"If the radiance of a thousand suns
Were to burst at once into the sky
That would be like the splendor of the Mighty one --
I am become Death,
The shatterer of Worlds."
-- Hindu Spiritual, Bhagavad Gita
Cold.
Your lips are cold, sliding against my skin, as slick and cool as the ice that surrounds us. The sensation shocking, wrenching a gasp from me, for if I ever allowed myself to imagine what your lips felt like, "cold" would not be the adjective that came to mind. Gently I cradle you to my chest, press your face to my heart. I hold you to me as I slither out of my bio-suit, the frigid air distressing even to my nanoprobe regulated systems. I spread the suit out as best I can over the snow and ice, holding you to me all the while. You are no longer shivering, and I know this means your body is shutting down, giving up. This is anathema to me - the great Captain Janeway can never give up, will never give up. I won't allow it.
So I lay down with you in the snow, the remaining warmth from my bio-suit dissipating quickly in the cold air. Beside us a dark mass - the remnants of your frozen clothes, torn away and quickly dispatched. I surround your nakedness with my own nude body, entwine my limbs with yours, create a shelter of flesh and blood and bone. You seem so much smaller now, so fragile. Impossibly fragile. I must keep you safe, keep you warm, keep you alive. Nothing else matters.
I command my nanoprobes to raise my body's temperature by 2.8 degrees and feel them respond immediately, the heat spreading through me. A light sheen of sweat breaks out over my upper lip, but is it enough? The skin of your back beneath my fingertips is still cold, and I sense your core temperature drop another half degree. This is unacceptable. I order my nanoprobes to begin diverting energy from all but respiratory and cardiovascular functions, ignoring the warnings that sound throughout my body, and feel my temperature rise another 5.6 percent. This self-induced fever is dangerous, I know. I cannot survive long like this. But I do not care. All that matters is you.
How did we come to this place? How did we come here, to this snow-covered precipice, our bodies pressed together atop this rocky ledge?
The spider nebula that you insisted we see together -- was it worth it? Was it worth this, your very life draining away in my arms? A dying star at the end of its existence, shedding its mortal coil by spurting gaseous waves of luminous red, orange and blue into space -- an interesting phenomena to be sure, but would you have still wanted to see it if you had known the price? I feel your face pressed into my chest, your cold lips against my heart, imagine them moving as they did before, forming the word "beautiful." But your eyes were not on the nebula when you spoke, Captain, you were looking at me. Did you realize I heard your whisper?
I never got the chance to ask, because one moment you were gazing at me, and the next the shuttlecraft's control panel was exploding, sending an entire section of steel hurtling forward. I was powerless to stop the sickening crunch as it slammed into your forehead, your proud chin jerking backwards, then falling limply onto your chest. A quick check of your jugular and I felt your pulse leap against my fingertips, but there was no time to rejoice as the shuttle was rocked again by phaserfire from our unknown assailant. I pressed you back into your seat, turned to what was left of the controls, and quickly assessed the damage.
Phasers, offline. Shields down to 30%. And even with the history of the Borg at my disposal, I did not recognize our attackers. I tried hailing, but the small black ship only responded with another volley along our bow. What would you have done, Captain? Found some way to talk to them, to cajole them with your formidable charm, persuade them to stop their attack? I chose instead to flee - to remove you from harm's way as swiftly as possible. With Voyager nearly a day's journey away, I opted to retreat to a nearby solar system and the M Class planet we had detected mere minutes before.
I raced to the planet with the aliens following in close pursuit, firing on us all the while. A quick scan of the planet's surface revealed habitable climate, but would we be able to land? Sensors said the alien ship was zeroing in, and I realized there was no time. I sent out a distress signal to Voyager as we broke into the planet's atmosphere, then input the transporter coordinates and pulled you up from your chair and into my arms. The attacking ship was powering up for another assault as I slammed the transporter button and watched the shuttle's interior disappear.
