The next two days were fruitless in a reason of action. The crew could only fight or run or both. But Voyager was still being repaired from her last battle with an unfriendly Delta Quadrant people.
A plan began to form in Tom's mind. He could not do anything like pilot Voyager but he did have a way to get rid of the Borg without exploding them in a thousand pieces. B'Elanna would not like it and the Captain probably wouldn't agree to it but it really was the only way.
His acuter hearing picked up the sound of the sickbay doors opening and a sure stride approach where he sat perched on a biobed.
"Hello?" He asked. The darkness that constantly enveloped him allowed no knowledge to come to him from his eyes. He had to rely on his hearing and trust it heavily.
"Mr. Paris," Seven's cool voice came to his ears. "I wish to ask you a question. If you have the time."
Tom thought her words ironic. "If I didn't know you better, Seven, I'd say that was a joke. What do you need? Time is all that I have lately."
Silence. So the mighty ex-Borg was unsure of how to phrase her question. This should be interesting.
Hesitantly, Seven finally continued, "Since it is my fault that you are…ill, do you harbor ill feelings towards me?"
Tom thought for a moment. Never too long, or a headache from the cueproan would start. It wasn't really Seven's fault. And even if it were, he probably wouldn't tell her that. Since clashing with the three ex-Borg from her original Uni-Matrix, she had focused even more on her individuality and development of feelings. He wouldn't want to damage her progress.
"Seven," he began gently. "What happened was not your fault. It was beyond all of our control. And I have no malice towards you."
He heard her sigh, an almost audible thing that perhaps only he could hear now. "I thank you, Mr. Paris." He detected retreating footsteps.
"Seven!" He called.
She stopped and came back only a little bit.
"We need to talk of what you remember," Tom ventured, not sure how she would take his probing. He remembered all of it: the shared thoughts, shared memories, shared dreams. It had been a oneness that he would probably never experience again.
Seven's reply was hard. "I do not remember anything."
Tom sensed that she wasn't telling the truth. "You lie," he accused. "Tell the truth. What do you remember? Think hard, Seven."
A pause. She was silent for so long, he was afraid that she had somehow tip-toed out.
But she answered finally. "I remember your trial, when you were sent to the penal colony. Your feelings of disappointment. Your father's expression. Almost as if I were you.
"I remember the first impressions you had as you learned to survive at the prison complex. You resolved to not make another mistake—which is illogical. You save another prisoner from death and had nightmares about the accident which you could not remember the next morning.
"I remember when you met Captain Janeway. You wanted to impress her, to show her you deserved another chance although you also had a conflicting emotion of loathing at the Starfleet that she represented.
"I experienced the journey to the Delta Quadrant: the pain, the death, the feeling of frustration and helplessness as the Captain ignored you.
"The gradual building of your self-confidence in yourself; I was there. When you began to court Lieutenant Torres, I was there. I remember all you do and have done, and I can not shake the memories. Have I answered your question?" Seven finished.
Tom was shocked. He hadn't realized that she had seen so much of him. "Yes," he said quietly.
She was quiet again but did not leave. Perhaps she could understand his feelings now; perhaps not. He was doomed to die, either by the cueproan or by the Borg. All he had wanted was to know that some of him wouldn't die. Through Seven, he knew he wouldn't.
"Lieutenant Paris?"
Surprised that she was still there and willing to talk, he only said, "Yes?"
"What do you remember of my memories?"
Tom was caught off-guard. What did he remember?
Slowly, he talked it out. "I remember being young. I…you…were with your parents aboard an explorer's ship. The Borg came at night. They took your parents and assimilated you into Alpha-Matrix. The sounds, the voices, the shared knowledge of over billions of species—it was disconcerting at first. The loss of humanity. The loss of individuality. The species you forced to be assimilated, thinking it was right. The fear of being alone," his voice caught and he buried his face in his hands.
A hand rested on his shoulder lightly. He didn't know who it was. Seven? The Doctor? Someone else? Who?
Seven's voice, right beside him, attempted to comfort him. "I adapted; so can you. The memories do not bother me as much as they used to. Do not let them bother you."
Tom controlled himself. "Thank you," he whispered, lowering his hands. He suddenly wanted to discuss what he was going to approach to the Captain with someone else who now knew him far better than even B'Elanna.
"Seven, I think I have a solution to this Borg problem," he said eagerly.
Her tone was inquisitive. "Explain." Her hand removed itself from his back.
