bulb seemed to have that function secreting a glue like substance. Rather they seemed to grow parallel to the surface.

From there she was stuck. Her knowledge of botany was at best sketchy. That meant she would need help. There was no ships botanist. Ensign Ayala being an exobiologist might give some answers as to the plants life cycle. But Seven wanted to know how to combat it. The only answer she could come up with was Hydroponics and Ensign Hemmark.

She turned on her heel and marched out the room. As the door closed behind her a seed blister popped, sending a tiny cloud of microscopic seed into the atmosphere. The seeds had vanished into the ships atmosphere long before she returned with the arguing Ensign.

“I don’t know anything about seaweed. I have beds to prepare,” Hemmark complained as they entered the lab.

“You do know about the propagation and control of plants,” Seven responded calmly gripping him firmly by the upper arm. “As such your knowledge of plant life may be of assistance.”

She ushered him towards the mass of weed.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” the Ensign asserted, trying to turn away.

“Nor has anybody else,” Seven pointed out patiently. “The Colonel often says that because it looks different as a whole, it doesn’t mean that individual aspects are. The skin of the weed feels clammy, like damp leather. Do you know of a plant like that?”

“Yes,” the Ensign admitted. “The Hectrum on Saras III, even the Earth Rubber plant.”

“How would you control those plants?” She asked immediately.

“You break the skin surface with a mild alkaline,” he responded immediately.

“There are alkali in the closet. Pick a suitable one and test it,” Seven demanded.

The Ensign still muttering turned to the cupboard and retrieved a strong alkaline as ordered and stooped to apply a drop. It had no effect.

“There was a blister here,” he commented, examining the weed more closely. “You can see a slight ridge.”

Seven of Nine bent to examine the area he had pointed to. “A seed pod has burst,” she agreed. “There is no indication of the seed in the area.”

“Many plants forcibly eject the seed from pods like that,” Hemmark offered. “They’ll be around.”

“What size would they be?”

“Looking at the other blisters. They could be a few millimetres in diameter, perhaps a little smaller,” he described.

“Smaller than a micron?” She queried urgently.

“I wouldn’t have thought so. Why?”

“They could have entered the ventilation system,” she explained uneasily. “Test the alkaline again.”

He repeated the previous experiment. This time nothing happened. Again they examined the weed. There appeared to be no change.

“What other features do you recognise about this plant life?”

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose the bulbs are like spring onions? But they are producing runners like ivy. So that makes them like Nepturac on Klingon. It’s leaves are waxy as well. But I don’t know how to control that, it’s usually a struggle to keep it alive!”

“Explain?” She demanded.

“It doesn’t like water,” he explained. “People grow it for the black flowers.”

Taking her stern look as an order, he turned for the replicator and came back with a tumbler of water. This he emptied onto the weed. Nothing visible happened. They both sighed in disappointment.

“Continue experimenting with remedies you are aware of,” Seven demanded. “I will seek out Ensign Ayala to assist us.”

Two days later Captain Janeway went to see the Colonel in the Sickbay. The Doctor had insisted that he spend time resting in Sick Bay after he had recovered consciousness and despite his repeated attempts to escape. Eventually he had resorted to persuading Seven of Nine to threaten restraints for her recalcitrant husband to get him to accept it.

Ostensibly she was going to keep him company. For power reasons the Doctor was being kept off-line as often as possible, so the Colonel was often on his own there. But she was also after something from him. His fabled listening ear and some of the calm control, help and advice he seemed to offer to Seven.

She found him sitting on his bunk, still looking pale from his foray outside. "Seven thinks we need to think like you do!" She claimed.

"So I believe, Ma’am,” he responded cautiously. I think I am quite flattered. Though I wasn't aware there was a major difference, Ma'am."

"She thinks there is," the Captain assured him. "I'm inclined to agree, there is a difference in approach and I'm hoping it is going to make a difference to how quickly we make progress."

"Perhaps that is where the difference lies?" The Colonel suggested gently.

She folded her arms and looked at him quizzically.

"The way you live relies on having all the answers to all the questions. Generally the moment you want them." he explained. "When you can't, you immediately start to think there is something wrong and start to worry about it. It becomes your overriding concern."

"And you?" Captain Janeway asked, fascinated now.

"I don't give a damn!" The Colonel laughed. "I just deal with the crisis, with what I've got. If I don't know something, then I have to get by without it. It's is easy then to think it isn't of great interest until afterwards."

"But that doesn't mean I am necessarily right, Ma'am," he added quickly, catching her now mesmerised gaze.

"You seem to get away with it," she responded.

