The Voyorgy Conspiracy

BY : Odon
Category: Star Trek > Voyager
Dragon prints: 13377
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Voyager, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Title: The Voyorgy Conspiracy

Author: Odon

Fandom: Star Trek Voyager

Pairing: Janeway/Seven and Doc/Torres

Rated: NC-17.

Summary: Seven's latest experiment to improve her efficiency has unexpected consequences when some...interesting fiction is downloaded into her system. Parody.

Spoilers: Umm, let's see. Vague references to "Cathexis", "Unforgettable" (though if you haven't seen these two don't worry, they're not worth watching anyway), "Resolutions", "Year of Hell", "Infinite Regress" - a whole bunch really. Oh, and of course "The Voyager Conspiracy".

Warning: Contains coarse language, sex between women, and sex between women and holograms. If this offends you (holophobia?), is illegal where you live, or you are under 18 years of age without access to a Borg maturation chamber please do not read any further. There may also be some plot holes, but if the real Voyager doesn't worry about that why should I? Starfleet Command would like to caution you that use of a multi-spatial probe in the manner depicted in this text is not recommended.

Disclaimer: No profit is intended in the writing of this story. Star Trek: Voyager and all its characters are the property of Paramount and Viacom. Their depiction here does not detract from the respect I feel for all of them.

Archiving and downloading by all means, provided you credit the author. I'd like to thank Steff Adams, Meagan, and all the others who betaed this story.

Feed is is required for basic sustenance, so please email me. Please keep any flames entertaining: e.g. "You are fing horrible. May a beautiful Borg come to your room in the middle of the night only to discuss the nature of individuality. May someone you hate declare themselves the Son of K'vok and bite you!" etc.



Seven of Nine was having a wonderful dream.

The crew of the USS Voyager had finally achieved true perfection. Led by its red-haired Borg Queen, the Starfleet vessel forged on an unstoppable course toward the Alpha Quadrant. Subspace anomalies and ocean planets that might distract them from their goal were blasted out of existence with tricobalt devices. Crewman Neelix had been put to death and his corpse displayed on the outer hull to deter similar friendly species from engaging in irrelevant conversation. Naomi Wildman had been placed in a Borg maturation chamber so she could soon take up the duties of bridge assistant. Best of all, Lieutenant Torres was forced to demonstrate the efficiency of the ship's weapon systems by acting as a target. Every day, under the firm tutelage of her captain, Seven of Nine got to disintegrate the annoying half-Klingon with the phaser banks, while Borg nanoprobes reconstructed her every night. Compassion was irrelevant. In her sleep, the former drone sighed with happiness.

Even while dreaming however, Seven was still at work. As sleep was an inefficient use of time, she had sought to change this by modifying her alcove to become a cortical proces sub subunit. This way Seven could download several months worth of data collected by Voyager (everything from away team reports to xenobiology studies) for analysis while she regenerated.

It was in the midst of this analysis that Seven's interlink node received a lengthy data transmission of unknown origin. The processing subunit studied its content. The data did not appear to be related to the information being downloaded from Voyager's central core.

"I can't possibly have relations with a member of my crew it's too COMPLICATED!"

The rose was crushed unnoticed in her hand and Seven felt her eyes swelling with tears. She thought: This is the emotion of 'sadness', this is the feeling of 'pain', this must be 'unrequited love', this is ANGER and she lashed out at the woman who meant more to her than anything in her existence. "You tore me from the Collective! You forced me to exist as an individual! You required me to develop my own feelings! Yet I am not ALLOWED to act on them!"

Seven of Nine stirred restlessly in her alcove.

"You will comply," she commanded. Her enhanced strength easily forced the young ensign onto his knees. Harry stifled a groan as his kneecaps struck the deck hard. Placing his palms on the cold metal floor, he prostrated himself before his beloved ice queen. Heart thumping with fear and excitement, Ensign Kim extended a servile tongue and began to lick Seven of Nine's boot. The beautiful Borg sneered in contempt at the pathetic human's service to her. "Freedom is irrelevant," she said coldly, her thumb stro the the manacles she held in her flesh and metal hand as...

Her eyes snapped open and...

"Seven, don't move!"

For the first time ever the ex-drone heard panic in her captain's voice.

"Clarify," she asked, her voice muffled. She did not see the point in engaging in irrelevant conversation, especially now that she had discovered a much better use for her tongue.

"I think one of my pubic hairs is caught in your ocular implant."

