Q

“Q! Why am I not surprised? He’s messing with us again!” growled B’Elanna.

“Yeah, but the captain’s really gone and we have to get her back so we’re going to have to play his game, aren’t we?” said Tom.

“We’re going to have to figure out what the parchment means. Is it some kind of riddle?” asked Harry.

Tuvok’s analyses were always succinct and to the point. “The parchment appears fairly straightforward. Given that we have ascertained the castle below us to be Camelot and the time to be the end of King Arthur’s reign, the ‘queen’ of ours it refers to must be Captain Janeway. We know she is imprisoned in a cell with Queen Guinevere. It would seem that unless we rescue the captain she will be executed along with the Queen in four days.”

“I’m a little rusty on the Arthurian legend, Tuvok. Was Guinevere executed?” asked Tom.

“No, she was to be burned at the stake but was rescued at the last moment by Sir Lancelot her lover. Apparently we are going to have to do his part and rescue them both.”

“Yeah, we understand that. But what’s all this about ‘There’s only one amongst your crew, who can effect her rescue, Her Heart’s true love, Must rise above, to fight evil’s host wi’ virtue’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The rhyme indicates that the captain may harbor a romantic attachment to someone on board. Apparently, only that person will be able to rescue her,” said Tuvok in an even voice.

“Yes, but who is it?” asked Neelix, their Talaxian morale officer and unofficial Ambassador. “How will we know?”

The staff looked uncomfortably around at each other. Finally, Chakotay broke the silence.

“It’s me,” he said rising to his feet, “Ever since we were quarantined on New Earth we’ve had an understanding. She and I have been…well, let’s just say that we’re more than Captain and First Officer when we’re in her quarters.”

The quiet shriek of crumpling duranium turned every head in the room to look at Seven of Nine as her Borg-enhanced left hand continued to crush the PADD it held. B’Elanna’s raised eyebrow was the only indication of the realization that just hit her. She now had a pretty good idea to whom Seven of Nine was attracted, and it certainly wasn’t their burly First Officer.

“You lie,” snarled the former drone, “Captain Janeway does not feel a romantic attachment to you! You are not the “one” mentioned in the poem! You will fail to rescue her. What’s worse, you will waste precious time while you do!”

The dark flush that suffused Chakotay’s face indicated his displeasure with Voyager’s Astrometrics officer. “Seven, we’ve all made allowances for you because the captain wanted us to. But you will accord me the respect that is my due as First Officer of this vessel and you will not speak to me in that manner. It’s no business of yours what kind of relationship Kathryn and I share. That is a private matter between the two of us.”

“Captain Janeway has spoken with me about your time on New Earth several times. She speaks frequently of her relief at being able to leave the planet and return to Voyager. She speaks of your friendship while on the planet. She has never spoken of copulation on the planet.”

Growing even redder in the face, Chakotay slammed his hand on the table and roared, “That’s enough! One more word out of you and I’ll have you confined to quarters!”

B’Elanna leaned over to Seven and placed a calming hand on the former drone’s arm. “Seven, settle down. It won’t do the Captain any good for you to piss him off and get yourself thrown in the Brig. What’s gotten into you, anyway?” She could feel the coiled tension in arm under her fingers, but Seven managed to refrain from baiting Chakotay again, at least for the moment.

Tuvok stepped easily into the silence and in his logical manner proposed that they have an alternative plan in place in case Q had arranged unknown pitfalls for them. Chakotay reluctantly agreed with the idea and Seven, realizing that B’Elanna was correct, volunteered to monitor the away teams via the Astrometrics sensor arrays.

An hour later all was in readiness. Chakotay had been outfitted in appropriate period garb and weapons; his tunic and leggings concealing a COMM badge, tricorder and phaser. Tuvok and the four-man security team were similarly outfitted and standing by in case another team was needed on the planet surface.

“I’ll bring her back by dinner time,” Chakotay claimed as he nodded to the watch officer. He vanished in the sparkling blue ions of their transporters.

Seven was monitoring the transport from Astrometrics. Five minutes later, Tuvok’s COMM badge chirped.

“Seven to Tuvok.”

“Tuvok here. Is the Commander safely on the surface?”

“He is certainly safe from mischief for the time being. The Commander transported directly into the guardroom of the Castle. He was immediately accused of sorcery and is being held in a cell not too distant from the captain’s. The guards are currently discussing on which day his execution should be held. Lieutenant Torres is running diagnostics on the transporters.”

“Was there a malfunction? The transporters had been programmed to beam him into a clearing in the forest approximately ten kilometers from the Castle.”

B’Elanna chimed in. “No, Tuvok. The transporters are working just fine. All diagnostics check out. Our transporters did beam the Commander ten kilometers from the Castle, but before his beam could materialize it was deflected into the Castle. Q has to be responsible.”

“Perhaps that is the litmus test of the captain’s love. All pretenders will beam directly to the Castle to be taken prisoner.” Tuvok had secretly agreed with Seven when she challenged Chakotay but had wisely kept his mouth shut and had pressed for creation of his Plan B in the event she was right. Tuvok’s long friendship with Janeway had made him more aware of her moods and emotions than anyone else on Voyager; he had long suspected that the captain was in love with Seven of Nine. She wouldn’t dream of admitting it, but he recognized the signs well enough. And after her display in the conference room earlier, the Chief Tactical Officer realized the feelings were mutual. The Vulcan security chief could only guess at the reasons behind Chakotay’s insistence of his right to attempt the captain’s rescue, but it was obvious to Tuvok that Seven would have to be their designated knight in shining armor.

“If that is the case, then we must begin to implement our alternative plan. I will beam down with the security team. If we are immediately captured, at least whoever is the captain’s chosen rescuer is will have some additional manpower on the surface. Lieutenant Torres, you have the conn.”

“Aye, Tuvok. Are you and the away team ready to beam down?”

“We are, Lieutenant.”

“Seven and I are monitoring from here. Good luck, Commander.”

“Energize!” Seven and B’Elanna huddled over the console display screen studying the readouts. Two minutes later, Torres slapped the console and swore.

“Dammit, they got them all! All five members of the security team taken at once!”

“B’Elanna, they had no choice. They were beamed into the middle of a company of guards practicing their sword skills. They were surrounded the moment they rematerialized.”

Torres now looked at Seven with an appraising eye. “So, have you regenerated yet? If you’re going to rescue the captain you’re going to need to be at 100%.”

Seven looked down at the monitor screen and continued to scan the Castle silently. B’Elanna moved next to her and spoke quietly. “You know, you’re not the only one who’s had a few late-night talks with the captain. I’ve watched her around you and others. She’s different around you. And it’s not just because she feels some sort of weird maternal bond because she severed you from the Collective, either. She cares a great deal for you, Seven. I’m willing to bet the captain’s life on you. Why aren’t you willing to? Where’s that Borg arrogance when we need it?”

