by Peter David
She had thought that perhaps the mere act of setting foot upon Tendara Colony would be enough to prompt some sort of reaction. When she stepped off the shuttle, however, absolutely nothing happened. She looked around as any other stranger would, trying to feel some manner of connection to either the colony or the colonists around her.
Nothing presented itself.
She came through a small, albeit busy, spaceport, where everyone was attending to whatever their respective business was. No one gave her a second glance. This was unusual for her, and once again she had to take the time to remind herself that there was no reason why they should. It was natural for her to expect some sort of particular extra attention, considering that for the last few years she had lived her daily existence with implants attached to various parts of her, most noticeably her face. People—especially civilians—would glance at her, do a double take, and occasionally back away if they recognized the accoutrements that adorned her. She had become accustomed to being stared at and regarded with concern. How odd that it is not being looked at that requires the adjustment, she thought.
Not that she was entirely devoid of being paid attention to. She was still a tall, strikingly good-looking woman. Her blonde hair shimmered and she moved with an easy grace and a confident sway of her shoulders and hips. Men cast sidelong, admiring glances at her, and plenty of women did as well. But it was always quick, fleeting, and then they were on to something else. Looks did not linger upon her. No one was assessing her potential as a threat.
She certainly couldn’t say she missed that aspect of her life.
Once she had arrived planetside, she rented a grav car that would enable her to get around easily. The colony had certainly grown since she had spent the first few years of her life here, but it hadn’t grown that much. It was still less than a day’s journey by grav car from one end of the settlement to the other. In point of fact, she could have walked it. Seven was in no rush; however, she saw no reason to dawdle, either.
She climbed into the car, stowing her minimal belongings in the storage compartment. A few changes of clothes, some holos of the old crew that she liked to take with her wherever she journeyed. She had so little that passed for family anymore, and her old ship’s crew had been the closest thing to it. It gave her some measure of comfort, having them with her, even if it was just images of them.
Seven steered the car out onto the main road. She hadn’t done a lot of driving. She’d spent most of the last year in San Francisco at Starfleet Academy and had more or less walked everywhere she’d wanted to go or, for longer distances, had used convenient transporters. Before that, of course, had been the starship. Not much call for vehicles there. Nevertheless the grav car was easy enough to maneuver and within minutes she was heading down the road at a brisk clip. She slowed down where she needed to in order to let pedestrians pass in front of her, and she would nod to them in greeting while they tipped their hats to her. Most people wore hats on Tendara since the sun could be exceptionally bright and warm.
The buildings were unassuming. Simple curved one-and, at the most, two-story structures that were designed far more for function than style. She supposed that, were Tendara to remain around long enough, the spartan buildings would eventually give way to something more elaborate and festive. Seven placed little store in such things, but she knew plenty of other people did. She hoped that someday she would be one of those people. She desperately wanted to be. Wanted it so much, in fact, that it was more than a little embarrassing. Part of her remembered fondly when such overwhelming things as emotions were something that she observed from a comfortable distance. It was much easier to exist on a day-to-day basis that way. Yet now that they were available to her, she was eager to embrace them as well. Eager, but filled with trepidation. What was it called again?
Ah, yes. Mixed emotions. How appropriate.
She reached an intersection and knew that her true destination lay to the right. She had made certain of the address and was perfectly aware of which way to go, even if the on-board locator hadn’t been already providing her guidance. Ultimately, however, she decided to keep going straight. Seven wasn’t quite sure why she was doing so. After all, she’d come all the way out to this colony for a purpose, and there was no reason for delaying it.
Then again, wasn’t the definition of being human doing something without any good reason?
She continued down the road, and soon the buildings began to thin out until they appeared only sporadically. It told her that she was getting farther into the farming community. There was a fairly obvious division in the colony between the scientists and the farmers, and both groups tended to regard each other with a sort of haughty disdain. The scientists saw the farmers as a necessary evil, using hydroponics and other techniques to make the colony self-sustaining so that they, the scientists, could tend to the truly important, even groundbreaking work that would ideally serve the overall betterment of mankind. The farmers, by contrast, saw the scientists as wholly unnecessary, not understanding why the farming couldn’t simply be a means to its own end. They didn’t need the scientists, whereas the scientists most definitely needed them. On the other hand, it was the presence of the scientists that had prompted the development of the colony in the first place, and so the two groups were stuck with each other whether they liked it or not.
None of it seemed familiar to her. She was reasonably sure that her parents had never brought her to this area of Tendara. Then again, she had only been a few years old when she last lived there, so it would be understandable if none of it…
She slowed the car and then stopped it. Seven sat atop the car as it bounced up and down slightly, responding to the shifts in her weight.
The smell of wheat wafted to her, tickled her nostrils and stroked parts of her memory that she had just assumed were long forgotten; memories she never even knew she had.