He grinned. "There is a good reason for that." he pointed out.

"I know, Seven of Nine." the Captain laughed at his accustomed response, releasing herself from his spell.

The Colonel grinned at her. "In this case, No. It's because I'm stupid and stubborn. Now I've answered your question, Ma'am. May I ask one?"

"I haven't finished asking yet!" She disputed. "And I know what you are going to ask. The answer is 'When the Doctor releases you!'."

"Even if I promise, 'Light duties only', Ma'am," he begged. "I'll even promise, 'No more space walks!"

She looked surprised at the last one. "I don't believe you!" she said. "It would last until somebody got into trouble! But I will talk to him for you," she agreed, calming down again in light of his expectant face.

"Thank you, Ma'am!" He sighed. "Even just being able to go to the Mess and my billet would be better than this!"

"Now what other questions are you hoping for answers for?" He continued. "I don't have any idea how to deal with the Sargasso Sea out there either!"

"The Sargasso!" She looked at him quickly. "That was a myth, it supposedly wrecked ships!"

"It existed, Ma'am," he disputed. "And as for wrecking ships. We appear to be pretty well stuck."

She nodded. "I suppose we are. What else do you know about it?"

"The sum of my knowledge, Ma'am. Except perhaps the sea monsters?"

"I doubt there will be many of those," the Captain offered quickly. "So what do you recommend?"

"Patience, Ma'am. Let Mrs Nine root out everything she needs and talk to the right people."

They regarded each other in relaxed and companionable silence for a few minutes until the silence became uncomfortable.

"Thinking of plants, Ma’am. How are the ones you planted in your quarters?" He asked raising an eyebrow in a most Sevenesque style.

"I've more important things to do!" She began to snap. Then smiled suddenly. "Isn't there anything you don't know about aboard this ship! How did you know? It was supposed to be a secret!"

He shrugged. "More than you might think. But in this case Ensign Hemmark told me you had asked for seeds. Not planning for retirement, Ma'am?"

"I only got 80% in your test. I want 100 next time," she laughed. "Besides, I decided I liked the additional colour and I'm not having you spring that sort of surprise on me again."

She turned to go then had a second thought. "I'm not the only one that needs to learn patience," she laughed over her shoulder.

"Touché, Ma'am."

Seven of Nine’s team was growing as they continued to struggle with their plant problem. From Botany they had broached into Palaeontology on Ensign Ayala’s assertion that there was prehistoric features to the plants, then into Zoology. Whilst they had managed to deduce additional features of the plant they still did not appear to be getting any closer to a remedy. It left Seven of Nine wondering what she had missed and scurrying through her now copious notes looking for any common features.

It was this activity that the Colonel, freshly released from his penal servitude, some hours later.

Quietly he slipped up behind her and placed his hands over her eyes.

“Guess who?” He whispered in her ear, then kissed her on the neck.

“Your attempt at humour is inappropriate,” Seven stated calmly. “You are supposed to be resting in Sick Bay. Why have you left?”

“Parole,” he explained with a smile. “Captain Janeway was so good as to point out to the Doctor, that prisoners are permitted early release and exercise for good behaviour.”

“Have you exhibited good behaviour?” She queried, arching her eyebrow at him.

“As long as I’m not caught, then I’m on my best behaviour,” he suggested, pulling her a little closer. “Besides I promised you would stop me doing anything I’m not allowed to.”

“You will assist me,” she decided. “We have been testing the weed for a possible method of disposal for two days. We do not appear to be any closer to a solution.”

She thrust two PADDS into his hand.

“There are long words involved. I doubt I’ll understand it,” he commented. “I thought you were looking for a solution?”

Her eyebrow arched at him. “We have tried numerous illogical and unconventional solutions, at Ensign Hemmark's suggestion. There has been no effect. We believe there may be an animate aspect to the plant. The seed displays signs of being ‘Sexed’.”

“It’s part plant, part animal?” The Colonel asked in disbelief, seeking clarification.

“Precisely.”

“I think you may be looking too hard,” he diagnosed, still not entirely believing the definition.

“Your meaning?” She demanded.

“You are looking too deep,” he explained. “There is always a simple answer. If you can’t find it by worrying at it, then perhaps we should leave it alone for a while and see what comes to us.”

“Besides,” he suddenly laughed. “There could be a heard of cows out there chomping their way through this muck, for all we know!”

“I must find a solution to this problem. I have been inefficient,” she protested desperately.

“Standing here glaring at a pile of weed isn’t helping you,” he pointed out gently.

