Atonement (22 page)

“What happened?” Torres asked as soon as she reached Conlon and Kim, who were standing over the room's control panel.

“Hell if I know,” Conlon replied, clearly nearing her wits' end.

“Reg reported some strange power surges in the holographic systems,” Kim said. “I finally got around to checking his readings, and this is what I found.”

“Nobody has used the holodecks in days,” Conlon added. “No one's had the time.”

“Did
this all happen at once?” Torres asked.

“No,” Kim replied. “The first surges go back more than three months, but most of those didn't target the holodecks. Then they started accelerating in frequency.”

“And I can't tell you why, so don't ask,” Conlon said, frustrated.

“What you see here occurred in the last four days,” Kim reported. “It started just before we reached Lecahn.”

Miral stirred and started to lift her head. “Are the other decks in the same shape?” Torres asked, gently caressing Miral's neck.

Conlon and Kim nodded together.

Torres did a few quick mental calculations and ordered, “Lock it down for now. Get back to main engineering and finish up the tests of the new dish. Once it's online, we'll get a team down here to sort it out. Until then, nobody accesses the holodecks.”

“Reg thinks these surges damaged the Doctor's program. They might be indicative of a larger problem,” Kim noted.

“I'm sure they are,” Torres replied. “But we can't spare anyone to deal with it now.”

“What happened to Miral?” Conlon asked, as if she had only just noticed the child.

“Kula's program was affected as well,” Torres replied. “I'm going to try and restore a backup for my quarters. That will take me the rest of the night.”

“You need to get some rest, too,” Conlon noted, obviously concerned.

“I need my . . .” Torres growled as she turned away, but stopped short of finishing the thought aloud. Harry and Nancy understood better than anyone the strain of her current predicament. But they couldn't really
know
how hard the last few months had been.

Her daughter needed her. The son growing in her body needed her.
Voyager
needed her. The whole damn fleet needed her.

Torres needed to find a small, dark, cool place to close her
eyes for a few hours, while someone else shouldered some of the burdens she was struggling to carry alone.

I need Tom,
Torres thought grimly, refusing to allow the tears forming in her eyes to fall.

GALEN

The last time Counselor Hugh Cambridge had spoken with the Doctor, they had argued. Cambridge had taken the Doctor to task for betraying Seven's confidence. The Doctor's responses had ranged from cutting sarcasm directed toward Cambridge, polite indifference to Seven's current status, and brief impassioned flares of temper indicating how much he still cared for Seven.

Even Cambridge had been able to see at the time that there was something odd about the Doctor's behavior. The last hour spent in Lieutenant Barclay's company had cleared up much of the counselor's confusion.

Apparently the Doctor had been so distraught over Seven and Cambridge's budding romantic relationship, he had contacted his creator, Doctor Lewis Zimmerman, and requested his counsel. Zimmerman had taken it upon himself to modify the Doctor's program in an attempt to help the Doctor deal with these intense “feelings” without doing permanent damage to his program or his personal relationships.

Zimmerman had focused on the fact that when humans experience emotional traumas, time becomes a natural aid in the healing process. Memories, no matter how vivid, fade over time as they move from short-term to long-term memory storage within the mind.

Or they should,
Cambridge thought bitterly. Often as not, traumatic events led to a wide range of neuroses, and the mind's ability to sublimate painful memories was interrupted. “Post-traumatic stress disorder” was a general term for many psychological anomalies that indicated the mind's natural healing processes were not functioning properly.

Cambridge wished Zimmerman had thought to consult
another doctor, or another
human
, before tinkering with the Doctor's memories so haphazardly. Cambridge's sense of Zimmerman from Barclay was that the holographic-design genius lacked sufficient normal human interaction to make him cognizant of, let alone fluent in, the realities of human emotional processing.

