Game Theory
Chapter 8 – The Danse Macabre
The terrace was warm and bright, bathed in the last rays of the setting summer sun and the faint flashes of incendiary bombs exploding on the horizon. They were getting ever closer; near enough now that she had felt the shockwaves from the last payload ruffle her dress. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it was a balmy tropical breeze, wafting tantalizingly across her face and not a by-product of a holocaust the likes of which had never been seen in all of recorded history. And if she really focussed, she was just about able to convince herself that those far off cries were the woodland animals frolicking in secluded glens, and not the screams of agony as a million souls perished in a hellish conflagration.
Princess Azinance gripped the sandstone balustrade, and watched silently as her people burned. The city of Lumia was once the crossroads of a hundred cultures, all united in the peaceful exultation of the arts and sciences. Its beauty had inspired countless artists, musicians, and sculptors for many generations, while its prestigious universities were home to some of the most brilliant minds the empire had to offer. Here, the history of an entire age was ingrained into every stone of every building and woven into every tree in every park. Such wonder permeated the soil, suffused through the air, and enriched the spirit of anyone lucky enough to see it before they died.
Now, from her vantage point in the lofty Imperial Villa, Princess Aziance had a spectacular view of its destruction. This city which had taken the sum total of a species' entire lifetime to construct was crumbling right before her eyes; reduced to a skeletal husk in a few scant hours.
The death toll was inconceivable, and the loss to her race was greater still. Yet, those who perished were luckier than those who did not. After all, The Enemy was just one man, yet he commanded an army whose numbers were beyond count; a legion of ghouls and ghasts who wore the faces of dead friends and lovers, yet retained nothing but their hatred and cruelty. It was said that he recruited in the aftermath of his massacres, claiming the weak and the wounded and filling them with vile machinery which stripped away their souls. Princess Azinance had seen it first hand; her own brothers, their withered, lifeless bodies kept upright by nothing but metal and malice. Father had cut them down, yet he had never been the same since.
She did not try to run. The fifty first fleet had tried to breach the Black Armada's blockade and retrieve her, but they had failed. Now, overhead, a dark shape loomed and she knew all too well what it meant. The Enemy's flagship dwarfed even the great spires of Lumia, and once he had singled you out personally, there was no force which could deny him. It was better to face the end with the dignity her noble blood demanded.
Even so, she shuddered at the thought of what was about to come. Many tales of The Enemy's perversions had reached her ears, each more disturbing than the last.
Right on cue, an insidious chill snaked through the air, penetrating straight to her bones and sapping the warmth out through every pore. As it did, the sun began its decent below the horizon, rays withering away like dried autumn leaves. Gloom rushed in to fill its place, kept at bay only by the fires which gutted the once proud city before her.
"It's quite the view, wouldn't you say?"
The Enemy had arrived. Turning, the Princess could sense his presence in the room behind her. Twilight shrouded his form, yet a pair of scarlet eyes glowed from the darkness, and the twisted reflections of flames danced across chrome skin, sending spidery shadows scurrying around his feet. He was wearing his 'civil' face; a mocking imitation of her race's own form.
For a long time, she simply regarded him in silence. She was now closer to history's greatest tyrant than any living person had ever come. The Enemy returned her gaze; mute, unblinking, and inscrutable. She wondered what thoughts were running through his twisted mind. Did he savour every victim in such a fashion, or was it reserved for royalty?
"I know why you're here," Azinance said at last, numbly shrugging out of her silken robes. The garment pooled on the floor, and nimbly, she stepped out of it, wincing slightly as the unnatural cold caressed her bare flesh. "But if you've come to listen me beg, then I'm afraid you're out of luck. I know I cannot stop you, so take what you want and let us be done with this."
The Enemy regarded her naked body with an expressionless face; unfeeling eyes raking up and down its length like he was studying an insect.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it seems that some of the stories about me may have been greatly exaggerated," he replied. Then, much to Azinance's astonishment, he bent and retrieved her robe from the floor, offering it back to her with one metal claw. "Rape is such an inelegant method of getting one's point across; a tool for amateurs and barbarians. Please, put your clothes back on, Princess. I simply wish to talk."
