Strange New Worlds 2016 (40 page)

Seven stared hard at the first officer, trying hard to find a scientific reason to
refuse his offer. The Doctor had run a full exam on her and found no abnormalities,
and a comprehensive scan of her Borg implants revealed no malfunctions. She was at
an infuriating impasse and she knew it. She sighed.

“Very well. But I do not see how it can possibly help, Commander. The Doctor has already
given me a complete physical and pronounced me in excellent health.”

“All the more reason to look to a more spiritual explanation, Seven,” Chakotay said
calmly. “When science fails to give us an explanation, there is no harm in seeking
answers from our spirit guides, as my father taught me. I used to think it was ridiculous,
too, but I’ve come to understand and appreciate the connection to the spirit. You
might be surprised at what you learn.”

Seven looked away from Chakotay’s earnest expression. She was surprised to find herself
trembling slightly in apprehension. She cleared her throat and looked him firmly in
the eye.

“What do I need to do?”

Screams split the air, and the heavy, metallic stench of blood hung in the chamber.
Echoes and whispers, only partially audible, reverberated through her mind. Sickly
green lighting and suffocating heat completed the nightmare scene.

We are Borg. Your biological and technological distinctiveness is being added to our
own. You wanted to come back. Welcome home, Seven of Nine . . .

“No!”

“It’s all right, Seven,” came Chakotay’s voice, soothing her. “Tell me what is happening.
Where are we?”

“I’m . . . it is . . . an assimilation chamber,” she said tremulously. “Why do they
not see us?”

“It’s part of your vision quest. Your body is safe on
Voyager
. Keep talking to me.”

“The drones are assimilating her. It is the same as in my dreams. She is conscious
and resisting assimilation, and the second drone, that one”—she indicated the smaller
of the two, which had its back to them—“is me. I am assimilating her. Only the person
on the table is me as well. I am being assimilated.”

“How is that possible? Think. What is your dream telling you?” Chakotay asked. He
gently touched her shoulder. “Go look. What do you see? I am beside you.”

Seven drew a shuddering breath and haltingly stepped toward the woman thrashing in
terror and pain on the table. The woman looked directly at Seven as she approached.
At a glance, she bore an uncanny resemblance to Seven herself, and Chakotay could
understand why his crewmate was so unsettled. It was only on close inspection that
the minute differences were apparent. The woman had green eyes with horizontal pupils,
her hair a shade lighter. Beyond that, Seven felt as though she were looking into
a mirror. Involuntarily, she stiffened and resisted going closer. Chakotay’s steady
presence calmed her and she drew a deep breath, looking closer at the other woman.

“Tell me about them,” Chakotay urged. “What do you know about them?”

“Everything. We are Borg. They were assimilated,” Seven replied impatiently.

“Seven, please.”

“Species 3836. Lynnrali.” She sighed. “They inhabited a Class-M planet they called
Lynnra, near a stellar nursery nebula in sector zero-six-zero. Humanoid, similar in
appearance to Earth humans. They have a slightly longer typical life span than humans,
fewer offspring. They have extensive theoretical knowledge of warp mechanics, but
the radiation from the nebula prevented them from being able to create a stable warp
field. They were isolated from having contact with other civilizations because of
the nebular activity, but they did have intermittent communication with the planet
nearest the nebula in sector zero-five-zero.”

On the table, another harrowing scream erupted from the woman as she fought against
the horrors the drones were inflicting on her. Seven flinched.

“Keep remembering, Seven. What else?”

“They . . . they were extremely advanced in medical sciences, more advanced than the
Federation. They have a rich literary culture and . . . and . . .”

“What is it, Seven? What was this woman’s name?” Chakotay whispered.

“Her name is Eilara. She was a widow. Her daughter is Eryet. She would sing duets
with her little girl at home. She loved reading and was so proud that her daughter
had also learned to read so young. How can I know these things?”

The assimilation chamber pulsed with a ghoulish light, the heat closing in around
Seven and Chakotay. The woman, Eilara, screamed again, seeming to look directly at
them.

“Please don’t do this! My name is Eilara, I have a little girl, her name is Eryet.
She needs me . . .”

“Seven, open your eyes. It’s okay, you’re safe. The vision quest is over for now.”

Gasping for breath, a strangled cry escaped Seven’s throat. Disoriented, she looked
wildly about her and jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. She blinked in confusion
and stared into Chakotay’s warm eyes. The slight crow’s lines were accentuated by
his striking tattoo on his temple and she focused on that until her head stopped spinning.
Now that she saw him, she remembered agreeing to participate in a vision quest. They
were seated on the deck of his quarters, the items of their medicine bundles before
them, their hands gently touching the
akoonah
, the device that initiated the spiritual visionary journey of Chakotay’s people.

“Did you know you were speaking along with the woman on the table?”

“No,” Seven replied shakily. “I was unaware that I was . . . I’m sorry, Commander.”

“It’s all right, Seven.” Chakotay sat back on his heels and considered her thoughtfully.
“That was a very unique experience, even for a vision quest. How do you feel about
it?”