Our atoms dissipated and immediately reformed on the planet, your limp body still held close to mine, but my astonished eyes adjusted not to the forested land that I had anticipated, but to a field of white. Panicked, I looked around and then immediately down onto the verdant valley below, where I had intended for us to materialize. Instead I had apparently transported us onto a snow-covered mountaintop, some 4.6 kilometers above where we were supposed to be. Had the transporter made some error? Or had the error been... mine?
No time to speculate, because the alien ship's final volley hit home, exploding the shuttlecraft in a blaze above our heads. From this distance, the sound was muffled, unremarkable, but the sight of it - the sky shot gold for a moment with fire and smoke as our ship was ripped asunder into thousands of miniscule particles - I think you would have found that impressive. In fact, the effect was not unlike the spider nebula that you insisted I see, with its melding of color and violence spurting across the sky. Would you have found this "beautiful," Captain? Would you have expected me to as well?
I stared defiantly into the blue sky above, to the aliens who destroyed our shuttle, ready to defend you with my bare hands if need be, but the black ship turned and disappeared into the upper atmosphere. That is when I heard the rumble, the terrible rumble. I had never experienced an avalanche before, and I must say I hope to never see its fury again, because I have never felt so helpless as when the entire mountainside seemed to come crashing down upon us, knocking my feet out from under me and hurtling us downwards. Snow rushing all around us, in my eyes, my nose, my ears, so much I was suffocating with it. I could do nothing, nothing but hug you to me, desperately cling to you as I felt us tumbling, falling -- then there was nothing, nothing but darkness for a very long time.
Two point seven hours, to be exact.
That is what my internal chronometer told me, at least, when next I opened my eyes. I was immediately aware of two things - I was surrounded by cold, and my right arm had gone numb. I pulled my arm free from the limp weight that held it still, feeling the tingling of new blood flow begin immediately, and that is when I saw the red and black of your uniform beside me, barely visible in the snow. Captain! I rolled you over, turned your face to me, brushed away the snow from your mouth and eyes. You were unconscious and your breathing shallow, but you were alive. You were shivering violently, however - your uniform soaked all the way through, apparently lacking the moisture-repellent qualities of my bio-suit.
I surveyed our surroundings, saw that we had been deposited on a small ledge, the face of the mountain looming slick and unassailable above us, below us a steep vertical drop of over a hundred meters. I tested the perimeter of our ledge, even tried climbing down a few meters, but my footwear slid uselessly against the wall of rock. It was evident that I could not climb down safely on my own, much less carry you as well. That is when I decided to use the only tool I had available to warm you, the only furnace at my disposal.
My own body.
Which brings us to where we are now, naked in the snow and ice, the cold as brittle, hard and unforgiving as shards of steel tearing at your skin. Was it worth it, giving in to this strange desire of yours, to show me the things you admire, the things you find beautiful? Was it worth it, this latest attempt to ignite my humanity, this irrational need you have to help me find my soul? You probably have a concussion, possibly worse, and if that does not kill you the hypothermia surely will. Even my Borg-enhanced body cannot last against such cold forever. Voyager must find us quickly if we are to survive, but even at warp speed the ship is still over eight hours away. That is if our distress signal was sent successfully; if it was not, sixteen long hours will pass before the crew becomes alarmed, before we miss our scheduled rendezvous and an official search is even begun. Considering how far off-course we traveled, locating us may then prove problematic, if not impossible. So we may die here on this planet, our corpses rotting together on this mountainside, our atoms fusing as we disintegrate, making us one with this strange land. And in the springtime some new plant may flower in this same spot, its growth fertilized by our death, our decay. Do you find that thought "beautiful," Captain? Do you?
Infuriating, maddening woman. Stubborn, intractable. You rule Voyager as if your will is law. But what happens when you are wrong, Captain? When you make mistakes? Someone must be there to help you, to correct you. To tell you there are more important things than sharing the supposed beauty of spider nebulas with Borg drones. That your safety is so much more important than any lesson in humanity ever could be.
