Red

I used to dream of the colour red. At night when I was scared to sleep I would see an ocean of red, tides of crimson and burgundy carried me away, drowned me in depths of warmth, unlike every ocean I had seen before. The colour permeated my vision, clouding my thoughts, quelling my fears; it ensconced me in a feeling of safety, I wasn’t scared anymore. When the Borg came, I was surrounded by an ocean of green. Metallic grey that beat with the pulse of fear, the veins of the Collective ran with green blood. At night when I was scared, yes, Borg drones can fear, I dreamt of red. The Queen faded from my memory, replaced with fiery red, a red that consumed my soul, a red that held me safe.

When first I saw the Captain, I saw in red. The red of her hair, the red of her beloved uniform, the burning red of her heart. I saw the Captain’s aura in red, the colour surrounded her and flew in and around her body, it pulsed with life, so unlike the Collective’s un-dead pulse of green. I wanted to be red, I longed to take the Captain’s colour inside of me, I contemplated assimilation for the sole purpose of seeing what she saw, feeling what she felt, being what she was; red.

When she severed me from the Collective I was angry for the first time in years; my anger was red. I held onto the anger, it was my only connection, the only thing binding me to life, the only thing making me like her, giving me red. My visions were ripe with cherry shades of hurt. My skin when I injured it bled cerise, but the blood was only momentary, and then my Borgness, the green inside of me took the red away as if it never existed. I grew to hate the colour green. I grew to hate the Borg, the Borg inside of me, the green pulsing through my veins, the green which I needed to survive. I wanted to kill them, but I was satisfied with the thought of killing myself.

I could deactivate my nanoprobes, ruin my cortical implant, prohibit my body from healing. The thought excited me. I would be surrounded by red, I could make a million little cuts all over my body, and I wouldn’t heal, I would bleed; my blood would be red, and like when I was a child, I would drown in red. Thoughts of suicide began to rule my life and once the door was opened I couldn’t find a way to push it closed. Thoughts of red, the glorious crimson of my blood pouring out from my body obsessed me. But today I have learned that death is nothing to be taken lightly, red is not always glorious, and the throb of love flowing in red through the passages of my claret heart are as painful as any green I have known before.

I have been in sickbay for hours. Six hours I have stood vigil over the still form of Kathryn Janeway, six hours of crimson tears. I am sure that many of the crew would be surprised to learn that Borg can cry; I only cry out of one eye, the eye of the Borg is dry, as green as the sights I see from it. This day though, my sight is in red, even the Borg inside of me cannot stop the power of emotion that clouds my reasoning, drowns me in a sea of reddened despair.

“Will she ever wake up?” I hear myself ask of the doctor, my voice is a hoarse whisper from screaming and crying.
“I don’t know Seven, she was severely injured.”

“She must recover Doctor, it is imperative that she wake up.”

“I know it is Seven” he replies, “The Captain is a very strong woman, I have faith in her.”

“I need her to wake up” I yell, I cannot control the pain, the red of emotion has torn my will apart.

“Have faith Seven, believe in her. The Captain loves this ship and this crew; she wouldn’t leave Voyager behind if there was anything she could do to help it.”

“I will not leave her” I say to him, frightened he will force me to leave Kathryn.

“Seven, I doubt there is anything I could do to make you leave anyway, and the Captain would appreciate having you here, before she slipped away she asked about you, it would comfort her.”

“What did she say Doctor?” I ask, my voice barely audible, tears freely slipping down my face. Kathryn thought of me in her last conscious moments, I would not allow us to fail her.

“She said that if she…” the Doctor falters, and I know that if he could cry he would be doing so now.
“It is ok Doctor; I know you will get her through this.”

“I will Seven, I will.”

“She wanted me to know something, correct? She thought she was going to die.”

“She wanted me to tell you…”

“Tell me what Doctor? I must know. I must know!” I am yelling senselessly now, I realize that the Doctor must be scared. I need to know what Kathryn wanted of me before she slipped away from us.

“She told me to tell you that she loves you.”

My sob echoes through sickbay, brining the red of sorrow to all who hear, colouring this pristine, clinical place a red so bold I cannot see anymore. I take her hand and bring it to my lips, I kiss her a kiss filled with loss and emotion; I pray that my kiss of red will bring her back to me.