Resistance - J.M. Dillard [29]
“I’m so sorry,” Nave whispered.
“I wish that had been the end of it,” Lio said. “Because we had to fight them again later, in another corridor. And Joel…Joel was there. But it wasn’t really Joel. They’d taken him, changed him, defiled his body with these…these weapons and cybernetic attachments to his head, his eyes, his arms. He was no longer human.” He drew in a long breath. “And the worst part was…I fired my rifle at him, again and again, but I couldn’t take him down. I couldn’t destroy the monster they’d made of him. I know he went on to kill his own crewmates…He would have wanted me to stop him from doing that.”
Nave leaned forward and rested a hand on his forearm. He looked up at her, a hint of gratitude showing in his grim expression.
“That’s what it’s like to fight the Borg,” he said tonelessly. “They’re relentless. The only way we could stop them from taking our souls was to take theirs—to kill their queen. Captain Picard did it once; we’ll do it again.” He sighed. The darkness eased, and he gave her one of his wry Lio grins. “Look, I don’t mean to scare you, Sara. I’m going to be fine this time. My team will be fine, because now we have the advantage. This time we’ll get there before they have a new queen. Without her, the captain believes they’re incapable of moving against us. We’ll go in, get out…it’ll all be over and we’ll be on our way to Repok again.”
Nave took two large swallows of the gin and tonic, and waited for the synthehol to produce the familiar tingling in her feet. “Promise me,” she said. “Promise me that’s exactly how it’s going to happen.”
“I promise.” Lio took her hand and clasped it firmly in his own. “Look, I was a jerk even to mention all that other stuff. That’s all over now. I just…this stuff brings up a lot of unpleasant memories. But nothing like that is ever going to happen again.” His tone turned mildly sarcastic. “Just my Italian sense of drama acting up.”
“I’m sorry for what you went through, Lio.”
For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. His eyes were so green, so clear, she thought again about the Mediterranean, about being pulled beneath the water by strong currents.
“Do you want another drink?” Lio asked suddenly. It was a simple question on the face of it, but Sara knew he was asking something more. She felt herself sliding, pleasantly, over the edge of a precipice. Things were different tonight: in the morning, he would be leaving to go to the Borg vessel.
She shook her head and rose. Without a word, he rose as well, and they walked arm in arm from the room.
In his quarters, Worf sat cross-legged on his bed, with the orange tabby, Spot, curled contentedly on his lap.
He still could not think of the cat as his own. Spot would always be Data’s pet, a living reminder of the friend who had sacrificed himself to save the Enterprise crew. Yet Worf and the animal had come to understand each other, even though the concept of a pet—at least, the way humans interpreted it—was foreign to the Klingon. To his surprise, Spot had required more than just food and shelter; in fact, Spot had demanded more. It had taken Worf a good week to understand why Spot persisted in rubbing herself against his ankles, his hands, and called out plaintively in her strange little voice.
He had consulted Geordi about the phenomenon. The engineer had laughingly explained it to him. “She wants to be petted, Worf. That’s all.”
“Petted?”
“You know, stroked, with your hands. She just wants a little affection. She’ll let you know where.”
“Affection?” Worf was aghast. This was something to be shared with a lover, a child; he could not imagine showing it to an animal.
But Spot was insistent. Worf was clumsy at first and received small scratches and bites as a result, but he remembered how Jadzia had taught him to be gentle. He applied the same principle to Spot, who showed her approval by purring loudly.
Now she sat with her eyes closed, her expression