“I am afraid, B’Elanna. Afraid that I will fail her. What will happen if I do?”

“Well then, at least you’ll die together. C’mon, let’s get you regenerating. I’ve got a couple of ideas we can try before we send you down there that might help you out and I’ll need a few hours to work on them.”

* * * * *

“Regeneration cycle complete.” Seven opened her eyes to the smiling face of Lieutenant Torres as she disengaged from the contacts and stepped off the dais. “I take it from your expression we have had some positive news since my cycle began?”

“I believe we have. C’mon to engineering, I’ve got a few things to show you. And a couple of tests we ran came up with some results I think you’ll be interested in.”

Inside engineering, crew hustled around the room under the commands of Lieutenants Karri Jameson and Susan Nicoletti. Jameson was overseeing power enhancements to Voyager’s transporter system and Nicoletti’s minions were huddled over some device Seven didn’t immediately recognize. B’Elanna walked her over to the grouped officers. When Seven saw what they were working on she froze.

B’Elanna had anticipated this response and gently touched her arm. “I know,” she said so softly that only Seven could hear her. “But he sacrificed himself so that you and Voyager would be safe. The captain wanted to make sure that he could continue to protect you if possible.” Seven looked at Torres with uncomprehending eyes. B’Elanna tried once more, gently shaking the former drone’s arm. “Seven, none of us could use any of his technology; only your system is compatible. Captain Janeway wanted to make sure that we could protect you as much as One did.”

“When…when did you…?”

Torres said gently, “The Doctor and I removed the devices before we buried him.  And now he can protect you again. If you’ll let him.”

“Explain.”

“You know that Petty Officer Quintano’s left arm is cybernetic, right? Well, I continued our scans while you were regenerating and Quintano’s arm is still fully functional. So cybernetic technology critical to survival will continue to function properly on the planet surface even when our weapons and armaments won’t. I’m thinking that if we integrate these two implants into your existing Borg technology they’ll work down on the planet surface too. This one is One’s shield generator and this,” she said pointing at the smaller device, “is the power enhancer from his personal transporter.”

“The shield generator I understand, but why do you wish to implant the power enhancer?”

Susan Nicoletti spoke up. “We’ve made a couple of small modifications to it. Once it’s integrated into your implant, we can use it to monitor you. We’ll be able to track you and maintain at least a minimal transporter lock on you. We were thinking that we could add the power enhancer to your bicep implant and the shield generator to your hand. That way, you’ve got easy control access to the one you’ll need.”

“Very well, Lieutenant. Proceed.” Nicoletti picked up a hypospray and injected it at the edge of the starburst implant on Seven’s right bicep. The area surrounding the implant immediately went numb and Torres took a laser scalpel and delicately cut one ‘ray’ of the implant from Seven’s flesh. Nicoletti slipped the small power node under the skin and when it was in place, Torres touched the control node of the implant with a microfilament probe. The implant immediately regenerated a new ‘ray’ and seamlessly implanted itself into Seven’s skin. The process was repeated in the biometric mesh of her left hand.

“One thing you have to remember; you no longer have the enhanced power node you used to. So the shield generator will only work for a couple of minutes before it runs out of juice. One could recharge it from his central power nodes, but you can’t. So don’t use it until absolutely necessary.” Torres patted Seven’s Borg hand and fussed with the dorsal filaments.

“Yes, B’Elanna, I know.” Seven quirked the corners of her mouth up in what, for her, was a huge smile and commented, “I would suggest you practice your mothering skills on your husband and his sidekick Ensign Kim. They are in far greater need of them than I.” Nicoletti let loose a single guffaw before getting control of herself and backing hastily away from her volatile boss as B’Elanna flushed crimson.

“You know, Seven, some day you’re going to be six months pregnant with your hormones raging like a warp core breach and I’m going to be the one laughing. You’ll be lucky if you don’t assimilate everyone around you!” But her ready grin and the clap on the back she gave Seven convinced everyone nearby that she was laughing too. “Now, let’s get you outfitted and on your way down to the surface.”

They stopped in Sick Bay where Tom and Harry were waiting with period clothing and weapons. Seven donned rough cloth breeches and hide boots, a softer undershirt and outer tunic. She strapped a long knife and sheathed sword to her belt and carried a sturdy staff as a walking stick.

“Well, you look as authentic as we can make you. Good luck,” said Tom as he and Harry headed for the Astrometrics lab to track her progress. The EMH only muttered under his breath.

“Doctor, you are sniveling. Cease it at once. When I return you can stimulate my hair follicles to grow again.”  Much to the EMH’s dismay, the first thing Seven had done to get into her role was to crop her thick blond hair. The second thing she had done, with B’Elanna’s help, was to don a highly restrictive sports bra to minimize the curvature of her abundant bosom. There was no way she could pass for a man otherwise.

B’Elanna finished her briefing as they walked to the transporter room. “You’ve just finished a full regeneration cycle. You should be good for 72 hours, which is just about all the time you have until Captain Janeway and the Queen are to be executed. You should be able to stretch that if you try to sleep and eat as often as you can. The captain is being held in the south dungeon; Chakotay, Tuvok and the security guys in the west dungeon. Tom, Harry and I will be scanning you constantly; we’ll try to keep a transporter lock of some sorts on you. Get in, spring the guys, get the captain and get out.”

“Yes, B’Elanna. I know the plan. I have an eidetic memory, remember?” The former drone’s amusement at Torres’ continued worrying was evident and she used it to disguise her mounting anxiety. Not that she would fail in her mission, but that she would succeed. And have to face the feelings both she and Captain Janeway had hidden away for so long.

As Seven stepped onto the transporter pad, B’Elanna fired one parting shot with a wicked grin. “Just remember, if you do manage to rescue the captain, Neelix will want to invite the whole crew to the wedding shower.” Seven’s eyes popped wide in terror as she was engulfed in the sparkling blue ions of the transporter beam.

* * * * *

She rematerialized in a small clearing of an ancient wood. For reasons totally unknown to her, snippets from Longfellow ran through her mind. “The forest primeval…bearded with moss and garments green…stand like Druids of eld…” Shaking the thoughts away, she glanced up at the sun, compared the position to her internal chronometer and began walking in a northerly direction toward the castle.

She had no set rescue plan, but because she had nearly three days before the scheduled executions, she had hoped to enter the town surrounding the castle and gather more current data before formulating one. She knew enough of the ancient legend to know that Lancelot, the Queen’s lover, would mount a rescue shortly before she was to be burned at the stake. Since their data indicated that Captain Janeway would be executed in the same manner and time, Seven had hoped to glean the details of Lancelot’s plan and join it if possible. In the event she could not locate his cadre of knights, she had reviewed everything the scanners had uncovered while she regenerated and had a good idea of the layout of the keep and the location of the cells she would need to access.

