I sit, huddled into myself, the pain in my neck and
shoulders almost unbearable today as I curl around my coffee, wishing I could
dive into its dark depths and hide. My legs are crossed, and I let my foot swing
rhythmically up and down, hoping the motion makes me seem casual, unconcerned.
Not nervous. Not on edge.
"At the end of yesterday's session, we touched on your relationship with your crew," Deanna begins. "About how some of them are like family. Let's continue that conversation, and talk about specific people that have become close to you in the past few years. Why don't we start with your senior staff?"
"Alright," I say, running my fingers over the surface of the coffee cup, the porcelain feeling as bare, as delicate as bone in my hands.
"Tell me about your relationship with--" Here it comes--"Commander Tuvok."
Tuvok? A small sigh is the only evidence of my relief. "What would you like to know?"
"How about how you first met?"
"There's not much to tell," I shrug. "We served together on my first mission as captain, and have been friends ever since."
Deanna's brow rises. "Somehow I doubt it was that simple."
"Are you saying you don't believe me?" I ask sharply.
"It's not that," she demurs. "It's just that you strike me as a very complicated individual -- someone who tends to form the strongest relationships with those who challenge you most. I think you would be bored by anything less."
Damn her and her insight. But a quick glance at the clock tells me I've got 58 minutes to kill before I can get out of here and be free again. Fine, if she wants to know about Tuvok, then by God she's going to hear about him.
"The truth is we couldn't stand each other at first," I admit. "Tuvok was tactical advisor on the review board assigned to my very first mission. I had considered it an unqualified success, but he took me to task for not following various rules on test firings, battle drills, etcetera. He claimed I'd committed a total of forty-three violations of tactical procedures, if I remember correctly. Oh, I was furious. To have the success of my mission questioned simply because I didn't follow every regulation in the book--"
"I gather that following rules was not your strong suit," she comments, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
Does she have to seem so damn happy about it? "I was a lot younger then," I answer, my voice cool. "I'm now a firm believer in the rules of Starfleet."
"Of course. We all change our opinions as we grow older. But I'm interested in what your belief was at that time."
"Well," I say slowly, "I told the review board that the mission of Starfleet is not to enforce rules, but to seek out new worlds... acquire knowledge... and establish successful relations with other species. The rules provide the framework for that, but they simply are not capable of covering everything. By its very nature, deep-space exploration demands that a captain have a certain amount of leeway to interpret protocol so that unexpected circumstances be dealt with appropriately."
"I see. And what was Tuvok's response to this?"
"That structure is critical to a smooth-running organization. That anarchy results when individuals decide for themselves which rules to follow, and which ones to ignore."
Deanna leans forward, canting her head to the side. "You're smiling. May I ask why?"
Am I? I hadn't realized. "Because I must have said the exact same thing to Seven of Nine at least a half dozen times after she first came on board. I'm sure Tuvok really appreciated hearing me reprimand her, when to his mind Seven was probably no more resistant to following rules than..." I allow my voice to trail off, not finishing the thought.
"Than you had been?" Deanna supplies, helpfully completing the sentence for me.
"Yes," I agree, my gaze steady, unblinking. I had actually been going to say 'than I am,' but her version sounds oh so much better.
"After such a rocky start, how did you and Tuvok ever establish a friendship?"
"The members of the review board, in their infinite wisdom, decided that since we had both made valid points in theory, it would be interesting to see how our different perspectives balanced each other in practice. So they assigned Tuvok as the tactical officer on my next mission. I was absolutely livid, but once we began to work together... well, let's just say that as soon as I got used to his annoying, imperious Vulcan attitude and he got over the fact that I'm an idealistic, emotionally fallible human, we got along famously. I can honestly say I've never regretted it for a moment."
"It sounds as if you compliment each other quite well."
"I think we do."
"If I may ask, since you already knew that the two of you worked so well together, did you ever think that perhaps he would have been a better First Officer for you than Commander Chakotay?"
Ah, now there's the million-latinum question. If I'd known then what I know now, would I have changed things? If there had been some way I could have foreseen all the times Chakotay would undermine my authority, and if I could have known how easily the Maquis would merge with my crew once they put on their Starfleet uniforms... Would I have still felt the need to make such a grand conciliatory gesture and name the leader of the Maquis my second in command? But I can't go back and change the past. Actually, that's not entirely true. I could if I had access to a timeship, but since there isn't one available at the moment-- "I made the best choice I could at the time," is all I say. "Besides, the Maquis would have resented following someone they considered a spy."
