Strange New Worlds IX

by Dean Wesley Smith

  He reached down and lifted a hand into view. She barely gave it any notice until she realized with a start that it was encased in metal.

  It is my hand.

  It is my hand, and I do not feel it.

  He started talking, his mouth making noises that flowed into her unlistening mind. Instead, her mind spoke to her hand, demanding that it move. Her hand stayed in the doctor’s hand, her fingers flaccid.

  Her mind slowly worked its way down her body, struggling with the realization that there was only emptiness from her shoulders down. She glanced up at a metal lamp, seeing herself reflected in its shiny surface, making out the shape of her feet beneath the covers, seeing that her feet were flopped clumsily to the side and awkwardly extended, no longer held upright by toned muscles. Still affixed to her body but severed from her mind.

  Disbelieving, she looked at the doctor, forcing herself to concentrate on his words, repeating the last word she heard, trying to comprehend it.

  “Paralyzed.”

  He nodded, his expression serious. “Yes, Seven, you’re completely paralyzed. But I want you to know that you have choices. We can’t fix you—you’ll never be like you were, but we can do a lot to give you back your life.” He gave her a hopeful smile. “You have many choices, Seven. And I’m here to make sure that you take advantage of them.”

  Seven watched while the doctor checked her, her mind working to pull her fractured memory together, trying to remember where she was and how long she had been gone from Voyager.

  Small bits and pieces came to her, disjointed events tumbling into place, forming an incomplete picture. A colorful celestial event. Music. A smile. A quick laugh.

  The Doctor.

  They had been on an away mission; no, not a mission. She concentrated, pulling ferociously at her fleeting memories, the pieces organizing themselves as Doctor Gretkora’s movements sounded constant clicks around her.

  It was not an away mission; it was leave.

  It’ll be fun, Seven. And you’ll have a chance to witness the birth of a double star.

  She remembered space alive with color, petabytes of data streaming before her as she recorded the birth event. In her mind, she watched her fingers dancing over her control panel, nimble, quick, and controlled.

  She closed her eyes, fighting the wave of emotion that almost overpowered her, threatening to scatter the precious memories she had worked so hard to gain. She worked to calm herself and focused, again trying to remember.

  The Doctor had been singing; he had laughed, encouraging her to join him. Suddenly, the world was upside down and the shuttle was shaking violently. There had only been one chance; a small planet.

  They must have made it.

  They!

  She opened her eyes. “Doctor Gretkora.”

  He answered immediately. “What, Seven?”

  Before she could speak, heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. Giving an exasperated grunt, Doctor Gretkora moved clumsily to stand between her bed and the door, pulling himself upright as a uniformed man strode through the door, followed by three similarly uniformed men.

  “General Antana, may I help you?” Doctor Gretkora’s tone was formal and authoritative.

  “I understand she is conscious.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “I will talk with her.”

  Doctor Gretkora took an unsteady step toward the general. “She is still on the autobreather, General Antana.”

  “It is possible to speak while on an autobreather, is it not, Doctor Gretkora?”

  “Barely. But I do not recommend it. She’s in a fragile state, and I do not want her upset or stressed in any way.” He paused, and Seven watched as he pulled his shoulders back, making himself slightly taller. “You told me you wanted me to do anything I had to do to save her, and I plan to do just that.”

  The two men faced off, the silence deepening between them. Finally, the general cleared his throat.

  “Yes, very well. I wouldn’t want to do anything to put…your patient at risk.” There was another clearing of his throat. “Would you mind if I…visited her?”

  There was a long silence before Doctor Gretkora turned slightly to allow the general to pass. “Only for a few minutes, General. Please.”

  “Of course.”

  Seven watched the general approach her bed and tried to ignore the commands of her mind that her body rise from the bed to face the man.

  Like Doctor Gretkora and her nurse, the man had the same round green eyes and brown hair. Unlike Doctor Gretkora, General Antana was tall and thin, with elongated facial features of sharp angles around his eyes and his jaw. His lips were thin and drawn tightly to dip down at the corners. Small reddish spots were scattered across his cheeks, covering tanned skin darker than the doctor’s.

  A rumbling in his throat preceded his words. “Welcome.”

  Seven waited for her lungs to fill and spoke softly as she breathed out. “Thank you.”

  Seven watched as the general’s eyes slowly moved down her body, examining her closely. She noticed how his eyes lingered on her hand and face, and she knew he was carefully studying her Borg implants.

  “We’re…happy you survived the crash. We have prayed to Kwolona that your life would be spared.”

  She felt Doctor Gretkora move to stand closer to her head. She glanced at him, noting that he was focused determinedly on the general, his body language decidedly protective.

  His presence seemed to rattle the general. “Yes. Um. Well, I do not want to tire you out.” The general gave her a pointed look. “But I will look forward to talking with you more. We are very interested in finding out more about you…your people.” He looked at her hand again. “And your technology.”

  Seven did not respond, a weariness causing her eyes to close.

  General Antana backed away. “Doctor, may I speak with you, please?” He addressed her. “May Kwolona bring you good health.”