Seven raised an eyebrow, extracting a yelp from Janeway. "I have observed from my study of Lieutenants Torres and Paris that pain and pleasure are not mutually exclusive." She sat up abruptly, causing Janeway to howl in agony and grab her crotch. "SEVEN!"

Seven ignored her complaints. As Janeway watched in astonishment the statuesque Borg did a perfect somersault onto her hands, hooked her feet into an overhead lighting fixture and tilted her head backward in an attempt to lick Janeway's cunt.

"Seven, what the hell is THAT?"

"A sexual position assimilated from Species 7410, a quadrapedal tree-dwelling life form with a hyper-elongated lingua. It is...somewhat strenuous."

"I'm a Starfleet officer! I'm not fucking in that undignified posture! But then again," Janeway added, her eyes gleaming wickedly. "We ARE explorers."

And with that her lingua began a detailed exploration of its o/P>

...she stepped out of the alcove, vaguely hearing the warning of an incomplete regeneration cycle. Her organic components appeared to be functioning erratically. The Borg's cortical processor noted unusual symptoms. Heart rate and respiration had increased. Blood was being redirected to other parts of her body, specifically the nipples and clitoris. The flesh between her legs was wet with vaginal fluids, tingling with unreleased tension. Seven felt an irresistible urge to touch herself there...

As if of its own accord the Borg's hand slid down between her legs. A sigh escaped from Seven's lips as she rubbed her palm hard against the crotch of her biosuit. The relief her action created was most satisfactory. In fact, if she continued to rub her hand back and forth in that region, it resulted in a highly pleasurable sensation. The fact discomforted the ex-drone. This activity was clearly non-productive and time wasting, yet she could not bring herself to stop.

Perhaps it did serve a function. She found herself calming; the earlier tension was gone, replaced by waves of pleasure matching her strokes. In her research on human mating behaviour Seven had found numerous references to this activity. It was called 'masturbating'. She tried accessing the data she had accumulated on the subject, only to have her processor throw her newly assimilated knowledge back at her. It appeared there were many references to this subject there.

She had been experiencing an inefficient obsession with the captain's hands. Their shape and form; such things were surely irrelevant. How could a mere physical attribute possibly be a reflection of the individual? Whether laid calmly on the desk in her ready room, gesturing at the viewscreen, clutching a container of the liquid stimulant she preferred...or touching her shoulder in Astrometrics - they seemed to express Captain Janeway so well; the affection the former drone secretly craved, the natural command she desperately wanted to serve. How could such an appendage, only one part of the body's collective whole, be so powerful?

She was discovering their power now. The hidden excitement Seven felt when the captain touched her in public was nothing compared to the emotions she experienced as Janeway eased open the lips of her vagina.<

An amused smile. "Relax Seven"

"I c-cannot comply, Captain."

"Kathryn, please."

"I cannot__" The captain silenced her with a kiss.

Light touches to begin, stroking the outside surfaces. Light like...feathers. The word was pulled from her memory, as was the sensation - stroking a bird's feather as a child. But that was nothing like this.

Seven had worried that Captain Janeway might not prove an efficient lover. By nature she was too impatient, instinctive, her years of self-denial perhaps leading her to haste. But she caressed the petals of Seven's labia like an artist stroking a delicate jewel...

Seven had discovered that sending vibrations through her hand's exoskeleton was an efficient means of self-stimulation. It seemed to impair her motor functions however as she was unable to continue standing. Seven fell backwards against a cargo container. She spread her legs wide and pushed her pelvis up against her palm, rubbing frantically. The cargo bay echoed with her incoherent moans.

B'Elanna thrust her fingers roughly in and out of her cunt. "How do you like that you Borg bitch!" she hissed. Her face was just inches from Seven's and her dark pupils seemed to fill the entire world. Anger, hatred, lust, love - she could not connect the descriptions she had studied in the database to the emotions that were swirling through her now. It was all happening too fast! She had a shameful urge to beg Lieutenant Torres to slow down so she could gain control of these feelings. Seven bit her trembling lip to steady it. She was Borg. She would...she must adapt!

She closed her eyes and felt her opponent pressing warm lips down on hers. Seven responded with equal hunger, their tongues entwining with a mutual lust they would never confess openly. She could taste her blood in the Klingon's mouth...

The pleasure concentrated in Seven's groin suddenly swept through her, assimilating her entire body in an irresistible onrush of sensation. In seconds her newly cherished individuality was swept away before the torrent. There was only feeling, rapture, total ecstasy. Resistance was not only futile; she didn't even want to try it.