I launch into a description of Tuvok's undercover assignment, our attempt to rescue him during Voyager's first official mission, and how we ended up being pulled into the Delta Quadrant by the Caretaker's Array. From there I jump ahead to the past few months, and my discovery of the brain disease that Tuvok had refused to tell me about, how his proud intellect would have been reduced to that of a child's if we had taken the full 23 years to return to the Alpha Quadrant. It was one of the more compelling revelations that my counterpart made to me, and one of my strongest justifications for bringing Voyager home through the transwarp hub. For Tuvok, coming home early meant that the experts on Vulcan could treat his disease before there was any permanent damage. For me, it meant that I would be able to save a dear friend. Thank God the doctors now say that he did return in time, and that after the treatments are over he will be completely cured...
But as I speak, my mind wanders.
I should have hugged Seven goodbye, like Mom did. Odd to be jealous of your own mother, but there I was, staring at Mom hugging my Seven, wishing for just one moment that I could be in her place. After all, it had only taken one day for my mother to be granted the right to take Seven in her arms, hold her, laugh with her and say how much she had enjoyed her company, ask her to come back and visit any time. It was easy for her. I wanted it to be that easy for me. Instead I accompanied Seven back to the transporter station, waited for her turn to beam out, to meet Chakotay for dinner in Arizona. She had invited me to join them, but I lied and said I already had plans. When her turn came up there was a moment, a hesitation as she looked at me. A slight questioning in the tilt of head. I could have hugged her then. It would have been appropriate, it would have been right. We had just spent a wonderful day together, after all. Seven would have accepted an embrace, a brief moment of shared intimacy, I feel sure.
But the silence that had fallen between us since our talk under the willow tree had ushered in a sense of melancholy, of wistfulness. And if I did hug her, I was certain it would suddenly turn too ardent, too clinging. Too cruel, knowing she would leave my arms to be with Chakotay. So all I did was touch her arm and give her bicep a gentle squeeze. As I resisted the urge to trail curious fingertips along the ridges of the small implant I found there, I assured her that mother had indeed been serious about the invitation to visit again, and that I would be happy to bring her back whenever she wanted. Seven responded by saying she had found the day 'most enjoyable' herself, and then she did something wonderful. Amazing. She covered my hand with her own, squeezed softly, and said, 'Thank you, Kathryn.' Then she stepped onto the dais and turned to look down on me, her lips lifted in just a hint of a half-smile as she suddenly disappeared in a swirl of particles. And just as suddenly the melancholy that had been pulling at me was gone, dissipated in the light from that smile.
I watched a moment longer, then asked the engineering technician to beam me back to Utopia Planitia. Minutes later I was back on Voyager, pacing in my quarters, rubbing the back of my hand to try and erase the tingling of my skin. It was as if she were a ghost, her spirit still there with me, haunting me, filling me, touching me. I felt drunk, consumed by her. Like I had been standing beside a bonfire, and even though I had walked away from the flames into the frozen night, the heat was still with me, the smoke was still in my clothes, my hair, my lungs. The cold reality of the situation would start to nip at me soon enough, but for a few hours I felt nothing but warm.
I wanted more.
I wanted to see her again, to gaze up at her one last time. Maybe I could even talk to her? Tell her goodnight? I set the computer to alert me the moment she came back on board, but by 2300 I was far too anxious, too restless to wait in my quarters. So I found myself prowling the hallways around Cargo Bay 2, hoping I could intercept Seven before she entered her regeneration cycle. At midnight I even grew so bold as to enter the Cargo Bay, thinking I could wait for her there. Once inside, I was drawn to her alcove much as I always am, but this time I found myself stepping up onto the dais, turning and closing my eyes as I've done only once before. My heart beating so hard, realizing that at any moment someone could come in and find me, just like Harry Kim did all those years ago. But this time it wouldn't be a naïve young ensign who would walk in on me, who would defer to my rank and not question my actions. It would be Seven herself, stepping through those Cargo Bay doors to find me waiting for her in what is essentially her bed. The thought thrilled me. Terrified me. Sent me running from the room back to my quarters.
The rest of the night I spent querying the computer every 15 minutes like some love-sick fool, hoping it would say something, anything other than 'Seven of Nine is not currently on board Voyager.' It never did. As hour after hour passed, I began to feel the warmth inside slowly begin to fade, to slip away, to be replaced by an insidious chill as the realization settled in that Seven should have been home by now. If she was coming home. The last query I remember making was at 0400, then I suppose I drifted off, because the next sound I heard was Seven's voice coming from my communicator. Dread filled me as I answered the comm channel and noted that the lights were already up for morning watch.
'Captain, I wish to inform you that I have agreed to Commander Chakotay's proposal of marriage.'
