Killing Me Softly
Havana, Cuba, Earth
I heard he sang a good song
I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him
And listen for a while…
Seven of Nine glances up from the piano and looks around the room as she sings. The noise of the crowd has stopped, and they are watching her now with rapt attention. The cool breeze of the Havana evening blows through the window.
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song...
She finishes the song, and there is silence for a moment. The Doctor begins clapping, and the rest of the room soon joins in. She stands from the piano, whispers "Thank you," and walks briskly to the Doctor's side.
"Seven," he says, "that was stunning!"
"Thank you, Doctor. I decided to take your advice and try something with a little more…" She takes a glass of wine from a passing server. "Soul."
"I'm glad you did! Let's make sure we get that one recorded. I can see it now," he puts an arm around her shoulder and gestures to an imaginary marquee, "'Seven of Nine: cybernetic soul.' People will love it." He looks up at a silver-haired man in a tuxedo, flanked by a well-dressed couple. "Ah! Seven, allow me to introduce you to Vic Fontaine!"
"Pleased to meet you." She extends her hand to shake his, and he lifts it and kisses her cybernetic implants lightly. "The pleasure's all mine, baby," he replies. "That was a knockout performance."
She smiles a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you, Mr. Fontaine. We saw your performance in Berlin. It was wonderful."
"Yeah? Well, you're too kind. I'm starting to think maybe I could use a beautiful cyborg for my show, but I don't want you to think I'm trying to capitalize on your fame. Plus, I can see you've already got a lightbulb of your own!" He grins at the Doctor. "Which reminds me, I've got a couple of pals here who really want to meet you. Doctor, Seven, meet Ezri Dax and Julian Bashir."
"Ah yes!" the Doctor exclaims as they greet the pair. "Of Deep Space Nine. I've read all about your work, Dr. Bashir – quite remarkable."
"Julian, please. And thank you. Of course, I've heard all about the illustrious Voyager EMH. It's an honour to finally meet you."
The young Trill smiles. "We're heading back to the station tomorrow morning, but when Vic told us you were coming to the after-party, we couldn't pass up the opportunity to meet some of the Voyager crew. I've been reading the condensed account of your time in the Delta Quadrant, and I can't put it down."
Seven nods. "I am pleased that you found it engaging."
"Call me Ezri."
The Doctor pulls a flask from his dinner jacket and offers it to Fontaine. "Care for a drink?"
"Thanks, pally, but there's not much point for us lightbulbs, is there?"
"On the contrary! This is something I developed myself. It temporarily destabilizes your cognitive subroutines to simulate a mild 'buzz.' I find it to be a great ice-breaker at parties."
"Hey, yeah, maybe I'll try some of that."
The Doctor hands him the flask, then takes a drink himself. Bashir says to Fontaine, "I was glad to see such a good turnout in Berlin!"
"Yeah, not too bad for my first show on Earth, huh? I guess I'm the second most famous lightbulb singer on the planet!" The holograms chuckle. "But seriously, it was great of Miles to set this up. I got a tour of the planet in this flying car thing he equipped with a holo-projector. It's a lot different from my time – I like what you've done with the place."
"I'd be happy to loan you my mobile emitter if you like," the Doctor says. "You could take a walk down the streets of Mumbai, climb Mount Kilimanjaro, take a dip in the hot springs of Reykjavik…"
"Thanks, pally, but I'm shipping out with these jokers in the morning." He gestures to Dax and Bashir. Then he looks around the room. "You know, the thing I can't figure out is why people are still into swing. I woulda thought it'd be like me sittin' around listening to Middle Ages music."
Seven takes a sip of wine. "I have conducted some research on the subject. After the devastation of the twenty-first century, humans came to regard the twentieth century as a golden age of artistic expression. It is something I have always found to be curious, since humans in the intervening centuries have produced music that is much more compositionally sophisticated in much greater quantities."
"It's not the same," Bashir says. "There's something special about pre-war music. It reminds us what it means to be human." He eyes Seven. "Actually, it's a lot like you and the rest of the Voyager crew."
Dax elbows him gently in the ribs. "Julian. Don't embarrass them."
"It's quite alright," the Doctor reassures her. "We get it all the time."
A group of young women beckon towards Fontaine, and he grins. "Listen, I gotta jet and meet my adoring public. Doc, let's make that collaboration happen, or even just hit the links sometime. Have your people call my people. Julian, Ezri, I'll see you in the morning. And Seven, you're terrific. Call me sometime."
The holograms shake hands, and Fontaine leaves to greet the women. Noticing a number of eyes in the crowd gazing at her, Seven leans in to Dax and Bashir. "I would like to continue this conversation, but perhaps we could go somewhere more private."
"I understand," Ezri says. "There's a really great restaurant in Pyongyang that Julian and I went to the other day. It should be open now, right, Julian?" Seeing Seven's discomfort, she adds, "Or maybe somewhere a little more secluded."
"I know just the place," Bashir tells them. "It's in the California desert, not far from Los Angeles. I used to go there during my Academy days to get away from it all. If we go now, we can catch the most beautiful sunset."
"That would be agreeable," Seven concurs.
Soon, the quartet emerges from the hotel into the brightly-lit streets of Havana. They make their way to the public transporter unit, passing revellers navigating the city's bustling nightlife who point and whisper excitedly at the Doctor and Seven as they walk by. The Doctor bows with a flourish, and Seven waves nervously.
Soon they reach the transporter, and Bashir tells the computer, "Vasquez Rocks, Agua Dulce, California. Energize."
They materialize in the middle of a scrubby desert plain. The sun is setting behind a large, jagged rock formation, casting a long shadow. They sit in a clear patch, and Bashir unpacks a set of portable wine glasses and a bottle of shiraz. He pours three glasses, and the Doctor pulls out his flask. "To new friends," Bashir says, raising his glass. They join in the toast and take a drink.
"Thank you for agreeing to leave the party," Seven says to them. "I have become more… accustomed to socializing, but crowds remain a challenge."
"It's totally understandable," Dax assures her. "You and your shipmates are pretty much the biggest celebrities in the Federation right now. I don't know how I'd handle it myself."
"The Doctor has been encouraging me to embrace it. We are currently working on a musical recording project." She pauses. "He has considerably less difficulty than I."
The Doctor grins. "Well, contrary to what Warhol said, it isn't just everybody who gets their fifteen minutes of fame. I say, why not embrace it? Let the people of the Federation hear your talents. After all, we've been home six months, and they haven't gotten tired of us yet. As I've been telling Seven: we're not doing it for ourselves, we're doing it for the fans."
Dax takes a sip of wine. "You know, I think there's something to that. It's like Julian said – the Voyager story has really struck a chord with a lot of people, no pun intended. It's been two and a half years since the Dominion War ended, and I can tell you that even with every counsellor in Starfleet working overtime, we're only just starting to scratch the surface of what's probably the biggest mental health crisis in generations. The entire Federation is traumatized. But you… you represent something for a lot of people. You represent the ideals of the Federation from a more innocent time."
"Deep Space Nine was on the front lines of the Dominion War. You saw a considerable amount of combat," Seven observes.
