Despite his dark mood, Harry felt his mouth tilting toward a smile. He resumed his seat. “Slow down. Finish chewing. Swallow.”
As he gave these instructions Conlon matched her actions to his words. When she had finished he said, “Speak.”
“Yeah, one of these days I’m going to get around to table manners,” Conlon said sheepishly. “I’ve got a problem, and I’d like you to take a look at it.”
Harry dutifully picked up the padd and quickly absorbed its contents.
“Microfractures, eh?” he finally said with an air of a seasoned veteran.
Conlon considered him warily as she replied, “Uh-huh. And it’s not just Voyager’s benamite crystals. Every vessel in the fleet showed the same results after our last slipstream run. Granted, the last one was pretty long. But I’m pretty sure the point of having this nifty new drive is to be able to use it to cover as much distance as we want as often as we need to and unless I can find a way to fix this, that isn’t going to happen.”
Harry tossed the padd back to her and feeling better than he had all night said, “Problem solved.”
Conlon’s face betrayed utter incredulity.
“How?” she demanded.
“Are you finished eating?” Harry asked.
Conlon immediately dropped her fork. “If you’re serious, I am.”
“Let’s take a walk,” Harry replied.
Nancy followed Harry out of the mess hall and only when they had reached the turbolift and he directed them toward the deck housing the shuttlebay was she able to guess at their destination.
Conlon could tell Kim was enjoying himself at her expense. Every spare moment she’d had—and there hadn’t been many since she’d learned of the benamite problem— she’d been fretting over a solution. Thus far, all she had come up with was shortening the fleet’s mission.
She’d come to Harry hoping for a little unconventional perspective. When she’d taken over for Vorik, the Vulcan had scrupulously and in mind-numbing detail given her his appraisal of each of her staff members. Harry Kim was on the short list of non-engineering specialists who could provide valuable insight.
Her days on the da Vinci had taught her that establishing cohesive working relationships between staff members could be tricky. She was new to Voyager, but the engineer understood that she was going to have to make sure Kim understood who was in charge of this little corner of the universe.
Toward this end, she decided to change the subject, as he was clearly not going to tell her more about his miraculous solution until they’d reached the shuttlebay.
“Can I ask you something else?” she said as the turbolift doors slid open.
“Sure.”
“Isn’t B’Elanna one of your oldest friends? I mean, you served together in the Delta quadrant, didn’t you?”
Harry tensed at her side, but kept his voice even as he replied.
“We did. And she is.”
Conlon worried that she might be trespassing on too personal ground but was going to feel even dumber than she already did if she let it go at that.
“I thought so. You just don’t seem as happy as everyone else was today to learn that she’s still alive.”
Kim paused his steps and turned to face her.
“I am happy to see her,” he said coldly. “I’m thrilled she’s still alive.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Harry repeated and continued walking.
Nancy would have been content to remain silent for the remainder of their walk. She would have been ecstatic had she thought to construct a time machine before she entered the mess hall so that she could have erased this moment from history now that it had occurred. She lagged a little behind as she tormented herself with these thoughts until Harry stopped again and looked her way.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No apology necessary,” she replied hastily. “It’s none of my business.”
Both the gloating and the hostility in Harry’s face were gone and in their place she caught a glimpse of genuine misery.
“You’re right. It isn’t. But I don’t mind that you asked.”
I don’t know about that, Nancy mused.
Harry continued, “I love B’Elanna and Miral. I wanted to die when I thought they were dead. Having them back is a miracle and I am grateful. I’m just pissed at Tom.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nancy said as kindly as possible. “You two are friends. You’ll work it out.”
“Maybe,” Harry said with a shrug.
Realizing that crossing into this personal territory might feel more comfortable if she made an unpleasant confession of her own, Nancy said, “I have to say, though, I probably wasn’t as happy to see B’Elanna walk into that room as everyone else was.”
“Why not?” Harry asked.
