The Farther Shore - Christie Golden [88]
You are discovering you cannot disconnect me from my precious drones. I will die rather than abandon them.
Precious? Abandon? You speak as if you cared for them. I know well a queen cares nothing for her drones. Perfection is the only thing of value to her. To any of the Borg.
[263]Then you do not know me, Seven of Nine. I am a new queen, a different sort of queen. My reign will be glorious and beautiful. I know that you were always the favorite; the Royal Protocol mentions you specifically. You can join me and—No!
Seven’s blue eyes opened. She had employed the same tactic that Data had used so effectively—distracting the queen. She knew what she needed to know. She stared at Janeway.
“Fire,” she said.
Even as Janeway lifted her phaser to take aim at the queen, Montgomery fired. Covington’s body spasmed. He fired again, and this time, with a long, soft groan, she slumped slowly and her head fell forward. She did not fall; she was supported by the mass of black, twining cables. She no longer looked like the ruling spider in her own web, but a hapless fly, caught in the trap that had killed her.
Janeway closed her eyes in relief, but opened them quickly when Chakotay said, in a warning voice, “Admiral ... Seven hasn’t come out of it.”
Seven stood rigidly, her lips parted, her eyes unseeing.
“Oh, no,” breathed Janeway.
The little girl sat alone in a circle of light. She played, solemn-faced, with a doll that had no head. Annika Hansen, clad in a flowing red dress, walked up to her and sank down beside her.
“Hello, Brenna,” she said.
The girl looked up at her. “You need to watch out for the Hand,” she said. “It will find you. It will touch you [264]in wrong places. It will make you lie, and scream, and cry, and hate.”
Images flashed through Annika’s mind: horrible, grotesque scenes of violation, and beating, and childish flesh fondled by adult hands. She shrank from them, but they were downloaded into her brain. She felt everything. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she sobbed.
“What’s going on? The queen’s dead,” said Montgomery, looking perplexed as Seven of Nine started crying, tears running down her strangely expressionless face.
“Somehow she’s still connected,” breathed Janeway. “I think the queen ... may have transferred the Royal Protocol to her.”
Montgomery looked at her. “Then tell me, why are we letting her stay alive?”
“Because she’s fighting it,” said Janeway, staring raptly. “Come on, Seven, Keep resisting.”
An adult Brenna Covington stood before Annika now. She reached out and clasped Annika’s hands, two tall, fair-haired women, so similar and yet so different.
“Take it,” Brenna implored. “Take it. Take them. You know what I have endured. You know what I feel for them. They need a queen. They need you. You can be better than the original queen. You can exceed the programming. You can look at your drones as beloved children, not as things to be used and discarded. They can be glorious. You can take them to perfection. There’s nothing they and you won’t be able to achieve.”
Annika clutched Brenna’s hands. This was no trick, no lie. The Royal Protocol, modified and adapted by [265]Brenna Covington, surged through her. She could feel it already, closing off some parts of her body, opening others, exploring, downloading information. Brenna was right. Already, she could hear the voices of the confused hive, turning to her, seeking solace. She could be a new type of queen, a benevolent, loving monarch, to lead her people to perfection and—
No. She would not be seduced by the glory. Sweet though it was, it was an illusion. The Borg represented suppression of individuality, no matter how the queen thought of her drones. Brenna sensed her decision.
“No,” she cried, “please, don’t abandon them!”
“I am sorry,” Annika said, sincerely, and slowly, deliberately, closed the door on the Royal Protocol, the clamoring drones, and her last, best chance to be a part of something infinitely greater than herself.
Chapter 24
WHEN SEVEN