Unworthy - Kirsten Beyer [77]
“Of what?” Chakotay asked, placing a gentle hand on her knee.
Seven’s eyes began to glisten and her chin quivered as she struggled to hold back her emotions.
“Of being worthy of the gestalt?” Chakotay asked kindly. “It is possible you share more with the Indign than you are willing to accept, Seven. Perhaps that is what the Indign consciousness sensed when it first contacted you.”
“Doubtful,” Seven insisted.
“Maybe we don’t know enough about the Indign yet to make that leap. Either way, I think it is more important than ever that you learn to control your catoms.”
“How?” Seven demanded.
“Practice,” Chakotay suggested.
Eden couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Batiste repeated when she questioned it the first time.
“They’ve made contact, and they’ve asked us to leave,” Eden said. “Have I missed anything important?”
“They’re capturing and killing innocent humanoids and offering them for assimilation to a race that no longer exists.”
Eden took a moment to collect her thoughts, crossing to the bay of windows that offered a more serene picture of the Indign system than Willem had just painted.
“We could set up buoys just outside the system, warning passing ships,” she suggested.
“Or we could remain in the system until the Indign are willing to speak with us again, at which point we tell them the truth,” Willem countered.
“The truth?”
“That the Borg no longer exist. Their master race was conquered by an even greater species and no longer occupies this area of space. Their offerings are no longer necessary.”
“You and I both know that in a situation as delicate as this, sharing that information could prove disastrous.”
“So we simply lie to them by omission? And allow them to go on victimizing other sentient creatures in a cause that has gone from irrationally motivated to absurd? That’s the Starfleet way?” he demanded.
“We have to respect their cultural norms, Admiral. They worship the Borg, the same way humans worshipped gods in any number of forms for thousands of years. It doesn’t matter that those gods are intemperate and ultimately unknowable. That’s part of the allure for those who are so inclined. It’s evidence only of their shortcomings, not those of their gods. It’s the basis for faith.”
“Their faith is based on gross misunderstanding and lies.”
“That’s not for you to judge, and you know it,” Eden countered.
Batiste crossed to face her, fierce and unyielding determination shining from his eyes. It had been such a long time since Eden had seen such intensity radiating from him, she took an involuntary step back. What she remembered of his passions was their deep and tempestuous nature. Once upon a time, she had met him there, and truly enjoyed wading into those dicey waters. Now, they frightened her.
“What’s the point of gathering all our knowledge if others can’t benefit from it as well?” he asked.
“We benefit from it. But knowledge can’t be forced upon others. They have to want it. They have to find it for themselves. And I believe that in time, the Indign will. It’s only been a few years. Who’s to say that after fifty or a hundred more, when the Borg haven’t been seen or heard from by several generations of cooperatives, they won’t reevaluate their beliefs and pin their hopes on their own goals, rather than those they once perceived as the accomplishments of another race?”
“If they are anything like humans, it will take a lot longer than that,” Willem noted.
“Granted,” Eden said with a nod. “But isn’t this the point of the Prime Directive? We don’t interfere with the natural development of other races because we’re not in the god business. You’re seeing only the horror of the Borg’s influence here. I recognize that, too, but I can also see the positive