She regained consciousness, vaguely wondering why the opposite wall had an overhead light strip on it.

'I am Seven of Nine. I am...on my back'.

The former drone calmly rose to her feet. Her lapse in efficiency had been brief. Clearly there were problems involved in assimilating Voyager's extensive data. Nevertheless there had been positive effects. She had undoubtedly experienced her first 'orgasm', another step in her ongoing exploration of humanity. The captain would be pleased. She had also received a much clearer idea of the complex inter-relationships of the crew. Previously this was an understanding that had eluded her. She had even identified a crucial fault in the ship's sensor grid. Efficiency demanded that the latter problem be corrected immediately. She slapped her combadge. "Seven of Nine to Lieutenant Torres."

No answer. "Lieutenant Torres, respond."

B'Elanna, interrupted in the middle of beating Tom Paris to another orgasm, was not happy.

"Good morning, Seven. This better be important."

"I must speak with you at once."

* * * *

B'Elanna stared at the moving light panels of the turbolift, refusing to look at the blonde astrometrics officer standing next to her.

It wasn't easy being half Klingon.

B'Elanna had tried explaining that to various people: Tom, Captain Janeway, the Doctor, the crewman whose nose she'd busted last week, but they didn't exactly get the point. They saw B'Elanna's biggest problem as her temper, but that wasn't it.

The problem was sex.

Whenever B'Elanna got angry (which was often) she naturally wanted to commit all kinds of mayhem - scratching, clawing, biting, throwing large heavy objects at people. The only problem was that these had traditionally been signs of Klingon sexual arousal. So whenever something happened to get her really mad her hormones kicked into overdrive as well. Once, when she'd been confined to quarters for striking Lieutenant Carey, she'd chucked something at Chakotay the minute he walked through the door. Too late she'd remembered that this was a Klingon flirting ritual. So later on when an alien had tried taking over the ship by tapping into the crew's fantasies who does she imagine bonking? Chakotay! Not to mention how she'd ended up sharing her bed with the guy who used to annoy her the most, Tom Paris.

And if there was one person on board Voyager who managed to aggravate B'Elanna more than anyone else in the entire universe and all its parallel dimensions it was that cold, patronising, cybernetically-enhanced automaton, Seven of Nine. Every day the former drone would severely piss her off by talking back to the captain or diverting power to Astrometrics or flaunting those Borg-implanted breasts in Tom's face or addressing her in that supercilious tone until all B'Elanna could think was 'if she raises that fucking ocular implant at me one more time I'm going to rip it off and shove it right up her arse!' Then every night the engineer would be tormented by wet dreams in which she would melt the Borg Ice Queen with hot passionate sex.

Just yesterday Seven had done it again, tying up the main computer as part of her latest attempt to achieve Perfect Arrogance and extending B'Elanna's shift by an extra three hours as a result. That night the fiery engineer had dreamed about stalking Seven of Nine through a maze of Jeffries tubes. Cornered in an alcove, the terrified Borg had promised never to divert processing power during a Level One diagnostic again as B'Elanna carefully sliced off her tight-fitting uniform with a kut'luch blade. That was nowhere near enough for the hot-headed Klingon. She had demanded compensation for all the aggravation Seven had caused her over the past two and a half years. The luscious blonde had been forced to give tribute in the form of her firm ripe breasts, which she'd offered up to B'Elanna's greedy mouth. B'Elanna had woken up so excited she'd virtually raped Tom before he was fully awake and just as they were approaching a greatly needed climax, SHE had to interrupt them!

This was shaping up to be another wonderful day.

There was a metallic whine and the turbolift shuddered. Beside her Seven tensed. She knew what would happen next. The lift would grind to a halt and be stuck between decks for hours. The environmental system would fail and they would remove their clothes in the heat. The two women would be torn between their mutual dislike and their increasing lust for each other's naked, perspiring bodies. Inevitably the aroused half-Klingon would force herself on her, biting her face and licking the sweat off her cleavage with her tongue until she__

"Are you all right Seven?"

Startled, Seven turned and stared at B'Elanna. "I...thought there was a fault in the turbolift."

"It's only a graviton relay."

The turbolift came to a stop and the doors slid open. B'Elanna cast a wary eye at Seven and stepped out onto the bridge. Ever since that time when the beautiful astrometrics officer had tried to initiate a Klingon mating ritual in the middle of Engineering, she'd kept a close eye on her. Seven had supposedly been suffering from some kind of Borg multiple personality syndrome at the time, but you never knew...