“She’s B’Elanna Torres,” Nancy replied, as if that should more than explain it. “She’s the miracle worker of the Delta quadrant. She’s one of the reasons this ship made it home in one piece. To hear her former subordinates talk, she walks on water, leaps Borg cubes with a single bound, and recalibrates magnetic constrictors just by glancing in their direction.”
She felt better when Harry grinned at this description.
“I’m sure everyone is assuming, now that she’s here, that we’d all be better off if she just took her engine room back right now,” Nancy admitted.
“You’re wrong,” Harry said more seriously. “First of all, that engine room is nothing like the one B’Elanna left when she started her leave more than three years ago. It’s yours now. Second, most of the people on this ship haven’t been with Voyager all that long. You stepped in and so far, you’ve worked a few miracles of your own. You’ve kept the mission on schedule and you’ve solved every problem I’ve seen thrown your way.”
“Until now.” She frowned.
After a pause Harry said, “But if you’re really that intimidated by B’Elanna, you’re not going to be happy at all when I show you what’s behind those shuttlebay doors.”
“What’s behind those doors?”
Harry led her into the shuttlebay and directed her toward the ship they had retrieved that morning.
Yet another Torres masterpiece, Nancy realized, her confidence taking another blow.
Kim unlocked the ship’s main door and led her down a few steps into the engine compartment. He allowed Conlon to silently study the slipstream drive B’Elanna had engineered, which was similar, though not identical, to the Starfleet one. Nancy immediately found herself wondering why B’Elanna had chosen to align the injectors at such an odd angle and whether or not those were actually regenerative circuits she was looking at. These thoughts were relegated to the back of her mind when she discovered a small chamber installed opposite the main drive that housed what looked like benamite crystals.
She moved closer to study it and within moments understood Harry’s sublime confidence of a few minutes before.
“Is that a—?”
“A benamite recrystallization matrix,” Harry finished for her.
“How did you know about this?”
“My security team gave the shuttle a once-over, per regulations, the moment we brought it on board.”
“How did she—?”
“I don’t know,” Harry cut her off again. “But if I were you, I’d ask her.”
Seven of Nine perched on the edge of the chair with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Until her implants had been replaced by the Caeliar, she had never found 0800 to be an onerously early time of day. With sleep remaining elusive, the position required more concentration than it used to.
“You know it’s not actually necessary to sit at attention,” Counselor Cambridge said dryly.
Seven noted that he rested in what appeared to be flagrant ease, well into the seat of the soft, black leather chair that was a mirror image of hers. His long legs were crossed at the knees and his right foot twitched occasionally, particularly when she remained silent for an
y lengthy stretch.
When she refrained from adopting a more relaxed pose, Cambridge continued, “How was last night?”
“Is that relevant to our discussion?” Seven asked.
“Seven, I get that you are most comfortable in an arena when you are able to exert control. You are obviously disciplined, eminently capable, and probably accustomed to being the smartest person in the room.”
Cambridge leaned forward, his elbows resting on the tops of his thighs as he set his chin upon his joined hands.
“When you’re here in this room with me, that’s not going to be the case. We can’t both have control right now. You’re going to have to cede that to me. The good news is, I am also disciplined, capable, and smarter than you, at least when it comes to the problem that’s on the table right now.”
After a brief pause, Cambridge asked again, “How was last night?”
“It was enjoyable,” Seven replied curtly.
“To you?”
“To everyone present.”
“I don’t care about them right now,” Cambridge clarified. “Was it enjoyable to you?”
“What difference does it make?” Seven demanded.
Cambridge sighed. “For the first time in years, you were able to interact socially with the people who formed your first support system beyond your parents—whom I know you do not remember well—and the Borg. This is complicated by the fact that up until yesterday, you believed that two of those people were dead. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
“You wish to ascertain whether or not I still feel comfortable in their presence,” Seven answered. “You wish to know if I harbor any resentment or feelings of inadequacy as a result of the deception perpetrated by Commanders Paris and Torres. You are attempting to determine whether or not this group will effectively help or hinder my efforts to regain my equilibrium.”
“Wrong,” Cambridge replied flatly.