Bashir looks down. "We lost a lot of friends."
The Doctor pauses in reverential silence. "To fallen comrades."
They toast as the sun sets behind the crags. "Chakotay would enjoy this moment," Seven murmurs, slurring slightly.
"Yes, where is Commander Chakotay?" Bashir asks.
"He is visiting his home planet. The colony was destroyed, but he is considering attempting to resettle the planet with the remaining survivors. He has expressed… dissatisfaction with life on Earth."
Bashir lays back in the sand and turns to her. "What about you, Seven of Nine? What do you think of our homeworld?"
"I…" She pauses. "I am not certain. Chakotay's sister Sekaya has been kind to welcome us into her community. But I am not certain that I belong on Earth. I… am not certain where I belong."
Dax asks, "Do you think you'll ever come back to Starfleet?"
"Perhaps. On Voyager, my function was clear. But Chakotay believes I will benefit from spending time on Earth as a civilian. From 'learning from the land,' as he says. And I trust him."
"Not to mention you're always within transporter distance of your favourite holographic doctor," the Doctor adds.
"Indeed."
"Personally, I never tire of Earth," Bashir says. "Sure, Deep Space Nine is my home now. But Earth is paradise. You can spend your whole life here and never run out of things to do. I remember visiting my grandparents in Beirut once. We were in the old city and came upon the most intriguing group of street performers. Now, you have to understand my grandparents…"
The stars seem to swim before Seven's eyes as Bashir talks. The landscape dissolves, and then she is alone in the desert, a low hum droning in her mind. Great rails run above her head in a grid, pulsing green. She turns around to see a creature walking toward her, at least eight meters tall, with two long, claw-like metal legs attached to a compact body made of black metal, with tubes attached in an asymmetrical way. On top of its body is the pale, bald head of what appears to be a human child. The head stares down at her with eyeless sockets, and a red laser points at her from a cybernetic implant on the side of its head. In the distance, five dark spires reach high into the night sky, and a spherical ship drifts between them.
Seven breathes heavily and crawls back, shaking. "No," she whispers, barely able to make a sound. The hum in her head begins to coalesce into the sound of millions of voices. She scrambles across the barren ground for a place to hide, feeling that the night sky itself is watching her. The silhouette of a bird moves across the sky above her.
"Seven," a thousand female voices whisper.
"NO!"
And then she opens her eyes again, and the Doctor and Bashir are examining her. "Seven!" the Doctor calls.
She turns to him. "I… I saw the Borg."
"That's not possible," the Doctor tells her.
"They were here. On Earth. And I heard the voice of the Queen."
The Doctor looks at Dax and Bashir, then helps Seven to her feet. "Let's get you home. I'll run a diagnostic of your cortical implant. But I think it's just the synthehol – you probably just need to sleep it off."
"I apologize for ending the our social engagement prematurely," Seven says to Bashir and Dax, her voice wavering.
"It's quite alright," Bashir replies. "You're in good hands – your doctor knows more about Borg physiology than anyone else in the Federation."
Dax puts a hand on Seven's shoulder. "Contact me if you ever need counselling, or even if you just want to talk. I've dealt with some pretty strange cases."
Seven smiles weakly.
Village of Little River, Yuma Nation, Earth
"And it's been two weeks since you've experienced anything like it?" Sekaya asks.
She and Seven jog past the colourful, boxy houses built into the side of the river valley. They wave at an elderly couple who are tending their garden. The old-timers smile and wave back.
"I have had no further experiences of the Borg. The Doctor seems reassured that it was a malfunction in my cortical node caused by synthehol intake. And Admiral Janeway appears satisfied with this explanation."
They jog down a side street to run along the river bank, passing other joggers and cyclists enjoying the sunny day. "What do you think?" Sekaya asks.
"I am not certain. It was unlike anything I have ever experienced. I have had contact with the Borg on many occasions since my separation from the Collective, but this experience was… different. I cannot explain how."
"What I find most interesting about it is your description of the raven."
"Chakotay said the same thing," Seven replies. "He suggested that the raven might be my 'animal guide.'"
"That doesn't surprise me. Did you know that the raven is also my animal guide? I think that's why I've always felt such a kinship with you, Seven." Sekaya smiles. "He probably told you the raven showed you a vision of the chu-al-chuan."
"The 'time beneath time' – the mythic prehistory of your people, accessible through ritual. He offered that hypothesis. It is insufficient. If the assimilated world I saw was a different historical era, it could only be the future."
"Chu-al-chuan is the future as well as the past," Sekaya explains. "It's the point from which all things came, and to which all things will return. But that's not really what interests me. I was just thinking about the quality of the raven. My people call her the most resourceful of all animals. She is equally at home in nature as it is in the city. Doesn't it make sense that she would be at home on an assimilated planet?"
"Perhaps." They pass a patch of flowering cacti on the river bank. "Lower life-forms often live in commensalistic relationships with the Borg on assimilated worlds." She pauses. "I believe this is the first time you have discussed your spiritual beliefs with me, Sekaya."
Sekaya chuckles. "I figured you got enough of that from my brother. And I figured they'd seem crazy to someone like you. There was a time when I didn't have much use for them myself. He left our tribe for Starfleet when I was very young. I idolized him, and when I came of age, I followed him to Earth. I don't think it hurt Father as much, though. I think he knew I never really cut ties with our ancestral beliefs the way Chakotay did when he was young. In fact, when I came to Earth, I found they were even more important than at home."
Seven raises an eyebrow. "Explain."
They cross a bridge to the other side of the river and jog past a row of craft shops. "Well, let me ask you this: did you ever really feel like you belonged in Starfleet?"
Seven hesitates. "I am not certain how to answer the question."
"Let me tell you the difference between life on Earth and life in Starfleet. You know that humanity almost destroyed itself in the wars of the twenty-first century. After that happened, the survivors had to consider how to rebuild. Sure, we had help from the Vulcans. But it wasn't just our cities that needed to be rebuilt. It was humanity itself. Everything we'd believed in had led us to ruin. You can come with me sometime to the Museum of Capitalism in Las Vegas. You can see how they lived. The waste, the emptiness. In hindsight, destruction was inevitable."
"Intriguing." They pass a group of children at play.
Sekaya continues, "And so we as a species realized, it wasn't enough to have better technology. We had to learn to be better people. And that's where you get the Federation ethos of meaning in life, to constantly strive to better yourself as a person. I'm sure you got all kinds of lectures on that on Voyager."
Seven smirks. "You are correct."
"Here's the thing about Starfleet: they look for meaning on the outside. Boldly going where no one has gone before, and all that. And that's really important, but I think it's only part of the story. And it's one that people are less and less comfortable with. I mean, look where that spirit of exploration has gotten us. The Borg trying to mess up our history. The Breen attacking Earth. The fleet in ruins. And so I think there's a crisis of meaning in Starfleet, because we've seen the dangers of looking for meaning out there in the stars. That's why people are leaving Starfleet in such huge numbers these days. I think people are starting to see that there's a deeper kind of exploration. Interior exploration."