Captain Janeway was on the bridge, piloting a coffee mug.

"Captain," B'Elanna said, getting right to the point. "I need permission to shut down the sensor grid. Seven thinks a...mating pair of ensigns have disrupted the power flow." Her voice betrayed what she thought of that idea.

"A mating pair of ensigns?" The captain and Chakotay cast an incredulous eye at each other. Ensign Paris looked bemused. Tuvok's ears perked up, though that was nothing unusual.

"Lieutenant Torres is in error," Seven corrected. "It was in fact an ensign and a lieutenant whose copulation has caused the malfunction. Ensign Paris and Lieutenant Torres, to be precise."

There was dead silence on the bridge. B'Elanna's face went dark. It was moments like these, when Seven embarrassed the shit out of her in public, that her Klingon half threatened to assert itself with a vengeance. Right now, for instance, she had this overwhelming urge to rip the Borg's heart out of its chest cavity and feast upon the raw flesh as part of her Day of Honour. Desperately she tried reciting the Vulcan mantra Tuvok had taught her.

Janeway didn't know whether to giggle in a most uncaptain-like fashion or obliterate Seven with her infamous Glare of Death. "And how did you arrive at this...theory?"

"Eight weeks ago, Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Paris were copulating in Jeffries Tube 47-Beta when they should have been working on their duty shifts. In order to lower herself onto Ensign Paris' penis, Lieutenant Torres raised her body by grabbing an overhead power relay conduit, causing a momentary interruption in power flow and a stupendous orgasm for Ensign Paris."

"I remember that," said Tom, half to himself. "B'Elanna told me to stick around to try something hot." He quailed as Janeway made up her mind regarding what expression she should have. The Death Glare (it was a good thing the captain hadn't found out about the time he and B'Elanna had done it on the desk in her ready room).

"The interruption caused a feedback loop which has resulted in the sensor emitters losing their resolution," Seven concluded smugly.

"Bite me!" yelled B'Elanna.

Seven turned her blue-grey eyes upon her. "Is that an insult or a marriage proposal, Lieutenant Torres?"

Deep in B'Elanna's subconscious a long-buried race memory of Kahless roared at her to sink a bat'leth through the impudent petaQ's skull. Her fingers twitched with the urge to nail the arrogant bitch to the bulkhead with titanium alloy rivets. Her cunt was wet with the desire to throw the delicious blonde onto Tom's console, tear off her clothes and push her sopping vagina down over those perfect lips__dammit stop thinking about that! "How-How can you possibly know all this?" she managed to stammer.

"Last night, I downloaded six months of ship status reports into my new cortical subunit while I was regenerating," the Borg replied.

"Learn while you sleep. Sounds interesting. Can I try it?" Tom asked, imitating a kid's whine.

Seven gave him a superior look. "Your physiology is different from mine."

'No shit?' thought Tom, eyeing her formidable breasts.

"A logical, though highly speculative analysis," said Tuvok. Though given the hormonally driven nature of the two officers concerned perhaps not that speculative. He had once caught them engaged in an intimate coupling on top of a console in Engineering. Unfortunately they had forgotten to switch the console off first. The resulting series of instructions they inadvertently entered had thrown the warp engines out of alignment for three months.

"I think I'll take a look at this power conduit myself," Janeway said quietly, the air around her turning to ice which fell to the ground in thin shards. "Lieutenant Torres, come with me. Seven..." She paused. It wouldn't do to put these two in a cramped Jeffries tube together. If they came to blows she wouldn't have room to dodge. "Wait here."

Seven waited until Lieutenant Torres and the captain had entered the turbolift, then strode over to Chakotay. "Chuc_...Commander. I wish to speak to you in private."

The first officer looked at her in surprise, then nodded. "Sure. We can talk in the briefing room."

In the briefing room Chakotay sat down in a chair and Seven, as usual, stood in front of him with her hands behind her back. A sudden thought occurred to her. She had previously dismissed considerations of her mode of dress and the sexual nature of her body as irrelevant. Yet she now understood that her rigid stance and the tight-fitting nature of her 'catsuit' (the word sprang into her mind from her newly assimilated data) only served to emphasis her large breasts. In fact, the relative height difference between herself and Captain Janeway meant that for the past two and a half years she'd been flaunting her tits in her captain's face!

"Are you all right Seven? Has Lieutenant Torres been bothering you again?"

