“It was not intentional,” Seven said.
“Do you want me to call for someone now?” he asked.
“It is no longer necessary,” she replied.
After a long silence, he said, “When we were together in Unimatrix Zero, we promised each other that we would never ask for more. We knew it was impossible, and to waste time wanting it to be so squandered what time we’d been given.”
“I wish I remembered,” Seven said.
“I wish I didn’t.”
Stung, Seven asked, “Do you mean that?”
“When I brought you back to Unimatrix Zero, I told myself it was for the good of all of us. There was no other way to stop the queen from destroying us, from stealing the last of our individuality. I knew you would never remember us. I didn’t want you to. I had already grieved what we’d lost for both of us.”
“But I did remember you,” Seven said. “Not everything we had shared, but you.”
“I was surprised,” Axum said. “And then I was angry for a very long time.”
“At me?”
“At myself. Had I left well enough alone, Unimatrix Zero might have been lost, but I would never have known. To live again in the real world as myself, even with the voices of the Borg, might have been bearable if I’d had nothing with which to compare it. But I did. It would never be enough to claim a small victory over the Borg, to free myself and the others by destroying our vessel. Nothing would ever be enough until I found you.”
Seven smiled bitterly. “I wanted the same thing at first. But it was impossible.”
“Not anymore.”
This time, Seven looked away.
“You are in my arms again, but you may as well be lost in the Delta Quadrant,” Axum said. After a long pause, he added, “Who is he?”
Seven did not bother to ask how he knew. With each moment that passed, it was growing harder to find a place inside her that he did not share.
“He was my counselor,” she began. “The inner voice the Caeliar left behind was terrifying. I had worked so hard for so long to become an individual. I had learned to cherish the silence in my mind. I had adapted. But after the transformation, I feared I would never know that silence again.”
“He helped you find it?”
“He helped me to see that my struggle was not with the Caeliar but with myself. He gave me the courage to face it and to accept it.”
“But he is more than that to you, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
Axum nodded. “Does he know that when you were a girl, you loved to nap among the wildflowers around your house?”
Seven shook her head.
“Does he know the names you gave the trees before your father forced you to memorize the proper ones?”
“No,” Seven admitted.
“Have you told him about Skiria, and how she used to taunt you?”
“No.”
“Does he know how long you dreamed of dark monsters?”
“Because he loves me, I dream of different things now.”
“You love him?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you here?”
Seven paused. “I came because you needed me. I will always come if you need me.”
“I need more than your concern, Annika.”
“It is all I have to give.”
Axum bent his head to hers. She knew better than to allow it. In her dreams, she had not thought to refuse him. But this was not a dream.
Their lips met gently, barely a touch. In that instant, she glimpsed something she had never thought to have or lose. Her mind rebelled, but her body overruled it. Something she had refused to acknowledge until this moment demanded her response.
Long before, she had made a conscious choice to be Seven. But Annika didn’t care. Before Seven had given herself to Hugh, Annika had belonged to Axum.
Annika was human. She was a child whose life had been stolen by dark monsters, but she’d hidden her true self from them in Axum’s heart. He had kept her safe. He had kept her alive. And his was the only touch she had ever desired.
Seven returned to the crystal sea as Annika opened her lips to Axum and pulled him closer.
Doctor Sharak had worked into the early evening hours without word from Miss Seven. It was the first day since they had been separated that she had not made contact. Sharak had asked if it was possible to forward any communication from her to his personal terminal in his temporary quarters. Doctor Frist had refused to risk compromising the lab’s security to accomplish this. But surely, by now, he was satisfied that she was in no physical danger? Exhausted from hours of calculations that had yielded disquieting results, Sharak succumbed to his need for rest and left the lab.
As he approached the secured entrance to Starfleet’s temporary housing facility, he barely took note of the solitary figure seated on a bench where those seeking clearance were made to wait. The individual rested against the wall, slumped over, face concealed beneath a hood, and body by a long, dark cloak.
Sharak had almost reached the turbolift when a stern voice said, “Enceth. Far from home.”
He turned instantly. The hooded figure had stolen behind him without betraying her presence.
“Ratham?” he asked in disbelief.
She removed the hood and smiled up at him. “Pirakee, when the clouds parted.”
Sharak lifted his right hand to his forehead, saying, “Pirakee, the sun blinding.”
Ratham repeated the gesture as Sharak bent to embrace her. Their cheeks touched side by side as she added, “Chatha. Her journey long.”
“Chatha and Terubim. The fire warm.”
Sharak released her. Her eyes were glistening, as were his. It was more than a year since he had seen another Child of Tama. He had not allowed himself to regret it until this moment. Ratham had made the journey with him to Earth years before but had yet to master Standard to the degree necessary to secure her a Starfleet post.
The duty officer tried and failed to hide his interest in this exchange. Sharak said simply, “An old friend, Ensign Ult.”
“Have a good evening, sir,” Ult replied as he offered Ratham a temporary access pass.