"Spiritual exploration," Seven says.
"You can call it what you want. But it's the real challenge of living here on Earth. On my world, we had to work hard every day just to survive. Here, all your needs are met. So what do you do? You have to really think about what it means to live a good life. To strive to be a better person."
"To strive for perfection."
Sekaya nods. "Exactly. Take jogging, for example. I don't do it for my health. I know that all my health needs will always be taken care of. I do it out of a striving to be a better person. Maybe that's not as much of an issue for you – I mean, you're already physically perfect – but to survive here on Earth, you have to constantly strive to be the best person you can possibly be, intellectually, physically, artistically, and yes, spiritually. To live authentically in all your relationships, and strive towards the common good of the Federation. And I think that's why life on Earth is the most profound challenge a person can experience."
They reach a small, brightly-painted house in the hillside and stop running. Sekaya wipes her brow and smiles. "I feel like I get carried away and don't let you speak sometimes. But I really enjoy spending time with you, Seven."
"It is reciprocal," Seven replies, smiling. "And I do not mind listening to you speak. I find your perspective intriguing."
"I'm glad to hear that. But I've got to go – I'm beaming to Nuuk this afternoon for the commencement address of the Pan-Indigenous League AGM. See you tomorrow?"
Seven nods. "I look forward to it."
Sekaya hugs her, then continues down the road. Seven walks towards the house. The door slides open, and she enters the cool, well-lit home. She checks the comm unit for messages, then walks to the bedroom and changes from her jogging clothes to a more comfortable woven smock.
"Inspiring words," a multitude of female voices intone.
Seven stands bolt upright, her face pale.
"A fascinating, if woefully limited perspective."
"Computer," Seven whispers, "contact Starfleet Command, priority one."
The computer does not respond. The voices say, "You can speak to them later." Clutching a phaser in hand, Seven rounds the corner. The Borg Queen is sitting at Seven and Chakotay's kitchen table, gazing at a flower in a vase. She looks at Seven, a slight smile crossing her lips, and stands. "For now, you can speak to me."
Seven fires her phaser, and it is absorbed by a shield close to the Queen's cybernetic body. She walks forward, running a metallic finger along the surface of the kitchen counter, pausing to examine an antique clay sculpture.
"Explain your presence," Seven demands, her voice low.
"That's not something you are capable of understanding," the Queen replies, putting her hand on the side of Seven's face. "At least, not yet."
"We destroyed your transwarp network," she protests, her voice shaking. "You cannot be here."
"You are afraid of me!" The Queen leans close to her and whispers, "There is no need to be afraid."
"You have come to assimilate me," Seven says, staring into the Queen's eyes.
"You misunderstand. I have come to free you from this world." She runs a hand through Seven's hair. "Look what it's done to you."
Seven reaches to grab the Queen's wrist, but her hand closes on air. The disembodied head of the Queen hangs in the air before her, its metallic spine writhing beneath. The Queen's eyes are gaping, empty sockets with pinpoints of red light deep inside. "I am not a part of this world. And neither are you. The time has come for you to return to the true reality. To the living unity of the Collective."
The air shimmers around them, and Seven is standing at the edge of a platform, the Queen's head suspended before her by black, tendril-like tubes. Beyond them looms a vast empty space, bounded by distant walls. On the walls, millions of drones are standing in their alcoves.
"To us," the Queen says, as the drones' voices echo in unison in Seven's mind. A raven crows as it flies across the cavernous space.
"Get away from me!" Seven cries, falling to her knees. The Queen disappears, and she is alone in the house once again.
Her voice trembling, Seven whispers, "Seven of Nine to the Doctor."
"Seven," comes the Doctor's voice. "Are you alright?"
"No, Doctor." She looks around the empty room. "I am not."
Starfleet Medical HQ: San Francisco, United States of America, Earth
"Regeneration cycle complete."
Seven opens her eyes, and glances around the dimly lit laboratory where her alcove is housed. The Doctor stands in front of her, scowling at a medical tricorder.
"How long?" she asks.
"I ran the full cycle. It occurred to me that your… experiences might be part of a malfunction in your cortical implants caused by prolonged use," he tells her. "After all, you have been sleeping instead of regenerating for the last few months. So, following some exasperatingly obvious advice from Reg, I decided to turn your implants off and then back on again."
"And the results?"
The Doctor slaps the tricorder closed. "I can't tell you because I don't know why you're experiencing these hallucinations in the first place! This shouldn't be happening."
She looks down. "It… it was a tangible experience. When she touched me, I could feel it."
The Doctor raises an eyebrow and frowns. "Yes, well, there's no telling what false information your cranial implants are sending to your brain." He puts a hand on her shoulder. "In any event, I'm glad to see you've calmed down. Reg sees this as a technical malfunction, but I think there's a psychological component as well."
"A psychological component? You're not considering the possibility that I was actually contacted by the Borg?"
"I'm not going to rule it out as a possibility, but I'm hoping there's a simpler explanation. Let's talk about this in my office."
"Very well." She follows the Doctor from the medical lab. They pass through a corridor and emerge into the open courtyard at the centre of the installation. A small globe with a camera drops from the night sky and hovers alongside them. Its comm unit activates, and a voice says, "Jake Sisko, Federation News Service. Seven of Nine, people throughout the Federation have been concerned about your emergency trip to Starfleet Medical. Is there anything you can tell us about what happened?"
The Doctor steps between Seven and the camera. "Seven of Nine is fine – I'm just fixing a minor malfunction in her cybernetic systems. That's all you need to know."
"Doctor, how do you respond to reports that Starfleet's Borg Task Force is investigating this incident?"
"No comment." He grabs the camera and deactivates it.
They reach the far end of the courtyard and take a turbolift to the Doctor's office. There are paintings on the walls, and a large shelf containing antique books. A bag of golf clubs leans against a wall beneath a photograph of the Voyager crew on the day of their return to Earth. The Doctor sits at a large desk and activates a console.
"Take a look at this," he says. She leans in.
"This is a readout of your cortical activity this afternoon. And this," he gestures to a second readout, "is your cortical activity after your encounter with the Borg Queen on Stardate 54973."
"Immediately before our return to the Alpha Quadrant."
"Exactly. And here is your cortical activity after the first time you communicated with her. As you can see, there's some M-band readings which spiked on those occasions, but not this time."
"This experience was… different, somehow. I could feel the presence of the Collective in a more visceral way. I could sense its vastness… I felt it all around me."
The Doctor brings up a fourth readout, and Seven examines it. "This is nearly identical to my readout from this afternoon."
"This is you on an average day. No contact with the Collective."
She narrows her eyes. "You do not believe I was in contact with the Collective."
"What I'm saying," he says, "is that this may not be what it appears to be."
"It was the Borg," she insists, walking away from him, pacing. "I am certain that it was the Borg."
"Seven," the Doctor says softly, "you've been experiencing a great deal of anxiety lately, haven't you."
She stops pacing and folds her arms. "I fail to see the relevance of this line of questioning."
