Unworthy - Kirsten Beyer [51]
“Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Seven struggled to see beyond the criticisms laid before her. In a blindingly painful moment it hit her.
“They didn’t take me with them,” she finally offered. “But they must have found me insufficient in some way,” she added quickly.
“Or they were too blind to realize what they were missing,” Cambridge suggested.
“I do not believe that is the case,” Seven objected.
“But do you at least agree that it is possible?”
Seven grabbed the arms of her chair and slid rearward until her spine rested comfortably, supported by the chair’s firm back. Though she imagined that the counselor might revel a bit in this little victory, she no longer cared and noted that his expression remained neutral.
“How was last night?” Cambridge asked suddenly.
“It was difficult for me to engage with my friends,” she admitted hesitantly. “I realize that they are happy to once again share each other’s company, and I experienced great relief when I learned that B’Elanna and Miral were alive. But we have not shared common experiences or pursuits for many years. We no longer seem to know one another as well as we once did.”
“So there’s distance between you?”
Seven nodded.
“And how does that distance make you feel?”
“It is painful.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Why?”
“Because you retain your ability to feel human emotions, more deeply than you probably suspect at the moment.”
“I have seldom found my emotions to be helpful,” Seven warned.
Cambridge smiled.
“You will,” he assured her. “Trust me.”
Seven eyed the counselor warily. “Annika Hansen was human. As such, she was at the mercy of her emotions.”
“Is that why you resist the voice?”
“I do not believe so,” Seven admitted. “I cannot accept the notion that I am only Annika Hansen. I do not even know who she would be, had she never been assimilated.”
“And you may never know,” Cambridge offered. “Annika is an insufficient designation. It cannot begin to contain all that you are.”
“Then why would this voice, assuming that it was left by the Caeliar, wish to reduce me to less than I am?”
“I don’t know,” Cambridge replied. “In your years with the Borg you experienced something quite unique and you gained the collected wisdom of billions of beings.”
“You believe it was a good thing that I was assimilated?” Seven said in disbelief.
“That is something only you can decide. Because you value what the Borg gave you, you are reluctant to part with it, even to bow to the will of those you believe their superiors. But you can’t have it both ways. Either the Caeliar are right, and you should purge yourself of your past, or the Caeliar are wrong.”
Seven sat in stunned silence.
“I’d like to suggest that you are now faced with a unique choice, one that most of us will never have the opportunity to experience. You are not only human or Borg or Caeliar, but also all three. But only if you are willing to embrace that reality.”
“The voice will not allow it.”
“Let’s find out,” Cambridge suggested.
“How?”
“Disengage your neural inhibitor.”
Her hand shaking, Seven did so.
Within seconds, the voice once again began to encroach upon the silence. Seven felt her chest begin to tighten.
“You hear it again, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You are more powerful than the voice, Seven. You are something of which the voice cannot conceive. Silence it.”
Seven repeated these words in her mind as the voice grew louder.
“I … cannot …”
Cambridge leaned forward, taking Seven’s hands in his.
“You can.”
Seven closed her eyes and attempted to force the voice to do her will. When the sound was all she was conscious of, she abruptly reached up and switched the inhibitor on again. She opened her eyes, realizing that her breath was coming in great heaves, expecting to find disappointment on the