Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [108]
Meanwhile, Christopher has authored “Aggravated Vehicular Genocide” in the November 1998 Analog; “Among the Wild Cybers of Cybele” in the December 2000 Analog; Star Trek: S.C.E. #29: Aftermath; “… Loved I Not Honor More” in the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Prophecy and Change anthology; the critically acclaimed Star Trek: Ex Machina; and the upcoming Star Trek Titan: Orion’s Hounds. More information and cat pictures can be found at home.fuse.net/ChristopherLBennett/.
Lieutenant Marika Willkarah stood in Voyager’s crowded mess hall, a lively celebration going on around her, and marveled at how quiet it was.
She had thought, now that she was free of the Borg collective-and of the three-member subset thereof into which Seven of Nine had forced her eight years ago-that she would want to embrace solitude, to avoid crowds and noise like this. But she realized she should have known better. The raucous conversation and laughter all around her were nothing next to the invasiveness of a forced mental link. In fact, Marika found that she relished the company of others-especially other Starfleet officers. It felt so right to be part of a Starfleet crew again, however briefly.
It was such a comfort to know she’d die in uniform.
When the Doctor had awakened her, when she’d known solitude within her mind for the first time in nearly a decade, he’d gingerly told her the bad news. The brain damage she, Two of Nine, and Four of Nine-no, she, Lansor, and P’Chan-had suffered when their interface with Seven had collapsed meant that they would live for only weeks, a month at most. But the alternative had been to return them to the collective. Marika couldn’t forgive what Seven had done to them in the past, forcing them into the triad link to keep them from escaping the hive mind after their sphere had crashed; but she was grudgingly grateful to Seven for making the right decision on their behalf now. As Seven had told the Doctor, survival was insufficient. Better a month as a free Bajoran than a lifetime as a drone. And better to give her own life than to be forced to enslave or destroy anyone else’s ever again.
The rest of Voyager’s crew wasn’t coping so well with her situation, though, giving her more furtive, pitying stares than friendly overtures. In fact, this whole party had begun rather awkwardly. That odd Mr. Neelix had decided that since the starship had just gained six new crew members-first the five survivors of the Equinox, and then Marika, late of Excalibur by way of Cube 45208-it was necessary to throw a mixer for the newcomers’ benefit. But the crew had been even more uneasy with the Equinox five than with her, given the criminal actions they’d committed against Voyager and against an innocent alien species. As a Bajoran, Marika understood what desperation could drive good people to do, so she could understand the Equinox crew’s actions; but as a Bajoran she could also understand holding a grudge.
At first there had been a heavy pall over the proceedings, despite Neelix’s best efforts. But then Tom Paris and Harry Kim had taken on the role of goodwill ambassadors, making a point of talking with the newcomers and helping them feel welcome. With that, the ice had broken. It was an interesting dynamic of individuals which Marika was starting to rediscover-if only one person tried something, others simply watched, but if just one or two more people joined in, others would follow. Even free humanoids had their own collective urges.
But that thought had given Marika pause. Why was she content to watch while others took the initiative? That was the way of a drone, not a Bajoran. Especially not now. She had a life to rebuild, and not much time to do it