She moved quietly through the dense forest, even as she reviewed the data in her mind. Borg-enhanced hearing was picking up the sounds of wildlife moving through the undergrowth around her and she had tuned the worst of it out when her ears picked up the sound of quiet speech somewhere to her left. She froze and sent a command to her optical array to switch to infrared mode. Moving slowly and silently toward the sound, she identified three human heat signatures in a sheltered copse; two of normal intensity and one noticeably cooler. Seriously wounded, she thought, hemorrhagic shock. Probably fatal in this age. Switching her optical array back to normal mode, she moved closer to the hidden clearing to listen.

“My lord, we cannot stay here. We are still too close to the castle. Mordred’s men will still be searching for you.”

“Mordred will not risk what few men he holds loyal searching for me. He knows I must rescue the Queen and he will concentrate his forces there where he can control the battleground. We are safe here for a while, Bors.” The voice was firm but Seven could discern a flash of weakness in it. The speaker was lying on the ground wrapped in a fur-lined cloak with two other men sitting near him, their horses unsaddled and tied to nearby trees. “Lionel, have we news of Sir Ector or Sir Kay? Galehaut is with us, but we need more men if we are to rescue the Queen.”

“My lord, we know Sir Ector set out for Camelot the moment he learned of the Queen’s imprisonment. Sir Kay was with him. But the forest folk have seen naught of them since. And how can you speak of rescuing the Queen, my lord? You cannot even sit your horse!”

“We will think of something. Providence will show us the way, Bors. Mordred must be stopped or he will bring down the King, but Arthur cannot put aside his guilt and deal with Mordred as he must. In his stead, those of us loyal to him and the Round Table must do so. Have faith, Bors.”

At this, Seven stepped into the clearing and stood watching the men. The wounded knight saw her first and his stunned look of disbelief caused his companions to leap to their feet, drawing swords as they did so. Seven stood her ground but shifted her weight in case she had to defend herself.

“What sorcery is this? Speak, wraith or die!”

Seven spoke in her quiet voice. “I am no wraith. I seek the castle Camelot. My captain is imprisoned there, to be burned for sorcery. She is innocent and I must free her. I have no quarrel with you.”

“He lies, my lord! A woman captain? This is madness! And see, it wears evil charms on its face! Let us kill this wraith now before more evil is done!”

The wounded man struggled to raise himself. “If you are no wraith then who do you hold as liege-lord? Who do you and your captain serve? Speak quickly or my knights will slay you.”

“I have no liege-lord. Neither does my captain. My loyalty is given only to her; Kathryn Janeway. I have no fight with you, but I will defend myself if need be.”

“A renegade captain? A female? There is none such in the kingdom! My lord, he makes no sense!”

Reluctantly, the wounded man agreed and his two knights began to circle Seven. She kept her sword sheathed but swung her staff up and settled into a fighting stance. When the attack came, it came from both sides but Seven was ready for it, her staff spinning and landing heavy blows to both men. Twisting and pivoting, she continued to rain blows down as they slashed and struck at her with their swords. The men wore hauberks and chausses covered with long tunics and while they were obviously used to moving in their chain mail, their movements were slower than Seven’s. Chain mail might prevent a sword thrust, but it could not protect against snap kicks, round kicks and debilitating hits with the hardwood staff. In less than two minutes both men were prone on the ground, disarmed and cradling painfully bruised limbs, torsos and heads.

“Well done, sir. You are victorious. If you choose to kill us as is your right, I beg a clean death for Bors and Lionel. They did only what I bade them and they should pay no price of pain for their loyalty. Do with me what you will.”

In reply, Seven reached down and helped the two would-be assailants to their feet. Making sure that none of them could reach their weapons, she questioned the wounded man.

“I said before I had no quarrel with you. Nor do I now. But neither do I have time to waste. What is your name?”

“I am Lancelot du Lac, son of King Ban of Benwick, Knight of the Round Table and Champion of Queen Guinevere. These are my cousins and liege-knights, Bors and Lionel.”

“You are the Queen’s lover! But how?…the legend says...” Seven realized her mistake and quickly reviewed the speech idioms of the time.  “It has been foretold that you will rescue the Queen from her pyre. But you are wounded. Tell me truthfully; can you ride? Can you fight?”

“Reveal nothing, my lord!” cried Lionel, “This demon has been conjured by Morgause and Morgan to thwart our plans!”

The continued antipathy of Lancelot’s cousins began to irritate Seven. Turning quickly toward them she snapped “Why do you continue to caution your cousin against me? I have been courteous and shown no aggression toward you.”

“But,… b-but look at you! You must be a demon! You are the twin of…”

“Silence, Lionel!” snapped his shorter and stockier brother. Seven started in surprise at his tone and walked closer to the wounded man. As she saw his face her eyes widened and the fear radiating off the men was explained. Had Seven of Nine been a man and had black hair, she would, indeed, have been the twin of Lancelot du Lac. Right down to the shade of blue eyes and the slight cleft in the chin.

“There is no sorcery that I know of. I am as human as all of you. Sir Lancelot and I are very close in appearance only by coincidence, not design. But the similarity in our appearance may help both of us accomplish our goals. I propose we work together to rescue your Queen and my captain.”

Lancelot exchanged looks with Bors and Lionel. The silence stretched on and Seven became impatient. “Will it help in your decision-making if I surrender my sword?” Bors and Lionel seemed to take this as a good sign until Lancelot said wryly “He did not require a sword to vanquish you both. Or have you forgotten so soon?” Swinging his gaze back to Seven he said, “But an…ally…who can defeat two fully-armed knights with merely a staff is an ally to be valued. An ally with whom and from whom there can be no falsehood.” He slowly extended his hand and Seven shook it.

“Since it was my party who attacked first, allow me to begin. I am dying.” Bors and Lionel began to vehemently argue at these words, but Seven merely rolled the wounded man over and examined his back. The blood seeping slowly from the bandage there was nearly black. Gently, she rolled him back and nodded in agreement.

“The wound has penetrated the liver. It is…mortal.”

“And now you, my new ally. How are you called?”

Seven debated how to answer and decided that complete honesty was probably the best idea. “My name is Annika Hansen, Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01.”

Bors and Lionel again began arguing loudly. “Annika is a woman’s name! A Saxon name!”

Lancelot silenced them again with, “Yes, and the woman who defeated both of you very handily. I don’t believe her gender affects her ability to fight, do you? From where do you journey, Annika Hansen?”

Seven turned to the unhappy men and tried to explain. “My parents were from…Saxony…but left many years ago. We were captured by a…tribe…called the Borg when I was eight and lived with that…tribe…for eighteen years until Captain Janeway rescued me. I owe her my life and my freedom. I will gladly give both to save her.” Looking pointedly at Lancelot she finished, “My friends call me Seven.”

Capture, rescue and a debt of honor were things these men could understand. Although they had never heard of a tribe called the Borg, the emotion in Seven’s eyes as she told of her life indicated the truth of her words. As the newcomer answered questions from Bors and Lionel, Lancelot formulated his plan.

