Resonance
Captain Janeway doesn't take kindly to failure. It makes her angry, and I
don't mind admitting that an angry Janeway still scares the hell out of me.
She can give you a look that'll turn your internal organs to something
resembling the freezing slush Neelix occasionally serves as ice cream.
But even her anger is better than the other reaction she sometimes has when
one of us fails her. When she gives that look of hurt disappointment, it
makes you feel about two centimetres tall, and you want to crawl back under
the nearest stone.
Right now, she's alternating between the two states. Even though she's seen
plenty of failure in her crew, she doesn't often experience it herself. She
believed that any problem could be solved -- that if you're just willing to
do what it takes, at whatever personal cost, you can fix anything.
Right now, she's discovering that's not always true. It's a painful process
for her.
Seven of Nine is dying. The cortical node that controls her Borg implants is
failing. And there's nothing the Captain can do about it.
Yesterday, the Captain damn near got herself and Tuvok killed by scavengers
when she took a shuttle into a debris field to get a replacement node from a
dead Borg. It was a wasted effort, anyway. The new node didn't work.
Today, I thought I'd try an idea of my own; a notion I had about
reconfiguring Seven's regeneration alcove. I was alone in cargo bay two,
searching among Seven's Borg tools, when the Captain came in. She didn't see
me. I started to move forward to speak to her, when something about the way
she was standing made me pause.
She was silhouetted in front of the alcove, unmoving: just staring, as
though she could force a solution from it with sheer will power. Her face
reflected the green glow of Borg illumination, and I realised I was catching
a rare glimpse of the woman inside that tough captain's exterior she puts on
with her uniform. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and touched the edge
of the alcove. Her fingers moved slowly over the smooth surface, almost as
though she were caressing the alien technology.
There have been rumours, of course; they started almost as soon as Seven
came on board. Shipboard gossip is fast and often wildly imaginative.
Personally, I take most of it with a pinch of Talaxian spice powder. It's
just the over-active imaginations of a lot of people confined together in
unnatural circumstances. When real life becomes too routine, they start to
invent some wild ideas, based on the vaguest suspicions. It's not surprising
that some of the more persistent rumours have concerned the Captain and her
pet Borg.
I thought the whole idea was ludicrous. To be honest, I've never understood
what the Captain saw in Seven of Nine in the first place. Why she kept
trying to instil basic humanity into that cybernetic ice queen, I don't know.
But she must have seen something that the rest of us had missed, because I
have to admit that Seven has become a useful addition to the crew. She's not
quite so insufferably arrogant these days, but she's still a pretty cold
fish in my book, and the absolute antithesis of the Captain. It's ironic
that she's suddenly becoming a lot more human now that she's about to die.
But when I saw the anguish on Captain Janeway's face as she stood in that
Borg alcove…well, just for a moment I wondered if maybe there could be
something in those rumours after all. I stepped backwards, deeper into the
shadows, unwilling to intrude into such private grief. Unable to take my
eyes off the Captain, I brushed against one of the cargo containers,
knocking off the tool I had been looking for. The Captain whirled round to
face me
"Who's there?" Her voice was harsh over the rhythmic hum of the Borg
technology.
Reluctantly, I stepped forward into the green light.
"It's me, Captain. I was just looking for this." I picked up the Borg probe
off the floor.
"What are you doing in here?" Her voice was still hard, and I could hear the
suppressed anger beneath.
"I was trying to adjust Seven's alcove to compensate for the intermittent
fault in her cortical node," I replied. "I thought it might help her if she
was able to regenerate properly."
She stared at me for a long moment, her eyes glittering almost black in the
green glow.
"Did you succeed?"
"Not yet," I admitted.
"You won't," she said with uncharacteristic bitterness, and turned back to
stare at the alcove. "Seven has already tried, and failed, to compensate for
the fault in her node."
"It's worth a try, Captain. She might have missed something."
"Seven doesn't 'miss' anything, Lieutenant."
"She's sick. Her implants aren't working properly, and I don't think we can
rely on her 'Borg perfection' any longer."
"You never did like Seven, did you?" she said.
"I've always admired her technical expertise," I said. "But I'll admit her
manner took some getting used to."
"I'd have thought you, of all people, would sympathise with her position. I
seem to remember some problems with your own conduct when you first joined
this ship."
