“To do what?” Janeway asked.
“They need more catoms to study, and there are only a few places to get them.”
“If this is a medical emergency,” Janeway said, “they’re going to do whatever is required to end it. It’s their duty.”
“Our duty is protecting those who can’t protect themselves. Or have my files regarding Starfleet principles been damaged?”
“They don’t need our protection, Doctor. No one is going to harm them.”
“I told them explicitly that Axum’s recovery would be hindered the longer they refused to allow him to make contact with Seven. They didn’t care. They haven’t even convened a panel to consider his request for asylum. They have designated him an enemy combatant.”
Janeway didn’t want to admit it, but that sounded like overreaching.
“You’re worried about Seven?”
“No more than the rest of them,” he insisted.
Janeway shot him a look and was surprised to see that his apparent indifference was not feigned. “No one is going to allow Starfleet Medical or the Institute of Health to run roughshod over people’s rights. It’s just not how we do things,” Janeway argued.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Admiral, but since the Borg Invasion, I’m not sure who’s in charge of how we do things anymore.”
“You need to apprise Admiral Montgomery of your concerns.”
“Then you won’t . . . ?” the Doctor began.
“You can always contact me here. I’ll give you my direct access codes, and if Montgomery does not take appropriate action, I’ll talk to him,” Janeway agreed.
The Doctor stepped back, surprised. “I would have thought your regard for Seven would have stirred you to more direct action.”
“Seven is a grown woman. She can and will make her own decisions. If catomic technology is somehow responsible for this new plague, I am certain she will want to do everything in her power to see it stopped.” After a moment, she added, “I know how important Seven is to you. I think it’s possible you are reading too much into this because it is tied to your feelings and fears for her.”
Again, the Doctor looked confused. His gaze shifted from her eyes for a moment as a veil of calm settled over his face. He said simply, “Seven of Nine is no more or less important to me than any of those I have served with. I am actually more concerned for Axum. He needs to see her again. He suffered severe psychological trauma in the days leading up to the Caeliar transformation, and to deny him access to Seven is cruel.”
Janeway was suddenly at a loss, wondering how much might have changed in the interpersonal relations of those closest to her while she was gone. Normally when the Doctor was engaged in this level of denial, there were obvious tells. He often protested too much. The Doctor had nurtured deep romantic feelings for Seven, and Janeway could not believe that those feelings, however long ago resolved, wouldn’t have been tweaked by the reappearance of Axum.
Yet nothing in the Doctor’s demeanor suggested that he regarded Seven as anything more than a fellow officer who might be in danger.
A new and troubling thought surfaced.
“Doctor,” she asked, “when was the last time you ran a high-level self-diagnostic of your matrix?”
“Last month,” he replied, “as usual.”
“You might want to run another.”
“Why?”
“I’m wondering if your long-term memory storage subroutines might be degrading.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Humor me,” she insisted. “In fact, don’t do a self-diagnostic. Have Reg run it.”
“Is that an order, Admiral?”
“Nope,” she said. “It’s a suggestion, from a concerned friend. For orders, you need to go through the normal chain of command.”
The Doctor’s shoulders drooped visibly. “I don’t have much faith in my current chain of command.”
“That might be part of your problem,” Janeway said. “You are programmed to follow orders, but you came to sentience while reporting only to people you had already grown to trust implicitly. I wonder if you are having difficulty trusting those you report to now because you simply don’t know them all that well.”
“I have no problem trusting officers who have proven themselves worthy of that trust. The rest, I judge by their actions, and thus far, I’m not terribly impressed.”
“Run that diagnostic anyway.”
“What will you be doing in the meantime?”
“Gardening.”
“You’ve changed, Admiral,” the Doctor said, and Janeway thought she heard a hint of disappointment in his words.
“Not as much as you might think,” she said. “But I’m working on it.”
Chapter Nineteen
VOYAGER
Seven was freezing. She had wrapped herself in a blanket over her nightclothes and robe and tucked every bit of exposed flesh beneath that blanket as she perched on the sofa in her fully illuminated living quarters. She had ordered the computer to raise the ambient temperature by two degrees. But nothing helped.
She resisted the urge to close her eyes. She did not expect the dream to intrude again. But the intense cold she felt made Seven wonder if she might still be asleep. All of the stimuli she was receiving from her senses told her she was awake. Of course, she could have sworn she was also awake when her body had been submerged in that frozen tub. The memory sent a new chill shuddering through her.
The chime to her quarters sounded.
“Come,” she called through chattering teeth.
Chakotay entered, his uniform fresh and his face weary.
“Thank you for responding so quickly,” she managed to say.
Grogginess gave way instantly to concern. Chakotay moved quickly to her side and sat, asking, “Do you need the doctor?”
“I don’t think so.”
Chakotay reached a hand up, palm forward, to touch her forehead. She recoiled as if he had intended to slap her.
He registered surprise at her reaction at the same time she did. It had been unconscious, or subconscious, this visceral need to avoid the feel of another’s hands on her.
“I just wanted to see if you were feverish,” he said gently.