Tom sighed. "If I can get the cueproan to transfer to the Borg, I can eliminate two problems at once."
"And how do you propose to do that?" Came a different voice from the direction of the door.
"Captain!" Tom hadn't heard her come in. He hated this blindness!
"So go on, Tom. I'm listening," the Captain's tone was amused.
"I am curious myself on how you think to solve this stalemate," Seven added.
Sighing, Tom decided to finish. Might as well. "Well, if I can connect mentally to one receptive mind in the Borg Cube, the cueproan will transfer, the cueproan will leave me, I won't die, and it will spread into the Cube. The Borg will be so busy fighting the cueproan, we'll just slip away."
Janeway's voice was slightly weaker as she turned away to confer with the Doctor. "What do you think? Is it too risky? Will it endanger Tom?"
The Doctor didn't immediately reply, a sure sign he was thinking the matter through. Finally, Tom heard, "There's so much that I don't know about the cueproan. We were able to bring Mr. Paris back once, I really don't know if I'll be able to do it again."
"So what do you suggest?" Janeway inquired.
"Wait. Let's investigate the planet some before we try anything too risky," the Doctor finalized.
Tom felt his hopes vaporize. "But what if we don't have the time to explore the planet?"
Janeway's voice was firm. "You let me worry about that."
As soon as Janeway, Tuvok, Kim, and Torres disappeared from the transporter beam on their way to the planet, Chakotay faced Seven. His eyes probed hers. "Why did Captain Janeway leave now? What transpired in the last few hours?"
Seven shifted slightly. "New information from Lieutenant Paris prompted the early investigation. The Doctor and Captain Janeway thought it best to travel and search for answers as soon as possible since the appearance of the Borg Cube."
"What 'new information' did Tom give?" Chakotay prodded.
"If you really want to know, sir, you'll have to join me for supper," a tired voice said from behind them.
Seven and Chakotay swiveled to face an exhausted Tom Paris, who was feeling his way down the corridors by his fingertips.
"What are you doing up?" Chakotay demanded.
"The Doctor said to minimize movement to minimize the cueproan," Seven added, a note of reproach in her voice.
Tom exhaled angrily. "I'm bored. I wanted to actually eat with the sounds of people around me. If I'm going to die, at least I should be allowed company."
"You're not going to die," Chakotay said, exasperated, as he gently grasped Tom's elbow and directed him slowly out of the door.
Seven could not let the untruthful statement rest. "The Doctor said he was not certain that Lieutenant Paris would survive," she countered, following them to a turbolift.
Chakotay shot her a look, which she interpreted as him being displeased with her, although she could not understand why. Humans needed to be confronted with the truth, not disillusional thinking.
Once the turbolift started moving, Paris let out a funny sound and reached out for something to hold to. Chakotay fought a smile and let Paris grab his uniform jacket. When they had stopped, Paris let out an audible sigh of relief. He let Chakotay guide him by his elbow to the galley.
They entered, and the conversations lulled as the crew took in Chakotay obviously steering Paris on where to go.
Neelix was speechless. A first for the little alien, Seven was sure. He recovered quickly and hurried over.
"Tom! Nice to see you out and about! What do you want to eat? Here, I'll get a table for all of you. Commander Chakotay, be careful with Tom over here; there's a step down," the robust alien rambled. He noticed how pale Tom was and the beads of perspiration on Tom's forehead that had formed from his short walk.
"All I want is a good big bowl of that tomato soup you've gotten so good at making," Tom suggested, sitting down with a sigh.
Neelix's countenance fell. "Are you sure? I mean, I could replicate you a good soup."
Tom firmly shook his head. "I've been eating replicated meals for almost three days. All I want is your tomato soup."
Neelix brightened. "Well, then, I guess I'll get right on that. Anyone else have a request?"
Seven remembered some of the etiquette lessons the Doctor had given her. It was considered not only polite to dine with a guest of honor—as Tom obviously was to Neelix—but to also have the same thing that they were eating.
"I'll have tomato soup as well," Seven replied.
Chakotay nodded. "Myself as well."
Neelix bumbled off happily to get started on the soup.
Chakotay gave Tom a long look while the conversations surrounding them began again. After a lull in their conversation, he said, "I believe you've given Neelix his courage to cook back. I was starting to get tired of replicated foods."
Tom shrugged in a rare gesture of modesty and embarrassment. "No one else could do it. Besides, what are we going to complain about if he doesn't cook?"
Chakotay laughed, although Seven failed to see the humor in the particular joke.