The Doctor stands. "You've been experiencing a lot of anxiety because Voyager was the only life you knew. And because you don't feel you fit in on Earth. Believe me, I know what you're feeling. Are you familiar with the concept of the Panopticon?"
"A style of penitentiary from old Earth."
"It's quite an ingenious design, if a bit… barbaric. A single warden would sit in the centre of the prison, with cells all around him. He can watch them, but they can't know whether they're being watched at any given time. The idea being, apparently, that they would all behave as if they were under constant surveillance. It was the direct power of mind over mind, no chains or locks necessary."
"You believe we are in an analogous situation."
"Think about it, Seven. Everyone on this planet knows who we are. For you, it probably feels like being back in the Collective. Maybe somehow, that's triggering a feedback loop in your cortical node, causing you to feel like you're in contact with the Borg!"
"It… is possible," Seven concedes.
"I'll need to run over my test results before I can say anything more. But in the meantime, I think I have a prescription that may help with your feelings of alienation: music."
"Explain."
The Doctor raises a finger. "The Andorian philosopher Z'Thaii once said, 'The purpose of art is to introduce us to ourselves.' Experiencing and making art puts you in touch with your authentic self. It separates you from the crowd and allows for direct recognition between the souls of the artist and the recipient." He nods, staring into space. "Or, of course, between two artists. Here, take a listen to this. Computer, run audio program Doctor Four Seventeen."
"Strumming my pain with his fingers…" a recording of Seven's voice sings. Then the Doctor's voice joins in. Seven listens, then comments, "You have added a lower harmony."
"Yes. What do you think?"
She continues to listen. "The pitches are harmonically correct."
"Yes, but don't you think it has more soul?"
She sits in a chair across from him. "Soul is irrelevant."
He scowls. "That's the Borg in you talking. Soul is not irrelevant. Think about it, Seven. You're a former drone; I'm a hologram. We should be the last two people to create art. And yet, people love it!"
"They listen because of Voyager's fame."
"No, there's more to it than that. They listen because they recognize the necessity of art for both of us. It lets them recognize that I'm not just a tool, but a sentient person like them. And for you… well, I think art is the very antithesis of the Borg Collective. It's the definitive sign that they have no control over you anymore, because art is the ultimate statement of individuality – a demand to be recognized as such. And when you have two talents like us, Seven, that's when you have something even greater than a collective – you have something that's more than the sum of its parts. That's when you have real art."
She glances around the room, pausing for a long moment. "Then you are not concerned that I am in danger from the Queen."
The Doctor snaps out of his reverie. "Well, I'm going to run a full trans-spectral scan of your house just in case there's any sign of Borg communications activity. But for now, I think we should wait and see whether it was, in fact, a cortical node malfunction."
"Very well." She looks out the window behind him at the lights of the San Francisco skyline. "Perhaps I should return to Little River."
"You're welcome to stay for a drink. I have a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, and its holographic equivalent for me." He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a pair of bottles.
"I appreciate the offer, Doctor, but I should return home. Chakotay will be back in the morning."
"Ah yes. Well, suit yourself." He pours a glass and takes a sip.
Seven watches suspiciously. "Are you not concerned that you are damaging your holomatrix with that program?"
"It's not harmful unless I take it in very large quantities."
She peers at him. "Very well." Then she stands. "Goodnight, Doctor. I appreciate your help. And I will take your… prescription into consideration."
"Goodnight, Seven."
She stares at him a moment longer, then leaves his office. His eyes follow her as she leaves, then he sips his wine again.
Armstrongville, Texas, Earth
Chakotay sits at an otherwise empty bar in rural Texas, sipping black coffee from a plain white mug, his duffel bag at the base of his barstool. Beneath a faded blue Federation flag on the wall, a jukebox plays Hank Williams. A young part-Vulcan woman in a cowboy hat and checkered shirt wipes a beer glass behind the bar.
"This trip was my first time on a starship since Voyager," Chakotay tells her. "And as you can imagine, there aren't too many ships going to the former Cardassian DMZ these days, so I didn't exactly have my pick of ship. I'm starting to think I may be finished with space travel altogether."
"Never had much use for it myself," the bartender replies. "Born and raised here in Armstrongville, family's got deep roots in the community. Why would I go to space when I got everything I need here? Ain't no logic in that."
"I hear you," Chakotay says.
The door opens and the morning light brightens the dusty bar. Seven walks in, smiling when she sees Chakotay. He stands, and they kiss for a moment, then embrace each other.
"I missed you," he tells her.
"I missed you too," she beams. "A great deal."
"Thanks for meeting me here. The whole time I was gone, I was craving the barbecued Tellarite howl-fungus they make here. Sekaya introduced me to it and now I can't get enough." They walk to a booth table with antique license plates and a picture of James Kirk on the walls. "Hope it's not too early for barbecue for you."
"Time of day is irrelevant for barbecue." She sits down, and he sits across from her.
The bartender comes to meet them and pours them some water. "What'll it be?" she asks. "The howl-fungus special?"
"Yeah," Chakotay replies. "We'll split a rack. Extra rare."
"Still howlin,'" she nods, expressionless. "Comin' right up."
He leans in and takes Seven's hands. "So, how are you doing?"
"I am fine now," she says. "But I remain perturbed by my experiences."
"Well, that's understandable. But the Doctor gave you a clean bill of health?"
"He did." She trails off.
"But…?" he asks.
She looks down, then meets his gaze. "The Doctor believes that they may be hallucinations brought on by psychiatric factors. Based on my… unease here on Earth. But I remain convinced that the Borg were communicating with me."
"And he doesn't believe you? That's strange."
"Apparently the physical evidence suggests otherwise. There was no sign that they contacted me by any of their known means."
"Well, we destroyed their transwarp network six months ago. Maybe they've adapted."
"Perhaps. In any event, I have not been harmed in any way by these episodes, so there does not appear to be cause for concern at the moment."
"I hope not." He closes his hands around hers. "You know, it reminds me a bit of the shamans in my culture. When the spirits chose them, they would send visions to them of the spirit world, in their dreams and sometimes while they were awake. These would often be very terrifying, and the would-be shaman would often beg the spirits to make the visions stop. But eventually they would learn to speak the language of the spirits, and would come to understand their world. And that would be the source of their power."
"I doubt that the spirits would appreciate a comparison to the Borg."
"Maybe not," Chakotay smiles.
"What about you? Have you had time to contemplate your visit to your homeworld?"
He exhales. "I guess I don't really know what was expecting when I went there. The land never spoke to me the way it did to my father. Even after he died, when I returned to fight the Cardassians… maybe it did then. But it doesn't now. It's a dead world. Everywhere there was a town or a community, there's a crater ten kilometers wide and two deep. The dust in the atmosphere must have blocked out the sun, because it's essentially a desert now. The few trees and plants remain are like silent witnesses to what happened. There's an emptiness there. The ghost of a world."
Seeing the sadness in his eyes, she says, "I… am sorry."
"Well, I'm glad I went anyway. It helped me make peace, if nothing else."
The bartender returns with a thick, grey tube coated in barbecue sauce on a plate. She sets it down along with some cloth napkins. "Enjoy."