Seven started to answer immediately, then paused. A slight frown creased her brow,
and she shook her head. “I am uncertain. I was sure that this vision quest would yield
nothing, that I would see nothing. But then I was in the assimilation chamber, seeing
that woman, me, the drones, and I felt . . . I thought . . .” Chakotay waited patiently,
knowing she needed a moment to gather her thoughts. “For many months after Captain
Janeway severed me from the Collective, I wanted nothing more than to return to them.
To restore order to the chaos of my emotions and thoughts, to hear the thoughts of
the other Borg in my mind. But I have come to value my individuality, and now, seeing
the assimilation chamber, I am frightened. I do not wish to have these dreams any
more. I do not wish to see these visions, or know that this woman’s name was Eilara,
who sang to her daughter named Eryet.”

“Why do you know these things about this woman and not about other individuals you
assimilated during your time as a drone?” Chakotay asked softly. Seven drew a shuddering
breath, not quite a sob.

“She was the last individual I assimilated before Captain Janeway severed my link
to the Borg.”

What is it about sickbays that always makes
me feel like there’s not quite enough oxygen in the room?
Captain Janeway wondered as she strode toward her chief medical officer and Chakotay.
The holographic physician was standing beside an exam table where Seven was lying
still, the diagnostic console above her just receding back into its niche.

“Report, Doctor,” Janeway ordered.

The Doctor sighed, his usual mix of irritation and arrogance replaced with curiosity
and mild concern. He scowled at the monitor before him, on which was displayed the
results of Seven’s physical. Janeway smothered a smile as he redirected the scowl
at her first officer.

“Well. This little exercise of yours, Commander, appears to have done something interesting
to Seven’s neural pathways. When she came to me just two days ago, her brain scans
looked like this.”

The holographic doctor pulled up a display of a neural chart. The wavy lines were
indecipherable to Janeway; however, even she could see a marked distinction between
the first and the second pattern. “I completed a second scan after Seven and Chakotay
went on their vision quest. Typically, the neural stimulators used by the
akoonah
are harmless, but something seems to have triggered a unique synaptic response in
Seven.”

“Meaning what, Doctor?” Janeway asked, taking an unconsciously protective stance beside
Seven, who now sat up on the exam table.

“I don’t know yet, Captain. I’m not sure how Seven’s Borg implants are influencing
the psychotropic effects of Chakotay’s
akoonah
, or if they are affecting each other at all. This could simply be a coincidence,
a physiological event that would have occurred regardless of the vision quest.”

“Is Seven in danger?” asked Chakotay, a stricken expression on his face. He was a
gentle man; the thought that he might have been the cause, however unintentional,
of harm coming to his friend was unbearable to him. The Doctor shrugged.

“I can’t say for certain, Commander. Neurology is always a gamble when Borg implants
are involved in the mix. For now, she is stable and can return to duty.” The Doctor
turned to Seven, who was sitting uncharacteristically passively on the exam table.
“Seven, I’d like for you to wear this neural monitor.” Without waiting for her reply,
he attached a small device behind Seven’s ear. “This will help me find the specific
neural pathway that is being triggered. It should help me find a treatment that will
allow me to stop your dreams of Eilara.”

Seven blinked as if her mind had been wandering, then her gaze focused on the Doctor.
She seemed momentarily confused.

“Yes, that is fine. Thank you, Doctor. Now I must go or I’ll be late.”

“Late?” Janeway asked.

“I must pick up my daughter from school shortly. Today is the fourth day, and on those
days we always walk home past the bakery to buy the sweet rolls she likes. We have
them for dessert after dinner.”

The three Starfleet officers exchanged startled glances. The Doctor put a restraining
hand on Seven’s arm and began a new scan.

“Seven, actually, you will need to stay in sickbay. I cannot return you to duty at
this time,” the Doctor stated. Seven blinked again and started slightly.

“Doctor. I am fine. I am willing to wear the neural monitor, if that is your concern.
I will not remove it.”

Janeway’s stomach dropped. She had dealt with delirium, illness, injury in her crew
before. She knew the pain and confusion it could cause. Yet somehow, seeing it in
Seven was as unsettling to her as anything in her past experience. For all of Seven’s
vulnerabilities and insecurities, the former Borg seemed always above typical human
ailments. To see Seven affected by physical infirmities seemed wrong to Janeway somehow,
and served to highlight the precarious situation her entire crew was in by being stranded
so far from home and help.

“Seven,” Janeway said, stepping closer to the younger woman, “you just said that you
had to go pick up your daughter from school.”

“That is not possible,” Seven stated flatly. “I do not have a daughter. The woman,
Eilara, had a daughter. Perhaps you misunderstood.”

The Doctor, who had been surreptitiously scanning Seven since her unusual outburst,
frowned even more deeply than before and moved to a secondary diagnostic console.
He pulled up a new scan and placed it next to the other two which were still on the
display above the exam table. Janeway and Chakotay moved to the Doctor’s side and
stared at the newest data. Janeway forced herself to remain patient while he reviewed
the information, though it took monumental willpower. At length, he turned back to
Seven.

“In the few moments between the second and third scans, there are changes in your
neural pathways, just enough to cause a fluctuation in the overall reading of your
brain wave patterns. Not enough to pinpoint the specific synaptic connections that
are affected. Yet,” he corrected, “though with further monitoring, I will be able
to find the precise connection and create a treatment for it.”