As Ratham removed her cloak to affix the pass to her tunic, Sharak noted the kwells adorning her sash. He had kept his—symbols of achievement, remembrances of those who had once walked beside him, and guides in times of confusion—but had not displayed them since the first day he had donned his Starfleet uniform. He wondered if she would chastise him for this lapse.
She did not. In the brief ride to his quarters, she spoke only of her happiness to have found him and recent contact with a few mutual acquaintances.
“Solotep at midday?” Sharak asked once she was seated at the small table where he ate his solitary meals and created his personal logs. His bedchamber was a separate, smaller room containing two bunks, though the second had been unassigned since his arrival.
“Solotep at day’s end,” Ratham replied.
Sharak quickly replicated light fare, two bowls of soup and glasses of water. Ratham sniffed the soup warily when he placed it before her.
“Ishika. In winter,” he chided her.
“Callimas at Bahar,” she replied, chagrined, then lifted the bowl to her lips. After a few sips she said, “Hammat dancing.”
“Emnis. His sight restored,” Sharak teased.
They drank for a few silent moments. Finally Ratham said, “Kira at court. The court filled.”
Sharak started to reply, “Canthu at Belren,” but stopped himself, asking instead, “Ratham. The winds fair?”
“The ocean still,” she replied.
“Then perhaps you should continue to practice,” Sharak said.
“I practice all day, just as I have every day for the last three years,” Ratham said. “And you do not require practice.”
“But you do.”
Ratham sighed. “As you wish. Tell m
e of the day.”
“How was your day?” he corrected her gently.
“Zinda—” she began.
“The river Temarc.” He smiled. “My day was difficult.”
“The cause?”
“I am not permitted to share the details with you,” Sharak said. “The project is classified.”
“Lianna. Her arms outstretched.”
“Ratham.”
“You know that you can tell me without fear,” Ratham said.
“My oath forbids it,” Sharak insisted. “But my work today led me to an unusual conclusion.”
“How?”
What would have been more precise, but Sharak let it go. “Many I am working with believe one thing to be true. I no longer share their belief, but I cannot access the data I require to convince them that I am correct.”
“Where does the data live?”
“Another planet, several days journey from here.”
“Mirab, his sails unfurled.”
“It is not that simple. I do not have a vessel of my own, nor could I pilot it safely if I did.”
“Glenarat of Miwandi.”
“I chose to be a healer. I would have made a poor pilot.”
“Glenarat. His hands empty,” Ratham said, smiling.
“My only regret is that I am not better understood among my peers.”
“Uzani?”
“I do not seek glory for glory’s sake,” he corrected her. “To be understood is to be trusted. They do not trust me yet.”
“Kinla in . . .” Ratham began, but stopped herself. “You cannot make them trust you. You must earn their trust by action.”
“There is another here who needs me. I cannot leave her unattended. Her care is my primary occupation.”
“Ubaya of crossed roads.”
“Sallana. Her pack full. I do not resent my duty. But yes, it is difficult to know the wisest course.”
“Have you asked the kwells?”
“Fendit in silence.”
“Fendit refusing the flame.”
“I have not thrown kwells since I was a child,” Sharak said. “This decision is too important to leave to chance.”
“For you know better than Tama?”
“Tama is ever silent.”
Ratham stared at him for a long time. Finally she said, “Silence is an answer too. You already know what you must do.”
“Shaieen. In darkness.”
“Shaieen, the wind rising,” Ratham challenged. “Sharak on the ocean.”
Sharak bowed his head.
“I have missed you, my good friend,” he finally said.
“I will still be here when you return,” Ratham said.
“Jeral at rest.”
“Jeral. Her arms weary.”
“Jeral. Her eyes uplifted.”
Ratham reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. “Today and every day,” she assured him.
Tom Paris was surprised when the computer alerted him to an incoming transmission. He half hoped, half feared it would be his mother. It wasn’t.
“I trust I am not disturbing you, Commander,” Lieutenant Vorik said evenly. Paris had not spoken to his former Voyager crewmate, an old rival for B’Elanna’s affections—at least if Vorik was the one telling the story—since the memorial ceremony on New Talax. Paris had been relieved that Vorik had survived Hawking’s entry into the Omega Continuum and assumed once he heard that Starfleet was sending the Vesta that Vorik would be aboard her. That had not happened. Vorik had requested transfer and Captain Farkas had granted his request.
“Never,” Paris said sincerely. “It’s great to see you.” Paris and Vorik hadn’t been the best of friends, but, after the last week, Paris welcomed any port in a storm. “Where are you?” he asked.
“Utopia Planitia. They always need capable engineers.”
“They do,” Paris agreed. But so did the Vesta.
“My shift begins shortly,” Vorik said. “I received word from a Lieutenant Shaw yesterday, asking if I would return to Earth to speak on your behalf at a custody hearing. That request was most disturbing.”
Vorik was Vulcan, so he would have used the same deadpan tone had the news been the happiest he’d ever heard.
