Homecoming - Christie Golden [37]
The mammoth tide of Borg suddenly parted and Pi-card found himself staring at a cluster of people huddled on the metallic flooring of the cube. They were [107] Borg, but what a curious collection. Most were children. Many were elderly. A few of them were clearly ill, emaciated from the ravages of disease. They were alive, were awake, but lay at odd angles like discarded toys.
Picard was confused. Children and the elderly and unwell? Why would the Borg want them? The Borg were eternally in search of perfection. It was almost always the finest specimens from each culture they selected for assimilation. The idea was to enhance the collective, not detract from it. Children were indeed taken by the Borg, but they were set aside in hideous maturation chambers, their growth forced and monitored. And the old and ill were useless as drones. This made no sense.
Then again, he knew it was a dream, and dreams often did not make sense.
He awoke with a start, breathing heavily. Reaching for a glass of water beside his bed, he gulped, realizing his mouth was parched. He wondered if he had cried out.
He rose and washed his face, taking a moment to look at himself in the mirror, half expecting to see an implant erupt on his cheek. It remained whole. He returned to bed, wondering why he was dreaming of the Borg. He didn’t usually have such nightmares.
No doubt it was the return of Voyager. It sported Borg technology and two individuals whose presence on Earth could indeed make Picard dream of the creatures. He had not yet gotten to meet the remarkable young woman and youth who had been liberated from the collective, but was anxious to do so once his duty schedule permitted. They, unlike anyone else, would be [108] able to understand the hell he had undergone while he was Locutus. No doubt, they would appreciate connecting with him as well.
Yes, that was it. Seven of Nine and Icheb had been in the back of his mind for several weeks now, and his subconscious had merely brought the Borg to the forefront. He drifted back to sleep and had no more dreams.
Chapter 9
SPECIAL FRIENDS, PARIS THOUGHT, were the ones you could call on to help you unpack. He’d supplied the pizza and beer, and Harry, Lyssa Campbell, and the Doctor had answered his plea for assistance. They were munching happily—well, all except the Doc, of course—in Tom’s new apartment. They were halfway done. Most of Tom’s furniture was in place and now they were unpacking smaller knickknacks.
“Surprised to see you here, Doc,” Lyssa said between bites of a large pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms, and green pepper. “Thought this was a little lowbrow for you.”
“Well,” said the Doctor, his holoemitter firmly in place on his sleeve, “I must say, these hands were hardly designed for unpacking mugs that say [110] ‘Universe’s Best Dad’ on them, but I am nothing if not versatile.”
“Hey, I like that mug,” Tom protested, but he was grinning. It was good to see his old friends again. Miral certainly kept him busy, but with B’Elanna gone he was missing his Voyager companions terribly. “So, Harry, you and Libby looked a little tight at the banquet. I guess things are going okay?”
His mouth full of pizza, Harry still managed a grin. Swallowing, he said, “Better than I could have hoped.”
“That’s our romantic Harry,” said Lyssa, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “So, tell us, Harry.”
“Yeah, tell us all about it,” echoed Tom. He said it only to watch Harry blush.
“We’re still getting reacquainted,” Harry said a little shyly. “We’ve both changed a lot over the last seven years. Sometimes it’s a little awkward.”
“And sometimes it’s not, huh?” Lyssa waggled her eyebrows meaningfully and they all cracked up. Even the Doc smiled. At the sudden outburst of mirth, Miral woke up and began to wail. Smoothly Tom picked her up out of the crib and walked around with her. The gestures were natural to him now after a month of practice, and he was barely aware of his gentle movements on her back that soothed and calmed the fussy infant.
“Lyssa, come on!” said