She disembarked from the car and simply stood there, taking it all in. Her nostrils flared, the aroma working its way into her, and suddenly she was four years old again. (It was shortly before the time that her parents became preoccupied with studying the Borg, an obsession that would put them on a small vessel called the Raven, which would become a second home to Seven.) Her mother had brought her out here (she could not believe she had not recalled that) to smell the fresh harvest. It had been so long ago, and Seven had literally been a different person back then, yet the recollections came hammering back to her with such force that they nearly knocked her off her feet. As it was, she was barely able to keep standing, and she leaned against the grav car in order to steady herself.
And Seven was a child once more, and she was looking up at her mother, who had the most magnificent smile in the world. Erin Hansen beamed at her child. In Seven’s memory, Erin was a gigantic woman, although intellectually she understood that was not truly the case. Nevertheless that was how she remembered her: a woman of boundless energy and patience, well suited to her father, who was the epitome of strength and invincibility. They would always be there for Seven, of that there was no question. And on that particular day, brought back by the smell of wheat, her mother laughed and said, “Someday, Anni, all this will be yours.”
She was being facetious, of course, but young Annika hadn’t understood that at the time. “Oooooo,” Annika had said, rather taken with the thought that someday all she could see would be hers. Instantly she started contemplating the things she could do with a vast field of wheat once it was permanently in her possession. An impressive number of possibilities crossed her mind, and the smell of the wheat simply added to it, making the field seem rife with opportunity.
Her mother was long gone, as was her father, but the wheat field was still here. She had no idea how many crops had been harvested in this place. The principles of crop rotation more or less guaranteed that wheat hadn’t been growing there for an unbroken string of years. But it was here, now, and so was she, and she was overwhelmed with a sadness and longing for a time that could never, ever be again.
>
That was when the tears that she had not remotely expected began to flow. They streaked down her face, trickles at first, but then copiously. She wanted to cut off her nose so she didn’t have to smell the wheat anymore, but it was too late. The memory was far too strong. It was entrenched now, and nothing short of finding a shovel and staving in the side of her skull would put an end to it. As each moment passed, the head-staving option seemed increasingly appealing.
“Damn them,” she whispered, and she wasn’t sure if she was referring to her parents or the Borg or both. She tried to wipe away the tears with the back of her hand, but there seemed to be plenty more where those came from. “Damn them,” she said again.
“You shouldn’t curse.”
Seven jumped slightly and let out a startled gasp. Once upon a time, such a reaction would have been unthinkable. Nothing surprised her; she would simply stare at the new piece of data, whatever it might be, and then mentally catalogue it and go on about her business. Jumping, crying out—these were all extremely human reactions and thus unusual for her.
When she turned, her hands automatically went into a defensive position, as if she were concerned that whoever had just spoken was about to attack her. She remained like that, her hands frozen in a sideways chopping manner.
A child was looking up at her. It was a small, blond-haired girl with a quizzical expression and an utter lack of anything threatening about her. She didn’t seem to be aware of the fact that Seven was in a defensive posture, probably because it never occurred to her that anyone could—under any circumstance—feel the least bit intimidated by her. “That’s what my mother says, anyway. That you shouldn’t curse.”
For a moment she saw herself through the child’s eyes, seeing the girl’s bewilderment at Seven’s unusual pose. Hesitantly the girl held up her own hand in something approximating an attempted handshake, clearly thinking that was Seven’s intent. Seven had to force herself to relax and slowly she lowered her own right hand and shook the girl’s tentatively. It felt gentle and loose in her own grasp; the child had not yet learned the technique of solidly and firmly gripping someone’s hand. “I’m Seven. Your mother is very wise.”
“Thank you,” said the child politely. “And that’s a very unusual name.”
A simple “Yes, it is” seemed the best response, promptly followed with, “What’s yours?”
“Caroline.”
“Caroline.” She rolled the name around in her mouth as if trying it out. She released the child’s hand and said briskly, “How old are you, Caroline?”
“I’m six,” and she proudly held up all five fingers on one hand and one on the other. Then she lowered the hands and scrutinized Seven’s face. “Were you crying?”
“I was just remembering some things.” She wiped the remainder of the tears from her face.
“Sad things?”
“No. But they were things that made me sad because they were from very long ago and I miss them. Actually, they were things I didn’t even know I missed until just now.”
“Okay,” said Caroline, looking a bit uncertain.
Seven let out a sigh. “Six years old. When I was six years old, I was living most of the time on a ship.”
“A spaceship?” When Seven nodded, the girl’s face lit up. “I’ve always wanted to go on one. I want to travel far away. I don’t like it here. It’s boring. But my parents,” and the expression turned dour, “they said I should stay here. They said space is dangerous. But I,” her eyes glittered with excitement, “I bet it’s amazing. Is it amazing?”
Very slowly, Seven knelt so that she was on eye level with the child. “Yes. It is amazing. But your parents are also very right. You should listen to them. There are areas of the galaxy that are filled with wonders you cannot imagine, and terrors to freeze your soul. It’s not safe out there. It’s wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires, both subtle and gross. But it’s not for the timid.”
“I didn’t know a lot of those words, but I know ‘timid.’ I’m not timid.”
