14. Memorial

Screams. Phaser fire. Crouching, stumbling, running through the rocky tunnels of Tarakis Prime. Killing so as not to be killed.

You can't do this, they're civilians!

Civilians with particle weapons.

We had no right!

Why couldn't they just do what they were told?

Seven flinched back and opened her eyes, shots still ringing in her ears. The metal object pointed at her glowed a baleful red, red as a Borg drone's ocular implant, red as iron-based blood. Someone clutched her shoulder. She threw them off.

"It's all right! Seven – Seven, it's okay … "

She knew that voice …

Looking around, she saw vertical orange stripes on a black wall, the other walls painted white. A smell of antiseptic. Starfleet officers clustered around the bed next to hers.

"You're in Sickbay. You and the Captain started hallucinating in Astrometrics and we had to sedate you. She's over there, still unconscious. You're going to be fine."

The voice was the Doctor's at its most calm and soothing. He watched her with concerned hazel eyes, holding up the blinking red instrument. Only a tricorder.

She let out a deep breath she had been holding without realizing it.

"The colony … I remembered … "

"I know. You're not the only one. The away team's memories have been spreading like a plague across the ship."

Ensigns Paris and Kim, Commander Chakotay, and Neelix had returned from an apparently routine away mission as shell-shocked veterans of a war which had no evidence of taking place. Seven and the Captain had been helping Chakotay retrace the steps of the mission in Astrometrics, and while reading the sensor logs of a planet named Tarakis Prime, the two women had been beset by identical memories.

"How is this possible … ?" Seven muttered, shaking her head.

She had experienced other people's memories before, in the Borg Collective, but it had never been like this – direct, visceral, as if she had crawled through those dirty tunnels and tripped over the smoking corpses of the Nakan. More than this, these memories were triggering others – real ones, from her own existence as a drone. Jabbing her assimilation tubules into a victim's neck. Distorted faces begging for themselves and their loved ones to be spared. A dead drone being hauled through the jungles of Planet 1865-Alpha. Mama and Papa screaming for Annika to run.

"Seven." The Doctor's voice, once again, cut through her panic and returned her to the present. "Seven, stay calm. You're safe. I'm right here with you. Whatever you're remembering, it's gone."

Taking another shuddering breath, she broke eye contact and sat up. Instead of fear, embarrassment began to creep up on her. She was not one to fall to pieces; she was Borg – no, she was Human. She was Seven, anyway, and Seven was known by her shipmates as a strong and resilient individual. She would not be weak. She would not worry the Doctor any more than he was obviously worried already.

"I know," she rasped, clearing her throat to get the exhaustion out of her voice. "I am … undamaged."

"If you say so." His frown made him look, incongruously enough for a hologram, as if he had aged ten years.

"These memories couldn't be yours, you know. Voyager has never been near Tarakis Prime. Our sensor readings show as much."

"What if … they are my memories? Originating from an unknown member of the Collective and surfacing through my brain? It has occurred before."

The Doctor blinked. "Hmm. Now there's a theory … but no."

He shook his head. "No, that can't be the reason. There are thirty-nine crewmembers, at last count, experiencing these symptoms. They'd all need to have a Borg neural link with you, which they obviously don't. And there's no Vinculum within range either, to trigger any neural patterns from fellow drones. No, no, it must be something else. If we could only get to the bottom of it … "

He stroked his chin and began to pace, still frowning deeply, ruminating over the problem as if mere force of mind could solve it. Seven kept her eyes on him, finding reassurance in his familiar face, body and mannerisms even as her nerves continued to vibrate. She was Annika hiding under the Raven's console. She was a woman with blood on her cybernetic hands.

Ensign Kim drifted over from where he, Paris and Chakotay had been looking after the Captain. He surveyed Seven with wry understanding; his slanted eyes were bloodshot, his carefully gelled black hair in disarray.

"Hey," he said to the room at large, "Do any of you know what day it is by the Terran calendar?"

Paris closed his eyes, his lips moving in calculation. Then he opened them wide and let out a snort. "Remembrance Day! Damn. It figures."

"Clarify, Ensigns," snapped Seven from her position.

"You tell her, Tom," said Kim. "You're the history buff."

"It's November eleventh," said Paris, rolling his eyes. "The First World War ended on that day in 1918. Highest death rate of any war in Earth's history, at least before First Contact. Four hundred years later and we still haven't stopped killing each other."

"It's a traditional day on which to remember fallen soldiers." Chakotay's voice, though gentle as always, commanded their attention. "In most countries on earth, songs are sung and rituals are held to honor them. The symbol of the day is the poppy, a red flower which symbolizes both blood and the renewal of life."

Chakotay, who had been a Maquis, was handling the post-traumatic stress a little more gracefully than the others. Seven envied him.

=/\=

Later on, as she continued her interrupted shift in Astrometrics while trying to ignore the memories roiling at the edges of her mind, Seven was interrupted by the hissing of the doors and the sound of a child's voice.

"Seven? I brought you something."

She turned and looked down. Naomi Wildman, carrying a plateful of something brown, looked back up with appealing blue eyes.

"A Ktarian chocolate puff? I do not require nourishment at this time."

"But it's the Doctor's orders," Namo persisted, holding out the bowl so its sweet, fresh-baked smell pervaded the room. "He's busy, so he sent me. He sid it's his," with a fleeting smile, "Prescription for you. Because chocolate contains … en-dor-phins?" She paused for Seven's nod to show her she was saying it correctly. " … that will make you feel better. I know I always feel better after eating one of these."

"Insufficient," said Seven, fighting back a tired sigh. She had no energy to reassure Naomi right now.

The little girl put down the plate on a computer terminal anyway.

"Neelix is acting just the same," she confided. "He's so upset. I was in the mess hall yesterday and he grabbed me … he was protecting me from enemies that didn't exist. Now he's in Sickbay, and he won't even let me visit."

Naomi's voice began to tremble. "He should know I don't blame him. I'm just trying to help … "

"Naomi Wildman." Before the child could burst into tears, something Seven really didn't feel ready to handle, she picked up the plate and the fork on it and demonstratively took a bite of cake.

She had never tasted chocolate before, considering it nutritionally deficient. The rich, melting sweetness took her by surprise. Once she had chewed, swallowed, and gathered her wits enough to say what she had meant to say, Naomi's face was already brighter.

"I appreciate your attempts to assist us. So does Mr. Neelix, I am certain. Perhaps … he also requires chocolate."

Recalling the Doctor's thoughtfulness in 'prescribing' the chocolate puff, Seven made a mental note to thank him.