Slipping an arm around her waist he turned her toward the door. “Come on. I think you need to rest. I’ll push Neelix out of the Mess for a while and cook something pleasant for dinner. Then we can have a quiet evening together, while I try and understand your notes. Besides, I doubt the ship will fall to bits overnight.”

She considered resisting his proposition. She had been working in the lab for nearly sixty hours without a break and she was suffering from a reduction in her concentration. “Your proposition is acceptable,” she accepted, disengaging his arm and offering hers in their customary acceptance of an escort from the other.

He took it gently, then pulled her into an embrace. “Don’t tell the Doctor I just did that,” He whispered, kissing her on the lips. “The bastard would lock me up again.”

Their evening together settled for a comfortable night in each others arms in their quarters. Despite Seven settling comfortably on his shoulder, he could feel she was still considering her problems.

“A penny for your thoughts?” He sighed eventually, after a third kiss had gone unanswered.

“I am considering how the weed propagates,” she admitted. “The seed we believe is sexed, yet there is no visible means of the seed being fertilised. I believe there is value in the line of investigation.”

He thought for a moment. “The thing about sex,” he said at last. “Is that it works. It is part of life. Anything that doesn’t reproduce is going to die out quite quickly.”

He slipped into silence again, before asking. “Have you ever watched Salmon spawning?”

“No,” she responded automatically.

“I’m sorry. You probably haven’t even met a Salmon,” he apologised. “When they spawn they all swim to a small pool. There the female releases millions of eggs and the male deposits huge volumes of sperm in the general area. Could that be how it propagates?”

“The volumes of seed would have to be prodigious,” she pointed out. “It is inefficient!”

“Perhaps it isn’t,” he agreed. “But nature is a stubborn bitch and space is a place where there isn’t a lot of activity. If it can find a way of getting something to live here, it will!”

“Why should it grow upon Voyager?” she challenged.

“It provided the right circumstances.”

“How?”

“You know. An evening in bed with ones beautiful wife, is supposed to be spent in luxurious canoodling and frivolous cavorting,” the Colonel chided gently. “Not making your poor suffering spouse try to think about things he doesn’t know anything about!”

“And if you are about to ask about how it survived until we came along. I can’t answer that either!” He added quickly. “I know there are plants and animals in the deserts of Earth that survive for years in some sort of suspended animation until the circumstances are right for the rains to come. When Lieutenant Paris can get the Computer on-line again, perhaps you can get it to give you the full SP on them.”

She relaxed then, reached up and kissed him, before pulling him closer. “Your opinions and experience are valuable.”

They were disturbed from a quiet breakfast in the Mess the following morning, by an excited Ensign Hemmark.

“Quickly. You’ve got to come to the labs!” He gasped almost running to their table. “Something has happened to the weed!”

“Slow down please, Ensign! Sit down and report to us what has happened properly!” The Colonel barked.

Slightly stunned by the Colonel’s sharp order, the Ensign sat in the chair opposite them and began to report.

“I went to the lab to try another possible remedy,” he explained. “But the weed has died. It’s all gone brown and rotten!”

“That sounds promising. The question is why?” The Colonel admitted.

“We should examine it,” Seven agreed.

The mass of weed was as the Ensign had described, a pile of rotting sludge covered by a thin leathery skin. It also had an all pervading smell, reminding the Colonel of far off days of boiling cabbage. It led him to examine the remains closer.

“Which one did you experiment on?”

“This one,” Seven indicated a rotting streamer that lay on the bench beside her.

He inspected it carefully and poked what looked like a burn mark.

“And nothing you tried has worked?”

“No! Even when we tried the experiments again.”

He examined another plant on another bench. There was a similar burn mark on that as well.

“Any idea what the burn mark is?”

“It is in the position of a seed pod. We think it may be a witness from the pod exploding,” Hemmark offered.

“So. If we are lucky, our solution has just dropped in our laps,” the Colonel commented mildly. “If not, we are going to be knee deep in this muck by this time tomorrow. As they seem to have seeded. Perhaps both?”

They stood and pondered the situation, before the Colonel spoke again. “Let’s look at the bright side, shall we?” He suggested. “If we assume it doesn’t like it in here and seeding was a panic attack. What is different about in here to out there?”

“There is an atmosphere,” Seven of Nine immediately pointed out the obvious.

“Didn’t you say there was an atmosphere forming outside?” The Colonel asked.

“It was very weak. Consisting largely of Hydrogen and some traces of Oxygen and Nitrogen,” Seven recited.

“It is warm in here as well,” Hemmark interrupted.

“By my guess that gives us two things to try on the weed,” the Colonel suggested. “Can we get hold of some compressed air? We should be able to use phasors to make it sweat.”

