Seven of Nine - Christie Golden [21]
"Yes, it is I." Peculiar word, that. One letter in the English alphabet, and yet it meant so much-more than her mind had even been truly able to grasp, yet.
L Me. Myself The question of identity, of individuality, of a singular, unique entity dreadfully alone in the universe.
"Thank heavens for that." She felt cold metal against her neck and heard the hiss of the hypospray.
Her rapid heartbeat slowed and she felt calmer.
"Since Ensign Kim brought you in to sickbay this afternoon," the Doctor continued, "I've had to deal with Druana, Keela, Aman, To-Do-Ka, Shrri, and Zarmuk the Father-Warrior. You make a very interesting male, Seven."
He ran the tricorder over her and frowned. "Your body has been running on the contents of my hypospray for far too long. You need to regenerate and eat something."
Seven wasn't paying attention. She stared at the seven black birds who kept her silent company. I remembered the rhyme you were trying to tell me about, she thought to them, knowing that they could hear her. Foolish, to direct a thought to a hallucination. But these birds-these birds with their ever increasing numbers and reassuring if illusory solidity-were her lifeline. They held the key, and part of that key was the nursery rhyme.
She took a deep breath and reached for the Doctor's hand. Surprised by the gesture, he did not pull away.
He, too, was an illusion after a fashion-a hologram, not flesh and blood or machine. But he was also real, solid to the touch, and she gripped his hand hard.
"Sing a song of sixpence," she said in a flat voice, fighting for control. The Doctor's eyebrows climbed for his hairline-quite a reach-and he opened his mouth as if about to say something. She shot him a quick glance and he fell silent, sensing how important this was to her even if he couldn't understand why.
"A pocket full of rye, four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie. When the pie was opened-"
-the birds began to sing And they did, in their own way, flapping about and shrieking. Seven winced at the - volume; the sound hurt her ears.
She still had difficulty believing that what was so clearly visible to her should be unseen by any others.
At that moment, the ship was rocked by an enormous blast. Seven gasped. Her eyes rolled back into her head. One of the birds lit on her shoulder and pecked at her ear, trying desperately to keep her here, inside her body. But the by-now familiar stench filled her nostrils and her mind.
The gleaming metal! The strange, ugly being-not the Great Destroyers, certainly, but perhaps one of their minions. Aman's own body was as ugly as this being's-bipedal, naked, no colorful feathers nor elegant claws. What new, monstrous experiment was this?
"Seven?" asked the being. She summoned up what moisture she could from her terror-dried mouth and spat at him.
"Ah, " said the being, wiping the offensive spittle away, "Not Seven.
" "Janeway to bridge. What's going on, Chakotay?"
Janeway knew her voice sounded strained, but the sudden rocking of the vessel had taken her utterly by surprise. She, Neelix, Tuvok, and Tamaak were awaiting the arrival of the Lhiaarian official in the transporter room.
"We're under attack."
"By the Lhiaarian vessel?" She glanced, shocked, at Neelix. He looked stunned. He shook his head and shrugged in a gesture of incomprehension. There had been absolutely no indication of hostility in the tedious negotiations they had just concluded. Something as alive and vital as hostility would, frankly, have been welcomed compared to the dry discussions in which the Lhiaarians seemed to so enjoy indulging.
"Negative. Vessel unknown."
"On MY way." She arrived on the bridge in less than three minutes.
Chakotay yielded the chair and updated her. "We'd hoped that Vooria might be able to tell us about this new vessel, but we've lost all contact with