Salvage
(Seven of Nine, Elnor, Hugh)
Seven knew that for Hugh to summon her using one of her calling cards, it had to be something serious. She had no idea, though, how serious it was.
She docked at the Artifact without anyone hailing her, trying to stop her, or even scanning her ship. As she disembarked and followed the signal down the hall, she saw bloodstains, phaser burns along the walls, and the dead bodies of some of the Artifact's employees. She gritted her teeth and kept her head down; once she found Hugh, surely he would explain.
She found him dead, a knife wound across his throat.
Not far away, Picard's Romulan bodyguard was curled up under a desk, clutching her calling card in one bloodstained hand.
"Explain."
"The Zhat Vash killed the Director … killed them all … I couldn't save them," said Elnor, between gasps for breath. "I've never … failed … to save anyone before."
Get used to it, was Seven's first, bitter thought.
She'd failed to save Icheb too. Now, whenever she met a young man with qualities that reminded her of him – innocence perhaps, or open-mindedness – one of her instincts was to defend him with tooth and claw, and the other was to run.
She couldn't afford to care about this boy. She had cared about Hugh, about Icheb, about One, and look where it had gotten her …
Elnor reached behind him for his sword and held it out to her, hilt first.
"What are you doing?" She backed away.
"I am dishonored." The weapon trembled in his hands. "I have failed to protect my master's friend, and therefore to serve his cause. Will you … ?"
"NO!"
She yanked the sword out of his hands and threw it to the floor. Her scream echoed off the metallic walls of the cube until it sounded like half a dozen furious women. Elnor, for all his talk, had enough life left in him to jump.
The sword gleamed where it lay on the floor, reflecting the green light with a sheen not unlike that of certain Borg implants.
Seven looked from it to her outstretched left hand and back again.
She had an idea.
"Don't be ridiculous, Elnor," she said gruffly. "You haven't failed anyone. We can still save them."
"What …" His eyes went, if possible, even wider than before. "How?"
"As long as the Borg components are intact, we XB's can use them to revive each other."
"That sounds … " Elnor scrambled to his feet, reached for his sword and re-sheathed it slowly, not taking his eyes off Seven in the process. "Gruesome. Also miraculous. What can I do?"
"Help me carry them to the infirmary."
"Yes, madame." Elnor darted past her. "Follow me."
/
When Director Hugh opened his eyes at last in the infirmary he had so painstakingly designed, he looked to Seven's eyes like something out of one of Tom Paris' horror films. His skin was grayish, the knife wound was scarred over by a web of fresh implants, and when he spoke, his voice was a mechanical rasp, the implants having replaced his severed throat with a Borg vocal processor.
"Seven of Nine." He folded himself upright, not using his hands as an organic would, and caught her wrist in a cold, hard grip.
Fear seized her. Could the procedure have gone wrong? She couldn't have fully assimilated him, could she? If the Collective were to find this cube …
"You must warn them," said Hugh, an imploring look in his blue-gray eyes. "Picard and Dr. Asha – they're in danger. The Romulans - "
The relief of knowing that the Director was still himself was so deep, it nearly drowned out the urgency of what came next.
"I know," said Seven, gesturing to the young man beside her. "Elnor told me."
"My colleagues … " A shudder went through Hugh and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if in a futile attempt to block out the horrors he had seen. "She killed them … I wouldn't answer her questions, and she killed them all … "
His hand went to his own neck and found the webbed-over scar. He turned, if possible, an even more sickly shade of gray.
"Director?" Seven covered his hand, which was still holding her wrist, with her other hand and gave it an awkward pat. "Hugh?"
No reaction.
"Third of Five!"
His eyes snapped open.
"We can still repair them. We will apply the Species 149 method," she said, prying her hand free and unsheathing her assimilation tubules. She held them up in front of his eyes and let them weave from side to side. "You will assist me."
"I will - " Hugh caught himself before saying the word comply. "Of course," he said instead. "Thank you … it was you, wasn't it, who saved me?"
"I helped a little," said a shamefaced Elnor, shuffling into Hugh's line of sight for the first time. "It was the least I could do after we brought such devastation to your home. I'm terribly sorry."
"You risked your life to get your shipmates to safety," Hugh replied, in as warm a tone as his vocal processor could manage. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
Elnor lowered his gaze. No doubt he disagreed.
"Come on, Director." Seven sheathed her tubules, wrapped one arm around her patient's back and held out the other to help him down from the biobed. "We need to hurry. The sooner we get your colleagues back, the sooner we can warn Picard and the others."
She locked eyes with Elnor over Hugh's head, and the young man nodded. The despair she had seen in his face earlier was gone; determination, perhaps even hope, was returning.
No one dies today, said that low, fierce voice in the back of her head, the one that still sounded like Kathryn Janeway. Not on my watch.