“Mordred expects me to rescue the Queen, but I will be dead before she mounts her pyre. Annika… Seven… will wear my armor and lead the rescue. With a coif and helm her hair will be hidden. But the jewelry on your face? It can be removed?”

“No, it cannot. But perhaps they can be talismans against black magic? Surely those would be accepted by the fighting men.”

“We will tell anyone who needs to know the truth that Annika has been sent by the Lady of the Lake to aid in the Queen’s rescue. That is why she looks so much like me and why she wears the Lady’s talismans against evil and….deceit? Perhaps that will keep our friends honest, eh?”

Seven fidgeted uncomfortably. “Lancelot, I am willing to take part in your plan, but you must know, I do not know how to ride a horse.” Truth be told, the large creatures made her a little nervous. Very nervous, actually. And since the Borg were never terrified, well, very nervous would have to do.

Lancelot realized her fear and gently touched her hand. “Do not worry, Seven of Nine. We will teach you what you need to know. We have three days until the executions. I will not live that long, but Bors and Lionel will make a knight of you. The first thing you need to learn is how to wear mail. It will slow your movements and take some getting used to…”  As he spoke, Bors and Lionel gestured for Seven to strip off her tunic. Clad in her undershirt and breeches, they showed her how to wear and fasten the knee-length hauberk mail shirt, the chausses (mail leggings) and the coif and hood. Seven walked around the clearing and came to a fast realization. She might be completely armored, but she could never fight like this.

“Lancelot, This mail is too cumbersome. I cannot learn to fight well enough in it in the time we have. I will wear no armor and fight in my normal manner.”

“You must wear some armor, Seven, or you will never convince anyone you are me.” The men discussed the problem for a while and decided that a modified mail suit might work. Lionel was dispatched to the ville to obtain the necessary articles. While he was gone, Bors got Seven up on Lancelot’s horse to practice. After a few minutes he turned to his liege-lord, shaking his head. “She was right. She can’t ride. This will never work.”

“Bors, she needs to ride only well enough to get her into and away from the castle. We know Seven can fight on foot. Once you get inside the keep she can dismount and rescue the Queen. What she needs to be able to do is mount and dismount quickly. Practice that.” He smiled fondly at the large black warhorse. “Concorde knows his business. He will see to it that she stays in the saddle when she needs to.”

Seven began climbing into and out of the large saddle. Once she was comfortable in doing so, Bors had her move the huge warhorse around the clearing using only her legs to guide it. Seven’s first attempt wasn’t what could be called successful. She was so nervous she forgot her Borg-enhanced strength and squeezed the horse so tightly with her legs that it began to wheeze and stagger in a circle. A conscious effort on her part allowed her to relax her grip and she and the horse began to work together. By the time Lionel returned with the bundle of chain mail, Seven could guide Concorde with both hands free. She was still cautious on the horse, but she had begun to trust him as the men did and was beginning to sense how he would respond to her commands.

Lionel unfolded the bundle he’d retrieved from the ville and showed Seven the modified armor it contained. Instead of the heavy knee length hauberk, it held a shorter haubergeon that came just to the top of her thighs. Instead of the chain chausses, a pair of leather breeches and stout leather boots. “They won’t protect you like the chausses would, but it will at least require a direct stroke to pierce them,” explained Lionel. “With your cuirass, shield and sword she should be able to pass as you, my lord.”

Seven walked into the woods to change into them. The knee-high boots and leather pants were heavier than she was used to, but far superior to the chain mail she had been wearing. The haubergeon and Lancelot’s cuirass allowed her enough freedom of movement that she felt confident she could fight in them. The mail coif and helm she would wear only as they attacked the Castle keep.

She returned to the clearing to see Bors and Lionel building up the fire. The tried to get Lancelot to eat something, but he could manage only a thin broth. His face was pale in the firelight and a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. Seven could hear him straining to breathe evenly. He may not live through the night, she thought sadly.

Lancelot died at dawn the next morning. He had been growing weaker throughout the night but summoned all his strength to advise Seven on the best way to gain entrance to the castle keep and rescue Queen Guinevere and Captain Janeway. As the plan was finalized, Seven could detect his life signs weakening. He gathered Bors and Lionel close beside him and demanded that they witness what he did next.

Grasping Seven’s sword arm with all his remaining strength he stared directly into her eyes and rasped, “I require your blood oath. Swear to me that you will carry out the Queen’s rescue and I will have Bors and Lionel swear fealty to you. Refuse and you will die.”

Seven’s eyes were steady as was her voice. “I swear on my honor, I will rescue your Queen Guinevere and my Captain Janeway or die in the attempt. I take this oath freely and without reservation.”

At a look from Lancelot, Bors and Lionel dropped to one knee, placed a hand on their sword grips and swore to aid and defend Seven in the rescue attempt. That done, the three of them gathered close to the dying man.

“There is only the end game left for Guinevere and me. The Queen will wish to enter the convent at Amesbury. Seven, Bors…when you flee Camelot with the Queen make your way to Avalon. The Lady will protect you and see the Queen safely to her cloisters. Lionel, I ask you to bury me at Benwick where we were boys together. The Lady will also help with that task.” He grasped the hands of Bors and Lionel and pulled Seven’s onto them. “I charge you with the life of the woman I love. Get the Queen to safety; far from the clutches of Mordred. I hold you to your oaths.” Exhausted, he lay back, drew one final, shuddering breath and died.

Seven helped Bors wrap the body in cloaks while Lionel brought a small cart from the ville. Reverently, they placed Lancelot in the cart, hitched Lionel’s horse to it and wished him well, promising to meet again in the cloisters of Avalon in three days. As Lionel left the clearing on his tragic journey, Bors and Seven mounted and turned in the opposite direction toward Camelot.

* * * * *

Hooded and cloaked, they made their way through the ville to the public house.  As they entered the smoky room, Bors threw his hood back and moved quickly to a small table in a dark corner. Seven kept her cloak and hood drawn close and stayed back in the shadows. They had just received their mugs of beer when two tall, black-haired men entered and looked around the room. Spying Bors they came to the table and silently indicated two more mugs to the innkeeper. Nothing was said until the additional drinks were delivered and once the innkeeper had returned to the bar, Bors leaned forward and said quietly, “What news from the castle, Gawaine?”

The big man looked steadily at Seven and said nothing. Bors glanced back at his companion and then returned his attention to Gawain. “Do you wish to ask something, Gawaine?”

“Who is this you travel with? It is not Lionel and it cannot be Lancelot. I saw him struck down by Mordred’s men. I saw him rise again, but the wound he took would have felled him by now. ”

“This is…Hansen, known as Seven. Sent to aid us by the Lady of the Lake. Lancelot trusted…him. Lionel and I have sworn fealty to…him.”