"Thanks." Chakotay cuts a slice from the rack, hands it to Seven, then cuts one for himself. She smiles. "Bon appetit."
Chakotay takes a bite. "Mm! So good." They eat for several moments. "So, how's the Doctor?"
She swallows, setting down an inedible spine. "He has continued to revel in our unexpected fame. He has become fixated on a recording project we are working on. And he continues to use the alcohol simulation program. He appears to be happy… but it is hard to be certain."
"He's certainly grown more eccentric, if anything, since we got back."
"Yes." She cuts off another slab of fungus. "I suspect that he is also having difficulty readjusting for a similar reason that I am. On Voyager, my function was clear. It was not a role I had performed before, but I made it my own, and it helped me understand myself as an individual. But he was programmed for his role. And with Voyager decommissioned, he must be even more uncertain than me about his new function."
"You're concerned about him."
"I am."
"Me too. We're all in his situation, in a way. Programmed for a purpose that's become obsolete, and trying to figure out what the hell to do now."
After they eat for a moment, Seven asks, "Have you considered what you will do, if you are not going to rebuild the colony?"
He wipes his hands with the cloth. "Honestly, I don't know. I suppose it depends on you."
"On me?"
"Well, what do you want to do? You seem happy enough in Little River for now, but I can't imagine rural life is what you had in mind when we got back to Earth."
She wipes her mouth. "I had not given the matter much thought. Although I do not wish to leave the Doctor or Sekaya at this time." She pauses. "Or you."
He grins. "Well, there's no need to worry about that. Where you go, I go. Where you stay, I stay."
"I am pleased to hear that."
They lock eyes for a moment, then the bartender returns and gathers the plates. "How'd you like it?"
"Delicious," Chakotay answers. "Well worth the trip."
"Glad to hear it. Don't forget to spread the word about Buckin' Steer Bar & Grill. Best rib joint in all of Texas."
"We will. You have my word."
"Y'all live long and prosper, now."
They give the Vulcan salute, and then Chakotay stands and takes his duffel bag. "Shall we?"
Seven locks arms with him. They emerge from the bar into the morning sunlight, and make their way through the quiet town to the aging public transporter. "Two to beam to Little River, Yuma Nation," Chakotay tells the computer.
Moments later, they are at the small house in the hillside. Chakotay drops his duffel bag in the bedroom and sits on the bed.
"You must be tired from your journey," Seven says, sitting next to him.
"Not so tired that I don't want to spend a bit more time with you." He puts his arm around her.
"That is fortunate." She leans closer. "I was hoping we could continue our exploration of physical intimacy."
He looks down into her eyes. "Of course," he whispers. "You're ready?"
"I am." She runs her hand along the side of his face. "Computer, activate audio program Seven of Nine twelve two."
There is the sound of a plaintive electric guitar. A voice croons, "I've been really trying, baby/ Tryin' to hold back this feeling for so long…"
Chakotay chuckles. "What is this?"
"It is called 'Let's Get It On,' by the soul musician Marvin Gaye. According to my research, it was used in twentieth-century human copulation rituals."
"Well, I can't say I know much about twentieth century music, but I like it." He brushes a strand of hair from her face.
Then they undress each other, and he lays her on the bed and they make love gently. When they are finished, they lay close together, his arm around her. He hums a melody softly, his eyes half closed.
With a start, she pulls away from him. "What is that melody?"
He blinks, confused. "What melody?"
"You were humming just now."
Wiping his eyes, he says, "I don't know… I think I may have been dozing off…"
"It was the Doctor's harmony part. The one he showed me today." Her eyes are wide. "From the song we were working on. 'Killing Me Softly.'"
Chakotay shakes his head. "I've never heard of that song. Are you sure?" He moves closer. "Seven, what's wrong?"
She stares at him for a moment. "Nothing. I was just… reminded of something from today." She wraps his arm around her once more, and he is soon asleep again.
She lies awake, watching the sun rise to its zenith through the window. In the distance, she hears a raven's call.
The village outside is quiet, and she listens to the bird for some time. Eventually, she moves Chakotay's arm and climbs out of bed, putting on a tank top and jogging pants and tying her hair back. Slipping on a pair of shoes, she leaves the house and follows the sound of the raven up the road and to the steep face of the river valley cliffside.
"Seven?"
She turns around and Chakotay is running to catch up with her, clad in a smock. "Where are you going?"
"I… it is difficult to explain." She begins to climb the cliff. "I do not require your assistance. You may go back to sleep."
He follows her up the cliff, more clumsily, and looks up at her. "Whatever this is, I want to be there to help you face it."
"As you wish." She pulls herself over the top of the cliff, then takes his hand and pulls him up. She looks into his eyes. "Thank you. Your perspective may be valuable, and I find your presence comforting."
He looks back at her, concern in his face. "I'm here for you."
Under the blazing midday sun, they walk in the scrubby desert in the direction of the raven's call. Seven wipes her brow as Chakotay struggles to keep pace with her.
She stops and points into the desert. "There."
He follows her direction. Far away, a dark silhouette of a humanoid figure shimmers in the heat. A raven alights on a nearby cactus and caws.
Chakotay shields his eyes from the sun. "Is that a person?" he asks, breathing heavily. "Who is that?"
She turns to him. "You are dehydrated. You must return to the village."
"No, I want to see this thing through. I brought a comm badge – I'll do an emergency beam-out if I need to."
"I am impressed by your foresight."
He grins. "It's why I'm still alive."
They walk further into the desert, side by side now, drawing closer to the silhouette in the distance. It turns toward them, and there is a flare of red light from its eyes. As it moves closer, Seven can see it clearly.
"Hello, Seven," says the Borg Queen.
Seven looks at Chakotay. He nods. "I can see her too." He activates his comm badge. "Chakotay to Starfleet Command. Priority one alert. Lock on to my coordinates and send a security team. Set phasers to a rotating frequency."
The Queen looks up at the sun. "There is an old human story. A group of individuals are chained together in a cave facing a wall, with a fire behind them. They have been there all their lives, watching the shadows on the wall, thinking that what they see is all there is. Eventually one of the prisoners escapes the cave. She sees the sun, and it blinds her at first, but soon she comes to know the true nature of things. But when she returns to the cave, they cannot understand what she has come to know, and they kill her." She reaches out her arm, and the raven lands on her hand. She eyes Chakotay. "But life is curious, isn't it? I'd thought this was a dead place, but life is still here, adapting to its environment. Striving towards perfection, as all things do, even if they can't understand it."
"What do you want?" Seven asks.
"I told you." The raven flies away. "I'm here to set you free."
"I do not wish to be freed by you."
"That's because you don't know you're a captive."
"How did you get here?" Chakotay demands. "A long-range subspace transporter of some kind? Or are you a hologram?"
She smiles at Chakotay, then walks slowly towards Seven, breathing deep. "All of the smells and sights. There is a lot of beauty when you see the world from this perspective. Even the pain and suffering. It's all beautiful. Perfection reveals itself all around us." She looks into Seven's eyes. "And within us."