  Without waiting for a response, General Antana turned and left the room. The men with him waited until Doctor Gretkora followed before leaving. Seven forced herself to concentrate on their whispered conversation, grateful for her enhanced hearing, but she soon realized that the capability was unnecessary. The voices quickly escalated into a near shouting match.

  “We have to interrogate her! She’s a member of an alien race with highly advanced technology! How do we know she wasn’t scouting for an invasion? We have to talk with her and find out about her and about that ship she came in.”

  “If you try to move her it’s likely you’ll kill her! Her spinal column was shattered! I was barely able to piece it back together. And she’s on an autobreather for a reason—she can’t breathe on her own. I can’t take her off of it without killing her,” the doctor argued.

  “Then I will interrogate her here. I’ll be back tomorrow. Make certain she is ready.”

  Quick footsteps sounded and receded. It was a full minute before Doctor Gretkora entered the room. Approaching her bed, he gave her a crooked grin.

  “That went well, didn’t it?”

  Breathe!

  Her eyes frantically searched the darkness while her mind screamed at her body to breathe. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she felt her face go hot and cold at the same time.

  She mouthed words, trying to scream for help, but there was nothing in her to push words out. Panicked, she fought to live, but it was a silent, motionless fight waged only in her mind.

  She was losing consciousness. Anger and frustration filled her, followed by absolute fear.

  She did not want to die.

  “I’m coming, Seven!” The voice came from a distance. “Hold on!”

  The sounds of clicks echoed wildly off the walls as Doctor Gretkora ran into the room, the yellow light of a lantern mixing with the red and purple lights flashing from his chest panel.

  “Don’t panic! I’ll have you hooked up in a second.”

  She heard him through a tunnel, his words muffled. She tried
to hold on, to wait for the swishing sounds to return, for air to fill her lungs, but the seconds stretched too long. She slipped down the tunnel, leaving the clicks behind.

  “Welcome back.”

  She blinked slowly into the dimness, taking a moment to focus on Doctor Gretkora’s face.

  “You’re going to be okay. We had a power failure. I switched your autobreather over to a backup power source.” He grimaced. “Which it should have been on already, but this facility was kind of thrown together and, uh, well, everything isn’t as good as I’d like it to be for you.” He glanced away and was quiet a few moments before turning back to her. Light reflected off his teeth and she was able to make out a sad, sympathetic smile as he leaned closer to her, his head intimately close to hers.

  “I know that was frightening.” Without waiting for her to respond, he continued. “You’ll never get used to it, Seven. And that fear of being alone and dying before anyone can get to you will never leave you.” His voice shook slightly. “But you have to push that monster into the back of your mind. If you don’t, it will control you.” He pulled back to face her and his smile morphed into that slightly crooked grin. “Like I told you, it’s all about the choices you make.”

  She studied him carefully, for the first time seeing light reflect off of small wires appearing above his shirt collar and disappearing around the back of his neck. Her eyes slid down to the panel on his chest slightly hidden by his coat. The realization dawned on her.

  “You are paralyzed.”

  The broad grin flew into his face. “Only my body.” He tapped the side of his head and the light flickered off his metal-framed finger. “Not up here.” He pulled up the sleeve of his coat, exposing thin metal rods wrapping his arm. “This is my own design. When we get you stabilized, I’ll build one for you. It’ll give you a lot of your life back.”

  He held up his hands, palms forward, and she could see his fingers laced by strings of metal and surrounded by knobby structures.

  “You’ll also be able to regain some sensory feeling with these.” He shrugged. “It won’t be what you had, but it’ll be better than nothing.” He lifted her hand and fingered the metal on it. “And, I don’t imagine it would ever be as good as your own people would be able to do for you.”

  He fell silent, and she knew he was waiting on her to respond. She ran quickly through what little knowledge she had managed to remember about this planet—a pre-warp civilization equivalent to that of Earth’s early twenty-first century. With a sinking feeling, she realized he was right.

  “I am certain you will provide me with excellent care.”

  “I’ll do my best.” He gently placed her hand on her stomach as he perched on the side of her bed. He leaned toward her. “You know, you’re our first alien visitor.” She could see his eyes twinkling with excitement, even in the low light given off by his lantern. “There’s so much I want to ask you. So much I want to know.” His eyes slipped to the Borg implant over her eye. “Your technology is…miraculous! Does that enhance your vision? And the implant on your stomach, what does that do? Can you breathe in space?”

  Seven blinked quickly and averted her eyes, struggling with her response, the intense innocence in his face in juxtaposition to the explanation of her implants.

  Instinctively her mind told her body to take a deep breath to give herself time to order her mind, to allow her to form a measured response, but her breath came with the timed swoosh of air from the autobreather, unsettling her as much as his question did. The complete helplessness of her situation overwhelmed her. She blinked again and felt the spreading wetness on her face.

  “Oh, Seven.” Doctor Gretkora reached to wipe a trickling tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He grabbed a tissue and wiped gently at her face, trying to dry her cheeks even as the tears flowed freely. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m so, so very sorry.”

  “No.” She sniffed. “No, do not be sorry—I—” Her words choked off as she had to sniff again.