Human memory, its power and its flaws, was significantly more complicated than the experience of it suggested. Time did not simply heal all wounds. The perspective that came from living beyond pain, realizing that one could continue to exist despite trauma, and new positive experiences were critical to the healing process. Zimmerman had tried to do an end-run around those essential steps.

If the Doctor had been nothing more than a collection of subroutines and processors, it might have worked.

“I have completely restored the Doctor's program,” Barclay said, once he had summarized Zimmerman's modifications. “As long as we can protect him from overloads like the one that caused the most recent cascade failure, he should be fine.”

“I'd hardly call the intensely narcissistic, passive-aggressive, manipulative individual I've come to know as the Doctor
fine
, but we won't quibble about that right now,” Cambridge noted.

Barclay rose from his work station and faced the counselor indignantly. “When Admiral Janeway suggested that you try to help the Doctor come to terms with the modifications, I told her I did not believe you were an appropriate choice. The Doctor may be all of those things. But he is also one of the most compassionate, warm, and brilliant people I have ever known.”

“I—” Cambridge began, but Barclay cut him off.

“You will not insult him. You will not embarrass him, and you will not judge him.”

Cambridge stepped back, shocked by this sudden display of intensity from the normally fragile and unassuming Barclay.

“You will, to the best of your abilities,
help him.
If you feel inadequate to that task, tell me now and I will find another way to assist the Doctor.”

Cambridge shook his head, smiling faintly. “I'm accustomed to a certain amount of irrational protectiveness from the members of
Voyager
's crew who shared seven years together in the Delta Quadrant. They are, and always will be, much more than fellow officers. The emotional context of their relationships mirrors familial ones rather than professional ones. You weren't part of that crew, but you seem to have embraced the Doctor as fiercely as his oldest friends.”

Barclay's face reddened. He seemed unaware that Cambridge was complimenting him. “I was familiar with
Voyager
's crew long before I had the pleasure of meeting them. When they returned home, the Doctor and I began to work closely together on a number of projects. He is my closest friend.”

“Those feelings do you credit, Lieutenant,” Cambridge assured him. “And the Doctor is fortunate in his friends. While my experiences with the Doctor have not been as universally positive as yours, I do not wish him ill. Believe it or not, I have as much invested in his emotional equilibrium as you do.”

“Because of Seven?” Barclay asked.

Cambridge felt his own pain struggle to surface, but kept it at bay. “I do not believe Seven will ever return to our fleet. That said, she would be devastated should the Doctor suffer permanent damage, particularly if she knew she was part of the cause. I will offer the Doctor my best. For his sake, and hers, I can do no less.”

“For
duty's
sake, you can do no less,” Barclay corrected him.

Okay, we'll go with that,
Cambridge thought. “Of course,” he said aloud.

“I have already briefed the Doctor fully on the events of the last few days as well as the nature of the modifications to his program. He understands now what has happened. He is expecting to speak with you. I want you to do that here, where my diagnostic programs are most easily accessed.”

Cambridge nodded, and Barclay activated the Doctor's program.

As soon as he appeared, the Doctor looked to Barclay. “Hello, Reg,” he said.

“Counselor
Cambridge is here,” Barclay said gently.

“Yes, I can see that,” the Doctor said, shifting his gaze to Cambridge's face. The counselor noted a hardening of the Doctor's features, but that was not unexpected.

“I'll leave you to it,” Barclay said, offering Cambridge a final stern look before he departed.

The two faced each other with several meters between them. After a short silence, the Doctor said, “I assume Reg has briefed you?”

“Yes,” Cambridge replied.

“Had Admiral Janeway not ordered me to participate in these sessions with you—” the Doctor began.

“Me neither,” Cambridge interjected.

“Really?” the Doctor said, evidently surprised. “I imagined you would enjoy finding yourself in this position.”

“What position is that?”

“Power,” the Doctor replied. “I am no longer free to hide thoughts and feelings from you that I would prefer remain private.”

Cambridge exhaled slowly. “Doctor, nothing you have ever thought or felt about me was hidden.”