So much more important than me.
You should have been more careful, Captain, more wise. You should have realized death is my birthright, my legacy. That sooner or later you too would be caught up in its dark web. It was apparent to everyone else, why not you? Why did you persist in seeing me differently? I know who I am, what I have done. What my implants and nanoprobes represent. Death, destruction, terror, fear. All terms I am familiar with, all words I know well. Thousands have died at my hands, thousands more assimilated when I was a mindless drone. Yet you have said I am not to hold myself accountable for crimes committed while part of the Collective, when my will was not my own.
But I have realized a flaw in your rationale, a discovery made while studying the art you have shown me, in particular the clumsy recreations you encouraged me to paint -- another effort to "explore my humanity." For I understand now that when errors occur and a canvas becomes stained, no amount of paint will remove it. Oil and pigment will cover it, yes, but the flaw still remains beneath, there for the discerning eye to see. That stain is what others perceive when they look at me, what they whisper when they think I do not hear: "Monster, murderer, Borg." If only you had listened to them. But have you ever listened to anyone else's counsel when it comes to me?
How many other errant Borg drones have you adopted, taken under your wing? Given a life, a world, a home? Children, yes, but adult drones, in spite of your crew's vehement protests? Only one. Only me. Why? Why this particular drone? You have encountered countless others in your journey, but only one have you kidnapped, forced to become your officer, asked to be your friend, invited into your quarters late at night to discuss matters of philosophy, humanity. Why me? Why do I deserve such attention?
The Borg Queen... she chose me specifically to talk with you, to speak for the Borg that day we met on the Cube -- this you already know. But do you know why? You assume it was because I was once human, because she felt you would better relate to me. Or perhaps you think it was my closeness to the Queen herself, my position as Tertiary Adjunct to her personal Unimatrix. But it was more than that. She thought you would be intrigued by me, by my similarities to you, by my differences. I think she believed you would be converted if you were shown the possibility of true Borg "perfection." She was correct on one count -- you were certainly intrigued, as you continue to be by me, inexplicably. But the conversion? That was all mine.
If I had not been fully converted by you, I would not think twice about assimilating you now, thrusting my tubules into your neck, pushing my nanoprobes into your jugular, heating your blood with my technological saviors. It would be easy, so easy. You might survive the cold then, but this is the one thing I know you would never forgive -- taking away your individuality without your consent. Stealing your ability to recognize beauty, to feel its touch, its caress. The thing that most separates you from the Borg, from me. For the Borg have no need of beauty, no concept of anything that is not utilitarian in nature, anything that does not advance their technological "perfection." Which, as you have told me on several occasions, is exactly the reason the Borg will never achieve their ideal. Because the essence of beauty escapes them.
Yet the essence of beauty, you said, is in the eye of the beholder. Look, Captain, this planet's sun is setting on the horizon, turning the sky to radiant rose, orange and violet fading to a pale gray, the same gray as your eyes. Look at this sunset and tell me if this is the kind of beauty you want me to see!
But you remain silent, and I watch the heat radiate from your head with my optical implant, the energy streaming upwards from you in red waves, your body's central core turning an alarming yellow, your extremities already a cool blue. Would you find this beautiful, Captain? This brilliant display of color and hue? I tuck your head under my chin and squeeze you closer to me, as close as possible, watching the waves dissipate in the air around me, your very life-force seeping out onto my skin.
If only I could open myself up more to you, surround you with my warmth... Split myself open and pull you inside, press your face into my still-beating heart... I must be delirious, delusional... But if I could pull you inside me, I could protect you... I could become your vessel... my heart would be your chair, my eyes your portals, my cells your crew...then my body would be your ship, the ship you love so much. I lose myself in the thought, the sensation of cradling you, hurtling with you through space...