Efficient, innocuous words, but they stabbed me, pierced my skin, ripped open my chest to flood the exposed cavity with liquid nitrogen. I could feel my heart, my lungs, my stomach freezing, splintering from the frightening cold, the pieces breaking into jagged, sharp edges. But of course I remained calm and congratulated her, told her I was happy for her. Then I quickly made some excuse about needing to hurry and get ready for my counseling session, and said goodbye. One final query later and the computer dealt the final blow, confirming what my sinking heart already knew.
Seven still hadn't returned to Voyager.
I can't stop myself from imagining where she must have spent the night, how Chakotay no doubt convinced her to celebrate their engagement. His strong brown hands on her, taking down her hair, tugging at her bio-suit, pulling the material away to reveal pale, soft skin. His fingers too hard, too invasive -- alien intruders in a land that doesn't belong to him...
Does she like the way he touches her? She would have been nervous at first, but I'm sure she began to enjoy it. No matter how oblivious she is to it herself, my Seven has always had a sensuous streak -- it's there in the sway of her hips as she stalks the ship, in the pout of her lips as she's arguing with me, in the flash of her eyes when she's angry... Does she kiss him with the same passion she's shown me, the fire that has fueled our best confrontations?
Dear God, let him be gentle with her.
He's such a big, obtuse bear of a man. Is he even capable of seeing how fragile she really is? Can he know how easily she can be hurt? Can he possibly worship her the way she deserves? The way that I would? Please take it slowly, please don't push her to go any further than she wants to go. Please don't make her-- I try to stop myself before the image comes to mind, before it's fully formed, but there it is. Chakotay unfastening his pants. Seven, on her knees in front of him, looking up with trusting eyes as he thrusts his hand into her hair and guides her forward, telling her to part those full lips and suck his--
"Kathryn!"
"What?" Why is Deanna staring at me like that? I follow her gaze to my hand, and am stunned to see that I've broken the handle off my cup and spilled coffee all over my lap. As I stare rather stupidly at the mess I've made, she quickly retrieves a towel from somewhere and brings it to me. Deanna carefully exchanges the towel for the remains of the cup, and as she does we both realize my thumb is bleeding. "Are you alright?" she asks, indicating the blood. "Do you need a dermal regenerator?"
"Don't worry about it." I stick my thumb in my mouth and suck on it, finding some odd comfort in the metallic-tinged taste before I wrap it in one end of the towel.
Deanna hovers over me as I press the rest of the towel into my pants, soaking up as much liquid as possible from the material. "You didn't burn yourself, did you?"
"Believe me, if I had, you wouldn't have to ask. The screaming would be a dead giveaway," I say dryly.
"What about your thumb?"
"I'm fine. It's just a scratch," I respond, checking my finger, "and the bleeding has already almost stopped."
"But you can't be comfortable in those damp clothes. Why don't we end the session early so you can change---"
"No, I'd rather keep going, if it's all the same to you." I lift the towel to show her my pants. "See? Hardly any of the coffee soaked in. That's one advantage to these new wool uniforms." The only good thing, as far as I'm concerned. This uniform is itchy, heavy, and doesn't fit nearly as well as my old one--
"If you're sure?"
"I am." I refuse to take the coward's way out. It's just a counseling session, damn it. I can do this. Besides, how the hell can I expect to face down four Starfleet admirals if I can't even make it through one hour with a counselor? I push a lightness into my voice that I don't feel and say, "Knowing you, you'd probably make me come back for two extra sessions just to make up for cutting this one short."
Deanna smiles as she acquiesces, "Alright." She places the broken cup on the desk, then takes the seat across from me again. "So what happened?"
"I guess I just don't know my own strength," I laugh, trying to downplay the moment.
Deanna isn't buying it. "To be honest, Kathryn," she says, clasping her hands together on her knee, "you've seemed distracted ever since you got here. Are you sure there isn't something else going on?"
"It was just a stupid accident," I say, "nothing else."
But Deanna continues as if I hadn't said a word. "Is it the investigative panel? Are you worried about your preliminary meeting with them?"
"Wouldn't most people worry when they're facing accusations of attempted murder?" I retort.
"Most people would," she agrees, although by the tone of voice I can tell she isn't quite convinced that that's the problem. Still, Deanna plays along and asks, "Would you like to discuss some of your concerns?"
"Not really," I shake my head. Even if I was worried about the panel, I wouldn't risk revealing anything to her that could be passed along and used against me. "I'd rather continue from where we left off, if you don't mind."
"As you wish," she says. "I had just asked you to tell me more about Tuvok's relationship with Mr. Neelix."
