Star Trek Voyager: Unworthy Page 28

  When the Borg had faced war with Species 8472, they had agreed to an atypical compromise because Janeway possessed a weapon that could destroy their enemy. The Indign had no way of knowing that the Borg had seen the tactical necessity of such an alliance. Seven found herself wondering if this piece of the Federation’s history with the Borg might be worth sharing.

  The communication between herself and the consciousness that had possessed “Meegan,” as well as the individual Neyser, had been forced upon her. In the cavern she had opened herself up to the Neyser, but had not been in control of the situation.

  Seven knew what she must do. Every moment she hesitated, however, the battle grew more desperate. She realized that one thing neither her human, Borg, nor Caeliar nature could countenance was succumbing to fear.

  Turning to Counselor Cambridge, she said, “I believe I can assist the fleet from here.”

  “How?” he asked.

  “I intend to speak with the Indign.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What are you going to tell them?”

  Seven paused for a moment before she settled on her response.

  “Whatever it takes.”

  Cambridge inhaled sharply, but maintained his composure. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Your last contact with the Neyser didn’t go all that well.”

  “You would ask me to risk less than my friends to secure our safety?” Seven demanded imperiously.

  Cambridge’s shoulders dropped. Finally he asked, “Is there any way I can help?”

  “Contact Commander Glenn and advise her of my intentions,” Seven replied with a nod. “And no matter what happens, do not attempt to terminate whatever connection I may establish with the Indign.”

  The doubt in his eyes reflected her own trepidation, but he nodded firmly and offered her a friendly smirk. “Once more unto the breach, my dear.”

  Between Voyager and Hawking, eight Indign cubes had been destroyed and six disabled in the first five minutes of the battle. While this left only ten to continue their assault, Voyager’s shields were at thirty-six percent, significant damage was done to several decks, and there were dozens of wounded personnel.

  Hawking’s shields were below twenty percent and one of her phaser arrays was fried. In his last communication, Captain Itak had direly reduced their potential odds of success to less than ten percent.

  Eden was forced to agree with his assessment. It seemed her options had gone from severely limited to none. Voyager and Hawking would have to destroy every Indign vessel or be destroyed.

  Eden had dreamed of years spent in peaceful exploration, unlocking mysteries barely imagined, and productive contact with dozens of unknown species. In none of her dreams had she presided over the crippling of her ship in a single battle, never mind the destruction of another race’s fleet.

  She cursed Willem for leaving Voyager vulnerable. He had compromised their systems thoroughly. She could have ordered her three vessels to engage their slipstream drives and eluded the Indign before the attack began. Unfortunately now, it was a little late.

  But not necessarily for Galen.

  “Eden to Itak,” she called, as Gwyn executed a near flyby of a cube and Kim unleashed a barrage of phaser fire upon its weapons array.

  “Go ahead, Voyager,” Itak’s maddeningly calm voice replied.

  “Are you still capable of slipstream flight?” Eden asked, attempting to match his tone.

  After a short pause, Itak replied, “Lieutenant Vorik assures me that we are.”

  “Very well. Break off your attack and regroup with Galen. I’m going to order Commander Glenn to engage her slipstream drive. Hawking should enter into the corridor Galen forms and rendezvous with the rest of the fleet as planned.”

  “Voyager will not survive this battle alone,” Itak offered.

  “You let me worry about Voyager,” Eden replied. “Stand by.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Eden then keyed her comm panel to hail Commander Glenn and quickly repeated the orders she had just given Captain Itak.

  “I understand, Captain,” Glenn replied. “However, Counselor Cambridge has just advised me that Seven of Nine is attempting to speak directly with the Indign. I don’t believe we should leave the area if there’s a chance she might succeed.”

  Eden looked to Chakotay. “What the hell is she doing?”

  Chakotay shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’ll tell you this: if Seven thinks she can get through to them, I wouldn’t bet against her.”

  Eden found herself hoping he was right.

  “I can give her three more minutes. Advise Counselor Cambridge to let her know. If she doesn’t get anywhere in that time, you are to coordinate your escape with Hawking as directed.”

  “Understood. Glenn out.”

  Eden looked again at Chakotay, amazed at his resolve in the face of the odds arrayed against them. She only wished she could share some of his confidence. Wordlessly he offered her a tight smile and for just a moment, she did.

  “Commander Paris?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Can we keep this up for another three minutes?”

  “Let’s find out.” Paris smiled grimly.

  Seven began by seating herself on the edge of the biobed and bringing the face of Irene clearly into her mind’s eye. Irene was soon joined by Kathryn, Chakotay, Icheb, Naomi Wildman, and for good measure, Commander Tuvok. Seven allowed herself to imagine strength and support radiating from each of them into her. She met the eyes of each of them, drawing upon her memories of their love and steady resolve before arraying them behind her in an ordered formation, her own imaginary battle line.

  Studying the battle proceeding on the viewscreen before her, Seven selected a single Indign vessel that seemed to be holding position and allowed it to grow larger in her mind.

  Finally, she took a deep breath, and disengaged her neural inhibitor.