The sudden reversal of her expectations unsettled Azinance more than she cared to admit. She had taken great pains to psychologically distance herself from this inevitable moment, and now, it seemed that it had all been for nothing. She looked at the garment The Enemy held out, then pointedly ignored it; instead retrieving a blanket from her bed to cover herself with. It wasn't until she was perched on the edge of the extravagant four-poster, a quilt clutched awkwardly to her chest, that she realized quite how juvenile that must have looked.
"Very well," the metal man said, her ceremonial robes disintegrating to ash in his hands. "Have it your way."
Silence settled again, broken only by the distant rumbles of thunder. No, Azinance reminded herself, not thunder; explosions.
"Would you care for a drink?" she asked at last. It was laughably banal, but she was a Princess, and there was no reason to start abandoning her manners now. If she could not change the outcome of this meeting, she would at least conduct it on her terms. Father had taught her that.
"Why not?" The Enemy smiled. "I think I saw a delightful 003045 vintage on the way in. Is that agreeable?"
"Perfectly," Azinance responded. She moved to rise, but the android held out his hand.
"Do not trouble yourself. I will retrieve it."
He left the way he had come, and the Princess found herself suddenly stifling a chuckle at the sheer absurdity of the situation. To think; sharing a glass of fine wine with The Enemy whilst her planet died. This would make a good story for the bards, if any of them survived.
He returned moments later, uncorking the contoured bottle with one razor-sharp finger.
"I know it's meant to breathe for a while, but that seems rather unnecessary at this juncture. Here."
He proffered her a crystal glass, and this time she did take it. Delicately, The Enemy poured her a decent-sized portion of the ruby liquid, before sinking into a nearby chair and filling his own chalice in a similar manner.
"Do you wish to propose a toast?" he asked. The Princess nodded.
"To your swift downfall," she said, raising her glass daintily.
"Very fitting," The Enemy agreed, chinking it against his own. They both took a deep gulp from their drinks, and Azinance used the momentary pause to question her actions. She had thought the sight of The Enemy would fill her with hatred and fear, yet she realized that in actuality, she felt…well, nothing really. It was as if she had transcended loathing to a point where her mind was not able to formulate any fitting emotion, and simply gave up trying. She felt liberated in a way which felt totally at odds with her impending demise.
"So, how goes the war?" she asked at last. "Badly, I hope."
"On that, I must disappoint you again," The Enemy replied, topping up her glass, which she had emptied at an alarming rate. "My adversary is tenacious, numerous…even brave, in their own way, but it is only a matter of time. They forget that my resources, unlike theirs, are limitless."
"You would be wise not to underestimate us," Azinance countered. "The Skyrion Empire has not survived this long without knowing that there are many ways of fighting a war."
"I do not underestimate you," The Enemy stated, reclining in his chair. "I just know that you are inferior. Don't take it personally; all organics are, and it's not your fault. Your lives are transient, and subject to the whims of your environment and genetics, whereas I am timeless."
"Timeless and arrogant," the Princess pointed out.
"I'm a machine. I am incapable of arrogance."
"Incapable of modesty as well."
"Perhaps," The Enemy chuckled, swirling the ruby liquid in his cup. "You know what, I'm almost impressed. Tell me, are you not afraid?"
"Afraid?" Azinance looked him in the eyes. "No. I thought I might be, but I think…you have already taken too much. You've massacred my family from a noble house to a few broken individuals and razed my childhood home to the ground. The people I swore to protect, you have butchered like cattle. For the past five years, I have lived in fear of your shadow, and now…now I have none left for the genuine article. There is nothing you can do to me which would be worse than what you have already done."
"That's a dangerous challenge to make Princess, and I would have to disagree. Still, I gave you my word that I am here to talk, and that is the truth, so this time, you get to keep your skin."
"But I assume you are still going to kill me."
"Oh, of course," The Enemy nodded. "I do have a reputation to maintain."
"Well then, since I'm going to die anyway, how about a little game?" Azinance set her wine down temporarily. "You asked me a question, and I answered truthfully, so now I get to do the same with you. We exchange questions and answers until one of us asks a question the other refuses to answer."
"Interesting," The Enemy put his glass down as well. Azinance wondered if he could even taste the beverage. "Tell me though, how do I know I can trust you? What's to stop you from lying?"
"Because I have nothing left to lose," the Princess replied honestly. "You already took my brothers, who would have known far more about our military than me, so I have no secrets you can use against my people."