“I’m sorry,” Seven said. “Please proceed.”
Chakotay repeated the gesture slowly, resting his hand against her forehead. “I don’t think you’re running a temperature. But we should still get you to sickbay.”
“No!” Seven insisted.
Chakotay considered her kindly. Finally, he asked, “Why not?”
“I had a dream,” she said softly. “A nightmare.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“Eight minutes.”
“A physical response to a dream should fade more quickly than this.”
“I know this doesn’t make sense, but part of me feels like I’m still there.”
“Where?”
“A lab, a research station, a sickbay,” she said. “It is not a location I have any memory of visiting. But it was a Starfleet facility. There was a Starfleet Medical insignia on the door.”
Chakotay nodded for her to continue.
“I was restrained. Several large tubes were connected to my body. I was on fire, inside. The burning was unbelievable. I was lifted from a biobed and submerged in a tank of freezing water.” Seven paused as a new wave of shudders shook her. “Then I woke up.”
“It sounds awful,” Chakotay agreed. “Could this have been a memory?”
“Not mine,” Seven replied. “I wasn’t living this through my body.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I wasn’t the subject in the dream. Axum was.”
Chakotay’s eyes widened as he sat back, rubbing his palms on his knees. Willing his hands to stillness, he said, “How do you know that?”
“In the last few weeks, I have dreamed of him often. I never did before, not even after I lost him when Unimatrix Zero was destroy
ed. What would have been the point?”
“That’s not how dreams work, Seven.”
“Mine do,” she replied. “Once I started dreaming, I found I usually had the ability to direct them.”
“I never knew you could do that, too,” Chakotay said, smiling faintly.
“I didn’t know what to make of the dreams when they began. They were very . . .” She paused and finally settled on, “personal.”
Chakotay nodded his understanding.
“They were also very pleasant, despite the fact that I began to feel that it was inappropriate of me to enjoy them while also sharing the company of Counselor Cambridge.”
“I am sure you’ve discussed this with him,” Chakotay suggested.
“Yes. But when I saw how much it troubled him, I stopped. I thought I could make them go away. I couldn’t. There have been times during these dreams that Axum spoke to me. He promised we would be together again soon. He was so happy.”
Chakotay’s brow furrowed.
“He didn’t speak to me tonight,” Seven went on. “I don’t think he even knew I was there. He just screamed, pleaded for them to stop.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he knows. When this dream began I was already inside his body. I saw the tubes, felt the burning . . .” She choked, unable to continue.
“It’s going to be okay,” Chakotay assured her.
“Axum is alive,” Seven said, daring him to question her.
Chakotay shook his head gently. “Seven, given all we’ve been through together, do you honestly believe I would doubt your word?”
“No,” she said with considerably less force. “That is why I asked you to come here.”
“We have no reason to assume he died before the Caeliar reclaimed the Borg. We also know it is possible for you to sense other former Borg who remained outside the gestalt through your catoms.”
“Then he must be close,” Seven said.
“That seems incredibly unlikely,” Chakotay replied. “You said you saw Starfleet insignia in your dream. Out here, that is only our ship and the Demeter.”
“There could be other Starfleet vessels in the Delta Quadrant. Equinox was here for years before we discovered them.”
“After Voyager returned home, Starfleet logs were gone through in painstaking detail for any other possible ships lost to the Caretaker. There weren’t any,” he told her. “If there had been, our first priority when the fleet launched would have been finding them.”
“Axum could have been found by a Starfleet vessel in the Beta Quadrant,” Seven said.
“That seems more likely,” Chakotay agreed. “But the rest is harder to understand.”
“Why?”
“Suppose he was found by a ship: What you describe in this dream might be medical treatment he is undergoing that frightens him. He might be ill.”
“He wasn’t,” Seven insisted. “He is being tortured.”
“That’s what doesn’t make sense. Starfleet doesn’t torture people, Seven.”
She paused, staring at him coldly.
“Seven?”
“Yes, they do,” she said.
“That’s quite an accusation,” Chakotay said.
Seven paused again, unwilling to revisit this memory but more unwilling to allow Chakotay to harbor such dangerous naiveté. “When Voyager returned and the Borg infestation was discovered, I was involuntarily subjected to questioning by someone hand-selected by Admiral Montgomery,” she said. “Because I had been Borg, they did not trust me to tell all I knew. They used inappropriate, painful means to force the truth from my mind. Of course, I had already told them the truth.”
Chakotay’s face paled. “You never spoke of this to me.”
“I never spoke of it to anyone,” she said. “I was not prepared to bring charges against them, and as long as I was unwilling to do so, there was no point in advising you or anyone else.”
“Questioned how?”
“My examiner was Vulcan,” Seven replied.
“A mind meld?” Chakotay asked, horrified.
Seven nodded.
“You should have . . .” Chakotay began, his face reddening with rage.
“Once the crisis was resolved, I wanted to move on with my life. I did. Difficult as it was, it was nothing compared to what I suffered at the hands of the Collective. But even if Axum was found in the Beta Quadrant,” Seven said, intentionally changing the subject, “my catoms do not allow me to make contact with others at great distance.”