The stars we would see together, the worlds we would explore! Galaxies and nebulas and supernovae! I would take you wherever you wanted, hover over each planet, each port of call dutifully awaiting your return, unwavering in my loyalty. And you would reward me when you came back, stalking my narrow halls with pride and purpose, allowing a slim hand to caress my corridors when no one else is watching. Your voice would fill my rooms, your laughter spill through my passageways.
And you would love me.
I would be your champion --- I would shield you from all enemies, smite those who oppose you, and I would transcend realities of physics and time to traverse the light years separating you from your Earth, the planet you yearn to see above all others. But once there, you would realize your home is not on that blue orb, but with me, has always been with me, your ship. And our journey would continue onward, as sleek, relentless and timeless as you.
Oh Captain, my Captain! My queen, my beloved, my friend. If you die, who will teach me about beauty, about humanity? Can I even exist in a world without you, Kathryn Janeway? Without that husky voice, that half-smile? Those sparkling gray eyes, those long-fingered, elegant hands? Is there any other woman, any other human being but you?
My god, my goddess, my deity.
I would not be surprised to learn, on the moment of my death, that I have not really existed at all. That I have merely been a figment of your imagination, and that this is a dream you have conceived, and I but a bit player in it. That would make sense to me, that would seem right. For that is how I feel - a bit player in Captain Janeway's world, whose sole purpose is to somehow gain that approving smile, that light touch of shoulder or arm. I live for such moments, did you know? And, in that final denouement, if I realize I am nothing more than a manifestation of your dream, then I will die happy if you simply bestow on me that rare fond smile.
But I would receive no such smile, would I? Too often have I disappointed you, rebelled against you, challenged you, disobeyed you. I am aware of my arrogance, my abrasiveness... but if these are faults they are ones you indulge, often encourage. Why, Captain? Why have you placed so much trust in me, so much faith in my abilities? Placing me at your side more often than not, treating me as your equal, your comrade, your friend. Misplaced trust. Misplaced faith. For I may have been responsible for the transporter error that brought us here, you and me, to this icy tomb.
Tell me Captain, if you were able to look up at this mountain, would you see beauty in the snow and ice that surrounds us? In the dark rocks that so rudely protrude from the pristine field of white? Would you gape at the silver light that now gleams from the dual moons that have risen above us, the way it reflects on your skin, on mine?
Open your eyes, Captain. Please, open your eyes. Tell me what it is you want me to see.
This is new, this sound, a surprise. I have cried before, but have never made this noise, this wretched moaning before. It continues to build in my throat until suddenly it bursts free, and I hear myself wail out loud. Is this what it means to sob, Captain? I choke on the sound as I feel the hot tears stream from my eyes, instantly cooling on my cheeks. If only I could cry quickly enough, shed enough tears, I could bathe your body in them, warm you with them...
But my tears are not nearly enough. Your core temperature has dropped another half degree, and if I allow it to drop one degree more you may die. I send one final command to my internal Collective, to my own microscopic murderers. "Divert all remaining energy from my vital organs and transfer it to my sub-coetaneous layer." My nanoprobes immediately obey my will without protest, blindly, destructively, as I once obeyed my Queen.
My heart, my lungs, my mind - I throw them all on the pyre for you. Burn it all, burn it all for you. I will become your starburst, your supernova. And when I expire, my skin will continue to smolder long after I am gone, long enough to keep you alive a few more hours, long enough for Voyager to find you, to save you.
I feel my heart slowing, my lungs growing tight, my head dizzy with heat. I am dying. This I do not regret, for it is so you shall live. But I do regret that I never thanked you, truly thanked you for sharing your world with me, your life. And for caring enough for my lost soul to believe it was not beyond recovery.
There is something I have wanted to do, something I dare only now. I give in to my last irrational desire and press my lips to the top of your head, a soft kiss my final gift to you. Goodbye, my Captain.
Then oblivion.
* * * * * *
The world resumes with a bursting behind my eyelids, in violent spurts of orange, yellow and red. Followed by a tingling, like flame dancing along my skin.