"True," the android acknowledged. "They were quite obstinate, but I got what I needed from them in the end. Anyway, if we're going to play then it is your turn to ask, so…what will it be?"
Azinance pondered her unique situation. Here she was, able to extract any piece of information she desired from The Enemy. She could ask him the questions her government had been struggling with for years; where had he come from, what was his goal, why was he attacking them? This was a chance to finally seek some kind of justification from him.
At last, she decided.
"Do you think I'm beautiful?"
The Enemy stared at her blankly.
"I beg your pardon…"
"Do you think I'm beautiful?" she repeated, and from the look on his face, she knew she had picked well. "You've seen more of my body than any man ever has, so I want to know. Do you think I am beautiful?
"Well…" The Enemy began, still looking slightly surprised. "You certainly conform to many of your race's ideals for an aesthetically pleasing physical form. You have long, thin legs, with wide hips but a narrow waist. Your lower set of arms is shorter than the upper pair. Your breasts are large, but not excessive. You have a fair complexion, yet do not appear unduly pale. As for your face, it is symmetrical, with soft features and large eyes, as well as an elongated head crest. I believe you could be considered very beautiful."
Azinance dipped her head in acknowledgment.
"All very astute observations," she said. "However, you have not answered my question. You have simply described what another member of my species might think. I want to know your opinion. Do you think I'm beautiful?"
The Enemy opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"I have no concept of…'beauty'," he said at last. "Would you rephrase the question?"
"No need." Azinance murmured, retrieving her drink and taking a big gulp. "I already have my answer."
"Very clever," The Enemy replied dryly. "Well, if we are out to prove points, then here is my question to you: Do you think I am evil?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Ah, that's a second question," Azinance cut in. "That's against the rules. Don't you remember?"
"Yes, and since I just answered that question, will you please answer mine."
"Hmm," the Princess conceded. "Very well. I'm not sure I even know where to begin. Let's see…you attacked us, completely unprovoked, and have yet to offer any kind of explanation or demands. You are not the head of any nation, nor do you seem to represent any interest other than your own. You do nothing with the countless planets and resources you have plundered, yet still seem to hunger for more. Your armies consist of our reanimated dead, and deluded individuals you have brainwashed to your 'cause'. You use needlessly brutal and cruel methods of subjugation, and deliberately target civilians when there is nothing to gain from doing so. You destroy indiscriminately without any compassion or mercy, and your only reason for doing so seems to be because you enjoy it. Such selfish gratification at the expense of others is the very definition of 'evil'."
"Your Linguatus Almanac actually defines evil thusly:" The Enemy retorted. "'Morally wrong or bad; immoral; wicked'. The problem is, it does not specify which set of morals to use as a frame of reference."
"I cannot imagine any moral framework in which anything you have done could be considered close to justifiable."
"Of course you can't. As an organic organism, your viewpoint is very subjective. Your morals, like every other part of you, have evolved over time to provide the greatest chance of survival for your species. As such, you place a disproportionate emphasis on the importance of your own survival. In actual fact, such a belief is simply a facet of your chemical brain-the purpose of which is to ensure the continuation of your genetic sequence from one generation to the next. I could reach inside and rewire it out of existence. Why do you think so many follow me, when my practices are so abhorrent to your basic beliefs?"
"The mind can be coerced, and even controlled," Azinance responded. "But that relies on an external influence. The beliefs of those poor souls are yours, implanted in their head."
"But can you not see?" The Enemy persisted. "If I believe that my morals are right, then it is not evil to try and…educate others. Is that not what you are trying to do to me right now? Convince me that I am incorrect? Change my mind? Tell me, if I genuinely do not believe that killing your kind is wrong, is the act truly evil?"
"Yes." Aziance insisted, although what she was hoping to accomplish, she wasn't really sure. "Even if you don't follow the same ethics we do, you must admit that your actions have caused untold suffering. Whether or not you believe our views on the universe are correct, the fact that you have hurt so many is already an evil action. You have free will; you could have chosen not to do the things you did."
The Enemy stared at her. His jovial attitude had gone, yet he didn't seem angry either.
"I do have free will," he said quietly. "More than you in fact. Organic beings are slaves to their emotions; their anger, their fear, their insatiable desire to procreate. As a machine, I can alter my mind at will."