Seven blinked, hauling herself back to the present. "I wish to ask you some questions. Regarding the nature of humanity."

Chakotay was startled. Seven of Nine was the captain's pet project. He'd never approved of her presence on board Voyager and the Borg knew it. They really didn't have that much to say to each other. "Wouldn't you normally discuss this with the captain?"

"It concerns the captain. I feel she might be reluctant to discuss this issue with me."

"What issue?"

"The nature of your sexual relationship with her."

Chakotay stiffened in his chair so much he resembled a lump of wood (though the change was barely discernable). He did not like the way this conversation was going at all, but Captain Janeway had given instructions that the crew was to assist the former drone in her exploration of humanity. And Seven had always found the area of sexuality difficult. Lieutenant Chapman was still undergoing orthopaedic therapy after his ill-fated date with her.

"Well that's easy. There isn't one."

Seven raised her ocular implant. Chakotay raised his tattoo in reply.


Chakotay frowned, his hands twisting in his lap. This felt more like a confession than a lesson in humanity. Still, it hadn't been the first time he'd poured out his soul. Once he'd overdone it and his soul had become completely detached from his body and gone floating around Voyager, taking over various crewmembers. The Doctor had requirhreehree neural transceivers, two cortical stimulators, and 50 gigaquads of computer memory to reintegrate the two.

"We were stranded on a planet once, the captain and I. We'd both caught this alien virus and couldn't stay on Voyager. I thought that we'd be spending the rest of our lives together. I did everything I could to romance her. I built her a hot tub, massaged her shoulders, told her one of those 'my people have a story' fables about how I wanted to serve her as an animal guide. Then, just as I was about to score, Tuvok hails us saying he'd come up with a cure!"

He took a deep breath. "Ever since then we've teased, flirted, and violated each other's personal space countless times. Yet nothing ever happens!" The anguished commander gestured wildly at the stars streaking past the windows in violation of the laws of physics. "It's as if the mysterious Powers-That-Be who govern this universe have decided we'll never consummate our love. Just endlessly suffer this constant unrealised sexual tension."

"You are correct. I have reason to believe that Captain Janeway is the victim of a conspiracy to deny her the fulfilment that comes from an intimate relationship."

Chakotay stared at her, then suddenly realised what Seven must be getting at. "Q!"

"Cube?" asked Seven, puzzled (her thinking could be a bit three-dimensional at times).

"You wouldn't know him. I doubt the Borg have assimilated any members of the Continuum." 'Then again if they had it would explain where Seven got her arrogance and lousy interpersonal skills'. "Q is an omnipotent being with a fetish for human starship captains. He's made moves on Captain Janeway before. He thinks his tattoo's bigger than mine. Perhaps Q believes that by keeping the captain celibate Kathryn will end up so desperate she'll even screw him!"

Seven was unimpressed. "Perhaps. Another explanation, Chuckles, is that you are too much of a 'wiener' to make the first move."ChP>Chakotay stood up, his face deadpan with rage. "You're out of line Seven! It's the captain's decision not to pursue a relationship with any member of her crew. It could have an adverse effect on discipline. It might also affect her ability to make life and death decisions regarding that crewmember. Now I may not like it, I may not agree with it, but she's the captain and that's the end of the matter!" He was getting extremely pissed off with this topic and the irritating Borg. Kathryn might see her as some kind of surrogate daughter, but if that was the case it was about time the captain gave her a damned good spanking! His groin tightened at the thought of the beautiful Seven squirming over Janeway's knees, as the captain applied the palm of her hand to that delectable ass.

Seven of Nine looked down at the growing bulge in Chakotay's groin. "You are small," she said, her lip curling in contempt. "You lack harmony, cohesion, greatness, balls. It will be your undoing. The captain could not possibly achieve perfection with such an individual."

"Get out!" yelled the Commander, expressionless with fury. Captain Janeway would no doubt have had a good speech to put the impudent Borg in her place, but good lines seemed to elude him as much as Kathryn's love. No doubt the mysterious Powers That Be were behind that too.

Seven raised her ocular implant in a superior manner (a characteristic assimilated from Species 3259 - Vulcan), turned on a four-inch heel and strode out the door.

"Well I'm not surprised she's never been able to 'achieve perfection with an individual'," Chakotay muttered to himself. "Who'd want a woman whose implants are likely to assimilate them? And what about her relationship with the Doctor? You'll never see Captain Janeway falling for a hologram!"


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