Seven of Nine - Christie Golden [17]
As they strolled arm in arm toward the turbolift, Paris felt more at peace than he had been since his last camping trip. The feeling was so profound that he almost could smell the comforting, cool scent of pine.
Seven blinked. Her right eye was filled with some sort of crusty, gritty material and she brushed at it absently.
"Humans call it sleep sand," said the Doctor, noticing her movements.
"There are all kinds of stories told to children about the Sandman sprinkling the stuff in one's eyes with the purpose of bringing restful sleep. Similar to the legends of the Tooth Fairy.
Personally, I find the thought of some spirit or magical being hovering about a child as it sleeps and pouring sand into its eyes rather disturbing, but it seems to calm the humans."
"But it is not sand at all," said Seven, frowning. "It is merely the encrusted-" "You're missing the point," said the Doctor irritably. She looked up at him. "Seven, you slept. For ten hours, I might add.
That's a first for you."
"You injected me with a hypospray."
"Which wore off after approximately twenty minutes. You were sleeping quite naturally and very soundly." He glanced up from arranging his tools on a tray and grinned. "Snoring, as a matter of fact." At her look, he added, "Quite audibly."
Seven frowned. "I do not snore."
"How would you know?"
He had an excellent point and she decided not to pursue it. Of more immediate concern were the strange images that she recalled-fragmented, bizarre visions.
"Doctor, I believe I dreamed. It was-most unusual. The images that I saw seemed disjointed."
"Again-perfectly normal for humans, or so I understand. Dreams are images from the subconscious. The mind is working on finding solutions and uses dreams to do so. Sometimes the meaning of a dream is obvious.
More often, the brain uses metaphors."
"They were most illogical."
"I'm sure they were." He bent and ran the tricorder over her. "Were any of your dreams about these other lives?"
She shook her head. "No."
"How about your feathered friends?"
For an instant, Seven thought-hoped-they had gone. Perhaps this sleep had banished them. But upon looking around sickbay, she saw them-six of them, now-clustered in a corner. All of them were staring at her.
"The birds are still present, Doctor."
"And your limbic system is active." He snapped shut the tricorder.
"Seven, we've discussed this before, but-do these birds have any sort of meaning for you? Something that might have been in your dreams, perhaps?"
Seven thought about her dreams for a moment before replying. "There was one in which I was supposed to report to Astrometrics. Captain Janeway was there, and Chakotay-all the senior staff. I had designed a very important program. But when I had to demonstrate it-" She turned her eyes on the Doctor. "-I had forgotten everything. Everything!"
"That's a version of a very common dream," he reassured her. "The ones I usually hear about concern failing Starfleet Academy exams."
"And there was one where I was falling-and one where I realized I was unclothed, but I was on the bridge and-" "All normal dreams," said the Doctor. Seven thought he looked a bit uncomfortable and wondered if he had always been programmed to blush or if that was a new subroutine.
"I'm afraid that figuring this out is all up to you. Dreams are tailored to the individual-there's not usually a common language, so to speak. Try to look for a pattern in these recurring hallucinations.
Think about what ravens mean to you.
You say that's the one constant."
One of the ravens pecked at another, which cawed and flew to a safer perch. "That is correct."
"And they do not appear when you have the hallucinations."
"No, they do not."
"I think these birds are your subconscious. Like your dreams. They-" "Yes," breathed Seven, remembering the faintest echo of