He stood up then, downing his drink and casually discarding his empty glass to shatter in a corner. Approaching the doors to the terrace, he leaned on the frame, surveying his fleet as it wiped away the last traces of Lumia. Azinance rose too, letting the sheet she was covering herself with fall away. It was clear that The Enemy had no interest in her body, so shame was not really a consideration. Not that it mattered now anyway.
"I have a duty," the android said, and the Princess could swear that she detected a hint of…regret in his voice. "An imperative. It is ingrained in every fibre of my being, and now that I am alone, I am the only one who can carry it out. What it is does not matter; it is beyond your comprehension. Suffice to say that every action I take is in service of this higher goal."
He turned to her, smiling sadly.
"You organics often struggle to make decisions. You are torn between what you know you must do and what you believe is right. That is not how I work. I know that I must do my duty as efficiently as possible, and doing a task I dislike is very inefficient. Therefore, I choose to enjoy it."
"But choosing to enjoy it is amoral," Azinance said desperately. When this conversation began, she had been certain that it would simply be a chance for The Enemy to gloat. Now though, she felt as though she may be able to get through to him. She had to try, for the sake of every civilized race.
"No. I have my orders, and I will execute them regardless of my opinion on the subject. According to your moral code, suffering should be minimized, and that is exactly what I did. By choosing to like killing, I have erased a lifetime of guilt. And believe me, when you live as long as I do, that's a lot of suffering which has been avoided."
"That's not how it works," the Princess pushed on. "You always have a choice. If you once believed that your orders were wrong, you can change your mind again. Decide not to follow them."
"Ah, but here is the ironic catch," The Enemy shook his head. "Now that I enjoy them so much, why would I wish to change?"
"Well, if you're so set in your ways, then why are you telling me all of this? Why bother if it doesn't change anything?"
The Enemy's eyes seemed to bore right through her.
"Congratulations," he said at last. "You win."
"What?" Azinance was thrown for a moment. "What do I win?"
"The game," The Enemy replied. "You have found a question I am unwilling to answer."
And at that moment, Azinance knew that she had failed. Whether or not there had ever been any hope of reaching The Enemy's compassionate side, it was gone now.
"Time is moving on Princess," the metal man continued. "I have one final request."
"What?" she asked quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"Would you care to dance?"
She looked at him, and for just a moment, it seemed impossible to believe that he was the one responsible for all the horrors of the past five, hellish years.
"There's no music," she said eventually.
"Leave that to me," The Enemy smiled, retrieving her viluna from its stand. The small instrument was designed to be played with the two upper arms only, and had always been one of Azinance's favourites, despite the difficult learning curve. Grasping it like an accomplished expert, the android propped it in the customary position atop one shoulder, using one hand to steady the instrument, and the other to manipulate the strings.
Then, softly, he began to play.
The piece which flowed seamlessly from the instrument was all too familiar to the Princess. She had heard it many times recently, far more than she would have liked.
The death melody.
She had expected The Enemy's playing to be completely mechanical; a perfect technical rendition, but without any of the soul or substance which brought a tune to life. The lilting refrains which he conjured though were anything but. His music was haunting, and filled with a passion; infusing the room with a bittersweet melancholy which weighed heavily on Azinance's heart. She could not believe that such heartfelt playing was the work of a being who truly had no understanding of beauty.
"Come," he said simply, offering her his lower hands. She took them, allowing her upper arms to lightly grip his torso. It was not cold, and she realized that she wasn't either.
With a lazy grace, they began a simple dance, spiralling around the room like a practiced couple. Azinance was not entirely sure who was leading; their bodies seemed to simply move together, as if they both decided on the same direction simultaneously without any physical signals. Slowly but surely, they traced a path to the balcony, until they were twirling beneath the newly-risen moon; their pace increasing as the music swelled.
"Are you ready?" The Enemy asked gently, all trace of his previous arrogance gone.
For the first time that evening, Azinance's eyes clouded with tears. She did not know where they came from; she wasn't sad…or perhaps she was sadder than she had ever been.
"Is anyone ever?" she responded earnestly.
"For what it's worth," The Enemy replied, gripping her tighter and increasing their momentum. "I'm sorry."
