2. The Gift

Seven of Nine in the brig was an extraordinary sight: somehow feral, in spite of her cybernetic technology. And yet there was something vulnerable about her too – her bald head, her bare arm with its strips of metal; she looked like a battered doll held together by duct tape. As soon as the Doctor came within her range of vision, she jumped up from her bunk and came as close as the forcefield would permit, glowering at him with one reproachful blue eye.

"You," she snarled.

"Hello there," said the Doctor, smiling nervously. "Seven of Nine, is it? I've just come to take some post-surgery readings."

"It was you who removed this drone's implants!" she snarled, watching him askance as he whisked his tricorder up and down.

"Guilty as charged. I'm this ship's Emergency Medical Hologram, by the way. You may call me Doctor."

"Your designation is irrelevant. State your reasons! Why did you violate us this way?"

He winced.

"Your life was in danger, I had to do it!"

"We should have died rather than endure this!" She put her hand to her head, as if the absence of the Collective's voice pained her unbearably. The Doctor watched, powerless to help; there was no hypospray or pill which could give her back the harmony of the hive mind.

"That's exactly what I told the Captain," he told the drone, his voice soft with sympathy. "I told her this went against my conscience. She ordered me to proceed."

Seven of Nine's face, already more flushed and healthy-looking than it had been a few hours ago, twisted into a look of utter hatred.

"Captain Janeway is a hypocrite!" she spat. "She claims to to stand for freedom, yet she keeps this drone imprisoned here."

"You tried to assimilate the ship," the Doctor pointed out wryly. "And you attacked Ensign Kim. You can hardly blame the Captain for wanting to protect her own crew."

"Why does she not let us go?" Seven of Nine moaned, pacing around the small space like a trapped targ.

"Because she can't risk Voyager being assimilated again. Also, I believe you're to be her next great challenge."

"Explain."

"Captain Janeway thrives on challenge," he said, rather proudly. "You might think of it as her quest for perfection – in a human way, that is. All the more so if she can help someone into the bargain. Think of the chance she's offering you – the chance of the life you never had, the life the Borg took from you!"

The drone turned her face away, looking immovable as the gray walls of her prison.

"Please don't be so hasty in judging her," he continued. "I myself have been granted extraordinary freedom by the Captain. You see this?" He gestured towards his left sleeve. "It's a mobile emitter. Picked it up during a, uh, time travel adventure about two years ago. Most Starfleet Captains would have confiscated it and kept me confined to sickbay, like every other EMH, but not Captain Janeway – she let me keep it. She's always there to help and advise me in my development as a sentient being, just as she is for every flesh-and-blood member of this crew. She's one of the most generous, open-minded and honorable beings I've ever known. You could do worse than to trust her."

Seven of Nine was finding it hard to concentrate on the Doctor's words. The silence was driving her mad; it yawned inside her like a great black hole, screaming to be filled. Instead of millions of minds speaking in harmony, there was only one voice – hers – and it was frightened. She detested the feeling. It made her weak. Now here was another voice, a hologram, who shouldn't even be sentient and yet somehow, he was. His voice was pleasant to her human ears; he looked at her in a way her long-dormant human instincts registered as kind and sympathetic.

She wanted to listen. She must not listen. He was an enemy. She must not trust Captain Janeway. The Collective ought to come for her. But oh, the Collective was gone, and Captain Janeway and this soft-spoken hologram were all she had how. All she had to trust and hold on to.

"Unacceptable!" she screamed, about to hurl herself against the forcefield one more time.

That was when the hologram – the Doctor – reached through the forcefield and caught her by the shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You poor young lady. I'm so sorry. But I promise you, Seven of Nine, that one day you'll look back and realize that we're doing is all for your own benefit."

Too startled to push him away for the moment, she simply gazed back into his hazel eyes with her single blue one.

"The perfect shade," he murmured. "Like the summer skies of Tuscany. And hair like golden wheat. I can see it."

He let go, leaving a cold space on her left shoulder where his warm hand had been, and walked away without explaining what he meant.