“I shall arrange a briefing,” Seven of Nine decided. “We will need a strong external team to carry out an effective test.”

“I’ll advise the Captain. I think we will have to keep a weather watch for any weed growing inside. In case we are wrong,” the Colonel offered.

“Are you sure that this idea will work?” Captain Janeway demanded of Seven of Nine after she had explained the proposed test to the committee.

“We are unsure,” Seven admitted. “It needs to be tested.”

“How long will it take?” She demanded.

“The weed in the lab took three days to die,” Seven pointed out. “I intend to erect a closed cell force field bubble around a section of the hull and pressurise the atmosphere. That will speed the effect.”

“Even if it works, we won’t be able to do that over the whole ship!” B’Elanna pointed out.

“How is the hull standing upto the strain of all the plants?” The Captain asked quickly.

“Fourteen breaches so far,” B’Elanna confirmed. “It isn’t designed to withstand this sort of external load. We are trying to reinforce the structural integrity.”

“We could just treat key areas,” Tom Paris suggested. “Enough to allow us to see and move?”

“Ensign Hemmark has suggested treating the areas we clear with a fungicide,” Seven announced. “It may slow the re-establishment of the weed until we can escape the region.”

"Comms?"

"Miller is working on it, but it is going to be at least 24 hours," B'Elanna reported.

The Captain considered the proposal. Nothing better had been offered over the last four days and she was impatient for something to happen. “We’ll try it!” She decided. “Chakotay, get a team set up to rig the force field.”

Six hours later a twenty strong team, were ready to step out onto the ships outer hull. The team were all armed with a mixture of phasors and shield emitters to clear and erect a gas tight force field over a ten metre radius. In addition they were also equipped with a dozen portable space heaters and twelve five metre long tanks of compressed air. Seven of Nine was among the team that was to step out. Much to the irritation of the Colonel, who had been flatly forbidden by the Doctor to leave the ship. In the end, to try and placate the concerned soldier over the safety of his wife, Chakotay had added an extra two men to the party to protect her. He still was not happy that he was not by her side, but accepted the Commanders special consideration with gratitude.

From the view screen they watched the party move towards the outer door of the airlock as the motors started to open the door. It didn’t move.

“The door has been jammed by the weeds,” B’Elanna announced calmly, recycling the door mechanism.

“Can it be forced?” Captain Janeway demanded quickly.

She shook her head.

“Can we lock it again?” The Colonel asked cautiously.

The Captain looked at him sharply.

“Sorry, Ma’am!” He apologised. “But if you have a wooden door that’s swollen, you can’t shut it afterwards.” He grinned weakly at his display of concern.

B’Elanna turned to the controls and recycled the door controls again. “The locks have engaged,” she reported, to the Colonels obvious relief.

“But we can’t get the team out,” she reminded them.

“How about through a breach?” He asked. “As there is already a hole we might as well use it.”

“The biggest is on Deck 10,” B’Elanna said. “We can try there!”

She reopened the inner door for the lock and waved the suited figures in.

“You’re still not going to go with her,” the Captain murmured to the Colonel, as they trooped down to Deck 10.

“Would you believe me if I said, I’m not desperately unhappy about that, Ma’am?” He asked.

She laughed. “No I wouldn’t. I know you don’t want to go out. But I also know that you feel you ought to be with her if there is any danger. It would override everything for you!”

“I would, Ma’am,” he admitted lightly. “But she has a score of people to look after her. And if she does get into trouble, you’ll see a new record donning a suit.”

She shook her head, not so much in disbelief, but in resignation. She had the uncomfortable feeling, not for the first time, that their friend and ally obeyed her instructions to him as much from whimsy as acceptance of her authority. If he really wanted to do something, it would not be possible for them to stop him.

Again they were forced to watch the outside team prepare them selves to exit the ship. This time they would need to be a lot more careful. The breach that B’Elanna had recommended was a jagged hole about a 2 Metres in diameter. It had been created by the weeds forcing a gap between the joints of three panels. The panels were over 25mm thick here. The sight made the work party shudder at the thought of the forces involved.

In the enforced silence caused by the unserviceable computer controlled communications system, Seven of Nine lead the team to the bottom of the hole and looked up at the underside of a mass of weed. She was impatient to get started, but recognised the danger presented from the jagged plate. She played her phasor on the sharp corners, to ease the edges off before a crewman placed a ladder at the foot of the aperture.

Once happy that the worst of the danger from ripped suits had been dealt with, she turned the phasor on the weeds overhead. Cutting a path through into the night sky. From there she could ascend the steps until she was floating freely above the ship.