  “Here,” he grabbed another tissue and held it against her nose, “blow your nose.”

  She stared at him in horror, everything in her demanding that her hand raise to take the tissue from him.

  “I understand, Seven.” His voice was soothing. “Go ahead.” As he spoke, he adjusted the tissue tighter to her nose. Self-consciously, she waited for the autobreather to fill her lungs and blew. Tears immediately followed.

  It took three more tissues before she was able to compose herself.

  As he threw the last tissue into the trash, Doctor Gretkora said, “I’m impressed. Most of my patients use more tissues than that for the first good cry. I went through at least six myself.”

  For the first time, Seven felt the corners of her mouth turn up and something inside her lighten. “I cannot imagine you crying.”

  The grin slid back into place on his face. “I cried a lot. And then I decided that it was time to quit crying and put that energy into something positive. I didn’t have a body that would do me any good anymore, but I still had a mind that worked. I concentrated on what I could do and I made something happen. When you heal a little, we’ll make something happen for you.”

  She sniffed lightly. “You remind me of the Doctor.”

  “The Doctor?”

  “He is the Emerg…” She caught herself. “He is the doctor on Voyager.”

  His eyes roamed over her face, pausing at each implant. “He must be an excellent doctor.”

  She ignored the question hidden in his words. “He is highly competent.”

  He frowned and the dimness of the room darkened the creases of his wrinkles. “Is your doctor capable…of…uhm, can he do anything…uh…”

  “Can he repair me?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Can he repair you?”

  “Yes.”

  Doctor Gretkora was silent for a long moment. Then, he said, “Miraculous. How…I mean, do you know what techniques he uses?”

  She stared into the darkness of the room, wondering if the Doctor’s mobile emitter survived the crash. If it had, he could repair her. If it had, he could contact Voyager.

  Almost absentmindedly, she responded, “He will implant neural precursor cells to affect a repair to the damaged area.” A low strangled sound brought her attention back to Doctor Gretkora.

  “Your people use precursor cells?”

  She heard a tremor of excitement in his voice. “Yes.”

  He slid off the bed and walked away, disappearing into the darkness outside the glow of the lantern. She listened to his movements, clicks tracing back and forth from corner to corner as he paced.

  The clicks stopped and he spoke. “Neural precursor cells.” He walked out of the darkness to stand next to her, his eyes widely round. “And they work?”

  She started to nod, but her head did not move, still held steady by the metal frame screwed into her skull. He had called it a “halo.” She thought it an ironic name for something so torturous.

  “They are highly effective.”

  He whispered, his voice tight and squeaky. “I knew they would work.”

  “You are experimenting with them?”

  “No.” He shook his head, grimacing. “Our laws do not allow me to do such experimenting.” Doctor Gretkora grunted and sat back down on her bed. Staring into the darkness, he said, “Such treatment is seen as an abomination.”

  Seven frowned. “Explain.”

  “Our religion teaches that the body is pure and cannot be defiled. Pursuing such a radical type of treatment would be considered a desecration.”

  “But your exoskeleton—”

  “My exoskeleton has caused me to be exiled from our religious houses.” He shook his head. “It’s bad enough that I have improved my life through an artificial and mechanical means; if I were to do so by such a radical treatment…I am afraid I would be jailed.” His face turned sad. “Or worse.”

  “But you do not stop your work.”

  He turned t
o her. “No, I do not.”

  “Why not?”

  He was quiet for a long moment. “Because I can’t, Seven. Because there is something inside me that won’t let me stop. This body sleeps all the time, but my mind never does. Even when my eyes close, my mind is working. I dream about walking one day—walking without this exoskeleton, walking because I’ve figured out how to rebuild the electrical connections between my brain and my body, and walking because my body is whole again.”

  When she stayed quiet, he continued. “They tell me to put my faith in Kwolona, to look to Him for healing, that I should put aside my crazy thoughts and dreams and accept my fate.

  “But what if it is my fate to heal myself and to heal others like me? How can a being who loves His people stand between us and a solution to suffering? How can healing be wrong?”

  By the way he continued to stare into the deep darkness of the room she knew he did not expect a response from her so she offered him none. Suddenly, the lights in the hallway flickered on, and he grunted as he slid from the bed.

  “Looks like they’ve restored the power. I’d better hook your autobreather up to the primary power source.”

  General Antana strode into the room, his suit slightly rumpled. Without ceremony, he approached her. Doctor Gretkora had repositioned her bed, raising her head slightly so she was better able to see. She tried to clear her mind and focus on the general, the sedative Doctor Gretkora had given her—over her objection—making it difficult to do so. But even the effect of the sedative could not mask the man’s distraction.

  “Are you feeling better today?”

  Seven frowned as she whispered her response. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He pulled back his shoulders and smoothed the wrinkles in his coat. “Was anyone traveling with you?”

  His abrupt directness threw her. As quickly as he had asked, she answered. “The Doctor.”

  His expression did not change. “Describe this doctor.”

  Seven was aware that Doctor Gretkora had moved closer to her, and she looked in his direction to see both concern and excitement in his face. She blinked a couple of times, struggling past the sedative to think about what the general was really asking.