Is that what we were talking about? I don't remember. But I recover quickly, forcing myself to relax, even to smile. "Tuvok made a big show of acting like Neelix drove him crazy, but secretly I think he was quite fond of him. I know I was. You'll never find a gentler, kinder soul in any quadrant. I do wish that he could have made it all the way to the end of Voyager's journey with us, but I certainly can't criticize Neelix's decision to stay with his own people, or the need to be with someone he loves, who loves him. Since we've been back in the Alpha Quadrant Seven has used Lieutenant Barclay's MIDAS array to contact him several times, and he and the rest of the Talaxian colony are apparently doing quite well. As a matter of fact, the last time she spoke with him Neelix said that he and Dexa were about to be married..."
Married.
Just like Seven.
She certainly didn't waste any time, did she? But I shouldn't be surprised -- there's no stopping Seven when she sets her mind to something. As for Chakotay, I'm sure he enjoyed being on the receiving end of all that lovely Borg relentlessness. Now that it's official, he'll probably never let her out of his sight again. I wouldn't, if I were him. If I were in his shoes... I think for a moment what that would have been like, if things had turned out differently. If I had decided to step down and let Chakotay take over as captain, and I had become First Officer instead. Or better still, if I had become the Science Officer I always wanted to be, with just a pip or two on my collar. We would have been colleagues then, Seven and I, working together in Astrometrics. We would have been friends. Equals. Then I could have been the one to teach her how to consume edible nutrients, not Neelix. I could have been the one who taught her how to dance, not the Doctor. And I could have been the one to share her first real kiss, not Chakotay. Never Chakotay.
But it wouldn't have worked out that way, no matter what. Chakotay wouldn't have let Seven stay on board in the first place. He would have flushed her into space at the first opportunity, just as he attempted to do when she was still a drone. He certainly never would have tried to reach her like I did, to save her, to help her be human. And he sure as hell wouldn't have run after her when she tried to leave.
I remember the first time Seven left Voyager -- the first time she left me -- and Chakotay's reaction then. She had only been on board a few weeks when we passed within range of the Borg resonance signal that acted as a subspace homing beacon for errant drones. When the signal began initiating a spontaneous regeneration of Seven's deactivated Borg systems, she interpreted it simply enough. She thought she was being called home to her "family," the Borg. So Seven stormed through Voyager like the drone she had once been, stole a shuttle, and disappeared with it into B'omar space. Chakotay immediately told me it had been inevitable, that Seven's Borg nature was destined to win out over her humanity sooner or later. But I had spent time with her, had seen her responding to us, to me. I knew something more had to be going on. So I sent Tuvok to chase Seven down with orders to bring her back, no matter what, not caring at all that I risked war with the B'omar by trespassing into their territory. But if she resisted? If I was wrong and Seven truly had reverted to her Borg nature? He had my authorization to stop her, with any force necessary.
Later I would make Tuvok personally go over every detail with me, even though his written report of what happened next was extremely thorough. When he caught up with her, Tuvok beamed onto Seven's shuttle and tried to take her by surprise, but Seven was one step ahead of him. She had anticipated his strategy and was waiting to incapacitate him the moment he materialized. Although Tuvok was not amused in the slightest, I couldn't stop myself from laughing out loud when he told me that she even had the audacity to knock him out with a Vulcan nerve pinch.
After some time he awoke behind a level five forcefield, only to find that the young woman who had captured him was no longer acting like the emotionless drone that had fled Voyager. Seven was confused, racked by terrifying visions that filled her with fear and apprehension even as her Borg nature tried to reassert itself. But although her thoughts were in turmoil, she still had the presence of mind to swear that Tuvok wouldn't be assimilated when she was reunited with the Borg. The reason? Because she wanted him to return to Voyager so he could thank me for my 'patience,' my 'kindness.' Her words exactly.
Despite the obvious reluctance she was beginning to experience at the thought of reuniting with the Borg, Seven felt compelled to follow the resonance signal to its source. She continued to track it until she came upon a Class-M moon, where she then offered to leave Tuvok so he would be spared any contact with the Borg. Instead he insisted on accompanying her, saying he thought the situation was not as it appeared. Seven agreed, and freed him from the forcefield. Tuvok's suspicions were confirmed when the two of them reached the surface, and there was no Borg vessel. Instead they discovered the ship that had been Seven's childhood home -- the Raven. Or at least what was left of it. Her parents' craft had existed as nothing more than a rotting shell for over eighteen years, abandoned like so much debris after all its useful systems had been assimilated, as well as its inhabitants. The signal that Seven had responded to had simply been a byproduct of that attack. When she turned it off, a deluge of repressed memories began to flood her mind, making Seven relive the terror of witnessing the assimilation of both her mother and father, forcing her to run and cower beneath a console like a frightened little girl. It was Tuvok's calm, rational approach that finally broke Seven free from the clutches of her past, his logic working like a salve to comfort her, soothe her raging emotions.