“I do not trust your Lady of the Lake. Nor do I trust the hesitation in your speech. Show yourself…Hansen, or we leave now.”

Seven flipped back the hood of her cloak and leaned forward into the dim light. Gawaine and his brother Gareth both drew back sharply and made a sign against enchantments.

“What sorcery is this?” hissed Gawaine.

“No sorcery that you need fear if you will aid us,” Seven said quietly. “But we have little time to waste with those who hinder us. I am Annika Hansen, here to rescue your Queen and the woman who will burn beside her.”

“You are here to rescue the sorceress?”

“No, I am here to rescue my captain and liege, Kathryn Janeway. That she is condemned with the Queen only means that we will rescue them both.”

“The sorceress who appeared in a fiery flash in the Queen’s cell? Twin to the Queen with deep red hair? She is your captain and liege? She a twin to the Queen and you a twin to Lancelot. This is magic the likes of which we have not seen since Merlin’s day.”

“It is our day, not Merlin’s. Will you aid us or not?”

“Yes, we will. Our brother Agravaine has taken leave of his senses and is allying himself with Mordred to bring down the King. We are loyal knights of the Realm; we must stand against them.”

“What do you know of Mordred’s plans?”

“The Queen is very popular and Mordred has been too blatant in his treacheries toward her and the King. Arthur has asked Gareth and me to guard the execution to prevent mayhem. To that purpose, we were summoned to Mordred’s rooms and given the plans for the execution. We are sworn to stop Lancelot from rescuing the Queen.” He looked straight into Seven’s eyes. “But you are not Lancelot. We have taken no oath to stop you from rescuing your captain or the Queen.”

Gareth leaned in and joined the talk. “I ventured into the woods late last night and spoke with the chief of the Old Ones. He said that Sir Ector and Sir Kay were but three hours’ ride from here. The Old Ones will see that Ector and Kay arrive at the appointed place in time to help you. Gawaine and I will see to it that the troops with us in the courtyard are loyal to the King and will offer minimal resistance to your rescue. But it will be best for all if you create as much confusion and riot as you can. The more mayhem is about, the easier it will be to conceal the women and spirit them from the keep.”

“We will have King’s men on the southern sally port. The portcullis will be raised and the winch jammed to keep it open for you. Mordred will have his men on the battlements. Once you secure the Queen and your Captain Janeway you must flee the castle as fast as you can ride. Do not wait for the other knights and your men. We will delay pursuit as long as we can. That is the best aid we can give you.”

Seven and Bors looked at each other and nodded. “It is enough. Between the knights we have rallied to the Queen’s cause and your help inside the castle, we will succeed.” The three men nodded and Seven continued. “Gawaine, I have one more favor to ask. Several of my men have been captured and are being held in the west dungeon. I want to free them to help us.”

“The six sorcerers who magically appeared in the barracks and the keep? That will be no problem, they have been condemned. It will be a small matter to have them transferred to our barracks for….archery practice? Can you get a wain and meet us inside the west sally port in an hour?” Bors nodded and the four of them drained their mugs and left the inn. They walked to the stables and clasping hands, each pair took leave of the other.

An hour later, Bors and Seven were dressed in dirty and ragged clothes and driving a large wain into the west port of the castle.  Bors halted the huge draft horse in time to hear shouts and scuffling noises coming from an open gateway. Soon, a dozen of the dungeon guards dragged Chakotay, Tuvok and his security team, trussed like turkeys, into the courtyard and unceremoniously tossed them into the straw in the back of the wagon. As the last man was thrown in, Gawaine came striding out of the gate.

“You there! Do you know where to take these men? The Orkney barracks. Deliver them to the archery lists so the new conscripts can practice. When they’re finished, take the bodies into the woods and burn them. Do you understand?”

“Yes, m’lord,” mumbled Bors humbly.

“Then away with you! My men are waiting!” Gawaine gestured angrily and stormed back into the castle.

Bors snapped the reins and started the horse and wain back out of the open gate. Half an hour later, the wagon had cleared the ville and was deep in the woods. Seven swung her legs over the seat, drew her knife and began cutting the cords that bound the men. Never had she been so glad to see members of Voyager’s crew; even Chakotay. Bors drove the wain to the hidden glen where those knights still loyal to the Queen were assembling. Once there, Seven briefed the Voyager team on the plans to rescue Janeway and the Queen. Tuvok offered several suggestions that were added to the overall plan.

Seven watched as farmers and laborers went about their daily tasks. To keep her from physically confronting Chakotay in her anxiety for Kathryn, Tuvok asked her to walk with him to a nearby cave. On the way, they noticed some farmers pouring urine on a compost heap. Seven wrinkled her nose at the odor as the two continued up a hillside to the cave.

Inside, Seven’s nose was again assaulted, this time by the stink of rotting eggs. She glanced around at the water leaching from the rock face and forming yellow mineral deposits and looked at Tuvok. Vulcans do not display emotion, but even Tuvok managed to convey that the stench was too strong to tolerate for long. She indicated her willingness to leave with a nod of her head in the direction of the cave opening. On their way back to the encampment, Seven asked the farmers what they were composting.

“’Tis is a nitre-pit, m’lord. We’re making saltpeter to help crops grow.”  Seven thanked him and the two Voyager officers continued on their way.

Suddenly. Seven pulled up short, her eyes wide. Unthinking, she grabbed Tuvok’s arm. “Saltpeter, the cave…” She glanced wildly around toward the smithy where the charcoal-makers were hard at work. Tuvok watched her patiently. Seven of Nine was extremely logical in most circumstances and would tell him what she was thinking when she was certain of her facts.

“Tuvok! Get the security team. I have an idea.” Quickly she explained her thoughts.  Saltpeter, sulphur, charcoal. When she finished speaking Tuvok cocked one eyebrow.

“Impressive. Let’s get started.” They rounded up Voyager’s officers and gave them their instructions. The men fanned out through the encampment and set to work. With everyone busy, there was nothing left to do but wait.

* * * * *

Of all the things I’ve seen in my life and all the places I’ve been, dying like this definitely takes first prize as the most bizarre, thought Kathryn Janeway looking around the straw-lined cell. Since awakening here three days ago, there had not been one single moment which had not seemed surreal. She glanced up at the narrow seam in the wall where daylight would soon begin to filter in. Once it did, her time on the mortal plane would be measured in minutes. She had no idea how she had even been transported to this time and place…if she even believed she was where they claimed.

She’d gone to bed after her argument with Seven. Sleep hadn’t come quickly, but it had come. She fell asleep in her quarters on Voyager and woke up in a dungeon cell in the castle Camelot looking at a woman who, except for blond hair, could have been her clone. The Janeway look-alike introduced herself as Guinevere, wife of King Arthur and Queen of the Realm. Janeway could only stare dumbstruck.

