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By Root 602 0

"a bedside manner" in the vernacular, hut any brusqueness the Doctor displayed usually didn't bother her. Today, however, he was unusually rough in his handling of her, and even Seven by now knew true rudeness when she heard it.

"Doctor, you have instructed me to report any and all malfunctions with-"

"Seven, you are not malfunctioning!" exploded the Doctor. "You are not damaged or malfunctioning or any other mechanical term you'd care to use. There is nothing wrong with your implants. Nothing. N-o-t-h-"

"I can spell," Seven replied, a hint of annoyance

creeping into her own throat. Her chest hurt a little. She realized that the Doctor's attitude, which was completely inexplicable, was "hurting her feelings." Illogical though it was, emotional distress did cause physical pain.

"Why do you say there is nothing wrong?" she asked, slipping off the table to confront him. "I have told you, from time to time I see a distortion of objects. It does not occur in the eye without the implant, therefore it must be-"

"All in your head," interrupted the Doctor, flicking a finger against the metal of her ocular implant. "The dark matter is probably responsible. It seems that everything around here can be rationalized away by the dark matter."

"I am hallucinating?" The thought did not sit well with her.

"Indeed. Now go away and let me attend to the patients who actually need treatment."

Again she experienced the odd pang in her chest. Seven deliberately forced her emotions down. "How is Naomi Wildman?" she inquired.

He was busy arranging his surgical tools, though Seven noted that they were in perfect alignment They lay on the tray, separated by approximately 0.35 centimeters of space. The Doctor frowned, picked up his autosuture, and moved it a tiny bit closer to the cortical stimulator. Seven recognized this as obsessive behavior, but kept her own counsel.

"Naomi?" He frowned. "I haven't seen her for quite some time. Why do you ask?"

"She too was having hallucinations. She was playing in her regenerator in the cargo bay and imagined she saw and heard an intruder."

He looked concerned at that "In a child, the degeneration caused by the dark matter could progress much more rapidly. I'd better see her." He tapped his combadge. "Sickbay to Naomi Wildman."

Silence. Frowning, the Doctor tried again. "She's not responding. She could be sick or injured. Seven, you know all the nooks and crannies where she likes to play. Find her and escort her to sickbay."

Seven was less worried than the Doctor, but she agreed. It would do Naomi some good to undergo a thorough examination. It would take her mind off her imaginary friend.

"Seven tells me you're just an imaginary friend," said Naomi, sitting cross-legged beside Mr. Ghost. "Or else I was hallucinating. But / knew you were real."

"Yes," replied her new friend. 'I am indeed real. But you must not tell anyone else about me. Let them think you're just a simple child, imagining a playmate. We can know better. It can be our special secret"

Naomi grinned and hugged Plotter. "Okay! It'll be nice to have someone to play with."

"Now, Naomi," chided Mr. Ghost, "you understand that being a ghost is not a trifling matter. I have many..." He paused, and his ridged brow furrowed. "Many rites of atonement to perform in order to... to pass on."

At once, Naomi sobered. "Oh. I suppose you do. Is there anything I can get you?"

"Nothing right now-only your silence, Naomi. If you tell anyone about me, then I will be set back in my attempts to pass on. You wouldn't want to do that to me?"

"Oh no!" She shook her head so vigorously that her hair flew. "I would never-"

The door hissed open. Naomi gasped. Mr. Ghost got silently to his feet, his hand at the weapon on his belt. He signaled her to be quiet, and she nodded her comprehension.

Kneeling, he brought his lips to her ear and whispered, "The magic cocoon that hides me and my equipment will also hide you, if you are silent."

"Naomi Wildman?" It