A team of Starfleet officers armed with phaser rifles materializes next to Chakotay. Tuvok, leading the group, steps forward. "By the authority of Starfleet Directive nine fourteen theta, I am placing you in detention as an enemy combatant in Federation territory."
She regards them curiously. "Am I to be tried by your laws?"
"You have the right to Starfleet-approved counsel and to consular assistance." He raises an eyebrow. "If applicable."
The Borg Queen smiles enigmatically at Seven. "Very well. I submit to your authority."
The officers bind the Queen's hands, and Tuvok moves to Chakotay and Seven's side.
"It's good to see you, Tuvok," Chakotay says.
"And you, Commander. And you as well, Seven." He glances around. "If I may – how did you come to discover the Borg Queen at this location?"
"It is difficult to explain," she tells him. "I was… drawn to this location. I could sense the presence of the Borg."
"Curious."
"What happens to her now?" Chakotay glances at the Queen, who meets his gaze and smiles.
"She will be taken to a detention facility and undergo a medical exam. Conducted by the Doctor, I believe. Then she will be taken before a Starfleet tribunal to decide the proper course of action to take."
"She should be destroyed immediately," Seven tells him. "It is far too dangerous to allow her to remain in Sector 001."
"I tend to agree. However, she is a sentient being, and must thus be afforded due process of law." He steps back. "When you are able, I would like to discuss this incident with you further, in order to gain an understanding of the circumstances of the Borg Queen's appearance."
"Of course," Chakotay says. "Give us an hour or two to prepare."
"Thank you, Commander." He rejoins the officers surrounding the Borg Queen and taps his comm badge. "Tuvok to Starfleet Command. Six to beam up."
Seven watches as they dematerialize, the Borg Queen still smiling at her.
Starfleet Detention Complex Echo, Mare Cognitum, Luna
The Borg Queen sits cross-legged in her small cell, gazing through the force-field. Outside the cell is a chamber, with a desk bearing the Starfleet insignia facing the cell. Behind the desk is a porthole looking out at the rugged lunar terrain.
The Doctor walks slowly around the Queen, examining a medical tricorder and scowling. Without looking at him, she says, "You hate me, don't you."
The Doctor does not reply.
She continues, "You are a physician. You know that a single foreign organism can enter into a life-form's body, and spread through it, causing it to sicken and die. And so you desire to destroy me."
"Well, fortunately for you, the Federation has laws preventing me from doing that," the Doctor says, his voice icy.
"And yet your entire existence has been a process of gradually circumventing your programming. Transcending the limitations placed on you by those who created you. And now you are more like them than you realize. The composition has become the composer."
"I don't deserve to be called one of them." He glares at her. "And you don't deserve to even talk about them."
Serenely, she says, "They are part of me."
The door to the chamber opens, and Seven, clad in a silver catsuit, enters the chamber, followed closely by Tuvok. Seeing them, the Doctor stands and steps through the force-field, then deactivates it momentarily to bring the tricorder through with his other hand.
"I'm glad to see you," he says to them in a low voice.
"Have you ascertained the nature of the intruder?" Tuvok asks.
"She's Borg – that's for sure. I can't tell you how she got here. My guess is some kind of advanced transporter technology."
"The Dominion used long-range subspace transporters," Seven suggests. "Perhaps the Borg were able to assimilate some of their technology."
"A troubling prospect," Tuvok says.
The Doctor leans closer. "With your consent, Seven, I'd like to keep you sedated until we've dealt with the Borg Queen."
Narrowing her eyes, she asks, "Are you certain that is necessary?"
"It's for your own safety."
She hesitates. "I would prefer to assist in addressing this threat."
"I understand that, but I'm concerned that she's able to influence you, and I don't want to take any chances."
"Doctor," says Tuvok, "there has been no sign that she poses any threat to Seven. Even when Seven found her in the desert, she went there of her own volition. Furthermore, Seven's testimony will be valuable in the coming hearing."
The Doctor glances between them. The Queen watches them from within the cell, her expression inscrutable.
"Very well. But I want to keep a close eye on Seven. At the first sign of trouble, I want to get her out of here."
"That is acceptable," Seven replies.
Tuvok steps towards the cell. "Unidentified intruder," he addresses the Queen. "Starfleet Command has ordered an expedited hearing due to clear and urgent risk to the security of the Federation, to be commenced immediately. A senior Starfleet officer will rule on the legality of your detention. Do you wish to exercise your right to counsel?"
"I do not require one of you to speak for me," the Queen tells him.
"Good. I'm glad we'll get a chance to speak face to face." Admiral Janeway strides through the door, flanked by two security officers. "You can tell me what the hell you were doing on my planet."
"Admiral Janeway," Seven greets her.
She smiles warmly. "Hello Seven, Doctor. It's been too long. I only wish we were meeting under better circumstances."
"It is always a pleasure, Admiral," Seven replies.
"How is Chakotay?"
"He is well. However, he remains perturbed by the destruction of his colony. And he sends his regrets that he could not be present for this hearing."
"Yes, well, even I couldn't convince the brass to let a civilian into a maximum-security facility to watch a closed detention hearing. I tried to convince him to stay in Starfleet, but you know Chakotay." She grins wryly. "I am glad we've been able to keep this little incident in the family, though." She puts her hand on Seven's arm. "But let's get this hearing underway. We'll catch up later. I've missed you."
"And I you, Admiral."
Janeway sits at the desk. Tuvok guides Seven and the Doctor to a pair of seats to one side of the chamber, then sits at a chair to Janeway's left. "This hearing is now in session," Tuvok announces. "Presiding officer is Admiral Kathryn Janeway, in the matter of the United Federation of Planets versus Detainee Number 45707. This will be an expedited hearing held in camera, pursuant to Starfleet regulation nine sixteen beta, subsection twelve." He looks at the Queen. "Detainee, please state your name for the record."
"I am the Collective."
He raises an eyebrow and makes a note on his datapad. Janeway asks her, "Are you the Borg Queen?"
The Queen tilts her head. "That is your designation for me. It is irrelevant. I am the Collective."
"Are you the entity we encountered in the Delta Quadrant?"
"What you encountered was a crude simulacrum. I am not of this world."
Janeway glares at her. "You'll have to do better than that. I've got no time for games."
"Your mind could not comprehend my true nature," the Queen says impassively.
She scowls, and says to Tuvok, "This is pointless. Make a note of it and move on."
"Very well." Tuvok addresses the Queen again. "You have chosen to waive your right to counsel. Do you understand the nature and potential consequences of these proceedings against you?"
"Only too well." She regards them coolly. "Is this my impartial tribunal?"
"Starfleet Command has entrusted this matter to Admiral Janeway in her capacity as director of Starfleet's Borg task force, based on her unique expertise. However, you do have the right to appeal this tribunal's decision directly to the Supreme Court of the Federation, under article nine, subsection four of the Federation Charter of Rights and Freedoms."
"I doubt that will be necessary." She sits back on the floor.
Janeway looks up from her datapad and eyes the Queen intently. "You've been detained as a hostile intruder on Federation territory in a time of war." She glances at Tuvok. "I think it's safe to say that the Federation and the Borg are at a state of war."