Her arrival in the Queen’s cell had caused a major uproar. In addition to the charges of high treason the Queen had already been convicted of she was now also charged with witchcraft. Janeway had been dragged before a thoroughly unpleasant young man named Mordred, questioned half-heartedly and summarily condemned to die for sorcery alongside the Queen. Janeway had been hamstrung in what she could say. The Prime Directive had been written for an instance precisely like this. There was no way Janeway could risk contaminating the culture of her own planet almost eighteen hundred years in its past.

So she sat, waiting for her crew to find her and get her back to the ship. She knew that while Chakotay would most likely adhere to Starfleet standards, Tuvok and Seven would never allow Voyager to leave her behind. She just had to figure out how to stay alive long enough for them to find her. The Queen, for her part, seemed content with her fate. The King’s bastard son, Mordred, had caught her in flagrante delicto with her lover, Lancelot. Lancelot had been wounded in the ensuing fight but had escaped. Infidelity on the part of the Queen was High Treason and Mordred had wasted no time in convening a court to try and convict her. But Guinevere had said with absolute certainty that as long as Lancelot drew breath he would not allow her to die for their love.

When Janeway had asked why the King did not step in Guinevere had explained why he was helpless to intercede. Arthur created a realm based on the rule of law, not the rule of arms. In this realm, might did not make right, might fought for right. And the law said an unfaithful Queen was guilty of treason. Mordred hated his father and lusted after Guinevere and used her indiscretion to try and topple the King. Arthur’s hands were tied. He could not order the sentence lessened or he would undermine the foundations of his kingdom. No one knew this better than Mordred. All any of them could do was pray that Lancelot would succeed. Guinevere had total faith; Janeway wasn’t so sure.

She could hear the guards assembling in their anteroom. Glancing once again at the wall, the darkness appeared to have lightened a bit. Dawn could not be far off. The executions were scheduled to take place two hours after dawn. That way everyone will have time for a hearty breakfast before coming to the festivities. You don’t want to watch a human being burning alive on an empty stomach. God knows, I don’t want to burn alive on an empty stomach. Yesterday evening, a young guard who had always been kind to them quietly explained how the pyre worked and advised them to take deep breaths as long as possible. That way the smoke would render them unconscious before the flames reached them. Okay, important safety tip. I’ll be sure to remember that in my last moments of life. Janeway put her face in her hands and fought the urge to laugh hysterically.

Guinevere looked at her with a placid countenance. “Do not despair, Kathryn. If your men at arms are as loyal as you claim they will find their way to my Lancelot and rescue you. But even if they do not, Lancelot is a noble knight; he will not suffer a woman to die while he draws breath. You will be rescued with me.”

“I’m glad you’re so sure about this rescue. Personally, I’d give my right arm for a few phaser banks and a couple of photon torpedoes.”

“What is a…phaser bank? A photon torpeedoo?”

“Tor-pe-doe. They are types of arms from my homeland.”

“Ah, yes. The homeland to which you and your men are trying to return. I remember. You will get home, Kathryn, have no fear. But something else troubles you. Will you share it with me?” The Queen smiled and her eyes twinkled. “For if you are right and we are not to be rescued it would be a terrible thing to go to our deaths with unacknowledged regrets.”

Kathryn barked a short laugh. “You have a point. I have several regrets; none of which I can do anything about. But there is one I truly do wish I could change.”

“What is it, Kathryn?”

“I…care for someone. Very deeply. I’ve denied it to myself for so long I’d almost convinced myself it wasn’t true. But sitting here for the past four days with nothing to do but think,… how could I have been so stupid?”

“Why did you deny your love? Is it forbidden as mine was?”

“Not forbidden. There are no laws against it. But the tradition of my army dictates I cannot be involved with a member of it. I did not want to violate that tradition.”

“So you denied your feelings. For how long?”

“Nearly four years. I pride myself on my ability to control myself and make sound command decisions. But this person can infuriate me faster than anyone I’ve ever met. No respect for the chain of command. No respect for my rank or position. A fierce warrior, but with a gentle soul. Loyal even to death. Oh God, why did I ignore my feelings for so long? If I could just tell…just one more….” Janeway hung her head in despair.

“And what is your lady’s name, Captain Kathryn Janeway?”

Janeway’s head snapped up. “I never said it was a woman.”

“You did not need to. Again, what is her name?”

“Her given name is Annika. Annika Hansen. But she was captured by…barbarians…as a child and lived with them for eighteen years until I rescued her. They called her Seven of Nine and that’s the name she prefers. Seven.”

“So, does your Seven feel the same way about you?”

“I don’t know. She never challenges anyone else like she does me. So I know she feels something different about me, I just don’t know if it’s love. Or if it’s romantic love. She could love me like a mother or like a teacher.” Janeway flushed a little. “I’m…somewhat…older than she is.”

“The King is many years older than I but I loved him. I love him still. Age is no barrier to love. So there is no law forbidding your love and yet still you hesitated. Why is that?”

Janeway grinned at her cellmate. “You’re certainly on the mark with your observations this morning, Your Highness.”

Guinevere smiled back at her. “I am considered very astute in matters of the heart. It was only with my own that I faltered. Now, I ask you again; why did you hesitate?”

“Because everyone I’ve ever loved has left me by either death or desertion. But I care so much more for her than anyone I’ve ever met; if she left me I don’t know if I could survive it. I was afraid.”

“And now, Kathryn Janeway? If your Seven were to walk through that door and stand before you? Would you still be afraid? Would you still be silent?”

Janeway looked deep into her heart for the answer. “No, no I wouldn’t. I’d grab onto her and hold onto her for the rest of my life,” she said quietly.

“Then perhaps our time together here has not been wasted. Do not despair, Kathryn. Your Seven will come for you as my Lancelot will come for me. Have faith.”

A beam of sunlight shot into the cell from the rising sun. Not long now.

* * * * *

Gawaine strode around the central court of the Castle re-inspecting the arrangements for the execution. Two stout stakes were set in the middle of a high circle of faggots and logs soaked in oil. The circle was open on one side so that the condemned could be led into it, but stacks of wood were next to the gap so it could be closed once they were secured to their stakes. At Mordred’s command, the circle of oil-soaked logs would be set aflame and the executions would take place.

Gareth paced the perimeter of the courtyard quietly speaking with the guards there. None of them showed outward signs of fear or worry but all felt both in their hearts. No one except Mordred and the crazed Agravaine wanted to see the Queen die, but the law was the law. Not even the King was above it. His gaze swept along the throng of villagers that had crowded into the yard to witness the executions.

Gawaine and Gareth had placed their troops around the perimeter of the yard to contain the throngs of people crowding in. Mordred had stationed archers loyal to him along the high battlements in the event there was a rescue attempt. There was a balcony on the north wall overlooking the courtyard draped with the royal insignia. From there the King and Mordred would watch the Queen and Janeway die. A flutter of tapestry and Mordred and the King appeared.