“No, you’re not. But you’re not ready, either. You’re not ready because you’re incredibly young, and your life is an endless vista of possibilities.” Her voice dropped, becoming grave. “You haven’t considered that your parents can be snatched from you. You haven’t worried about the notion that you could die, or that something even worse than death could happen to you. Before you set foot off your home, you should weigh all that and more, and fully realize what it is you’re risking. Because it could well be your very soul, and you might not be lucky enough to hold on to it or ever get it back.”
Caroline stepped away from her, her lower lip trembling, and instantly Seven was contrite, realizing that she had scared the child needlessly. “Listen to me,” she began.
“No. I don’t like you. You’re scary.”
“I didn’t mean to be. I—”
“Caroline!”
Seven stood immediately upon the arrival of a woman she took to be the child’s mother. The resemblance was remarkable. The old saying was that if you wanted to see what a girl would look like in twenty years, just study her mother. That certainly seemed to be the case here, although the mother had the slightly world-weary look of one who kept too long hours for too little reward. Caroline’s mother was running at a steady trot up the road, and appeared both relieved to have found her daughter and concerned since she had no idea who it was that Caroline was talking to.
Before Seven could say a word, Caroline turned and ran to her mother, practically leaping into her arms even as she pointed accusingly at Seven. “She was telling me scary things!”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, apparently sizing up Seven to be a potential threat. Her voice frosty, she said, “What did you tell my daughter?”
“I said that space was a dangerous place, and that she should listen to your advice about staying safely at home.”
“Is that what she said, Caroline?”
The child’s head bobbed up and down, at which point her mother’s expression softened a bit. “Oh. Okay, well… that’s all you said?”
“That is all,” Seven assured her.
“All right, well, I’m sure you didn’t mean to upset her.”
Yes, I did, by all means. I wanted to drive into her the notion that she should appreciate what she’s got, because you never know when it’s all going to be snatched away. There’s no security in the void, and everything you know and love can be taken from you in a heartbeat, leaving you bereft and with a hole in your very being that’s as vast as space itself.
“Of course I didn’t,” said Seven, considering with amusement the fact that once upon a time, lying would have been unthinkable for her. It took her becoming more human to be able to be duplicitous.
“Are you from around here?”
“I… used to be. Actually,” and she cleared her throat, “I was hoping you could tell me if Annie Kalandra still lives here.”
“Oh, absolutely. I know Annie. Sweet woman.”
“Mommy!” Caroline said insistently. “Make her go away! Please!”
Caroline’s mother looked mortified at what she saw as her daughter’s rudeness, but Seven simply could not blame the child for her attitude. The truth was that Seven was indeed a very scary person; a child could simply see it, whereas an adult could not.
Very quickly, Caroline’s mother told Seven where she could find Annie Kalandra. Seven thanked her and headed off, casting one final glance toward Caroline, who was still holding tightly onto her mother with her arms around her mother’s neck and her legs wrapped around the woman’s waist. The child kept her face buried in the base of the woman’s throat, not even wanting to chance catching Seven’s eye.
What a relief that I’m a teacher at the Academy rather than working in the recruiting office. I’d single-handedly reduce the entire rank and file of the fleet to nonexistence.
ii.
Annie Kalandra—a teacher by trade, specializing in art—lived in a modest apartment
in a small complex of buildings. She was a pleasant enough woman, generally displaying the sort of attitude that in a man would be described as avuncular, but didn’t have a direct corresponding word for a female. She wasn’t really anyone’s aunt, but in one case, a very long time ago, the title had been bestowed upon her, like a knighthood. She had become “Aunt Annie” through the oddest of happenstance: coming upon a pregnant woman who’d been taking a nice, relaxing walk in wide-open fields and had unexpectedly gone into labor. The child had shown an unconscionable determination to rush into the world, and was not waiting for summoned help to arrive.
Annie Kalandra had been there to see the mother and child through the birth. It had been Annie who had carefully unwound the cord from around the child’s neck, the cord that could have strangled her, and then eased her into the world. It had been Annie who had cleaned the wailing infant up and wrapped her in a shawl that she would never use again, and then lay her upon her mother’s chest.
And it had been in honor of her that her first and surname had been combined into the child’s name: Annika.
And she had remained a close family friend, introduced under odd circumstances but embraced and a part of their life for as long as they had lived on the colony world. She had thrilled at watching the infant’s progress, and dandled her on her knee, and fantasized what her little namesake’s life would be like.
She could never have imagined what it would actually be like.
For that little girl was now long gone. Instead, from what Annie had heard, she was now calling herself Seven of Nine, and was not remotely the joyous child that Annie had known for the first four years of Annika’s life. Sometimes at night, she would envision her beloved little Annika being made into one of the Borg Collective (a threat now ended, but too late, far too late) and Annie would cringe under her blanket and pull the pillow tighter around her ears, trying to drown out her fears and push the darkness away. She knew it was, long term, a losing game. Someday the darkness would ensnare her and drag her away into it, and she would know what lay on the other side. It was not something she was looking forward to.