Once outside the suits internal communication systems were able to take over in place of the computer controlled comms system. It meant they were now able to converse freely.

“The ships a ball of weed!” A crewman's voice exclaimed.

“How are we going to clear this?” Another demanded.

Seven allowed them a couple of seconds to get their exclamations out the way and gain their bearings, before bringing them to order.

Ensign Hemmark had coated their suits with the fungicide he thought would slow the advance of the weed. But they had several hours work ahead of them. They would still have to work quickly for safety. Her suit had become infested with the weed within thirty minutes on her first trip out and vision had been totally lost within an hour.

First they had to clear an area to sit the emitters on the deck. That in itself was not an easy task. The weed at this point was over nine metres deep and almost impenetrable. They had to hover over the sites she chose and effectively bore through the bed of weed with phasors. But as a hole seemed to form it was almost immediately closed again by the weed as if sensing the space being formed. It reminded her of the story she had heard the Colonel tell Naomi, about the never ending tasks that seemed to befall the hero’s of ancient Greek mythology.

After thirty minutes of trying to create sites for all eight of the emitters they had brought out, Seven gave up and rearranged her plans. They would have to reduce the size of the initial test. Instead she concentrated on creating larger gaps and aimed to place four units.

Using the combined fire from five phasor rifles they eventually created four holes through the weed about 1.5 Metres diameter. Through one such hole she plunged with the first emitter, slammed it on the deck and activated it, before leaping for the rapidly diminishing hole above her. She was caught as she shot out of the aperture by the rest of the crew. Behind her the gap closed completely.

The same approach was used on the second and third holes. The fourth hole she was not so lucky. As she leapt for the gap, she saw it close above her. Unable to stop she slammed into an almost impenetrable net of entangled weed.

“Seven of Nine!” She heard the exclamation.

A crewman fired his phasor into the weed, desperately trying to cut her free.

“Stop that, you fool! You could hit her! Then there will be hell to pay!”

“There will be hell to pay when the Colonel finds out anyway!” The crewman muttered nervously. “We’re supposed to be protecting her. Have you any idea what he will do with us?”

Above the commotion Seven of Nine raised her voice. It hadn’t been trained by years on parade grounds, like the Colonel’s, but could be equally powerful. “I am not in immediate danger,” She reported, feeling the weed wrapping itself around her. “Start releasing compressed air into the area enclosed by the force fields. When there is an atmosphere, it will be possible to work without survival suits.”

“What about you and the Colonel?” They almost chorused in protest.

“His reaction will be more severe if he believes you have failed to carry out a direct order.” She almost cherished the statement. Unlike most of the crew, who thought that Seven of Nine came above all else in the Colonel’s life. She knew, that duty and his belief in discipline came above his desire to protect her. The fact that his priorities always seemed to lay the other way around, was more of a function of how he weighed the relative time schedules and happy accident.

“Open all the tanks,” she insisted. “Direct then towards this location along with the heaters. Then get the additional piping from the ship installed.”

Reluctantly her team complied, manhandling portable heaters and tanks of compressed air through the gap they had burnt from the ship.

Nervously, Seven of Nine watched the readings on her tricorder. If the shield emitters had produced a gas tight envelope, then the tanks of air they had brought with them should be sufficient to create an almost normal atmosphere. Probably several times over, considering their much reduced test area. But it would take some time. Once it was achieved, Voyager could pressurise and keep it pressurised itself.

Slowly the tricorder started to register the creation of an atmosphere. It wasn’t going to be perfect she realised, there was a small leak somewhere. But it was going to be within the tolerance that Voyager could maintain.

The weed that bound her seemed to twitch hard and tighten, making her drop the tricorder as a glove was pulled off. It twitched harder and pulled outwards, stretching her, making her gasp as the tension increased on her limbs.

“Where is Seven?” Captain Janeway demanded as soon as the work party reappeared to start connecting air lines from the ship.

“She was trapped by the weed!” A nervous crewman announced. “We couldn’t get her out.”

“Hell!” She swore, grateful that the Colonel was not still waiting with her. He had left soon after they had lost sight and contact of the work party, she was not certain where, but was certain that he would be listening to and for her over their private link.

“Is she safe?” She demanded.

She was also certain he would reappear any moment, in a vile mood and ready to dive to her rescue.

“She didn’t appear to be in serious distress, Ma’am. But tied up.”

“How close to a normal atmosphere is it out there?” She queried urgently

“Still thin, Ma’am,” the crewman reported.

“Find as many security personnel as possible. Bring them here at the double. Fully armed! We have to stop him!” She screamed at the crewmen standing around. “The rest of you get the pipe work connected.”