Gawaine signaled Gareth and the guards to full readiness. He nodded to the chief gaoler and shortly the cadence of drums could be heard coming from the south postern gate.  A minute later a phalanx of guards emerged from the gate surrounding two diminutive figures clothed in plain white shifts, their hands bound. The murmurs of the crowd increased in volume and Gawaine could sense their anger growing at the sight of their Queen so degraded. He moved quickly to the gap in the ring of fuel and watched as the executioner bound both women to the center stakes. Once secured, the gaol guards filled in the gap with the waiting faggots and logs and stepped away from the pyre.  The executioner checked his fire-filled cauldron and the torches it contained then turned to face Mordred on the balcony. The driving force behind the condemnation of the Queen rose. The crowd held its collective breath.

“Guinevere, Queen of the Realm, you have broken your vows of fidelity. You have violated the oath of loyalty you swore to your King. You have committed adultery and in doing so, high treason. You have been charged, tried and convicted by a court of the Realm. The sentence is death. The vardøgr sent to aid you will also die. Executioner, do your duty.” Arthur, King of the Realm, buried his face in his hands and wept.

Where are you Lancelot…Seven? Gawaine glanced over as the executioner pulled a flaming brand from the cauldron and turned back toward the pyre. He took a single step and was felled by an arrow through the throat. Suddenly a huge blast shook the castle as a wagon exploded in the west sally port and the portcullis and postern gate were destroyed. The crowd screamed and began to scatter as horsemen rode into the courtyard. Ector, Kay, Galehaut and Cador of Cornwall charged in through the east portcullis leading a cadre of more mounted men and a company of foot soldiers against the guards. Seven, Bors, Bedivere and another company of men at arms swept into the courtyard from the south sally port and charged directly at the pyre. More explosions began to go off around the courtyard filling it with smoke which hampered the archers on the upper battlements. As they did, Sir Caradoc led a company of archers onto the upper ramparts to battle Mordred’s men.

As the mounted knights engaged the guards Tuvok, Chakotay and the Voyager security team entered the yard, each man carrying four small barrels of Seven’s concoction: black powder. They fanned out, dropping the innocuous barrels at strategic points around the yard, lighting the fuses and running to a new location. Mordred, enraged that his carefully laid plans had come to naught, grabbed the balustrade and screamed orders to the beleagured guards, spittle flying from his mouth.

Down in the yard, Gawaine peered through the smoke and saw his brother Agravaine grab a brand from the cauldron and leap toward the pyre. He tried valiantly to fight his way through the melee of guards, knights and terrified villagers but knew he could not reach his brother in time. Just as Agravaine drew back to ignite the oil-soaked wood, Bors leapt from his saddle and with one mighty swing, severed the arm holding the flaming torch. His next swing separated Agravaine from his head and the lifeless corpse collapsed. Gawaine felt a quick pang of regret, but knew in his heart that his brother had been lost to them the moment he fell under Mordred’s sway.

He watched with relief as Lancelot…no, Seven, rode Concorde to the pyre and urged the huge stallion to force his way through the ring of wood. Once inside, Seven swung out of her saddle and drawing her knife, leaped toward the stakes to free the condemned women.

Guinevere’s face lit up at the sight of her beloved charging through the pyre to her rescue. But as the knight kicked free of his stirrups and slid out of the saddle she saw the metal on his face and hesitated.

“Lancelot?” she cried, but even as the words left her mouth she realized the terrible truth. Her companion’s gasping cry of “Seven!” sealed the horror in her heart. Their savior quickly cut their bonds and turned to face them.

“Captain, Your Highness, we must go now. I will explain when I can. But we cannot stay here if we are to get you safely away from the castle. Come with me!”

Needing no further encouragement, both women grasped Seven’s arms and allowed her to lead them through the smoke and out of the circle of wood. Bors, now mounted again leaned down to sweep the Queen onto his pommel when a guard hacked at his horse’s neck and the animal collapsed. Bors jumped free of his dying mount and killed the guard responsible.Concorde had disappeared in the melee and the four of them stood sweeping the yard for a means of escape. As they did, Tuvok and most of the Voyager security team ran up.

“Captain, we must leave immediately,” said Tuvok loudly, “I suggest the south sally port. It is closer to the extra horses we tethered outside the ville.”

“Where’s Chakotay?” yelled Seven over the tumult around them.

“Lieutenant Ayala is bringing him. He twisted his ankle in the assault.” Ayala arrived then, a supporting arm around Chakotay’s waist.

“This way!” shouted Bors but even as he turned toward the southern portcullis a guard loyal to Mordred hacked through the winch ropes crashing the huge gate closed. The group swung toward the eastern gate but realized immediately that there were too many troops fighting in that direction for a speedy escape.

As Bors hesitated Gawaine and Gareth ran up.

“Bors! Why do you delay? Get the Queen to safety!”

“We can’t get out as we’d planned! Mordred closed the portcullis too quickly!”

Gareth grabbed Bors’ arm and hissed. “Think, Bors! The other way; the secret way. Go! We will fight your rearguard!” Bors’ eyes gleamed in acknowledgement and nodding, he pushed the group to run not toward the sally port, but through the postern gate of the south dungeon.

Seven waited until they were clear of the worst of the fighting before questioning their direction.

“Gareth was correct. There is another way out. A secret way known only to the King’s closest confidants. Merlin’s gate opens into the ville from a hidden passageway off the south dungeon. The guards and villagers fear it thinking it haunted and avoid it at all costs. If we can win our way through the guards to the center of dungeon we can make our escape!”

They rounded a corner to be confronted by four of Mordred’s men. Seven, Tuvok and Bors charged into the group and quickly dispatched the men. They ran on, deeper into the keep. Two more groups of guards fell to their swords and they approached their goal.

“The passageway starts behind a false beam on the west wall…” Bors drew up short as they entered the guard room only to find a closed portcullis blocking their way.

“Quickly! Help me raise it!” cried Seven, moving to the grate and grabbing hold. She, Bors, Tuvok, Janeway and the security team lifted together and slowly the huge iron gate rose. When it was two feet off the ground Seven shouted to Ayala to get the Queen, Chakotay and Janeway under the gate. Janeway’s first instinct was to argue, but she realized that her strength would not be missed and so she let go and rolled under the gate without comment. One by one Seven sent their group under the gate as it slowly sank lower and she and the rest strained harder to hold it open. Those on the far side of the gate could not help lift it; sharpened bars of metal plated the prisoner’s side of ot. Grasping the grate there would slice a hand to the bone.

Finally, only Tuvok, Bors and she remained. The others had tried to prop the gate up with the wooden benches they’d found but the huge weight crushed them in moments. Seven and Bors looked at each other and once again, reached for the grate. As it slowly rose, Seven ordered Tuvok under it. He rolled through, barely missing the bottom as it crashed down once again.