Understanding her desire to drop the topic, Chakotay observed, “Your catoms surprise us daily. We need to make contact with Command and ask them if Axum has been found.”
“We’re not leaving here for at least a month,” Seven replied.
“No,” Chakotay agreed. “So in the short term, you need help.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Doctor Sharak. I know he isn’t as well versed as our Doctor in your unique physiology, but he is a good physician. If nothing else, we might need to put an end to your dreams. A neural inhibitor would help.”
“I can’t abandon Axum,” Seven said softly.
“You also can’t help him if whatever he is enduring destroys you.”
Seven nodded.
“And you need to work with the counselor.”
“I can’t.”
“Seven, the fact that you and he have a relationship now does not change his duty to you and this ship. I will speak to him, but I don’t think that will be necessary. He cares deeply for you, and that concern will guide him, no matter what.”
“He will think I am betraying him.”
“Even if he does, he will set that aside to help you,” Chakotay assured her.
“He shouldn’t have to.”
“And you shouldn’t have to live a life where your thoughts and dreams are not your own. You didn’t ask for this.” Chakotay took a breath and continued more calmly. “The hardest part of sharing yourself with someone else is when you realize that you are sharing everything: the good and the bad. If you care for Hugh, you have to share this, too, as honestly as you can, especially when it is terrifying. If you pull away now, you will be betraying him. You will be disrespecting his ability to put your needs first. He deserves better. And you will be jeopardizing your physical and mental health.”
Seven nodded. At some point in the last few minutes, the cold holding her in its grip had begun to fade a bit.
“I’m ready to go to sickbay,” Seven said.
“Good. Let’s go.”
As they moved to the door, Chakotay gently guiding her with an arm around her waist, she said, “As for the other matter, I do not want you to bring it up with Admiral Montgomery.”
Chakotay’s jaw tensed visibly. “We’re going to solve one problem at a time. But if Montgomery ordered what you described, he has no place in Starfleet.”
Seven knew further discussion would not be helpful at this time. She agreed with Chakotay but also feared that Montgomery’s moral lapse might be more common among Starfleet than Chakotay imagined. Seven had counseled the President of the Federation to create a weapon of genocide at the height of the Borg Invasion. She accepted with open eyes the lengths to which sentient beings of good intent could be driven when faced with annihilation. Admiral Montgomery was a complicated human, capable of both good and evil. Once his anger and disappointment had settled, she was certain Chakotay would understand.
Of course, when she allowed herself to remember Axum’s terror, part of her hoped Chakotay wouldn’t.
Once Lieutenant Kim had discovered the means by which the wave forms could be taught, his focus had become singular. Given the relatively short length of time he had to accomplish the task that change in focus was understandable. Lieutenant Patel had also shifted her attention to assisting Commander O’Donnell with the strategies he intended to implement on the planet, hoping to save as many of the species as possible. As soon as the programming phase of th
e project had begun, Doctor Sharak had been assigned no further tasks related to the proctors or the sentries.
The doctor was not entirely at peace with this turn of events. He was not insulted, merely eager to continue to assist his fellow officers. As a physician, he was content with his duties aboard Voyager. He had left his people—the Children of Tama, or Tamarians, as the Federation called them—to learn all about the Federation. He knew this would consume the rest of his life, that it would aid his people, expanding their understanding of the galaxy. Perhaps, his time was better spent observing the crew and cataloging their responses to the new stimuli they encountered. All of the races aboard Voyager were interesting and unique. They were worthy of his complete attention.
Lieutenant Kim had been thoughtful enough to continue to send Doctor Sharak the daily reports on the proctor project. Sharak assumed that many would not have time to review those reports as they were lengthy and voluminous in technical detail. He, however, had plenty of time, and did not step out of sickbay until all of the available data had been analyzed.
A few days ago, a subtle change had been detected in the behavior of the proctors. At least, he had detected it. The various reports suggested that no one other than the doctor had made note of the change.
A number of proctors tasked with duties on the planet had begun to emit low-level subspace discharges once their work was complete. Those discharges were different from the ambient “noise” normally emitted from the proctors, but they had been dismissed. Doctor Sharak had asked Lieutenant Conlon if she could isolate the readings of the discharges; she had created a subroutine to accomplish this. Once isolated, the discharges appeared to contain nothing more than random data. It was as if the proctors were purging data they found irrelevant to their assignments, perhaps clearing the way for new information.
It had taken time to translate the purged data, but with help from Conlon, Doctor Sharak had finally succeeded. The data consisted of a partial visual record of the given proctor’s daily task. However, it also included images that could only have been taken from Voyager and Demeter’s databases. They were astonishing in several respects. Usually the images were of particularly intense moments: the attacks on the ship by the Indign or the Tarkons; the destruction of Quirinal while partially trapped in the Omega Continuum; the destruction of Planck; snippets of the battle to save the Children of the Storm.
Star Trek: Voyager - 042 - Protectors Page 27