Four security personnel appeared quickly, but they were followed almost immediately by the Colonel. He looked as though he was dressed for hand to hand combat.

“Stand down, Colonel!” Captain Janeway demanded as soon as he appeared.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I can not do that!” He responded neutrally, regarding the Captain and the serried ranks of the Security Team and senior ships officers with detached disinterest.

“I will order security to restrain you if you do not,” she warned.

“I would find it regrettable if you felt the need to do so, Ma’am,” he said calmly. “I would have to respond in a like fashion and I do not posses a ‘Stun’ setting.”

The warning was obvious and she could see the nerves in the Security Team.

“We will get her out, as soon as it is safe to do so,” she assured him. Watching his eyes carefully. That was what he had taught her, watch the enemies eye’s for a signal. The Colonel’s were a mixture of distraught concern and hardening fury.

“Mrs Nine is in some pain, Ma’am. She reports that she is trapped and being pulled apart by the weeds,” he claimed quietly trying to reason his way forward. “She advises that her suit is compromised and there is adequate air pressure for unsuited movement, provided air sets are worn. I am equipped for such activity. Please let me past?”

“Wait for a fifteen minutes?” She pleaded. “Until we can get the airlines fixed?”

“I am prepared to wait for five minutes. For another person to don an air set,” he agreed. “But no longer! After that I am going through. Even if I have to cut my way through the crew to do it, Ma’am.”

“How will you get to her?” She demanded.

The Colonel drew his sword. “I’ve cut down more than people with one of these, Ma’am. There is some gravity caused by the force field outside now. I’ll get through.”

He flinched suddenly and the Captain saw him mouth something silently. Guessing he was trying to send something to comfort Seven, she came to a decision.

“Get me an emergency air set!” She demanded.

“You can’t be serious, Kathryn!” Chakotay protested coming to his senses.

The Captain nodded quietly. “Somebody will have to stop him doing something that gets him killed,” she pointed out.

“I’ll go!” B’Elanna volunteered. “I can use a Bat-el-eth.”

“You’re needed here!” Janeway spat.

“I’ll go!” Tuvok spoke up. “That will be acceptable Colonel?”

“Sir!”

The Colonel handed him a shorter blade as he donned the Breathing Apparatus. “This is the sword bayonet I gave Mrs Nine some time ago, Commander,” he explained. “It isn’t upto hacking through the jungle as such. But it will keep a path clear. Follow close enough behind me to keep in the clearing, but far enough away to avoid me cutting.”

“Affirmative,” Tuvok acknowledged.

“There is only sixty minutes air in these sets,” B’Elanna commented as she moved to check that the Colonel had secured his correctly. “But we should be able to pump air inside that time. It will still be thin, but you won’t suffocate. If you don’t do anything silly.”

He nodded and started to move impatiently towards the impromptu force field airlock. “I never do anything silly,” he hissed.

Tuvok followed him with more circumspection, then more quickly when he realised just how fast the Colonel was likely to go. The Colonel was already working on the weed bank and over a metre in, before he was clear of the hole. He also noticed that the Colonel had not pulled his face mask down yet. He called out to remind him.

“I’ll put it on when I need to, Commander,” he gasped, pulling the mask down to take several deep breaths before sliding it up out the way again. “Until then it’s in the way!”

Realising there was little point in arguing with the intent soldier, Tuvok settled down to follow him and trim back anything he missed in his inexorable progress.

As he did so, he studied the Colonel’s movements with growing interest. The seemingly wild strokes of the blade were actually forming an intricate figure eight, as he sliced diagonally across their path. Each stroke finishing in a position to give impetuous to the next. Although the Colonel was obviously expending a great deal of energy, none of it was being wasted.

Seven of Nine had not intended to signal her predicament to her husband. But the shock of losing her gauntlet and having her wrist grabbed again by another length of weed had jolted a moments panic from her. It in turn had broadcast itself through her Borg neural links to the transmitter. From there, it was inevitable that the Colonel would pick it up and react.

Until he arrived, she would have to endure her situation. So she settled to examine what she could. It seemed obvious that the weed was reacting to the increased atmosphere. It was showing signs of the burning that was obvious on the remains on the ship. It was also contracting. Thus the fronds that held her were being pulled tighter.

The contracting weed was dragging her lower. Not a bad thing in itself, she reasoned. It meant she would not have to drop so far, if and when she was released. Unfortunately it seemed she was being pulled down towards the field emitter, now less than three metres below her. The aerial of which, she knew, would not only puncture her suit, but her as well. Destroying the device into the bargain. The remaining three emitters would not be able to maintain the force field, thus she and her would be rescuers would be left suffocating in space.