Much later, after they had safely returned to Voyager, as Tuvok told me about what had happened, I could see the change in him. Hear it in his voice -- a new appreciation for her, for the child she had been, for the individual she was struggling to become. And although he spoke with his usual Vulcan detachment, his description of Seven's inner torment made me feel all the more compassion for her. I began to wish that I could have been the one on the Raven with her, that I could have gathered Seven into my arms and held her, comforted her. And I suddenly felt very thankful that I hadn't lost Seven of Nine in the vastness of B'omar space, that Tuvok had been able to bring her safely back to me.
That night I sought her out, finally finding Seven in the holodeck running my Da Vinci program. She was standing on a balcony staring at the model of one of the Maestro's flying machines, perhaps thinking how much it resembled the raven she had seen in the visions caused by the resonance signal. As I stood looking up at her, I felt the oddest sensation, like the program had suddenly shifted. The lighting had been changed to reflect nighttime, and the mood was definitely softer, almost... romantic... making me feel as if I should step forward and begin a soliloquy to her beauty, with me playing the part of Romeo to her Juliet. I quickly shook off the ridiculous image and instead fulfilled my captainly duty by reporting that the Doctor had discovered a way to ensure that she never receive any more homing signals. Seven thanked me, then oh-so-hesitantly admitted that she had been thinking of 'alternate possibilities,' about who she might have become had she been raised by her parents and not the Borg. Her voice was so soft, so vulnerable. So fragile and young. I swore to myself that from that moment on I would do everything in my power to protect her, to keep her safe from harm like her parents never could...
But I see no reason to reveal any of this to Deanna.
Instead I talk about the transporter incident that fused Neelix and Tuvok into a single entity, 'Tuvix.' The terrible decision I had to make in order to separate them again, essentially killing Tuvix in order to bring back my friends.
"...I know some people would disagree with the choice I made, arguing that Tuvix was a sentient being and had the right to choose for himself whether to remain as he was. But I had a responsibility to Tuvok and to Neelix, and I felt certain that neither of them had chosen that fate. They had been transformed by technology into this new being without their consent, and isn't that exactly what the Borg do? If a Borg stood before me and declared that he did not want to go back to who he was before he was Borg, it doesn't mean that he has the capacity to speak for the individual trapped inside. Someone has to step in and make that choice for him." Or for her.
"And that person is you."
"Yes," I answer simply. I remember making that decision for Seven, how she reacted with blind fury when I first told her we would not return her to the Collective. How she railed against me in the brig, throwing herself repeatedly against the forcefield that held her inside. Even then I wondered if she was really trying to break free or if she just wanted to get my attention. Perhaps a little bit of both--
"You mentioned assimilation. Tuvok was actually assimilated at one time, wasn't he?"
I've got to give Deanna credit -- she does do her homework. I answer by explaining the admittedly risky chance we took -- Tuvok, B'Elanna and myself -- how we allowed ourselves to be assimilated so we could save the inhabitants of Unimatrix Zero and foster a Borg rebellion.
"How did you make initial contact with Unimatrix Zero?"
"They contacted us first, through Seven of Nine. I didn't speak with them until later."
"You actually communicated with them yourself? But I was under the impression that Unimatrix Zero could only be accessed by certain drones during their regeneration cycles."
This is not the direction I wanted the conversation to take, but I smile and say, "You're absolutely correct. Since I didn't have a cortical node of my own, any direct communication should have been impossible. But Tuvok came up with a way for me to gain access to Seven of Nine's cortical node. He offered to perform a simultaneous mind-meld between us, acting as the link joining my mind to hers. It allowed us both to travel to Unimatrix Zero as she regenerated."
"I didn't even know such a thing was possible!" Deanna exclaims.
"Neither did I, until Tuvok suggested it."
"If you don't mind..." she says, leaning forward, "could you describe the experience for me?"
"I suppose." I pause, drum my fingers on my armrest as I do a quick check of the clock in the corner. Twenty-four minutes to go. "It's like your consciousness, your very soul brushes against someone else's. For a few brief moments, your minds become as one, and you're aware of that person on a whole new level."
Deanna looks confused for a moment, then smiles. "You're describing the mind-meld with Seven of Nine and Tuvok. I actually meant your experience in Unimatrix Zero. I'm fascinated by the idea that the Borg had this entirely separate existence that no one knew about."
Damn. Walked right into that one. Got to be more careful.