Then a voice, a magnificent voice---
"--you're sure? You're positive she's going to be alright?"
"If you don't believe me, you can ask our little phoenix yourself." This voice more acerbic, accompanied by a light touch to my neck and a sudden surge of adrenalin as a hypospray delivers a stimulant directly into my bloodstream.
The first thing I focus on is your eyes, your warm gray eyes that crinkle at the corners, then your smile -- that beautiful one I love, that I cannot possibly deserve.
"Captain!" The word is no more than a whisper, a croak, though I feel that I have shouted.
"I'm glad you finally decided to join us again," you say, that smile giving your voice a lilt. "You gave us quite a--"
But I do not let you finish, instead I sit up and throw my arms around you, close my eyes and hug you tight. I need to touch you to believe this is no illusion, to press my hands to your back, assess your body for damage. Feel the rough material of your uniform scratch my too-sensitive skin, and beneath that your heart beating firm, strong and hard against my chest.
There is silence, long, pregnant and awkward, then your voice again, but different. Lower, and not at all pleased. "Gentleman, could you give us a moment?"
I open my eyes to see the Doctor, Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Paris turn away, quickly averting their gazes from mine. When they are gone you pull away from me, completely. "Seven--"
"You're alive," I whisper in wonder. "And undamaged?"
"Yes," you nod. "Which is more than I can say for you." As you speak, your hand is on my shoulder, pressing me back onto the bio-bed. Puzzled, I lay down again as you so obviously wish, then comprehension dawns as you pull the sheet that has fallen around my waist back up and over my bare breasts.
I had forgotten how irrational you humans can be about nudity. "Am I more acceptable now?"
You must sense my displeasure at such ridiculousness, because a hint of a smile returns to your eyes. "More suitable," you correct me, teasingly. "Starfleet tends to frown on captains receiving hugs from half-naked crewmembers, especially in front of their fellow officers."
"And if Starfleet knew that I had held you for hours wearing much less, would they also disapprove?" I ask peevishly, but regret the outburst immediately because any hint of a smile disappears all together.
"Seven--" you begin, then sigh. I see it all pass over your face, the instinctive desire to argue the point, followed by the disappointment that I would challenge you even now, and finally the last -- resignation. "I'm not here to argue with you, Seven. I just wanted to see you... I had to see for myself that you really are alright."
"My systems seem to be functioning adequately."
"'Your systems seem to be functioning adequately,'" you repeat mockingly. "Do you realize that you were dead?"
I am not surprised by this, and so I ask what, for me, is the most obvious question. "How long?"
"Nearly six hours!" you exclaim. "I know," you raise your hand to stop my automatic reply, "it's not unusual for a Borg drone to be revived within 73 hours of death, but whether you believe it or not, you are far more human now than Borg. We very nearly lost you. The Doctor tried for over four hours to bring you back, but every time he thought he had you, your nanoprobes launched a new attack on your internal organs. It was a vicious cycle -- you couldn't be revived as long as the attacks continued, and the attacks wouldn't stop until you were stabilized. Finally the Doctor realized that a controlled burst of electricity administered to your cortical node might be able to disrupt the cycle long enough to resuscitate you. His hope was to essentially hit the 'reset' button -- to wipe out the final command your nanoprobes had received so your autonomic functions could resume once more." You take my left hand, squeeze it gently. "That was two days ago -- you've been in recovery ever since. I just thank God it worked, and that the Doctor was able to repair all the damage that had been done." I feel your hand tighten imperceptibly on mine. "You had us all so worried, Seven... You've got to swear to me you won't do anything like that ever again. That you won't scare us like that."
"Is that an order, Captain?"
"Yes," you smile. "Yes, it is."
"Then I cannot comply. If I were to ever again find myself in the position of having to choose between saving my own life or saving yours, I would choose yours every time." You start to protest, but I interrupt you. "Please do not try to dissuade me from this, when we both know that if the positions were reversed, you would do the same. As you would for any member of your crew. It is one of your most admirable qualities."