"Scan for lifeforms. We had found some but they never approached us the first time here," Janeway instructed.
Tuvok, Kim, and Torres held scanners in one hand and phasers in another. They faced different directions and Tuvok spoke first.
"Captain, I have massive lifeform readings in this direction," the Vulcan informed her.
"Good. Let's see if the natives can tell us anything," she answered. Carefully, she led the away team through dense underbrush and luscious trees. Insects, several times bigger than Earth's, buzzed close to them but never landed on any of them.
As they drew closer to where the readings of life were, they heard chanting. Cautiously, they peeked out of the bushes to see three-foot-tall, naked, round humanoids dancing around a fire while other short aliens wearing a type of loose, long robe sang, tilting their faces to the stars.
"Captain," Torres whispered. "Why did we not see them the first time here?"
Harry answered for Janeway. "Whole civilizations can be separated from each other on one continent. It's not that hard to hide yourself from strangers who don't know what to look for or even the terrain."
Torres glared at Kim, but it didn't have much malice behind it. "Alright, Starfleet," she growled, mock-seriously.
"Look who's talking," Kim shot back, smiling.
"Captain?" Tuvok brought Janeway's attention back to the present. "It seems we have been detected."
Janeway was filled with alarm as she gazed at one old female alien who was beckoning for them to come to her.
"Follow me," Janeway whispered as she stood up.
When the other aliens caught sight of her height, some ran in fear.
"Jittery, aren't they?" Kim commented.
The older alien pointed at Kim. "You! Man! Silence! Let your Leader speak before you! Have you no honor?"
Janeway inwardly groaned. This matriarchal society was either going to help or hinder. She stepped forward to find out.
"He speaks under my direction," she told the female alien. "Greetings. I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Starfleet Federation Starship Voyager. I came to ask questions of you."
The older female nodded wisely, ignoring the other three members of the away team. "'Captain'? Is this a title of honor among your people?"
Janeway inclined her head. "Yes, it is."
The female seemed delighted. "Are you in charge of many?"
Janeway was puzzled at first by this line of questioning. Abruptly, she realized that the alien was trying to decide whether or not Janeway was an equal to her. She nodded. "Yes, many. I guide them home."
The alien clapped her hands, grinning, and two young male aliens brought two robes. One positioned one of the cloak-like robes on Janeway's shoulders, decorated with furs and precious stones. The other placed a less ornate cloak on Torres' shoulders. Bowing, the two backed away in submission.
"Let us eat first," the leader of the little village demanded.
Not seeing a diplomatic way to refuse and still be able to inquire after the cueproan, Janeway agreed. She had only a little trouble convincing the aliens that Tuvok and Harry Kim ate with her, not after her table scraps.
"So my runaway patient has returned. I'm glad to see that, although you are still unhealthily pale, you've gained a small amount of color in your cheeks," the Doctor said convivially as Chakotay and Seven assisted Tom into sickbay.
"Neelix's cooking will do that to you," Tom grunted. Chakotay could tell that Tom was in pain. The cueproan didn't give up it's hosts easily.
Chakotay let Seven deal with getting Tom onto the biobed as he confronted the Doctor. "Is it safe to let him sleep?" He whispered. "Won't the cueproan try to take over again?"
The Doctor nodded. "I don't allow him to sleep for long. I'm monitoring his brain waves thoroughly. If even a sign of something appears, I wake him."
"He does need sleep," Chakotay warned.
The Doctor agreed. "Oh, I know. I let him sleep for as long as the cueproan leaves him be. That's all I can do. I don't want to have to go through all that suffering again to bring him back. It was hard enough the first time; I'm certain the cueproan wouldn't let it happen again."
Seven joined them. "Lieutenant Paris is asleep. If you wish, Doctor, I could monitor him so you can concentrate on some of your research," she offered.
The Doctor gazed at her a moment, and Chakotay could tell that if holograms could love, this one would be there.
"Thank you, Seven," the Doctor replied. "You know what to watch for?"
Seven nodded.
The Doctor turned his attention to Chakotay again. "If you'll excuse me, Commander, I'm running data on something Mr. Paris offered in way of a solution to our Borg problem."
Chakotay smiled and left the room, remembering Tom's explanation over dinner. He would contact Kathryn soon to check on her progress. But not yet. Something told him not yet.
Kathryn Janeway sat warming herself by the blazing fire, feeling herself taken back to campfires with her ex-fiancé, Mark.