Seven was momentarily dumbstruck. Finally she asked, “What else could be the point of your question?”
“Glad you asked. I’m trying to determine the levels of emotional response that you are currently capable of experiencing.”
“Oh,” Seven said, puzzled.
“This is going to go a lot quicker as soon as you decide to trust me a little.”
Seven considered the concept.
Trust.
“I do not trust you,” she finally realized.
“Obviously. And why should you? You don’t know me from Adam.”
“Adam?”
“A biblical reference. An archetypal figure that appears under various guises in many creation stories,” Cambridge explained, then paused to give the back of his head a vigorous scratch. “The point is, you and I haven’t known each other all that long and the only reason you are here is because Captain Eden has ordered you to.”
“Chakotay believes you can help me.”
“And do you trust Chakotay?”
Seven paused again.
“I used to,” she admitted. “We were separated for several months. Prior to that separation he behaved in an uncharacteristically unsympathetic manner, but he has been most helpful of late.”
“But do you trust him?”
“As much as I trust anyone,” Seven acknowledged.
“Did you trust the Borg?” Cambridge asked.
“When I was part of the Collective, trust was irrelevant.
XWe were joined in a common purpose.
We knew each other’s thoughts. Deception was impossible.”
“And is there a feeling or an emotional response you associate with that state?”
Seven searched her memory. In the silence of her mind it was almost a pleasant activity.
“Peace,” she finally said.
“Good.” Cambridge nodded. “And was that the last time you knew peace?”
“Yes,” Seven admitted.
“You’ve said that during the transformation, you were momentarily linked with the Caeliar gestalt. Was that also peaceful?”
“No,” Seven replied, shaking her head. “It was chaotic. It was powerful. But it went beyond peace.”
“In what way?”
“It was completion,” Seven replied, a little uncertainly.
“The end of something?”
“Yes,” Seven realized. “It was as if every question I had ever known was instantly answered. But still, there were possibilities, questions beyond any I had ever conceived, and a compelling desire to explore those questions.”
After a brief silence Cambridge asked, “Do you believe that the Caeliar are a superior species to the Borg and to humanity?”
“They are.”
“Really?”
“Their technology has advanced far beyond the Borg and humans. They have achieved harmony of thought and purpose without the need to reduce one another to mindless obedience. They are beyond superior. They are perfection.”
Cambridge sat back again and uncrossed his legs, resting his feet flat on the floor.
“Is perfection a good thing?” he finally asked.
“Obviously,” Seven retorted sharply.
“Interesting,” Cambridge said, tugging gently at his stubbly beard.
“You don’t agree?” Seven asked.
“Not at all,” he replied. “I can’t imagine anything more boring.” When Seven didn’t immediately contradict him, he went on, “Seriously, what do you do once you’re perfect. What’s the point of existence after that? It’s an extreme. It’s the end of the story. You can’t be more perfect than perfection. It’s a binary state. You are or you aren’t.”
“Isn’t perfection the goal to which all sentient beings aspire?” Seven asked.
“No,” Cambridge replied, “because most sentient beings recognize it as unattainable. Humanity aspires to achieve our fullest potential, realizing that for every individual the bar is going to be set according to their capabilities and their opportunities. There is no such thing as perfection in the sense of objective reality.”
Seven felt her cheeks growing warm.
“Do you find that concept troubling?” Cambridge asked more gently.
Seven was too quick to shake her head.
“And while the Caeliar gestalt might have felt like the epitome of achievement, at least for the part of you that was once Borg, I submit to you that what little the rest of us understand of the Caeliar paints a very different picture.”
“In what way?” Seven demanded, wondering on whose behalf she suddenly felt so insulted.
“They are xenophobic in the extreme. Their compassion, prior to their recent contact with the Federation, did not extend beyond their borders. They possess a superiority based solely upon their technological achievements that many other species will, given time, master and surpass, and I question their ability to recognize the value of unique individuals.”
“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 expe
riences 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.”
Star Trek Voyager: Unworthy Page 12
