Seven of Nine - Christie Golden [45]
She did not have the coping mechanisms, never had, never would.
But she could ensure that this would never again happen. And there was just one way to do that.
Seven of Nine rose and walked, unsteadily, around the cargo bay searching for tools that would suffice for this particular task. She met with frustration. Nothing was sharp enough. Finally, in exasperation, she began to seize various storage boxes and rummage through them. There were no knives, no weapons stored here.
Only containers, and samples of Yes. A few months ago they had collected samples of a hitherto unknown geological formation. The rock was harder than any substance that was naturally encountered. The ancient natives of the planet had built domiciles out of it that lasted for centuries. Yet this stone, considered a gift from the deities of the planet and called "blessingstone," fragmented easily into jagged, sharp pieces when struck at precisely the right angle. Thus, the same stone was excellent for building nearly indestructible houses and for creating efficient weaponry.
Seven was unexpectedly nervous as she picked up the bright-blue blessingstone. She examined it, turning it this way and that. Which was the correct angle?
The lighting in the cargo bay was poor. It helped her relax when she was regenerating, but now she wished it were better. She ran her fingers lightly over the stone, searching for the telltale "guiding fissure" the aliens had shown them.
Ah, there it was. Yes. One good blow from something solid would do it. She reached into the box and withdrew a second blessingstone, positioned it against the guiding fissure of the first, and then struck hard.
The blessingstone shattered into dozens of shards, each perfectly sized to be an ideal spearhead. It was no wonder the people thought the stones sacred.
Seven picked up one and stared at it. Now that the moment had come, she found that she was afraid. She lacked the courage to do what needed to be done.
Perhaps the humans were right. Perhaps there was forgiveness, even for someone like her.
No! thought Imraak, clutching the blanket. The time for fooling yourself is gone. There can be no forgiveness for what you've done-only atonement.
You must do it.
No enduring it a moment longer.
There was no enduring this a moment longer. Seven grasped the stone in her left hand and turned her right hand palm up. The soft flesh of her wrist, unprotected by Borg technology, would part easily with a single stroke of the sharp stone. Harry would not check back for three hours.
By then, it would be over.
Over.
She took a deep breath and pressed the stone to her wrist.
With a cacophonous chorus of shrieks, the ravens who had until now sat silently watching her exploded into action. They dove at her head, pecking furiously.
Black wings hammered her face. Seven cried out and flung her hands up against the onslaught. Still they came, their beaks tearing chunks of flesh from her soft face and exposed hands. She huddled forward and felt blood trickling down her cheeks. It dripped into her lap, merging with the crimson of her dress.
Seven gritted her teeth. These birds of the mind were trying to stop her. She wouldn't let them. She knew what she had to do. For the second time she pressed the sharp edge of the blessingstone against her bare wrist.
"Don't!" came a voice, high with terror.
The birds disappeared.
Seven started and glanced up. Two yards away, staring at her with enormous eyes, was a little girl.
Seven did not recognize her. To the best of her knowledge, there was only one child aboard Voyager and that was Naomi Wildmon. This was a human child, with long blond hair and wearing a frilly white dress.
"Please, don't," she said again, more softly. "I need you, Seven.
Don't