True Story
By Laura Schiller
Based on Star Trek: Voyager
Copyright: Paramount
The floor was shaking. Pots and pans rattled on the shelves. A bowl of Norcadian pears had spilled over, leaving an oversweet smell of bruised fruit that had tumbled to the floor. Mezoti busied herself with brushing carpet lint off the pear in her hands, polishing it with the edge of her skirt. If she could just concentrate on the pear, its pale blue color, its rounded curves, the smell …
Boom. Another jolt of the ship bumped her into Azan, breaking her concentration. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her; on her other side, Rebi did the same. They were sitting on the floor, their backs against the galley counter. Opposite them sat Naomi, curled into Neelix's shoulder like a kitten. All four of them were pale and wide-eyed, and their voices when they spoke, even the adult's, seemed higher than usual.
"Isn't Icheb coming?" Naomi asked.
"He's on duty in Astrometrics, dear," Neelix reminded her gently. "Someone has to cover for Seven while she's in Uni … "
"Unimatrix Zero," Azan prompted stoically, only the tightness of his hand on Mezoti's shoulder indicating his fear.
"Right," said Neelix, with a falsely cheerful nod. "There."
"I want to help," Naomi pleaded, looking up at her godfather with pleading blue eyes. "I want to do something!"
"If Icheb is allowed to hold a station, why aren't we?" Mezoti added, throwing the pear so that it bounced off the storage unit in the corner.
"For the last time," Neelix sighed, raising his yellow eyes to the ceiling. "You're not old enough.
"We are Borg," Mezoti snapped. "Age is irrelevant!"
To her horror, she felt her lower lip begin to quiver, and her non-cybernetic eye begin to burn with tears. Icheb was in Astrometrics while the rest of them were cooped up here; Seven of Nine had been living a secret life none of them could share; the Borg Collective was out to destroy them all, and she didn't even know which of these things frightened her the most.
"We will be assimilated," Rebi muttered under his breath, his eyes darting wildly around the galley. "Seven of Nine has abandoned us."
Azan shot his twin a reproachful glare, probably arguing with him via their telepathic link, but for once, Rebi ignored him.
"She is leading us back to the Collective, and they will assimilate us, and we will never play kadis kot with Mezoti again - "
"Enough!" Neelix's voice, normally gentle, rang out as sharply as the knives hanging on the wall. "No one's going to be assimilated. And if you think your guardian would ever allow that to happen, you don't know her at all."
"But I can hear them!" Rebi's voice cracked. "I can hear the Collective!"
"I hear it too."
Azan had turned pale, his eyebrows drawn tightly together, like Commander Tuvok struggling to suppress some powerful emotion. Behind Mezoti's back, she could feel both boys catching hold of each other's hands.
In that moment, she began to hear the Collective as well – not clearly, as she would have if she were still linked to them as well, but faintly, a soft, hissing whisper at the edges of her mind, like toxic gas searching for a crack in one's safety mask. It sang to her, called to her, even as her stomach lurched from the impact of another attack.
This was worse, immeasurably worse, than the last time they had crowded together like this, during the power failures caused by the electromagnetic life form which lived in that nebula. But maybe – just maybe – what had helped them then might help them now.
We are the Borg … you will be assimilated … your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own …
"Neelix," she said, "Tell us a story."
"Now?" asked Azan, his mask cracking with disbelief.
"We need to block out the voices," she said. "Think of something else, anything else. Tell us a story, Neelix."
"Please," Rebi whispered.
Neelix pulled distractedly at his whiskers. "Well, I … I'm not much of a creative type, you know. Except when I'm cooking. I'm afraid the only stories I can tell are the true ones."
"Those are the best kind," Naomi assured him.
He cleared his throat, checked the phaser lying near him on the floor, and began. Against the whispers of the Collective, his light, warm voice was like a safety beacon; Mezoti squeezed her eyes shut and swum toward it in her mind. She did not interrupt this time, or ask for the gory details. The situation was too grave for her to do anything but listen.