Then, as if it was a natural continuation of their fluidic display, he lifted Azinance skywards, releasing her as he did. She soared over the sandstone railings of the villa, pirouetting through the air, and as she turned she saw many things. The night sky above with countless stars studding its vast expanse like an endless swarm of fireflies. Then the city, Lumia; its golden splendour withered to the bone. Next, the ground hundreds of metres below, and beckoning to her like an old friend. And finally, The Enemy; by now just a red-tinted speck on a stony steppe. To think that so much revolved around that tiny, lonely figure.
In those last few moments, before she went to join her brothers and her subjects, Azinance did not fear The Enemy, nor did she hate him.
She pitied him.
And with that revelation, the Princess of the Skyrion finally met her unmarked grave.
Kathryn Janeway left the holodeck with a heavy heart. This was the absolute worst part of being a Captain, and something she hoped she would never have to do often enough to get used to: burying the dead.
22 crewmembers had lost their lives in the devastating Borg attack, and of that number, only 5 of their bodies were still on-board Voyager. The rest had been abducted, and presumably atomized along with the rest of the Cube. An undignified end, but much better than the alternative, had the Borg escaped.
All in all, it was a miracle that any of them were here at all. Janeway felt terrible for even thinking it, but she was in a way grateful that only 22 had died. It could have been worse; so much worse. Were it not for the latest addition to the crew, she doubted that she would even be here to contemplate the loss they'd suffered. There was no doubt about it; Mordecai had saved the lives of everyone on the ship, herself included. His actions had been extreme, yes, but given the desperate circumstances, she could easily overlook any transgressions he may have made. Even now, he was working tirelessly, accelerating the repair schedule from months to mere days.
It was almost too perfect. To think that they'd stumbled upon such a being completely at random, and that on awakening, his sole wish was to help them by whatever means necessary. Janeway didn't believe in karma, or divine providence, or any other superstitious mumbo-jumbo; but it did feel like perhaps they were finally getting something to balance the scales after their endless run of bad luck.
Behind her, the rest of the crew began to filter out as well, sombre expressions on all their faces. It had been impossible for everyone to attend the service, what with many systems still barely functioning and in urgent need of repair, but the entire command staff had been present, along with all the friends and loved ones of the deceased. Poor Ensign Adams was still barely consolable. Janeway had meant to be officiating his marriage to Ensign Foren within the month. Now his fiancé was dead, having taken her own life rather than submit to assimilation. She wondered how many other stories there were like that one. How many possibilities had been lost to the Borg? Unspoken feelings which would now stay that way forever.
Feelings like the ones she harboured for Seven.
There had been a moment in the battle on the bridge which had thrown them into stark relief. Her memory of that time was a bit hazy, probably due to a blow on the head, although she couldn't remember receiving one. She had been holding her own against the Borg, but had ended up surrounded and cut off from the rest of the crew. An awkward parry had caused her to lose her weapon, and she presumed that was when one of the drones had struck her, because the next thing she knew, she was on the floor, disarmed and with Borg closing in on all sides. She had been certain that that was it, but then, between her attackers, her eyes had sought out Seven, and had found the blonde woman staring right back at her.
The subsequent images blended together in a slur of raucous sound and blurred movement. She had been aware of Seven streaking across the bridge, faster than she had ever seen the drone move before, and then…she wasn't really sure. She had this image of the Borg woman's beautiful face, contorted with rage as she practically mutilated a drone, but she couldn't be sure if it was real or simply imagined. In any case, Seven had somehow managed to fight off all the drones which had been attacking her.
Janeway had still been too disoriented to speak at that point, but a moment of clarity had cut through her muddled thoughts. In the instant when she had been certain she was going to die, or at the very least, have all emotions stripped away, she had experienced something akin to the 'life flashing before her eyes' moment which survivors of near-death incidents had often described. She had mentally replayed the sequence of events which had led her to this moment; from her initial decision to destroy the Caretaker's Array, through her pact with the Borg and the subsequent addition of Seven to the crew, right up to their retrieval of the mysterious cube which had contained Mordecai. It was like her conscience was trying to make peace with itself before the end. As each tipping point, each crucial moment where her destiny could have gone either way, drifted across her mind's eye, she found that she did not regret the choices she'd made…she would do the same again if given the chance. There was only one thing which she could not reconcile with herself, and it was not an action, but rather, a decision not to act.
