Seven of Nine - Christie Golden [44]
She stopped and turned to face him. "You do not make a good liar, Ensign, so do not attempt a falsehood. You met Annika Hansen. Do you like me better than her?"
He felt his face grow hot. The answer was so much more than a simple yes or no, and he groped for words. A humorless smile curved her lips.
"It is as I suspected. I suppose I can see her appeal."
"Seven, you don't understand. Annika was more like us, more-we could relate to her. You're harder, more of a challenge to get to know. But that doesn't mean that you're not a good person even though you're calling yourself Seven of Nine and not Annika Hansen!"
"A good person." She considered the phrase.
"Vague, yet restrictive. What is a good person, Ensign? Am I? Are you? Are the Skedans? The Tuktak?"
Her words were hard, like hammer blows, and Harry started to get angry.
"You're quibbling over semantics here, Seven."
"And yet that is how you communicate. Should I not be, as you phrase it, quibbling over the finer nuances and shadings of your words?"
Harry frowned. "Now you're just trying to pick a fight. Well, I won't play that game." The cargo bay door hissed open. "I'm more than happy to talk with you about words, Seven. Heck, I'll talk with you about anything you like, whenever you like. You should know that by now.
I'm your friend. But you're you're not yourself and I'm afraid I'm just going to make things worse. There's your alcove. I'll check in with you in three hours and take you to the mess hall, all right?"
She stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded once, and stepped into the alcove. She straightened, adjusting her body to the proper position, and closed her eyes.
He watched her for a couple of minutes. He hadn't lied when he said she was someone unique and special. This whole ordeal had shaken her to her core and the rest of the crew had been rattled right along with her. He sighed, and went to return to the bridge.
Seven opened her eyes after hearing the door shut.
Even such a simple movement felt difficult, as if her body were heavy and clumsy instead of strong and graceful. She preferred having her eyes open. When they were closed, it was as if the scenarios had been granted new life. She saw the murder of Keela's mother, the dismemberment of Aman, the anguish on the face of Rhly as she cuddled her children close in a futile effort to protect them from the horror descending from the skies.
After Kovan's suicide, she had gone to the Doctor and requested that he remove the feeling she was experiencing. He had told her that he was not able to do so-that she'd have to learn to live with her remorse and that eventually it would subside. He had been correct. Kovan's untimely death had ceased to occupy her thoughts and she had, as the humans liked to put it, "gotten on with her life."
But this... Seven groaned and sank slowly to the floor, reaching out trembling hands to the walls of the alcove for support. The anguish she had caused. All those lives ruined because of her, because she had been Borg, because she was Borg, now and forever.
It could not be home.
Her stomach roiled as the by-now familiar scent of rot surrounded her, but she forced herself to be calm.
Frantic activity would not accomplish the desired results. She had to be effective to be successful.
Yes, thought Imraak. He had curled up in a corner of the cargo bay, wrapped in the poor rags that served as blankets. He had scorned Janeway's offer for better coverings, clinging to what little was left of his world.
The children at play did not notice him, and the foolish Tamaak was deep in mental conversation with Shemaak. They were paying him no heed.
No living with this, is there, Seven? Such pain. Such dreadful suffering, and it's all your fault, all your fault....
It was all her fault. And there was no way to atone for any of it.
The complex concepts of compassion and forgiveness