What was not so evident was how and why the weed seemed to be able to grip and regrip her. There were bindings around arms, legs and waist. It was only because the metallic space suit was a comparatively loose fit on her frame that she wasn’t in extreme pain. But the suit was slowly being torn apart whilst she was wearing it. Every time the suit gave a frond seemed to re-tighten itself around her struggling body. Already her other gauntlet had been pulled off and she could feel the heavy boots pulling away from her.

All this she relayed to the Colonel. There was some comfort in the feeling that there was somebody listening and responding to her discomfort.

She tensed again as the weed contracted. She could hear the seam of the suit tear as it finally gave up the unequal struggle. Then she felt the first suit leg start to slide down her leg.

There was a couple of minutes respite in the continuous tension, before another frond of weed caught her leg again around the thigh and applied tension again, making her gasp.

“I’m coming!” She heard the Colonel whisper in her mind. “We’re nearly a third of the way there.”

“Arrive quickly!” She hissed at him in her desperation.

The Colonel’s progress was becoming slower. The weed bank he was fighting was becoming progressively thicker and he, himself, was becoming tired. He was having to stop, rest and ease his burning lungs by dragging on the air mask more frequently now. They had barely made 15 Metres in fifteen minutes. And they had at least twice that to complete.

Finally he pulled it down on his face and kept it there. That in its turn created another problem. The visor steamed up because of the sweat that was trickling freely down his face, almost totally blinding him.

Finally he ripped it of his face and tried to spit into it as he had seen naval divers do, to prevent their masks misting up. Except he could not raise any.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” he gasped. “I don’t suppose you could spit in this for me. Please?” He offered up the visor for Tuvok.

Tuvok regarded it and the Colonel in incomprehension.

“I need to stop it misting,” the Colonel explained quickly, his breathing ragged. “A bit of spit can stop it.”

Dumbly the Vulcan lifted his mask and complied, depositing a small dollop of mucus onto the centre of the visor. The Colonel promptly smeared it around and put the mask back on a again.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“You should rest for a few minutes,” Tuvok suggested. “You will allow me to continue?”

“If you think you can?” The Colonel agreed, not too willingly.

Quietly he handed his blade to Tuvok.

He took it and tested its weight carefully and found it too long and heavy for him to be able to handle comfortably. “I will use a phasor,” he decided, pulling his out.

“You can’t!” The Colonel protested in alarm.

But it was too late. Tuvok had fired a burst into the weed.

A path seemed to appear as the weed frizzled away from the weapons fire, but immediately seemed to spring back again with renewed growth.

“Do you think I hadn’t thought of that!” The Colonel declared.

“You do not like modern weapons. You actively avoid using them,” Tuvok responded pointedly.

“I’m not such a heathen I won’t use the most appropriate tool for a job,” the Colonel blasted back. “From what Mrs Nine was telling me. If you melt a way through this stuff, it simply springs straight back, only thicker and tougher. We are going to have to do this the old fashioned way. That way it stays cut!” He indicated the path they had come down. It was closing, but slowly. They could just see where they had entered. Of the hole that Tuvok had cut with his phasor there was nothing to be seen.

Reluctantly Tuvok picked up the Colonel’s sword and advanced towards the wall of weed, taking a cautious swipe at it.

“Put your back into it, Commander,” the Colonel hissed. “Once the blade is moving it’s weight will do most of the cutting. Swing from your back and shoulders, not the elbow!”

Tuvok attempted to comply and almost spun himself around as he missed the foliage in front.

“I think you need practise. But, with respect, this is not the time to gain it,” the Colonel suggested, disarming the shocked Vulcan.

“Your blade is heavy, ill balanced and there is insufficient gravity!” Tuvok protested.

“That is why it is effective,” the Colonel answered him sweetly, setting too on the weed again with renewed vigour.

Aboard Voyager Captain Janeway had started to pace the corridor impatiently. She did not know what was happening outside, they had lost contact with the Colonel and Tuvok the moment they had left the ship and she was fighting her nerves and unpleasant visions of what might be happening both to them and Seven of Nine. Guessing at his Captains worries Chakotay fell in beside her. “The Colonel will get to her!” He whispered encouragingly. “Even if he has to cut down all of the weed outside!”

The Captain grinned weakly. “I don’t doubt he can get to her,” she admitted. “And that he will look after Tuvok. I think I’m more worried about what we do afterwards. Given the problems clearing a small section of the hull. How are we going to clear the rest!”

B’Elanna Paris’s attention was drawn away to another problem as Lieutenant Vorick arrived with a report. They went into a small whispered conversation, before B’Elanna turned to the Captain.