The Doctor's face assured the counselor that he had unintentionally added insult to injury.

“When were you first activated, Doctor?” Cambridge asked.

“Eleven years, two months, twenty-nine days ago.”

“And have you ever met an eleven-year-old who was at all challenging to read?”

“No,” the Doctor admitted.

“Nor have I,” Cambridge said. “You care deeply for Seven. Your concerns about her choice to enter into a relationship with me were well founded. I am hardly a textbook example of maturity or emotional stability. My personal relationships tend to be rather fraught and usually end badly. While your response to this situation was a little extreme, the insights upon which it was based were wise beyond your years and perhaps even prescient.”

The Doctor accepted this grudgingly.

“I know you don't
remember the conversation, but do you think it was possible that you asked Doctor Zimmerman to alter your memories?”

“No,” the Doctor insisted. “Had I suspected it was possible, I would have refused to allow him to make the modifications. Upset as I was, I have faced emotionally and ethically challenging situations in the past and managed to survive. I did not doubt my ability to rise to this one as well, although apparently my creator did not share that confidence.”

“Pain is a problem for most people.” Cambridge shrugged. “Avoidance is common. What Doctor Zimmerman did in the name of relieving your suffering was really nothing more than salve for his own conscience. He identified a shortcoming in his programming and decided to rectify it. Very few parents can endure the sight of their children's pain. Only the strongest develop the ability to witness it without interference, allowing the child to develop its own critical coping mechanisms. Adolescent rebellion has as much to do with a child's need to test boundaries as their developing sense that they must learn to survive without their parents.”

“At least we agree on that much,” the Doctor noted.

“Before you spoke with Doctor Zimmerman, had you accepted the reality that Seven would likely never reciprocate your feelings for her?”

“Long ago,” the Doctor replied.

“Then why was your reaction to our relationship so intense?”

The Doctor raised a droll eyebrow in Cambridge's direction.

“It was more than my unsuitability as a potential partner,” Cambridge insisted.

“No, it wasn't.”

“It had to be.”

“Why?”

“Because on my worst day, I've got nothing on this man Axum, into whose arms you thrust her so eagerly. He is a victim of sustained abuse. Being Borg was horrific enough, but at least
while
Borg, he didn't know better. Seven and Admiral Janeway
then freed him to live for years as a conscious victim of pure evil. The Borg Queen drove him to attempt suicide and since his rescue, he has apparently suffered only slightly less at the hands of Starfleet Medical. It will take him years to process all he has endured, and if you think he's going to be a stable and loving partner in the meantime, we may have larger problems with your program to address.”

“If you are so certain that Axum will be unable to sustain a relationship with Seven, why are you convinced she will not return to the fleet?”

Cambridge lifted his head to the heavens in search of patience. After a deep breath he replied, “Seven is an extraordinarily stubborn and capable woman who feels responsible for Axum's current condition. She will not rest until she is certain he can survive without her, and that day will never come.”

The Doctor scrutinized Cambridge in silence. Finally he said, “I think it's possible you underestimate her.”

Cambridge laughed bitterly. “Well, you have more experience in that regard than I do.”

The Doctor bristled. “I have never treated her as anything less than—”

“Than a hapless victim in need of a firm guiding hand?” Cambridge finished for him. “Come now, Doctor. Isn't Seven almost as much
your
creation as you are Doctor Zimmerman's?”

“Of course not,” the Doctor replied, stricken.

“Think back as best you can to the early days and months,” Cambridge suggested. “You were her mentor, weren't you?”

“One of many.”

Now it was Cambridge's turn to raise an eyebrow.

“You believe I have somehow infantilized Seven?”

“While love remains a deep and disconcerting mystery, I don't think it is surprising that I was the first man Seven chose to explore her sexuality with. I had never seen her as less than an adult. I had no desire to parent her. Her innocence was part of her charm, but hardly the most alluring part.”