With a furious shake of her head, she focused on the major-domo, K'pthna, Leader and Prophetess of the Shak'matha people. Evidently, the alien had 'seen' the away team's coming.
"And your questions, Captain Kathryn Jan'way," K'pthna finally got to. "One is dying in your machine-for-home? You want to know about the cueproan? To beat it?"
Janeway nodded once. "Yes, if it's not too much trouble," she said calmly.
K'pthna slowly lowered her hands, the Shak'mathan gesture equivalent to a negative head shake from humans. "Our people have no way to fight and win, though the Great Goddess of Light promised to send one, a male, that would find a way." The stubby alien leaned forward intently. "Tell me, Captain Kathryn Jan'way, Leader of the People in the Machine-for-Home, is the dying one male?"
Torres crawled to sit beside Janeway, squeezing past male bodyguards of K'pthna's. "Captain," the half-human warned. "We don't know these people. What if they want to hurt Tom?"
Janeway glanced at K'pthna. "We have to trust a little to gain a lot, B'Elanna. I don't see how it could hurt and we might gain information we don't already know about the cueproan."
Torres, clearly not satisfied, sat on her haunches, her eyes glittering strangely in the firelight.
Janeway smiled at K'pthna. "Yes, he is male."
A stirring in the gathered Shak'mathans surprised Janeway and the away team.
K'pthna muttered to a young boy and he scampered off. She then faced Janeway. "Before more can be said, I must see him. Bring him here."
Janeway felt Torres tugging urgently on her cloak. Stunned, she said, "I must speak with my crew and the male first. I will come back."
K'pthan bounced up and down in her eagerness. "Yes! Yes! Come back! Bring the male!"
Janeway tapped her commbadge. "Voyager, four to beam up."
"I'm not sure of this," Chakotay said uneasily.
Torres was adamant. "No. It's too much of a risk for Tom."
Tuvok said simply, "The decision is yours to make. Yours and Lieutenant Paris'."
Neelix and the Doctor were unusually quiet, both gazing at the slumbering patient.
Janeway noticed Seven looked at her steadily, a sure sign that the ex-Borg wanted to speak to her alone. Janeway disentangled herself from the arguing group to stand beside a slightly distanced Seven.
"Captain," Seven began without preamble. "If Lieutenant Paris does go, I would like to go as well."
Janeway was caught unaware by her request. "May I inquire as to why?"
Seven clasped her hands behind her back. "The lieutenant and I…shared things that no one would understand during our linked time with the cueproan."
Janeway found herself curious. "Shared things? What kind of 'things'?"
Seven was looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Memories; thoughts; emotions. It occurred when the cueproan melded our minds."
Satisfied, Janeway could see no reason why the ex-Borg should not go. "Permission granted. Only, I will be there as well." She cleared her throat to get the gathered throng's attention.
"Seven and I will accompany Tom down to the planet," Janeway said firmly. Her tone spoke of no argument.
B'Elanna growled. "I don't think this is wise, Captain. We can't even predict when Tom's condition will turn for the worse!" But the argument was half-felt—B'Elanna knew the Captain had won the round.
Janeway decided to ignore B'Elanna's outburst. "Doctor, let's wake Tom and tell him what we need of him."
The Doctor nodded and gently shook Tom. Tom lifted his head weakly. "Mr. Paris, there is something the Captain needs you for."
Groggily, Tom sat up, holding his head. "Captain?" His head swiveled around, his ears alert for her voice.
"Tom, the inhabitants of the planet below us have offered a trade: they get to meet you in exchange for information on the cueproan. Are you well enough to go if Seven and I assist you?" Janeway asked gently. She held her breath until he answered her.
"Don't see why not," he answered gruffly. "Take in some sights before I go."
Chakotay frowned at Tom's ironic words but refrained from saying anything. Janeway was startled herself but chose not to show it. Instead, she turned to Seven. "All right, then. Let's go."
"Energize," Captain Janeway ordered. Almost immediately, Seven of Nine felt the tingling through her body that signified the transporter beam was reorganizing her atoms and molecules on the planet's surface. When her eyes had readjusted, Seven glimpsed Lieutenant Paris tottering on his feet weakly. Knowing he was about to fall, Seven lent him her shoulder to lean on; he took it gratefully.
A very short alien scampered to Captain Janeway. The alien bowed and the Captain returned the gesture as Lieutenant Paris and Seven were surrounded by other, shorter, aliens similar to the first.
