7. Infinite Rregress
It had happened. Their greatest fears were coming true.
For Seven, it was the fear of becoming weak, imperfect; losing her control over her mind and body and, lately, the individuality she had fought so hard to gain. For the Doctor, it was the fear of being helpless as his patient fell to pieces before his eyes.
Seven – or what remained of her – was strapped to the biobed, sometimes thrashing and roaring, sometimes sobbing, at other times trying to coax, threaten or bribe the Doctor to let her go. She was having a multiple personality disorder brought on by an encounter with a malfunctioning Borg vinculum, left over from a destroyed cube; it was causing the neural patterns of various victims of the Borg to crowd out Seven's own. It would have been comical, thought the Doctor, if it weren't so utterly terrifying.
"Let me go, you lousy lobeless excuse for a hologram, or the Ferengi Health Commission will – "
" – Borg cube off the starboard bow! Evasive maneuvers – "
"Mommy, Daddy, what's happening? Why am I all tied up? I'm scared!"
" – why he just won't admit it when he's wrong, those EPS relays were clearly out of alignment, but would he listen to me?"
"Magnus, Annika! Where are you?"
That last call made the Doctor freeze in the middle of his scans. He made his wary way to Seven's bed and bent over her.
Her eyes were wide and anxious, her head moving restlessly from side to side.
"Pardon?" he asked. "What did you say?"
The new personality stayed put. "I'm looking for my family," she said in a trembling voice, tears shining in her eyes when she blinked. "My husband, my daughter … they're both blond, with blue eyes, she's about six years old … they should be on a ship, a science vessel – the Raven. Please, sir, have you seen them? The last thing I remember is the Borg … "
The Doctor almost exclaimed aloud at the strangeness of this experience.
"I'm sorry," he said, taking Erin Hansen's hand between both of his. "I don't know what happened to your husband. But I've met your daughter and she's … a wonderful person."
"Is she all right?" Ms. Hansen pleaded. "Is she safe?"
"She will be," the Doctor replied. "I promise." And he meant it with all his heart
Ms. Hansen smiled through her tears, with a radiant look he had never seen on Seven's face before. Despite the strangeness and the tragedy of the situation, her beauty almost took his breath away.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The next moment, however, her face twisted into a grimace of contempt as she yanked her hand away.
"Gul Darheel!" she spat. "Prophets curse you, is this another form of questioning?"
The Doctor did not take offense. Instead, he took several steps back and resumed his desperate search for a cure. If it came to a choice between risking Seven's sanity with outlandish Vulcan mysticism and losing her forever, well … perhaps Tuvok's mind-meld was the only option. If only he could ask her …
Suppose he could?
"Seven," he said, holding out his hands palm-up as he approached the angry Bajoran. "Seven of Nine, can you hear me?"
"I have a name, you bastard, it's Jora Neral!"
"Seven of Nine, I know you're in there. Fight the voices, Seven – that's an order from your Emergency Medical Hologram! Listen to me!"
"I don't know what the hell you're trying to pull here – "
"Computer, play musical selection "My Fair Lady, Track 23, instrumental only."
The sound of soft piano music was incongruous enough to startle even the Bajoran into silence (or perhaps he/she had simply been replaced by a new 'guest'). The Doctor began to sing, very softly, his programmed vocal skill melding with his emotional subroutines in a way that would tug at the heartstrings of any listener. He had performed this for Seven on the holodeck almost three months ago. Surely some part of her remembered …
"I've grown accustomed to her face.
She almost makes the day begin.
I've grown accustomed to the tune
that she whistles night and noon.
Her smiles, her frowns, her ups, her downs
are second nature to me now .."
She joined in, singing in the smoky, sultry voice she had used as Mademoiselle de Neuf. Thoroughly startled (and hopeful), he dropped his next line.
"Like breathing out and breathing in – Seven, is that you?"
She continued as if she hadn't even heard. " – independent and content before we met;
surely I could always be that way again – and yet
I've grown accustomed to his looks,
accustomed to his voice,
accustomed to his … face. Jenkins, you're off beat again, how many times have I told you? All right, everybody, take it from the top."
The Doctor shaded his face with one hand and sighed. "Oh, why bother? Computer, stop the music."
"Doctor … "
Some of the other assimilated Starfleet personnel did call him Doctor, deducing his position from his holographic uniform. But this time, she sounded so like herself – a worn-out, frightened Seven turning to him for reassurance – that he rushed to her side immediately. Painful hope flooded his emotional subroutines.
"Seven?"
Her eyes were steady as she looked up at him. Her answer gave him the most tremendous rush of relief he could remember feeling in a long time.
"Yes," she said.