"I know. You helped us both adapt to our circumstances here on Voyager. I
don't forget that."
"Maybe you resent her, because I spend so much time with her now."
"I don't resent her, Captain."
"Then why aren't you doing more to try and help her? You've offered no
suggestions at the briefings."
"I'm here, aren't I?" I said, stung by her unfairness.
She stared at me, her eyes dark and dangerous in the reflected pallor of her
face, then turned abruptly away and strode out.
I knew her anger wasn't really meant for me, so I tried not to take it to
heart. I still felt bad about it, though, because it showed just how much
Seven's illness was affecting her. The Captain never really allowed anyone
other than Chakotay to get close to her on the ship, but they seem to have
drifted apart over the past couple of years. If her bond with Seven made her
happy, that was OK with me. A happy Captain makes for a happy ship. Anyway,
I think she deserves a little happiness.
I wasn't able to fix that damned alcove. I was just packing up my equipment
when the doors opened again, and Seven walked in.
"B'Elanna Torres," she said. Her face was pale, with areas of inflamed human
tissue surrounding the Borg implants that had emerged on her skin. She
looked a long way from the elegant cyborg we had all come to know, if not to
love. I felt a sudden surge of pity, and realised with amazement that I
preferred the Borg arrogance to this more human side of Seven. She was
facing her imminent demise with bravery and composure, but I longed for the
old Seven, who would have told me my pity was "irrelevant."
"You have been attempting to adjust my alcove to the fluctuating resonance
of my cortical node," she said with her usual lack of emotion. "And you have
failed."
"Yeah, well, anything's worth a try in this situation."
Seven turned to face me. "I disagree. I don't understand the human need to
attempt illogical and futile procedures to prevent the inevitable."
"Death is inevitable for us all, Seven, but it doesn't mean we have to
accept it before our time."
"This is my time," she said quietly.
"How do you know that?" Now I was getting angry, irritated by this
newly-compliant Seven who was suddenly so willing to surrender to fate.
"I am Borg. I cannot function without my cortical node." The words may have
been a bold attempt at maintaining the attitude of the old Seven, but the
tone told a different story.
"Seven, I'm sorry. I just want to help you."
She looked down at me, and for once, I wasn't irritated by her superior
height.
"No one can help me. My cortical node will fail, and I will die. It's
inevitable. Why will you and Captain Janeway not accept these facts?"
"I guess because it's just not in our natures to give up."
Her expression gave nothing away, but in the short silence, I could almost
hear the nanoprobes scurrying around as she processed the information.
"Captain Janeway is angry because she's unable to find a replacement node,"
she said at last.
I nodded.
"Anger is irrelevant. It serves no purpose in this circumstance."
"Oh, I think it does, Seven. She's angry with herself because she feels
she's let you down, both as a Captain and as a friend. She's not used to
feeling helpless."
Seven looked at me in amazement.
"Captain Janeway has not failed me. On the contrary, it is I who have failed
to achieve her expectations. My function on this ship has been to bring Borg
expertise to assist her efforts to return to the Alpha Quadrant. Clearly, I
am no longer capable of fulfilling that function."
"Seven, you brought more than Borg expertise to Voyager."
"Explain."
"I think that's something you should ask the Captain."
She stared at me for a long moment, then said: "I must return to
astrometrics."
Later, I was running diagnostics on the upper level of engineering, when I
saw Captain Janeway through the transparent floor below. She spoke briefly
to Vorik, who indicated in my direction. I waited for her to appear on the
personal elevator at my level.
The Captain no longer seemed to be angry. Instead, she had a bleak calmness
that I found almost as disturbing.
"I owe you an apology, B'Elanna," she said.
Now I really knew she was upset. I don't ever remember her apologising to
one of her crew before.
"Captain, it's all right."
"No, it's not all right. When something goes wrong, a captain shouldn't take
it out on her crew. Or her friends. I'm sorry for what I said in the cargo
bay
"What's happening to Seven is affecting us all," I said. "You're closer to
her than anyone else, and you have every right to be upset."
She looked at me sharply; then her lips twisted in a faint, humourless
smile.
"I'm not as isolated as you might think. I know what they're saying about
the captain and her pet Borg."
Her use of the very words I had thought earlier caught me by surprise. I
flushed and instinctively dropped my gaze.