  There was a moment of confusion as she floated in blackness. Bright flashes of orange and red assaulted the periphery of her awareness but Seven ignored them, willing the Indign vessel to her consciousness.

  She found herself standing in a cold, gray room surrounded by four Indign cooperatives. Seven knew she was not physically present among them, but was pleased that she had managed to come this far.

  Hear me, she thought.

  A tinny buzz began to suffuse her consciousness. At first it sounded like distant static, a distortion to be cleared from the signal she was attempting to transmit. As it grew louder, however, she realized it was the frequency that the various Indign species used to communicate with one another. Individual thoughts buzzed between the Neyser, Greech, and Irsk-Dulaph, all of whom were studying the battle as intently as she had. Concern, alarm, and pain wove their way through the miasma as their companion vessels suffered, and resounding cries of happiness corresponded with direct hits upon the Starfleet ships. Through it all Seven sensed the intensity of their purpose and the absolute unwillingness to accept anything less than the annihilation of their enemies.

  Focusing her attention on an individual cooperative, Seven attempted to discern the particular harmony that separated it from the other cooperatives collected in the room.

  Evade.

  Fire.

  Reconfigure shield parameters.

  Adjust course.

  The cooperative was commenting upon the battle, anxiously awaiting their chance to join the fray.

  The simplicity of communication between the creatures reminded Seven of the Borg. The lack of extraneous description, uncolored by emotion, was cold but somehow comforting.

  Hear me! Seven demanded, distorting briefly the unity of the cooperative, but not getting their attention.

  Who are you?

  Seven drew herself up to her full height before she realized that the question had not come from the Indign.

  Standing before Seven was the half-human, half-Caeliar child Seven had confronted in Erigol.

  You know who I
am, Seven replied. Now get out of my way.

  You are Annika Hansen, the girl said. You are not wanted here.

  Perhaps not, Seven said, raising her chin defiantly. But I am needed.

  The girl’s knowing laughter broke through the buzzing of the Indign, distracting Seven’s focus.

  You are Annika. Nothing more. You need nothing beyond that to live peacefully among all life-forms. Be at peace, Annika. That is all we require of you.

  Your requirements are irrelevant, Seven replied. You abandoned me. You deemed me unworthy of your collective gestalt. I owe you nothing.

  The girl’s face fell into unbearable sadness.

  Why do you resist? It is unnecessary.

  Seven bent at the knee to meet the girl’s eyes.

  If you truly wish to help me, she countered,cease your interference. I am Annika, but I am also Seven of Nine. I cannot be less than that for you or anyone. I am more than you can possibly imagine or contain. Accept me as I am, and I will do the same for you.

  The girl smiled shyly, then threw herself into Seven’s arms. Where she touched Seven’s body, she dissolved into it.

  Seven rose unsteadily to her feet. The strength tingling through her was something she had never felt before. She was once again embraced by the countless billions of the gestalt and she tasted their power, but she also felt their compassion. In a flash she remembered the last time she had stood before them and remembered with stark clarity the truth that had eluded and haunted her every moment since that time: the truth that had made the voice the Caeliar had encoded into her catoms both necessary and no longer relevant.

  The moment was as fleeting. This time, as it dissipated, Seven found that she was able to keep a firm hold on all that she was.

  Seven turned again to the Indign.

  Focusing on one cooperative was no longer necessary. She expanded herself to include all the Indign around her and said, I am Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One.

  Hundreds of voices ceased their internecine dialogues and focused a single thought upon her.

  You are Borg?

  I was, Seven corrected them. I come bearing the collective wisdom of billions. Hear me.

  As the Indign hung breathless upon her next words, Seven opened her mind to them, showing them Voyager’s initial confrontation with the cube on which Seven had been stationed when she was assigned to act as an intermediary between the Borg and humanity. She shared with them Kathryn Janeway’s unfathomable request for alliance, and the Borg’s acceptance of her offer. She showed them the results of that alliance, the defeat of their mutual enemies. She showed them Janeway severing Seven from the Collective.

  The Indign began to lose their cohesive quality. Each cooperative had its own questions. Soon hundreds of voices were peppering her mercilessly with individual requests for guidance and information. They stood face-to-face with their god, having tasted of the fruit of knowledge, and hungrily began grappling among themselves for the rest of the apple.

  Seven had intended to use her memories as a means to convince the Indign that they should ally themselves with Voyager as the Borg had. Amid the chaos she realized that this would be too complicated for the Indign to accept.

  Cease your hostilities against the Federation vessels, Seven ordered, cutting sharply through the chorus of frightened and shrill voices bombarding her.

  Why?

  Why?

  Why? Why? Why?

  Part of Seven hated to answer their question in the only way she knew they would understand. But she also recognized that this was probably the first of many such discussions she would inevitably have with the Indign and her only goal now was to end the fighting so that the more productive work could actually begin.

  The Borg are pleased with your offerings, Seven replied. They have sent me to assure you of this. If you would be worthy of our continued attention, you would do well to heed my words. Cease your attack and return to your homeworld. I will find you there.

  Seven knew the power of a superior voice, but the infinitely greater power of that voice’s silence.