“There is weed in the Computer Room,” she announced simply.

“How?” The Captain demanded quickly.

“A couple of seed pods from the samples in the labs burst,” Ensign Hemmark reported. “We never found any of the seeds. They must have gotten into the ventilation system.”

“But we’ve taken that deck off life support,” B’Elanna pointed out. “There could be a breach on that deck.”

“Flood it with air again. Then spray everything with Hemmark’s fungicide,” the Captain demanded. “Something must work!”

It was a sentiment that the Colonel would have agreed with. After nearly an hour of frantic chopping, he and Tuvok had reached the emitter that Seven of Nine had thought she was being pulled down upon. The weed had grown densely around it, but strangely had not actually engulfed it. This led to Tuvok kneeling beside it and examining the unit with interest and a tricorder. The fact was of little interest to the Colonel.

“Where are you, Seven?” He yelled, ripping the mask off for the last time. The air was now sufficient to breath without burning the lungs.

“Here!” A weak voice, almost a whisper came from one side.

He turned towards it. “Call again Mrs Nine!” He shouted.

She did so, but it seemed weaker. He plunged towards it, desperately ripping his way through the weed with his hands.

He found her five minutes later, spread-eagled over a dull red mound. Legs, arms and helmet lashed tightly to the sides of it with what looked like vines. Her back was arched uncomfortably over the mound, with more vines, preventing her from struggling. The helmet appeared to be all that was left of the space suit that she had worn when she left the protection of the ship. The mound seemed to be pulsing quietly when he felt it.

He knelt beside her and quickly released the visor, then removed the helmet, to reveal her agonised and pale face. Her breathing was shallow from the thin atmosphere and her bonds restricting her breathing. He tore off his mask and placed it over her face.

“I’m here!” he whispered. “Two minutes and I’ll cut you out!”

“You are late,” she complained huskily.

“Commander Tuvok!” He yelled. “I need help!”

Without further words, he set about her bonds with his pocket knife. They were too tough for the small tool to cut.

“It is displaying signs of being partially animal,” Tuvok commented, kneeling beside him and scanning the mound with his tricorder. “There are digestive juices inside and a recirculatory system.”

“The way it is going, I think it intends to be at least part Seven of Nine,” the Colonel hissed. “Now shut up and hand me the bayonet and make sure it doesn't get cute. You can decide what it is later.”

Silently the Vulcan complied to the request. The Colonel set to again, this time using the saw edge of the blade.

It was still hard work, vines like tentacles grabbed at his hand and blade as he worked. Eventually he released the bindings around Seven of Nines hands and throat, but they were growing again nearly as fast. Tuvok was working hard to keep them trimmed to prevent them taking hold again.

“I’ve had enough of this!” The Colonel snarled at last, as the bayonet was ripped from his hand for the umpteenth time by a vine. “This thing has vines like arms and they are as tough as steel.”

He stood stiffly and drew his sword again. “If I can’t cut it at the edges. I will have to try something else.”

With that he plunged the steel blade into the side of the mound and started to rip through its side.

A thin piercing scream assailed them as a surge of slime spurted from its side, splashing onto his trousers, where it started to steam.

“Jackpot!” The Colonel exclaimed. “Now let the lady go you bastard before I rip all your guts out!”

He dropped to his knees again and frantically pulled at the bonds holding Seven of Nine. They came away easily now. And he gathered her up into his arms, feeling the mounds sticky juices over back.

“You can examine it as much as you like now, Commander!” He exclaimed. “I’ve got what I came for.”

“I really can’t leave you alone for a moment, can I?” He whispered to Seven. “Always getting tied up with bug eyed monsters. Apart from the rather erotic pose, is there anything you would like to share?”

“It did not feel erotic,” she responded. “It wished to consume me!”

“So it had good taste! We’ll have to try it sometime!” The Colonel grinned. “Shall we go!”

“The fluid from the plant is acidic and fuming. Departure is a wise precaution,” Tuvok agreed.

The Colonel laid Seven on the ground, then still holding her he felt in his pocket for his lighter. He tossed it to the Vulcan before picking her up again. "Try setting it alight."

"The creature is showing signs of sentience. It was physically attempting to prevent us hurting it!" Tuvok protested.

"Which is the more important? Voyager and her crew or Star Fleet rules and something that didn't exist a week ago? Personally I find your comments unfathomable, it is a clear and present danger to the ship. Set it alight!" The Colonel snarled heading back for the ship. "If you don't. I'll come back later and do it."

Reluctantly Tuvok fired the lighter