Bors and Seven reached an unspoken agreement: only Bors could guide their group through the castle to the safety of Avalon. As Seven backed up to the grate and sent a command to her cortical node to release more nanoprobes, Bors leaned close and whispered harshly in her ear.

“There is still another means of escape. Merlin built it when he built the aqueducts of the castle. Fight your way to the western ramparts of the stable wing. It is closest to the river. In the center of the stableyard is a deep pool, fed by aqueduct from the river. At the bottom of that pool is a grate and an underground cave and stream that leads to the river. I will leave a mount for you at the cooper’s shop in the ville. Two miles out on the west road is a crossroads. There is a smithy there. Behind the forge is an ancient path; once on it, the Old Ones will guide you to Avalon. We will wait for you there.”

Seven nodded her understanding and replied only “Get the Queen and my captain to safety, Bors.” He nodded and dropped to the floor preparing to roll. Seven gathered all her Borg strength and pushed up with her legs. Straining with all her might she felt the huge grate move slowly upward, her arms and legs shaking with the strain. She heard Bors roll under the grate and when his yell indicated safety she let go and allowed the massive weight to crash back down. Panting, she turned to the others. It was at this moment that Kathryn realized that Seven would not be leaving with them.

Rational thought fled as she threw herself against the grate crying Seven’s name. Unthinking, her fingers sought, found and twined with Seven’s Borg hand.

“No! You can’t…there has to be a way…we’ll find something to…”

“Kathryn, hush,” Seven said quietly, her gaze locked on the gray-blue eyes of the woman she loved. “It is the only way. Bors will see you safely to Avalon. From there B’Elanna will come up with a means of transporting you back to Voyager.”

“I can’t leave you. You’ll be killed. I’m staying; I won’t…”

“Kathryn, think. Voyager and the crew needs you. Without you, they will never reach home. You must go.”

The strain of the past four days finally broke through Janeway’s defenses. Tears flowed freely down Kathryn’s cheeks. “I can’t! I’ve only just found you. I can’t let you go now.” Without thinking she reached out and cupped her hand to Seven’s cheek; the implant warm against her skin. Seven held the hand and leaned her cheek into the caress with closed eyes. She turned her head and kissed Kathryn’s palm softly as a single tear trickled from her eye.

“If you remember anything of my time on Voyager, remember this: you were loved, Kathryn Janeway. Deeply and forever. It has been the light of my existence to love you.”

“Oh, Seven, I love you too! I’ve been such an idiot. There’s so much I need to say, I don’t know…”

“Kathryn,” Seven interrupted quietly, “Kathryn, my love, you must go.” Seven’s enhanced hearing had picked up the sound of guards in pursuit.

“I can’t!” the redhead sobbed, “I can’t leave you!” Seven caught Tuvok’s eye and Voyager’s security chief moved forward and gently disengaged his captain from the grate. To his dismay, she collapsed, sobbing in his arms.

Seven summoned Bors without taking her eyes off Janeway. She slid Lancelot’s sword through the grate and into his hands. “Fulfill your oath and take your liege-lord home. Bury his sword with him.” Bors nodded silently, then turned and moved to a beam on the wall. Reaching around it, he pressed a hidden lock and it swung silently open. He hustled the Queen and their party into the passgeway but just after Tuvok handed the sobbing Janeway off to the Queen, the Vulcan spun and looked back at Seven.

“Live long and prosper, Seven of Nine. It has been an honor to know you.” He nodded once and turned back into the passage. Bors called out “Remember: the west stables; the pool. I will await you in Avalon!” And suddenly he was gone, the false timber closing behind him.

Seven reached down and picked up the swords of two fallen guards and turned to face their pursuers.

* * * * *

Late that night the exhausted party reached the shores of the lake they sought. Bors rang a bell in a small shrine and a few minutes later, the mists parted for the enchanted barge of Avalon. They silently boarded and the boat moved off, the veil of mists closing behind them.

On the island, they were greeted courteously by the Abbess of the religious group that lived there and shown to rooms where they could refresh themselves. The men were ushered to a barracks outside the abbey; the Queen and Janeway to rooms within. Bors had related the tale of Seven’s arrival and Lancelot’s death to her as they made their way through the faerie-ways to the shores of the lake but even through her grief, she felt Kathryn’s pain keenly.

Guinevere guided an unseeing Kathryn into their rooms. Gently the Queen and a novice stripped off the stained and filthy white shift. Together they sponged off the grime that covered her and dressed her in the clean, soft clothing that had been provided. The novice gathered their dirty clothing and left as another brought a tray of hearty broth and  bread.

“Kathryn, you must eat. Seven will come. She is too resourceful to be bested by Mordred. You heard Bors, he told her how to escape the castle. She will come; you must believe that.”

Janeway just shook her head as more tears flowed. “I can’t. I just can’t. I’m all used up. There’s nothing left inside, just emptiness. I’ve lost her. I found her and I lost her.”

“Have faith, Kathryn, if not in Providence then in your Seven. Did she not organize our rescue with Bors and the Orkneys? Did she not show the men the mystery of the black powder? How can you think that one so wise could be defeated by Mordred? Have faith in your love, Kathryn. She will return to you.”

A loud knock on the door caused both women to look up. A breathless young woman entered. “The Abbess requires you. You must meet her in the courtyard. Another of your party has …” The rest of her statement was lost as Janeway rushed past her, upending the food tray. The Queen followed at a more sedate pace, a serene smile on her face.

* * * * *

Seven rushed through the archway into the small round room and whirled to face her pursuers. Five men at arms followed close behind and fanned out to bracket her. She was out of breath and fatigued by the hour of constant fighting she had endured. It had been three days since she regenerated and her nanoprobes were becoming overwhelmed by the demands on them. But she was close to her goal: through this room and up one more curving flight of steps lay the ramparts above the west stables. If she could only hold these men off she could make good her escape.

But then a sixth man crashed into the room. Shouting obscenities he ordered the men to attack and Seven realized that this must be the evil Mordred, the King’s bastard son. “Attack from behind your shields you fools!” he screamed, “Overwhelm him! He is only mortal! Kill him!”

SHIELDS!

Suddenly, Seven knew how to win through to the ramparts. Casting aside the sword in her right hand, she pushed firmly on a slight bump on the back of her left hand. Just as Mordred’s men leapt toward her, One’s multiphasic shielding powered up.

Their weapons glanced off the forcefield, each blow causing it to flash with a brilliant green light. It didn’t take long for the guards to scream “Sorcery!” and fall back from their attack, their fear of her outweighing their fear of Mordred.

“Sorcery, indeed!” she shouted. “Sorcery of the greatest kind! The Queen was endangered; the kingdom threatened! In his greatest hour of need, what protector would Arthur summon?”

The terrified men’s eyes widened even further as the whisper flew around the room. Merlin! Arthur’s teacher and advisor! Merlin, who had foreseen Arthur’s reign and engineered the circumstances of his birth! Merlin, greatest sorcerer in history! Merlin!