"Greetings once ag'in, Captain Kathryn Jan'way," the first alien snorted out. The female wore a cloak like the one Captain Janeway wore, but more elaborate with pieces of precious stones.
The Captain smiled. "Greetings in return, K'pthna, Leader of the Shak'mathans. I have brought the one you requested, in return for what information you have on the cueproan. I give him full leave to speak and he will not stay long. He is weak and sick. When I think he needs to leave, he will go."
The alien, K'pthna, inclined her head. "Then we will be brief." She motioned for Seven to approach with Lieutenant Paris. Slowly, assisting Paris, Seven complied.
"Here, he will sit here comfortably. You can leave him," K'pthna dismissed her.
Seven sat the sweating lieutenant down on a pile of furs by the fire and, in defiance, sat beside him. "I am sorry," she said clearly. "But I go where he goes. We are…bonded by the cueproan, or were, until I was released. We share…"
K'pthna interrupted, her voice in awe. "You share the monglatha, the oneness of thoughts and dreams. And yet you are alive as well?"
Seven merely stared. Any being with half of an intelligent brain could see that she was breathing and had heart and mental activity, constituting that she was alive.
The Captain smirked, the expression crossing her face briefly, then it was gone. "Barely alive, K'pthna," Janeway answered for Seven. "As is Tom."
"Tom?" K'pthna repeated, clearly confused.
Janeway frowned. "Yes. The male's name is Tom Paris."
K'pthna sounded astonished. "You name your males?!"
Seven considered practicing the technique the Doctor had showed her that was called 'rolling the eyes'. It was used in situations such as this. Inwardly, she shook her head. No, this was not the time nor the place for such an action.
The captain gave a slight smile. "They name themselves, or rather, their parents name them; same as our females."
"Parents?"
Seven decided to end this discussion; the lieutenant was obviously worsening. He shook constantly and clung to her in fear of the unfamiliar noises around him. He was paler than usual and clammy.
She faced K'pthna. "It is an Earth custom. Now, I implore you finish your questioning: the lieutenant and I must return shortly."
K'pthna was silent a moment, as if completely shocked by Seven's audacity in speaking to her in such a manner. "Very well then," the short alien finally said. She motioned to two males of her species. "Food first, then discussions."
"No…" Tom gasped. "Just…ask me what you will and be done with it."
Captain Janeway knelt in front of him and pulled out a medical tricorder. Frowning, she scanned him quickly. "His brain activity is speeding up. The cueproan is awake." She spun to face K'pthna. "If you wish to gain nay coherent information, do it soon. He has to return in less than ten minutes. He needs immediate attention."
K'pthna bared her teeth but refrained from speaking her initial thoughts.
"You, male, how do you survive?" The alien leader barked sharply.
Tom's voice was weak. "It…doesn't want to kill me. It's…looking…for another…host."
K'pthna was confused by his words. "Another host?"
Seven tried to explain since talking was obviously making Tom weaker. "A host is a person occupied by the cueproan. The parasite is draining Lieutenant Paris' energy and mental aspects. We believe that the cueproan is in search of a different host to do the same with since Lieutenant Paris' body is becoming too weak. Or it will kill him first, then have a host ready nearby. We are not anxious to determine which."
The alien was silent a moment, thinking. "Why is he not dead?" She repeated. "Our afflicted are buried."
Captain Janeway interposed. "We believed Tom was dead, too, at some point. Only through adding unhealthy amounts of oxygen to the room he lay in brought him out of his mind and back to his surroundings, though he is now blind."
K'pthna was clearly overwhelmed. "You are goddesses! You can manipulate the very air you breathe in order to save another of lesser status. The Shak'mathans are honored." And the shaky alien began to bow at Captain Janeway's feet.
Seven saw her captain was very embarrassed.
"Stop this at once," the captain protested. "We are no better than you."
Instead of stopping, all aliens copied their leader. Some of them brushed Seven's shoulder, making her uncomfortable.
"Captain," she called. Once she gained the captain's attention, she did not let her gaze waver. "I believe we should leave. It is apparent that these aliens cannot add to what we know already through their inferior technology. Plus," she glanced down at an excessively sweating, half-unconscious Paris. "Lieutenant Paris's time here is at an end."
And perhaps anywhere else as well, Seven thought, an emotion called sadness washing over her.
Apparently, the captain thought along the same lines as Seven for her mouth and eyes were grim. She tapped her commbadge, the cloak rustling with her movements. "Voyager, three to beam up."