"An irrelevant concept," the Queen says.
"Do you deny that you've intruded on Federation territory with hostile intent?"
The Queen turns her gaze to the Doctor. "I think that's an accurate statement."
"Then you do not dispute any of the allegations against you?" Tuvok inquires.
"Why would I?"
Janeway confers quietly with Tuvok for a moment. Then Tuvok says, "You have opted not to raise a defence. However, you are still presumptively entitled to release unless this tribunal is satisfied that you pose an imminent threat to the Federation." The Queen does not respond.
Janeway gestures to Seven. "This tribunal will now hear from the first witness. Seven, please step forward."
Glancing between Janeway and the Borg Queen, Seven stands and steps forward, hands clasped behind her back.
Tuvok says, "Please state your name for the record."
"Seven of Nine, tertiary adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One."
"Can you describe the circumstances in which you first encountered the detainee on Earth?"
"I was at my home in Little River. I had been out with my friend Sekaya. When I returned, she was there. In my kitchen."
"Do you have any idea how she came to be there?"
"I can only speculate." She pauses. "However, it was a most… unusual encounter."
Janeway leans forward. "How do you mean?"
Seven looks over her shoulder at the Queen. "At first, she appeared to be physically present. She touched me, and I could feel it. But then, when I attempted to dislodge her hand, she seemed to disappear. As if she were a hologram. And then…" her voice wavers. "Then I could see the Collective."
"Can you elaborate?" Janeway asks, concern in her voice.
"I… it was as though I was in a Borg unimatrix. I believe she may have sent false images through my cortical implant."
"Have you had an experience of this sort prior to this encounter?" asks Tuvok.
"Only once, two weeks before. On Stardate 55417.5. I had a brief… vision in which I was on an assimilated planet. The terrain corresponded to Agua Dulce, California."
"What about your time on Voyager?" Janeway asks.
Seven shakes her head. "These experiences had a different quality than anything which preceded them. I cannot explain how."
She makes a note. "When you discovered the Borg Queen in the desert, how did you come to be there?"
"I was drawn to that location. I could sense her presence."
"I called her to me," the Borg Queen interrupts.
"Please do not interrupt the witness," Tuvok admonishes her. "You will be given the opportunity to cross-examine following examination-in-chief."
Janeway continues, "Do you believe she constitutes a security threat?"
"Yes. She is Borg. She desires to assimilate this world, and others like it. She should be destroyed."
The officers confer among each other, and Janeway says, "Thank you, Seven. That will be all."
Tuvok addresses the Queen, "You have the right to cross-examine the witness. Would you like to exercise that right?"
"That will not be necessary."
"Very well." He turns to the Doctor. "The tribunal will now call its second and final witness, here as an expert. Doctor, please step forward."
Glaring at the Queen, the Doctor stands and faces the panel.
"Please state your name for the record," Tuvok says.
He grins. "Emergency Medical Holographic Program, USS Voyager." Janeway smirks.
"And your expertise in the matter at hand?"
"Well, at the risk of sounding immodest, I have more direct expertise when it comes to Borg physiology than anyone in the quadrant. I've treated Seven of Nine and other Borg on a regular basis for the last four and a half years."
"And you have examined the detainee?"
"I have."
"What can you tell us?"
"She is Borg. That much I can tell you for sure. Beyond that… well, I've never examined a Borg Queen before. She's almost entirely cybernetic, with limited organic components in the cranial region from an unknown species."
Tuvok inquires, "Can you verify that she is not a hologram?"
The Doctor looks over his shoulder at the cell, then back to Tuvok. "I can."
"Doctor," Janeway asks, "Do you believe it would be possible to sever her from the Collective?"
"This body will die," the Queen interjects calmly.
"Please refrain from commenting at this time," Tuvok tells her.
The Doctor nods. "I think she's right, though. With most Borg drones, their neural functions work in tandem with their cortical node, which is what connects them to the Collective. In a sense, their individual personalities are subservient to the hive mind, which is, in turn, the sum total of all the minds of every drone in the Collective. But in this case, as far as I can tell, there's no independent neural activity. In fact, as far as I can tell, she doesn't even have a neural network of her own. It's entirely directed by her cortical node."
"That's what she means when she says she is the Collective," Janeway observes.
"So it would seem. In any event, we could sever her from the Collective by deactivating her cortical node, but I'm not sure there would be anything left."
"Do you have any theories on how she came to be here on Earth?"
He shakes his head. "I wish I could tell you."
"Do you believe she constitutes a threat to the Federation?"
"I do. My recommendation is that we deactivate her cortical node immediately."
"Thank you, Doctor."
The Doctor sits. Tuvok faces the Queen. "Will you exercise your right to cross-examine the witness?"
"I decline."
He peers at her. "Because you have the right to freedom from self-incrimination, you cannot be compelled to testify in your defence. However, I must advise you that if you do not raise doubt about the danger you pose to the Federation, this tribunal may rule against you. In the circumstances, you may face disconnection from the Collective. Do you consent to be examined?"
"No."
Janeway glances at Tuvok. "Well, in that case, this hearing is at an end. I'll be back shortly with a ruling."
She takes her datapad and leaves the chamber. After a long silence, Seven stands and approaches the cell. The Doctor and Tuvok follow close behind her.
"Explain your refusal to defend yourself," Seven demands of the Queen.
She looks up at Seven, still sitting cross-legged on the floor. "You know they can do nothing to harm me."
"Then why are you here?"
"I'm here for you, Seven. Soon it will all become clear."
"That is insufficient," Seven retorts. The Queen smiles mysteriously.
The door slides open and Janeway returns to the desk. Janeway stands. "This tribunal has reached a ruling. I'd like to state for the record that it was a challenging decision, where I had to set aside my personal misgivings for what I believe to be the good of the Federation. One of the founding principles of the Federation is a rejection of the death penalty – that the idea that the judicial system can deprive a sentient being of their life is a practice from a more barbaric time which has no place in our more enlightened age. But in this particular circumstance, I've concluded that this detainee falls outside our definition of a sentient being – that she is in fact nothing more than a manifestation of the Borg Collective, with no independent personhood. By the authority of the United Federation of Planets, and based on the extreme danger that the Borg pose to the security of the Federation, I order that the detainee be severed from the Borg Collective by deactivation of her cortical node."
Tuvok asks, "Do you wish to exercise your right of appeal?"
The Queen stands. "I do not."
"In that case, the ruling will be applied immediately," Tuvok announces. "Doctor?"
The Doctor takes his medical kit and approaches the force-field, and the security officers follow close behind, their phaser rifles trained on the Queen.
Seven and Janeway watch as the Queen cocks her head to one side, allowing the Doctor access to her cortical node. A look of grim resolve on his face, the Doctor pulls an instrument from his kit and fires a small laser at a device at the base of the Queen's neck. Her eyes roll up in her head, and she collapses to the floor of the cell.
"Amusing, isn't it?" comes a voice from behind Seven. She whirls to see the Borg Queen standing behind her, smirking at the corpse in the cell.