"Visiting Unimatrix Zero was like stepping into a dream world," I say, deliberately using the most banal terms possible to describe the virtual world that Seven revealed to me, where she existed not as Seven of Nine but as 'Annika' -- the young woman she might have been if she'd never had implants, if she'd never been assimilated. I quickly skim through the details that I'm sure Deanna already knows, and leave out the ones she doesn't need to know. Like Annika's somewhat alarming predilection for pink clothing. And how the leader of the rebellion had been Annika's boyfriend for 6 years, although Seven had had no memory of him until he came barging uninvited through the doorway of her subconscious. How the experience changed her attitude towards emotion, love, romance. And how Seven suddenly decided she wanted to experiment with her emotions in the real world by creating holograms of certain bastard First Officers.
I do not go into how much closer I felt to Seven after I knew, however briefly, what it felt like to be Borg. And I don't tell Deanna about Seven's visit to me in Sickbay after my implants were removed, how we talked of Axum, her 'friend,' and that she'd realized the Borg cube he was stationed on was thousands of light years away from us -- all the way on the other side of the Delta Quadrant. And that, with Unimatrix Zero destroyed, they would probably never see each other again. Although I was relieved, I wanted to comfort Seven, to make everything alright. After all, I knew what it was like to lose that first love. That first adolescent crush. But I couldn't bring myself to say anything for fear of what might come out of my mouth if we started talking honestly about our emotions. Then I began to feel dizzy, gasping from the pain in my arm, and Seven reached out her hand to me. Although her fingers barely brushed my skin, her touch startled me. Shook me. Whether she meant to catch me or comfort me, I'm not sure, but it was the first time she'd ever reached out to me, the only time she's ever touched me when I haven't been the one to initiate first contact...
But I say nothing of this.
Instead I answer Deanna's questions about the experience of being assimilated, how it affected me, B'Elanna, and especially Tuvok. I assume she wants to draw some sort of comparison between what Picard went through when he was Locutus, so I emphasize that B'Elanna and I did not undergo full assimilation. "...Tuvok, however, was another story. Unlike B'Elanna and myself, the injection that he had taken to maintain his individuality eventually lost its effectiveness, so the Borg Queen was able to take over his mind completely."
"Odd, I would have thought a Vulcan would have been less susceptible to mind control, not more so."
"Normally he would have been. But we now know that when Tuvok was undercover with the Maquis, he had been kidnapped and brainwashed by a Bajoran Vedek into becoming his unwitting disciple. With just a simple vocal command, Tuvok could be made to do anything the Vedek wanted. When this was discovered, we theorized that the hidden programming had caused him to be more susceptible to the Borg."
"That must have been extremely disturbing for him."
"To say the least. For a Vulcan, to fall prey to someone else's control like that was the worst kind of violation. The most horrifying part was that it happened so slowly. Tuvok told me he could hear the Queen's voice slithering through his brain, devouring his very consciousness until there was nothing left but the will of the Collective. What greater humiliation could there be for a Vulcan than to be aware that his mind is being compromised, and know that he is helpless to stop it? I doubt that you or I could ever really understand exactly how 'disturbing' that would be."
"How did he cope with the experience?"
Be careful, answer quickly and succinctly. "He had help from Seven of Nine. She was the only one on Voyager truly capable of understanding what he had been through."
"Because she had been assimilated herself?"
"Not exactly," I shake my head. "She had been assimilated as a child, so the experience was very different for her."
"Then how?"
"Years ago she faced a similar situation on Voyager -- not with a single voice in her head, but with hundreds of voices fighting to take control of her mind. A chance encounter with an infected Borg Vinculum had induced the cybernetic version of Multiple Personality Disorder, causing the neural patterns of everyone she had ever assimilated to suddenly begin flooding her cortical node with such force that they threatened to overwhelm her very sense of self. If Tuvok hadn't volunteered to use a mind-meld on Seven and hold onto her individual pattern long enough for us to deactivate the Vinculum, we may have lost her. Later he was the one who counseled Seven on how to deal with the ramifications of what had happened, so it was only appropriate that she later help him..."
I can still see her, standing in Sickbay as the personality of a woman who had apparently been assimilated during the attack on Wolf 359 manifested itself. Although I knew the person speaking to me wasn't technically my Seven, it was still her face that looked at me with such anxiety, her voice that was trembling and pleading for my help. My heart ached to hear such emotion coming from her. When it was over, and she was herself again, Seven confessed that she was truly frightened, that her courage was 'insufficient' to deal with what was happening to her. I tried my best to reassure her, to make her believe everything would be alright, but when I went back to the bridge and sat down next to Chakotay, his casual inquiry into her condition nearly brought me to tears. I confessed to him that I was beginning to wonder if he may have been right all along, that maybe I did make a mistake in tearing her away from the Collective. At least then she wasn't suffering. And dear God, I couldn't stand to see her suffer--
Deanna is saying something, so I force myself to concentrate on her voice: "...so am I correct in assuming that the two of them are friends as well as crewmates?"