  She imagined herself seated once again in the Galen’s sickbay. As she opened her eyes to find Counselor Cambridge, the Doctor, and Commander Glenn staring at her with wide-eyed wonder, she terminated her connection with the Indign.

  The Doctor immediately moved forward and began to scan her with a medical tricorder as Cambridge offered her the inhibitor.

  “What did you do?” Glenn asked.

  A dull throbbing in the front of Seven’s skull quickly sharpened its assault until it felt as if someone were pounding upon it with a hammer.

  “Have the Indign retreated?” Seven asked as the strength that had briefly sustained her limbs dissipated and her arms and legs became heavy as tritanium weights.

  Glenn advised her gently. “Eden’s last report just came in. They broke off the attack and set course for their system.”

  “And not a moment too soon.” Cambridge smiled even as he studied Seven’s face intently.

  “What did you do?” Glenn asked again.

  Seven didn’t know if her reluctance to answer was the result of the many levels of physical discomfort now washing through her, or the reality that though she had succeeded, she had failed to uphold Starfleet ideals.

  “I lied to them,” Seven finally replied.

  Glenn appeared to be puzzled, the Doctor shocked, but Cambridge nodded almost gleefully.

  “Well done,” he said, and smiled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  You did what?” the Doctor shouted, dropping the padd he’d been using to update Ensign Sanchez’s chart with a clatter onto a tray of surgical tools.

  Galen’s triage center had gone from chaotic to controlled insanity over the last several hours as the wounded from Voyager and Hawking had been prioritized and treated both during and in the immediate aftermath of the battle. Doctor Sharak and Doctor Lamar had tended to as many critical patients as possible on their respective vessels, but the Galen’s ability to absorb the overflow had been an undeniable asset, despite the toll it had obviously taken on her medical staff, including the Doctor. Naturally the Doctor wasn’t at risk of exhaustion, but that didn’t mean that hours of performing continuous, high-stress procedures wouldn’t make him a little more testy than usual.

  Supplemental medical holograms continued to work diligently around them, cleaning up the area as they went. One was good enough to collect the instruments the Doctor had disturbed in his outburst and whisk them unobtrusively toward the medical replicator for recycling.

  Barclay had waited to deliver what he knew would be troubling news about Meegan. Actually, had it been up to him, he might have waited longer. But he was due to debrief the senior fleet staff in less than half an hour and his report would contain Meegan’s true nature, as well as his disconcerting conclusions. Reg couldn’t bear the thought of the Doctor first hearing what he had to say in a public forum. He suddenly wished desperately for another shipwide crisis that would require his immediate attention, ending this conversation. However, the lieutenant reminded himself that what he and Doctor Zimmerman had done in creating Meegan was out of concern.

  Somehow this didn’t make Barclay feel any better.

  “We were worried about you,” Reg asserted, attempting to convey in only a few words the care they had taken in their plans.

  The Doctor’s scowl sharpened and his eyes glistened with brittle anger.

  “You,” the Doctor said with emphasis, “were worried about me ?”

  “Well, both Doctor Z and I thought that …”

  The Doctor seemed to sense the number of eyes and ears now focused upon them. Quickly and a little painfully, he grabbed Reg’s forearm and directed him to an unoccupied hallway that separated the recovery area from the main sickbay.

  “You didn’t think!” the Doctor insisted. “If you had, you might have realized that in the years I have been active, I’ve had no difficulty whatsoever of engaging
in normal romantic relations with a wide variety of women.” He stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief. “Honestly, the two of you. Just because you’re flesh and blood you think you understand my feelings, my needs, better than I do? You thought I needed your help? Reg, you can’t put three words together in the presence of a woman you find attractive and your last liaison was with a woman who only bedded you to steal Starfleet secrets for the Ferengi!”

  Barclay blushed at the unpleasant memory, but maintained his composure. “Doctor Z rightly pointed out …”

  “Doctor Z? You think I need to be taking romantic advice from a man who hasn’t so much as touched a member of the opposite sex since before the founding of the Federation?”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I was exaggerating for effect,” the Doctor huffed. “But my point still stands.”

  “I realize you may not have shared our concerns,” Reg said as evenly as possible. “We never doubted your ability to find and maintain lasting relationships. You weren’t the problem. The issue at hand was a partner who could actually share a life as long and diverse as that which is ahead of you.”

  The Doctor softened at this.

  Sensing the subtle shift, Reg continued, “Neither of us could bear the thought that one day, you were going to fall in love with a woman who would age and die while you remained essentially unchanged. How many times would that process repeat itself before you decided it was no longer worth the pain? Ultimately, you might grow less human than you’ve already become … less compassionate, less … feeling . The only solution was to create an appropriate counterpart for you. We designed Meegan in the hope that one day, she, like you, would attain sentience. She was the most extraordinary piece of engineering Doctor Z had ever conceived of. She wasn’t programmed to fall in love with you. Meegan was given interests and skills that complemented yours but we both believed it would take years before nature would, hopefully, take its course.”

  The Doctor eyed Barclay warily. “Did she know she was a hologram?”

  “Of course. But she also knew that she was a unique hologram.” Reg admitted, “And her programming did not allow her, at least for now, to reveal to anyone that she was not human.”