Homecoming - Christie Golden [66]
“Then who did?”
He looked away, unable to meet her fierce, protective gaze. “Some cadets at the Academy. They said something about me being Borg.”
“The boy requires medical assistance,” the Doctor snapped. “You should have attended to his injuries first.”
“There was nothing life-threatening,” said one of the guards. “Don’t worry, you’ll both be seeing the doctor here soon.” Without further comment, they stepped outside and the forcefield crackled as it snapped back into place.
“What happened, Icheb?” asked Seven. “Please explain.”
Slowly, haltingly, Icheb recounted the incident. Seven and the Doctor listened without interrupting. She pressed him on the Borg comments, but Icheb could recall nothing of substance. Seven latched on to the one thing that might provide enlightenment.
“Tim said something about overhearing a message his father received,” she said. “What is his father’s occupation?”
“I do not know for certain,” Icheb said. His voice was slurred because of his swollen mouth. Seven again felt a rush of anger. It was uncharacteristically cruel of Starfleet security not to have treated Icheb’s wounds.
[197] There might not be anything life-threatening, but he was deliberately being permitted to suffer, and it infuriated her.
“Tim has never been allowed to tell us much. His father works for Starfleet security, possibly on a very high level. It could be that he received information about a Borg attack that has not yet been made public.”
Seven had come to the same conclusion, but it made little sense to her. If there had been a Borg attack, the expedient course would be to immediately mount a counterattack. Nothing would be gained by keeping such knowledge secret and not acting upon it. That was a certain path to assimilation. But if the Borg were somehow involved, she suddenly knew why she had been accosted in her own home, forcibly and probably illegally removed, and why frightened cadets would turn so viciously on a friend. Fear of the Borg was a dreadful thing, and unfortunately, a logical response to a profoundly dangerous threat.
She changed the subject as she examined his face. “The security guards were correct, though it was hardly a qualified medical assessment,” she said. “I do not believe that you are damaged beyond repair.”
His bruised mouth curved into a smile at her choice of words, and almost at once he winced from the pain. Seven felt a pang, but did not change her expression. It would not assist Icheb to display excessive pity for his condition.
“The body’s not what hurts so bad,” he said softly, barely loud enough for her to hear.
She knew exactly what he meant. “It is difficult [198] when those we have come to care for appear to have turned against us,” she said. It was not fair for Icheb to have to have suffered this even once, let alone twice in his short lifetime. First his parents had betrayed him, and now his youthful colleagues had physically damaged him.
“Do you think they’ll let us go?” he asked.
“I have insufficient data to predict their response,” Seven replied. “I was, however, in communication with Commander Chakotay at the precise time that security came to Aunt Irene’s house. It is likely he will attempt to intervene on our behalf.”
“And Admiral Janeway knows about my situation, at least,” added the Doctor. “I’m sure she’ll find out about you two as well.”
“Commander Tuvok stopped the—” Icheb obviously couldn’t bring himself to say the negative words “attack” or “beating,” so he said no word at all. “He stopped it, so I know he knew what was happening.”
“So, Commanders Tuvok and Chakotay are aware of the situation. It is likely that they will notify Admiral Janeway. Do not get too comfortable, Icheb,” she said, attempting to tease. “I do not think we will be here for much longer.” She looked over at the Doctor, expecting a witty confirmation of her statement, but he said nothing. And she saw doubt in his dark holographic eyes.
Icheb was permitted to see the doctor first. He returned looking