"Most definitely," I nod. "Which is only natural -- they're alike in so many ways. I think Seven even tried to emulate Tuvok when she first came on board Voyager. Her stance, her attitude, even her sense of humor are all very Vulcan-like."
The Counselor's brow rises slightly. "I can honestly say that when I think of Vulcans, the first thing that comes to mind is not their sense of humor."
"Oh, but Tuvok has a wonderful sense of humor -- it's very intelligent, dry and witty. Just like Seven's."
"I stand corrected," she says with a smile. "Well, from everything you say I think it is quite obvious why Seven would have chosen to model herself after Commander Tuvok."
"It is?" I frown, wondering what she's leading to.
"Certainly. It would have been in her best interest to emulate someone whom you obviously accepted, someone you considered a friend."
I feel myself become very still. "What are you saying?" I ask softly. Dangerously so.
"Only that being thrust into an alien situation, being completely unfamiliar with her own humanity, it would have been instinctive for a former Borg drone to try and develop relationships that would ensure her survival in her new collective. Coming from a hierarchical society, the most logical course of action would be to make friendships close to the center of power of that collective."
"Wait a minute, you think Seven only became friends with Tuvok because he was in a position of 'power'? Because he was close to me?" I growl, rising swiftly from my chair. "I assure you, that is not the case. Seven is not that calculating! She's not some emotionless drone! She developed her relationship with Tuvok on her own, not as some sort of manipulative ploy to win my favor!"
"Kathryn, please, I was only making an observation," Deanna says, watching as I pace in front of her. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it would upset you so much."
God, that look on her face. She's concerned, possibly alarmed. I've got to dial it down, salvage the situation as quickly as possible. I stop my pacing and run a calming hand through my hair, flashing what I hope comes across as a self-deprecating smile. "No, I'm sorry. As you can tell, I have a tendency to be a little overprotective of my crew. And at the moment I'm hyper-sensitive where Seven of Nine is concerned. I'm well aware that there are those in Starfleet who still see her as Borg, who think she should be held accountable for the things she did as a drone."
"But surely you must know that's not how I feel!" she protests.
"Of course not. But I can't stand even the most innocent implication that Seven is somehow less than human because of her Borg past."
"That certainly was not what I meant. Please, let me clarify." I nod and sit down in my chair, crossing my legs and folding my hands neatly across my lap as she begins. "I only meant that when Seven was first severed from the Collective, it would have been natural for her to search out people who could best help her adapt to her new surroundings," Deanna explains. "I'm not saying that it was a conscious decision. It is easy to see that she would have been drawn to Commander Tuvok under any circumstances. After all, since she had existed without emotions for most of her life, the Vulcan ideal of valuing intelligence over emotion would be much more familiar to her than the human tendency to value both equally. The fact that Tuvok was also a close friend of yours may have simply made him that much more desirable as a potential friend, because she knew that you would approve."
"It's an interesting theory, but you're basing it on a false assumption. Seven had absolutely no desire to seek my approval when she first came on board Voyager. In fact, in the beginning she seemed to go out of her way to challenge me and to question my decisions as Captain. As for her choice of friends, other than Tuvok, the Doctor and myself, Seven spent the majority of her free time with Naomi Wildman, a six year old child. Naomi had absolutely no power in the 'Voyager Collective' other than her position as the Captain's Personal Assistant, and that's an honorary title I gave her at Seven's request. So you see, Seven couldn't possibly have had any ulterior motives in her friendship with that little girl," I say, then jokingly add, "unless you count wanting to improve her skills at kadis-kot."
Deanna raises her hand, signaling defeat. "You know the situation much better than I do, Kathryn. I'm sure you are right. Let's move on, shall we?"
"By all means." Okay, time to focus -- no more outbursts. Just answer the questions and get the hell out of here.
The Counselor leans back, takes a breath. "Was there anyone else on Voyager that Tuvok was close to?" she asks.
What is it with all these questions about Tuvok? Not for me to question, just pretend to play along. "Tuvok is essentially a very private person..."
"Much like yourself."
I nod slightly. "But he did have a few close friends on Voyager. He's recently become quite attached to Icheb, the last of the Borg children to remain with us. Tuvok has become something of a mentor to him."
"As you were with Seven of Nine."
I'm not sure I like this comparison. At all. "I suppose there is some surface similarity," I admit reluctantly.
"In other words, you think any similarity is only superficial, and the relationships themselves are very different," Deanna interprets. Before I can confirm or deny this assumption, she poses another question. "Exactly how are they different? I'm curious."
Breathe, damn it. Don't overreact. "I think the answer should be obvious," I say, forcing my voice past the constriction in my throat.
"Oh?"