"Oh, Seven," you murmur after a moment, your eyes shimmering, "you have become such an incredibly remarkable individual, do you know that?"
I cannot let you say such things to me, not when I may have been the very one to put your life in danger. "Captain... the transporter," I remove my hand from yours, turn to stare at the wall as I confess, unable to face your disappointment. "I had set it to transport us elsewhere, to a climate that was more... hospitable. But there was a malfunction. In truth, I do not know if the error was caused by the equipment, or by my own miscalculation." A pause. "I am sorry."
"Seven of Nine, look at me." You place your fingertips on my chin, try to turn my face to you, but I pull away. "Seven, listen to me. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Nothing, do you hear? I won't put up with such foolishness. You responded admirably to an alien attack, and without your ingenuity and resourcefulness I wouldn't be standing here right now. What you did for me..." Your voice catches, then resumes in soft, low tones. "What you did for me, Seven... I don't know who else could have--- no, I don't know who else *would* have made such a sacrifice. I owe you my life. Words cannot possibly express my gratitude. But... if the Doctor's solution hadn't worked... if we hadn't been able to bring you back, and I had been forced to preside over your funeral... Make no mistake, I would have lived the rest of my life knowing that my survival had come at far, far too great a price." You touch my forehead, push back the hair from my brow, and as you do your thumb lightly brushes my optical implant, sending a tremor that ripples throughout my entire body. "That is how I want you to remember this, understand?" You wait for me to reply, but I stare at the wall, silent. "Okay, you should probably get some rest," you sigh. "I'll send the Doctor in to check on you on my way out."
I hear your footfalls retreating on the carpet, measure their length in my mind. In two more steps the doors will swish open and you will be gone. But how can I let you go when there is so much left to say? So much more that I want to share with you, so much that I have learned because of you? There is so much I want to tell you about the mountainside -- like the incredible sense of import I felt cradling you in my arms beneath that rose and purple sky, and how those colors will now forever remind me of you -- but all I can think to say is, "No."
"No?" You stop. I hear the frown in your voice, the confusion.
"No, Captain, that is not what I will remember about this experience," I say, turning to you.
Curious now, you return to my side. "Just what will you remember, Seven? Tell me."
"I will remember this... as one of your greatest lessens in humanity."
"How so?" you ask, thrusting your hip against the bio-bed so you are leaning over me.
"When I awoke and heard your voice, saw you standing above me like you are now... I believe I finally understood."
Softly, "What did you understand, Seven?"
I sit up slowly, clutching the sheet to my chest, this time mindful of your sense of propriety. But you do not move away as I expect, and your face now is very close, so close I can see your pupils dilate. Odd, I have never really noticed before how your gray eyes shade to blue in this light... how supple your skin appears, covered by that soft down... or the way tiny smile lines curve around your maroon-colored lips... I feel the air grow incredibly still around us, and my heartbeat begins to thrum in my ears, sounding remarkably loud in this quiet room. Suddenly I am aware of something pulsing between us -- has it always been there? -- an electricity singing along my nerve endings, a challenge being made and finally accepted.
"Captain," I whisper, the sound a discovery, a realization. I release the sheet, letting it fall around my waist, and reach up to you hesitantly, my hands trembling. Have I ever felt such fear, such unadulterated terror? But at the same time such certainty, such assurance. My fingers touch your cheek, and I hear the smallest gasp leave your parted lips, feel your exhalation softly caress my skin. "I finally understand... the nature of beauty." Then I lean forward and murmur, "Thank you," and lightly kiss the side of your mouth.
I pull away, slowly, and am not at all surprised when you turn your head and breathe, "Seven." I notice it is the same tone of voice you used on the shuttle before, when you looked at me and whispered, "beautiful." And then your lips touch mine, and all I can think is that they are soft, gentle.
Warm.
Finis.