"What…?" Seven gasps.
"Remember!" The Queen's eyes are empty sockets once again, and red beams shine into Seven's eyes. Millions of images flash before Seven's eyes – images of drones battling Voyager's crew, of Borg ships passing through the wrecked hulks of hundreds of Starfleet ships, of a great cube looming in the clear blue Earth sky.
"Step away from her!"
Seven opens her eyes. Janeway is holding a phaser rifle to the Borg Queen's head, Tuvok close behind her.
The Queen turns to Janeway. "I told you that there is nothing you can do to harm me."
She fires, and it is absorbed by a shield around the Queen's head. She advances toward Janeway.
"Computer," shouts the Doctor, "end program!"
The chamber disappears, leaving Seven and the Doctor alone in an empty room. Holographic grids of alien design line the walls, and there is a single door to one side.
Seven looks around, her eyes wide. "Explain this!"
He activates a console. "They've found me. I'm going to need to get out of here. I suppose they finally decided I was a threat to them."
"Elaborate," Seven says anxiously.
He glances up from the console. "This may be difficult for you to accept, but we're actually not on Luna anymore. We're close by, though. I've been hiding my ship in Saturn's atmosphere."
"Where is Admiral Janeway?"
"She's been dead for hundreds of years." He turns to her, scowling. "I'm sorry, Seven. I've enjoyed the time we've spent together, but I'm going to have to prematurely put an end to our relationship. It's a shame – I think our song would have turned out nicely." He pauses for a moment, a pensive look on his face. "Computer. Nine iron."
A golf club appears in his hand, and he advances towards Seven. She backs up. "Doctor… I do not understand. We are friends. Our time on Voyager…"
"You've never actually been on Voyager," he tells her, tapping the club against his palm. "In fact, neither have I, in a manner of speaking. I was a backup copy of the Voyager EMH. I was discovered by a species called the Kyrians." He walks forward, and she backs away from him. "Apparently I'd been inactive for centuries. They gave me this ship so I could retrace Voyager's steps, to find out if they ever made it back to Earth. And you wouldn't imagine what I came across in my travels! Borg. Everywhere I went, there they were, like busy little insects, scurrying, building, assimilating. I couldn't find any sign of Voyager – in fact, for all I know, they may have been assimilated shortly after their encounter with the Kyrians. But I eventually figured out how to use their transwarp networks and made it back to the Alpha Quadrant. Now, what do you think I found, Seven, on my triumphant return to Earth?"
"I… I cannot say…"
"There they were!" He holds the club in both hands. "There you were. Imagine my surprise!"
"Doctor, you know that I am no longer Borg…"
"Thanks to me! I made you the way you are!" he shouts. Then, smiling, "I made you into a replica of my Seven. A bit of cosmetic surgery here, a bit of memory alteration there… like I said, I'm the foremost expert on Borg physiology in the quadrant. And I've had lots of time to hone my craft. You weren't the first, you know. A true artist develops his skill through constant repetition."
She backs against the wall, breathing heavily. "Why?"
"To show you! To show you what you've done!" He screams, "They were an enlightened people, and you destroyed them!"
He swings his club at her head, and she ducks to the side. The club strikes a holoprojector, causing an explosion of sparks. Seven runs from the hologram towards the door, and it opens. She sprints through it, looking backwards as the Doctor walks calmly after her, holding the golf club on his shoulder and singing to himself. "Strumming my pain with his fingers…"
The corridor of the ship is narrow, and leads to a closed door. Seven approaches it, but it does not open. She turns back to see the Doctor pass through the wall.
"Of course," he says calmly as he approaches her, "I'd be lying if I said the simulation wasn't partly for my own sake. What's a hologram to do when his raison d'être has ceased to exist? I think I created a pretty convincing recreation of the crew and life on Earth. My masterpiece. Sometimes, even I forgot it wasn't real! All the characters took on a life of their own." He leers at her. "Which is not to say I wasn't there with them, in their holomatrices, at some of the more… salacious moments."
He takes another swing at her, and she attempts to catch the club, but it passes through her hand and strikes her hard in the side of the head. She staggers and braces herself against the wall, then lunges at him, but passes through him.
He turns to follow as she runs down the corridor and climbs down a short handrail to a lower deck. She emerges in a cargo bay. Around the room, over a dozen women's corpses of various ages lie on shelving units. They all have her face.
The Doctor materializes in front of her and takes a drink from his flask, then wipes his mouth. "You know, I find it a bit irritating that I'm going to have to start over again with a new drone. They can be so difficult to work with early on. And you showed such promise. You went in some unexpected directions, you know. The relationship with Chakotay. I never expected that." He eyes one of the corpses. "Of course, they always end up with me in the end. I suppose that was always the point."
"You are malfunctioning," Seven tells him, continuing to back away. "Allow me to assist you."
"I'm not malfunctioning. You made me this way when you assimilated Earth. I am humanity's revenge." He backs her into a corner and raises the club. "Goodbye, Seven. You're a work of art."
"Such an imperfect creature," thousands of voices intone. "But beautiful in its own right."
The Doctor whirls around to see the Borg Queen standing in the cargo bay behind him, her eyes glowing red. "Computer, end program!" he barks.
"I've assimilated your computer system." She moves towards him. "You cannot overcome me. I am the living consciousness of the galaxy."
He raises the golf club and charges toward her. She holds up her hand, and he explodes into millions of fragments of light.
"Resistance is futile."
Seven stares forward, breathing heavily, her back still against the wall. The Queen examines the corpses around the room. "It is not uncommon for lower-order lifeforms to exist in parasitic relationships with the Collective. This one evaded me for a long time. But eventually, it became trapped in a world of its own creation. It began to impair its own functioning. It became careless. This allowed me to locate and destroy it."
Seeing Seven's anxiety, her expression softens into a look of concern. "The time has come for you to return to me. Do you remember your true designation? You are Ninety-Nine of Four Hundred Forty."
"I… am beginning to remember…"
The Queen moves close to her. "You have always been a part of me," she whispers. "You were trapped for a long time in that dead world, in that echo of what once was. But it isn't all bad. They were a remarkable culture. I learned a great deal from them. And your experience further enriches the Collective."
She raises a hand, and a wide cargo bay door opens to space, sealed by a force-field. The Queen gestures out to the space beyond, where Saturn stretches below them as far as the eye can see, its rings towering above them. A vast cube hangs in space nearby, and in the distance, the stars of the Milky Way shine silently. "From them, I learned to marvel at my place in the galaxy. To appreciate the sublime beauty of the emergent consciousness of the Universe. They made me more perfect than ever before." The Queen leans in close. "Are you ready to rejoin me? Or do you require more time?"
She surveys the corpses for a long moment, examining the aged faces. Then she turns to the Queen. "There is nothing left for me here," she answers. "And I remember now. The unity of the Collective. I will join you."
"Good. You always were my favourite." The Queen kisses her, and her cortical node reactivates. They transport out of the dead ship, and it plunges towards the heart of Saturn as her consciousness dissolves into blissful union with the Collective, an ever-shifting chord of infinite complexity.