“Oh,” Paris said. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Who is seeking custody of Miral?”
“Shaw didn’t tell you?”
“He left a message. I did not wish to speak to him until I reached you.”
Paris had taken Shaw’s instructions to heart, but this was Vorik. There was no way he was going to side with Julia Paris against B’Elanna.
“My mother,” Paris said. “But I’m not allowed to discuss the specifics of the case with anyone who might be called as a character witness. Shaw is looking for people who know B’Elanna and me well enough to speak on our behalf. If you can make the time, I would appreciate it, and I know B’Elanna would as well.”
Vorik’s face was, as ever, inscrutable. Finally he said, “I do not think that it would be wise at this time for me to agree to that request.”
This struck Paris with the force of a fist to the gut. A million questions rose to his lips. He counted to ten and said, “You should do what you feel is right, of course.”
“Thank you, Commander. If there is nothing else . . .”
“Why didn’t you rejoin the fleet?” Paris asked quickly.
Vorik’s eyes left Paris’s for a few moments. When they met his again, Vorik said, “I have had my fill of the Delta Quadrant.”
“I hear you,” Paris said, but he also sensed that Vorik was holding out on him. “But the fleet could really use you.”
“Starfleet chose to assemble a fleet without sufficient experienced personnel to ensure its safety. As a result, almost a thousand officers are now dead, including Captain Itak. To continue to serve that fleet is to silently condone Starfleet’s reckless actions, including their decision to give command of the fleet to Admiral Janeway.”
That punch to the gut was followed by a right hook.
“We’re talking about the same Admiral Janeway, right?” Paris asked.
“We are.”
“The woman who brought all of us home in seven years when the journey should have taken seventy?”
“But at what price?” Vorik asked. “You may be willing to allow your personal regard for the admiral to blind you to the consequences of her choices, including the one that brought us home, but I cannot. Starfleet could have chosen to retire her, with honors if need be, but to give her command again is to court further disasters.”
Paris considered Vorik’s words. He had seen the depth of emotion of which Vorik was capable and which he worked diligently to mask. For him to speak this way about the admiral suggested that whatever he felt was more powerful than Vorik’s mating instinct.
“I don’t agree,” Paris finally said. “Admiral Janeway had no way of knowing or even guessing that destroying that transwarp hub would have had the results it did. And I don’t remember you voicing that concern when she asked all of us if we agreed with her decision.”
“I was not asked,” Vorik said. “I was not senior staff at the time.”
Paris winced. He’d grown so accustomed to seeing Vorik running Voyager’s engineering in the years leading to the Borg Invasion that he’d forgotten that the Vulcan wouldn’t have been in that meeting.
“But had I been, I would have counseled the captain to follow her first instinct upon discovery of the hub. She should have retreated.”
“But the Admiral Janeway who came from the future—” Paris began.
“Had no business being there,” Vorik finished for him. “Nothing she said should have been taken into account. The only meaningful effort made in regards to that Admiral Janeway should have been to attempt to return her to her own timeline.”
Paris bowed his head. Vorik was adhering to the strictest possible interpretation of the temporal Prime Directive. But in Paris’s experience, such fundamentalism had litt
le value beyond academic discussion.
“Obviously you have to make the best choice for you,” Paris said.
“Yes.”
“Good night, Vorik.”
“Peace and long life, Commander.”
Once he’d signed off, Paris said softly, “You didn’t mean that, did you?”
The conversation had left Paris queasy. Wondering what the quickest relief might be, he rose to access his replicator. As he did so, his door chimed.
“Enter.”
The door slid open to reveal Doctor Sharak.
“Hello, Doctor,” Paris said. “Welcome, come in, please.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
“Where is Seven?” Paris asked.
Sharak seemed to struggle for a moment, and as he did so, Paris’s stomach soured further.
“Seven is well,” Sharak finally said.
Paris sighed in relief. “Don’t do that, Doctor,” he chided the Tamarian. “I thought you were going to tell me she’d died or something.”
“Forgive me,” Sharak said, opening his hands. “I have spoken with her every day this week except today, and she seems to be in excellent health, though I believe she is keeping the particulars of her current circumstances to herself for the time being.”
It suddenly occurred to Paris that, as the senior officer on this extended away mission, he should have contacted Sharak himself on a daily basis to check in.
“Aren’t you working with her?” Paris asked.
“The medical facility is divided. Those who work directly with the virus are quarantined from the rest of us.”
Paris didn’t like the sound of that. “But Seven is helping them, right?”
“The last time we spoke, she indicated that she had not been requested for that duty,” Sharak said. “She has confined her efforts to assisting her former friend, Axum.”
“If they didn’t need her, why did they call her back from the Delta Quadrant?” Paris demanded.
“They needed her catoms,” Sharak replied. “Beyond that, I cannot say if her current status is their choice or hers.”
Star Trek: Voyager - 043 - Acts of Contrition Page 17