“Are you looking forward to the holidays?” Captain Kathryn Janeway asked as she took a sip from her favorite mug. Neelix had been experimenting with some exotic brews, with varied success. This one had synthetic cloves floating in it and tasted vaguely of licorice. She could always grab some coffee later, she thought.
“They will be days like any others,” answered Seven of Nine. “I do not remember ever celebrating this holiday, although entries in my parents journals indicate that I must have. I see no purpose in it. It would merely distract me from my work. It has no meaning for me.”
“Maybe we can remedy that. You’ve been working too hard lately, taking on more shifts than necessary. You need to learn to have a bit of fun,” said Kathryn. As she spoke, Samantha Wildman passed by their table, placing a glowing cube in front of each of them. Kathryn smiled, picked hers up and looked into the opening on one of its facets. Seven watched the shifting light patterns play across Kathryn’s face.
“This gives me an idea,” said Kathryn, “We could start by working on our greeting cubes together. This is a tradition I’ve always enjoyed, ever since I was a child. I could teach you how to design them.”
“I have 23 free minutes before my shift begins. Will it require longer than that?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Kathryn, smiling at the predictable response. “Let me see if I have this right – a tradition is an activity which you repeat at regular intervals until you receive some kind of pleasure in its repetition.” said Seven.
“You could put it that way I guess. Though that makes it sound rather dull,” Kathryn said, pouring herself a cup of her regular brew. “This ten-day holiday originated on Earth, though most planets have an equivalent. It represents a rebirth of hope, something we could certainly use on this ship. It means different things to different people, but most agree it brings out the best in each of us. We celebrate near the end of each Earth “year.” There’s an elaborate calendar system, quite archaic, used to chart the date. Ask Chakotay to show it to you sometime.”
Seven picked up her own cube and looked inside. A field of intense blue lifted to reveal a sparkling silver star. Listening carefully to the personal audio beam contained within, Seven could hear Naomi Wildman, Samantha’s young daughter, promising to always be her friend. As they left the table, Seven carried her greeting cube in her hand and made a mental note not to forget it when she returned to the cargo bay.
Leaving the mess hall behind, the two women walked briskly down the corridor toward Seven’s destination in astrometrics. Kathryn, having been ordered by the Doctor to take some time off, intended to retire to her own quarters to work on her greeting cubes and practice her part in a group performance scheduled for the next evening. Although she had no singing voice to speak of, she wanted to make sure she could at least mouth the right words, hoping the others could carry the tune. As they entered the turbo-lift, she continued trying to interest Seven in the approaching festivities.
“ When we first arrived in the Delta Quadrant,” she explained, “many of us tried to carry on our familiar traditions, thinking they would comfort us in our exile, but for those brought up on Earth, it only intensified the loneliness. Haunted by holiday memories of lovers, parents and children, they were nearly inconsolable. It seemed that the observances brought more pain than comfort. By mutual agreement a ban was imposed on any celebrations in the common areas. Crew members were again able to complete their duties without sobbing into their consoles and tricorders.
“A sensible solution,” said Seven.
“Yes, it was, for a time” agreed Janeway “but as the years passed, it became harder to bring faces of loved ones to mind. It was thought that a renewal of the festivities would help freshen memories grown stale. The crew enthusiastically revived the customs by staging many events throughout the ten-day period.”
I wonder if Seven’s early memories can be restored in this way, Kathryn thought to herself. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?
Alone in her quarters, Kathryn practiced the old familiar tunes. She stopped singing as she heard the door chime. After being identified, Seven entered, still carrying her cube.
“I traded shifts with Megan Delaney,” said Seven. “I thought it would further my education to help you with your greeting devices. I need to assimil... um... absorb more of Earth’s culture.”
For the next hour, Kathryn showed Seven the program for designing the cubes. Music, colors, textures and holographic images danced under her fingers as she arranged them in pleasing patterns, each a personal message to another crew member. The embellishments enclosed the core message, the gift contained within. It was called a “gift of resolution.” The giver resolved to do something special for the recipient in the coming Earth year. A mother might resolve to brush her daughter’s hair every evening. A lover might promise to bring more tenderness to the relationship. A co-worker might resolve to lighten another’s schedule by taking one of his or her work shifts. A friend could offer to teach another friend to design a holodeck program or to play the flute, or even to dance in zero gravity. The possibilities were endless.
Seven tried her hand at making a greeting cube, frustrated at first with her own clumsiness, frequently deleting her work and starting over. Finally she had one she felt satisfied with, and handed the brightly glowing object to Kathryn. “This will have to suffice,” said Seven. “Perfection would have required more than the allotted ten days.”
Surprised that it was intended for her, Kathryn admired the natural gracefulness of this first design attempt and listened for the personal message contained within. Having heard it she smiled and put her arm around Seven, leading her to the couch facing the window. Kathryn spoke the command and the room lighting dimmed, replaced by tiny holo-lights which seemed to hang suspended from the ceiling. The clusters of lights merged with the random patterns of the stars seen through the viewing window. Kathryn and Seven leaned back against the cushions, their shoulders touching and looked out into the cosmos. Kathryn began to sing, for once, without a bit of self-consciousness...
Silent light, holy light
All is calm, always night,
galaxies race
souls embracing
the vastness of space
Prompted by some dim memory, Seven’s clear voice joined in the chorus...
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Slee-eeep in heavenly peace.