It was not an audible voice she had been hearing, and so she knew there was no entity involved, only her own mind playing tricks.
But it was just as real as anything else. Just as real as the relentless black outside her window.
You did this to your crew, the Voice said. You made the wrong choice.
When it had first arrived, the Voice had been formless, ethereal. Just a whisper in the dark corners of her imagination.
But then it had taken the form of B'Elanna during the first year, bitter and angry and rightfully so at being stranded away from home. Then it had taken on the form of Ensign Wildman, now separated from her husband, raising Naomi on a starship thousands of lightyears from home and constantly facing new threats. Then it had become Tuvok, utterly logical in his assessment of the situation that had separated him from his wife and children.
At first she had tried to brush off the Voice. Clearly, she reasoned, Voyager's mission was a success. They were doing what Starfleet would want them to do. They were exploring. She had told Chakotay the same thing only minutes before, when he had given her an update on the ship's status.
But, as she had told Chakotay, that reasoning now felt utterly hollow.
Futile.
Kathryn continued to watch the emptiness outside. She could swear she saw something moving out there. Her reason told her that couldn't possibly be so.
Assimilation, the infinite harmony of the Collective, would be preferable to this, wouldn't it? asked the Voice.
Kathryn swallowed and turned away from the window. The most recent form the Voice had taken was Seven, still as a drone, with the full voice of the Collective behind her.
Now you see Our wisdom. Borg are not a threat. Individuality is the threat. Singleness of thought is the threat. Functioning alone is the threat, said the Voice.
"Coffee. Black."
She took the fresh cup to her chair and collapsed. Scalding liquid splashed against her hand. She ignored it and took a sip before placing the mug on the coffee table. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees and stared blankly at the book she had left open there. La Vita Nuova, with Nana's old rosary beads tossed carelessly on top.
Irrelevant, said the Voice.
"Is it?" Kathryn asked out loud in a brief flash of angry rebellion. The feeling left as soon as it had come. "Yes, I suppose it is."
She took another sip of coffee, consciously aware of the fact that it was making her mood worse. With her free hand she rubbed at her eyes.
Restless, she stood again, scooped up the wooden beads, and returned to the window, coffee still in her other hand. She took another sip while twisting the beads around her fingers.
It still looked as if something out there was moving. Twisting in on itself.
The Collective has decided you are at fault, said the Voice.
That elicited a bitter laugh. "Well, then the Collective and I are in agreement for once."
You ought to destroy irrelevant sentimentality.
Her fingers tightened around the beads. Why did she keep them? She wasn't religious herself. Was it only because of sentimentality? Because in some way it made her feel connected to her Nana, long passed, and therefore made her feel connected to home?
If that's all it was, then the Voice had a point. Kathryn had no right to hold on to home.
So why did she always stop herself from putting the beads in the recycler?
She took another sip of coffee.
And there was that twisting shape again. There, in the darkness outside. She was sure of it this time. It was something twisting in on itself.
"Leviathan."
That's what it was. That ancient Near Eastern chaos monster. A dragon. One of Nana's religious ghosts. It was out there, writhing in the darkness, mocking her.
"Why," she said quietly. She closed her eyes, immediately regretting that word. It was the question she had been avoiding since they entered the Void. It was the question behind every one of the Voice's accusations. It was the question she had, for so long, been blessedly distracted from.
But it had been with her since the day she destroyed the Caretaker's array.
And now it would not be shoved back into a corner.
"Why did any of this happen? Why was I forced to make that choice?" She was starting to breathe harder, long-suppressed emotions finally surfacing.
Her hands started to shake. She willed the one holding the mug of hot coffee to be still, and raised the one wrapped in rosary beads up against her temple.
"Why was I forced to strand my crew!"
She tried to even out her breathing, and deliberately bit hard on the inside of her cheek.
Any moment now the Voice would speak again.
Hot tears stung at her eyes. A bitter sob escaped her. She lurched forward, barely catching herself, and leaned against the glass. Miraculously, only a few drops of hot coffee landed on her arm in the process.
She tried to compose herself, but the harder she tried to fight it the more her bitterness surfaced. Now she was shaking. Her determination to remain on her feet gave out. She slid against the window, against the low wall, and found herself crumpled on the floor. Again, some distant part of her wondered at her ability to keep her cup from splashing hot liquid in the process.
Where was that damned Voice? The least it could do would be to level its accusations at her when she was at her lowest.
Why would you want that?
Kathryn opened her eyes.
The Voice, if it was indeed the same Voice, had come so gently.
"What?"
A stillness came over her.
Where were you...
The stillness intensified. She hardly dared to breathe. In her mind's eye, she recalled Zefram Cochrane and First Contact Day, stars going supernova, her own home planet's oceans which still contained unknown mysteries in the 24th century. She recalled the Klingon War, and a flurry of Federation treaties made over hundreds of years. She recalled Q and the beginnings of the universe.
Where were you...
She recalled the snows of Andoria, the dry heat of Vulcan, living entities the size of planets still undiscovered by any Starfleet captain or any member of the Federation. She recalled kingdoms and empires and democracies. She recalled plasma storms and spatial anomalies.
Where were you...
She recalled the ancient ties between Vulcan and Romulan. Ancient ways of harmony and disorder. And yes, she recalled that ancient chaos named Leviathan by humans just like her who did not have any answers. She recalled the Borg, easily humanity's latest existential threat.
Where were you...
She recalled a tiny starship. Foolish in its endeavor. A starship whose pilot had not been forced to make a difficult choice, but had chosen folly nonetheless. She recalled an arrogant pursuit of a green cube. She recalled a little girl, who's favorite color she now knew to be red.
Where were you…
If she had not chosen as she had, all those years ago, Seven would still be a drone.
She blinked.
The sense of utter stillness hung about her.
She raised her mug to her lips, took a sip. Then she managed to get to her feet. She returned to her chair, carefully set the mug down again, and sat.
She took a few deep breaths.
The stillness was gradually starting to lift off her shoulders, leaving calm in its wake.
She closed her eyes, picturing that little girl from the data files they had retrieved.
Picturing Seven.
Perhaps... demanding an answer to the question of "why" was the wrong approach...
"Seven," she whispered. "I am very glad we came to get you."
Another moment passed.
And then the lights went out.
Kathryn hesitated only a second, allowing the moment to stamp itself forever on her memory and on her heart, before standing to attend to duty.
Whatever it took, and Kathryn did mean whatever it took, she would not let Seven be failed by another parental figure.