"Once upon a time," said Neelix, "There were four brothers and two sisters, who were left alone in a dark forest made of living steel. They were lost, frightened and angry, and they did desperate things to survive - until a woman with hair the color of sunshine answered their call for help. Despite her best efforts, the oldest and youngest of the children could not be saved. However, she took the rest of them in without hesitation, gave them a home, introduced them to a lovely little girl who became their friend, and became a mother to them in every way that matters.
"Now one day, this woman had a dream. Not an ordinary dream, but one which millions of people dreamed with her every night – people who were trapped in the steel forest, unable to feel the sun on their faces, play kadis kot, eat sweets or even think for themselves. The woman remembered her own past, remembered her children, how they had found a freedom in the waking world which all of these people could only experience in their dreams. She saw their suffering, and she decided to fight for them with all her heart and mind and strength.
"She didn't do it for herself, or even for her friends in the dream. She did it for her children, so that what they had might be shared by millions of people all across the galaxy. I'd say that that was worth a certain risk … wouldn't you?"
Mezoti blinked hard to open her streaming eyes, swallowing a lump in er throat. She remembered Seven holding the baby, and leaning over First as he died. She remembered Seven's tiny smile at the sight of Mezoti's sculpture of her face, and how fiercely she had fought to get Icheb back from his treacherous birth parents. Of course Seven hadn't abandoned them. Of course she would make every possible effort to keep them safe.
But would every possible effort be sufficient?
She was crying too much, and thinking too deeply, to notice the click of high-heeled shoes and the shuffle of boots approaching the galley. She did not look up until a voice – a clear, precise, feminine, impossibly beautiful voice – broke her out of her thouhts.
"Stand down, Mr. Neelix."
"Seven! Icheb! Thank the ancestors it's you!"
Neelix, who had been aiming his phaser through the opening between the counter and the wall at the first sound of footsteps, disarmed it and scrambled to his feet. The children followed him at once, including Mezoti, who nodded in gratitude when Rebi handed her a paper napkin to wipe her face.
"What happened out there?" Neelix asked. "The ship was shaking like a leaf!"
"Unimatrix Zero is destroyed," Icheb told them, in a brusque, mechanical tone that betrayed his fatigue. "However, the mutated drones have retained their memories and mounted a resistance movement within the Collective. One of them, General Koraq, took command of his vessel and defended Voyager from the cube sent to destroy it. Captain Janeway, Commander Tuvok and Lieutenant Torres have returned from their away mission. They were partially assimilated, but they will recover. Is there anything else you wish to know?"
Mezoti's eyes went to Seven, who had not added a single word to the story. Two red spots burned on her guardian's cheeks; her blue eyes glittered; wisps of golden hair were escaping from their pins. None of the children had ever seen her like this.
"Seven? Are you damaged?" Mezoti asked, approaching her cautiously.
"No," said Seven, a little too quietly, a little too late.
"She's exhausted," said Icheb, stepping in front of Seven, holding out his arm as if to shield her. "Give her some space."
"No." Seven stepped away from him, shaking her head, another strand of hair coming undone. "I … I do not require … space. The destruction of Unimatrix Zero has separated me from someone … important to me. Someone I can never see again. I … do not wish to be alone."
Naomi, raised from birth by a loving mother and godfather, showed them what to do. She ran to throw her arms around Seven, followed by Mezoti, who relaxed into the warmth of her friend and guardian with a relief too deep for words. Once they let go, the twins had their turn, leaving the girls free to hug Icheb. He smiled down at them, looking like a boy for once in his life, instead of the reserved and studious man he had become too early. It made Mezoti laugh, and before long they were all laughing, breathless and exhausted, without knowing why.
Neelix stood by, smiling to himself like a portly, bewhiskered sunrise as he watched this strange little family unite.
"Now that," he said softly, "Is the ending I was hoping for."