"Et tu, B'Elanna?"
"It really doesn't bother me." I looked into her eyes, intensely blue in the
glow of the warp core.
She studied me for a moment, then asked mildly: "What doesn't bother you?
The possibility that your captain may be involved in an improper
relationship with a subordinate, or that Seven might be the object of that
relationship?"
"Neither one." I shrugged. "We're a long way from Starfleet protocols and
home. Your private life is your own affair."
"An unfortunate choice of words," she said with a slight smile. "And also
unfortunately, not true. I know better than anyone on this ship that I'm
under constant scrutiny. Nobody's private life is of more interest to
everyone else than my own."
"They care about you, Captain.Yes, there are rumours, but they don't mean
anything. The crew just want to see you happy."
"Well, that's not very likely right now, is it?" she said.
"I know that Seven and I haven't always seen eye to eye," I said. "But I am
sorry for what's happening to her. If there was anything I could do to help
…" I trailed off, aware of how trite the words sounded.
The Captain didn't seem to notice.
"I'm sorry." I didn't know what else to say.
A slight spasm crossed her face. "So am I, B'Elanna." There was a pause
before she repeated: "So am I."
The constant background droning of the warp core sounded loud in the ensuing
silence. I expected her to leave, but she seemed reluctant to move. She was
gazing into the swirling blue of the core, as though she might somehow find
within its depths, the answer she was so desperately seeking.
I felt a sudden, irresistible urge to reach out and touch her, to put my
hand on her arm in some small gesture of comfort, the way she would have
done if our situations had been reversed. I raised my hand towards her.
"Please don't." Her voice was so low, the words were almost inaudible. My
throat suddenly felt as if I'd swallowed one of Neelix's boiled Eskarian
eggs. There was another long silence before she finally looked away from the
core.
For an instant, I saw the pain and fear in her eyes. It was just a momentary
flash of vulnerability before she moved her head sharply, and the aura of
command surrounded her once more. It was quite deliberate: a conscious
effort of will that was normally completely automatic. But at this abnormal
time, for once, I had seen just how much that effort had cost her.
Whatever the truth of her relationship with Seven, I understood for the
first time the price she must have paid for these years in the Delta
Quadrant. We had taken her for granted, almost expecting miracles from her.
I felt ashamed of the times I had clashed with her and added to her
problems. I desperately wished I could do something to repay just a small
part of what I owed her.
But there was nothing I could do. She had rejected my offer of comfort even
as she allowed me to see her despair. Or maybe she hadn't allowed it. Maybe
she had just felt defeated; the weight of the past six years finally proving
too much, even for her.
The thought hit me like a kick to the stomach. We had come to think of her
as invincible, immortal, always there with a solution for any crisis. It
hadn't occurred to us that the effects might be cumulative, that there may
come a time when she can simply no longer go on. Losing Seven might just
bring that time a whole lot closer, I realised.
"Do you know what Seven is doing at this moment?" the Captain asked quietly,
tapping the computer console on the control panel. A view of a desert
landscape came up on the screen. It changed almost immediately to a stand of
giant redwood trees. "She's trying to access memories of Earth from the time
before she was assimilated by the Borg." The image changed to jagged,
snow-covered mountains. "I doubt she'll find anything relevant in the
computer data base."
"Maybe she doesn't need to," I said.
"What do you mean?" The Captain looked up from the screen.
"You could tell her about Earth much better than these impersonal images."
"I know very little about her childhood, before she was on board the Raven
with her parents. What could I possibly tell her?"
The Great Wall of China came up on the screen.
"Why not tell her about your own experiences at that age: about your family,
your home, where you grew up?"
"Yes, I could do that," she said. "If I can't do anything else to help, I
can at least talk to her, spend some time with her."
What little time remained. The words were unspoken, but they were there just
the same.
"Thank you, B'Elanna." She touched my upper arm in unconscious imitation of
the gesture she had refused from me only minutes before.
I watched her move away towards the lift.
"Captain!" I called to her, as she was about to step onto the platform. She
turned back towards me. "About those rumours."
"I thought they didn't bother you."
"They don't. It's not knowing that bothers me."
She shook her head with a slight smile. I grinned at her while the elevator
took her down and out of sight into main engineering.
As I reached for the control panel to turn off the screen, the image changed
to a golden sunset over the Grand Canyon