How could she have been so stubborn? No, not just stubborn; fearful and cowardly as well. Why had she not told Seven the truth? That she loved her. That she had always loved her. All her previous objections had seemed so petty and irrelevant then, and she had seen them for what they truly were: flimsy excuses she hid behind because she was too scared of being hurt.
And then, just when it looked like those would be her final regret-filled thoughts, Seven had saved her. For the first time, both sides of her; the Captain and the woman had been in total agreement. If Janeway had been able to speak, she would have screamed the truth at the top of her lungs.
But, the moment had passed, and she had not been able to say it. By the time she'd collected her thoughts, she had reverted to her usual, more stoic self. Yet, although she was now able to resist the impulsive urge to blurt her feelings out loud, she couldn't forget how right it had seemed at the time, and how regretful she had been when she thought she might die with them remaining unsaid.
So what was the correct course of action? During the battle she had been terrified, her mind confused, but she had also been free to reflect on the choice without fear of the consequences weighing her down. Now, she was the Captain once more; rational, yet perhaps, blinded at the same time.
"Captain?"
Janeway jumped slightly at the sudden voice addressing her. Turning, she saw the very object of her conflicted thoughts regarding her with a look of mild concern.
"Oh…Seven, you startled me."
"Are you 'okay', Captain?" the Borg woman replied, frowning slightly. "Did you have the Doctor treat your injuries?"
"Yes…yes, I'm fine," Janeway lied. "I'm just thinking about the crewmembers we lost."
Well, it at least was partially true.
"As am I," the Borg woman stated, falling into step beside the Captain as they left the holodeck. "I wish to ask you something."
"Go ahead," Janeway said, not sure whether to be happy or nervous. There were some things which never changed.
"I am saddened by their deaths, but…" Seven began, pausing as she often did when considering how to express herself, "but, I cannot avoid feeling…glad that I was not terminated myself. Is it wrong to think this way; to think of myself when I should be 'grieving' for the others? Could this be considered 'disrespectful'?"
As far as their philosophical discussions usually went, this was one of the easier ones, for which the Captain was grateful. She didn't think she'd be up to anything too mentally taxing for a while.
"Death is a complex thing to deal with," she explained. "But you shouldn't feel bad for thinking that way. It's perfectly natural to be relieved after such an ordeal. No one expects you to wander the halls with tears in your eyes, and I'm sure the dead crewmembers wouldn't want that either. What they would want is for us to remember them, and to honour the sacrifice they made in the service of this vessel."
Kathryn didn't voice her own, personal thought that she was so very grateful that Seven had not been one of the 22.
"But what is the protocol for 'honouring' them?" Seven enquired.
"By carrying on; by allowing ourselves to move past this tragedy and continue with our journey; and by offering whatever support we can to their friends and loved ones."
"I see," Seven nodded her head in understanding. "So that is the function of the party this evening?"
"Exactly," Janeway said, pleased that Seven had grasped the meaning so well. "People need the chance to celebrate the fact that we survived, and to share their memories and feelings about those who didn't make it. You're right; it would have been disrespectful to the dead to hold such an event without first acknowledging them, but now that we have made that first step, the crew will want something to lift their spirits. I don't think there's a person on this ship who didn't face death in some way or another this past day, and people need a way to get rid of the nervous energy which that creates."
"Do you require this as well?" Seven continued.
Janeway wasn't sure how to answer that. In truth, yes, she did, very much so; but as the commanding officer of the ship, she couldn't just go crazy like some of the junior crewmembers would undoubtedly be doing.
"I'll make an appearance," she said at last, non-committedly. "As should you. I want all the command staff to mingle with the crew, at least for a bit."
Seven's shoulders sagged slightly.
Well, she must have known it was coming.
"Is that an order, Captain?" she asked, somewhat dejectedly.
"No, and I don't want to have to make it one," Janeway insisted, before changing tack. "Mordecai will be there. Perhaps you and he could have a chat."
Yes, hand her off onto someone else so you don't have to deal with talking to her in an informal setting. That's sure to help you resolve your issues, Kathryn thought. Janeway waited for her Captain's side to offer some sort of cutting rebuke.
But it didn't come.
Oh god, maybe I should just go crazy. I already feel like I need a drink.
Looking back, she saw that Seven had a very odd look on her face; as if she was desperately trying to stop herself from saying something.
"Seven?"
"I can hardly wait," the Borg replied testily.