"I'm the captain. My rank is always there, coloring everything I do, every interaction I have with my crew. Yes, I can be someone's mentor. I can even be their friend. But above all else I'm their captain. I can never forget that I hold their lives in my hand. It takes precedence over everything else. Tuvok doesn't have the same responsibility."
"So you're saying that you see your rank as a barrier to your personal relationships?"
Instead of answering immediately, I take a moment to examine the cut on my thumb, running my finger along the sensitive line of dried blood. When I finally do look up at Deanna, I fix her with a glare that is hard, angry. "Counselor, just how naïve do you think I am?" I growl.
She looks startled, taken off guard. Good. "'Naïve' is probably one of the last words I would ever use to describe you, Kathryn."
"Then why don't you let me tell you how I 'see' my rank." I lean forward, ignoring the resultant sharp spasm of tension that suddenly shoots through my neck and shoulder. "I knew the ramifications of my position when I took the assignment. I understood that it would require total commitment, unwavering dedication, and absolute faithfulness. And as far as I'm concerned, there is no greater honor or privilege than to be the captain of a Federation starship. Is that clear enough for you, Counselor?"
Deanna's dark eyes flash angrily, but all she says is, "Perfectly clear... Captain."
"Good." I lean back in my chair and let my glare transform into a playful grin, hopefully diffusing some of the patronizing sting from my little declaration. "Now that that's settled, I assume you want to get back to the topic at hand: Tuvok and every person he ever came into contact with on Voyager."
The Counselor's lips twitch slightly in response, letting me know she's willing to forgive this one outburst. "You read my mind," she answers dryly. "Actually, I would like to hear more about his relationship with Icheb. I believe you mentioned that they only recently became close?"
"That's right," I say, feeling some of the tension dissolve as the conversation slips back into safer waters. "Initially Tuvok began interacting with Icheb at Seven's urging, to help the boy prepare for Starfleet Academy. But after spending time with his new mentor, Icheb began to develop an interest in Vulcan culture. That's where he is now, visiting with Tuvok's family on Vulcan. Seven thought Icheb should tour the Vulcan Science Academy to see if it would be a better fit for him than Starfleet. The truly remarkable thing about this is that in the past Tuvok has spent very little time socializing. Most of his off-duty hours on Voyager were spent in personal meditation, or in helping others hone their own meditative techniques. But now, even though he hasn't seen his family in over seven years, not to mention he still needs to undergo the last of his treatments, he has invited Icheb to stay with him on Vulcan indefinitely. All because Seven asked him to."
"She must be very persuasive."
"You have no idea." I say wryly. "Never underestimate the power of her 'please' -- it's been known to sway the Borg Queen herself." I know I've certainly never been able to deny her direct request. Maybe because she asks for so little. Or maybe because I want to give her so much...
I steal a glance at the clock -- five minutes to go. Good Lord, this has been a long hour! But soon I'll be back on Voyager, and maybe then I can finally get some sleep. I'm so tired.
So very tired.
* * * * * *
"Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway."
I reach across the bed to tap the communicator on my nightstand. "Yes, Seven?"
"Would this be a convenient time for me to visit? There is a matter that I wish to discuss with you."
This is odd. Seven never asks. She just stops by whenever she wants to see me. I sit up and lean against the headboard, holding the communicator between my thumb and forefinger, rubbing it. "What is it you want to talk about?" I ask. Maybe she's having second thoughts...
A definite pause, then she says, "I have been perusing some dress designs. I would like your opinion."
Dress designs? Ah. She wants my opinion on her wedding gown. The one she's going to wear when she marries Chakotay. The one he's going to rip off of her on their honeymoon night. The brief moment of joy that I had felt at the thought of seeing her quickly dissolves, turns sour. "Now isn't a good time, Seven. I'm preparing for my formal statement to the inquiry board tomorrow."
"Of course, Captain. I apologize for disturbing you."
"It's alright. Maybe we can do it some other time."
"I would appreciate it. And Captain... if it would help at all, I will gladly speak to the inquiry board on your behalf, as a character witness."
God, she's adorable. "Thank you, Seven. I'll keep that in mind. But let's hope it doesn't come to that." I finger the smooth, cool metal of the communicator, fighting the insane urge to press it to my lips. "Goodnight, Seven."
"Goodnight, Captain."
I close the comm channel with a sigh.
Dress designs.
What's next? Is she going to ask me to be in the wedding? Be her maid of honor? Or, dear God, will she ask me to give her away? To walk down the aisle with her and hand her over to Chakotay?
I'd sooner die.
I place the communicator back on the nightstand, then do something I never have before. I lock Seven out of my life. Completely. "Computer, until further notice, mark me as unavailable to any direct communication from Seven of Nine."