B’Elanna Torres fought to keep her temper in check.  “Seven, we are not adding a Borg Fornax to the impulse engines.”

 “I do not understand your reluctance.  The Fornax will increase impulse efficiency by forty-seven percent—”

“Efficiency isn’t everything, Seven.”

Seven was taken aback.  Lieutenant Torres said the most bizarre things sometimes.  “What else is there?”

“Seven, the impulse engines aren’t designed to operate at a hundred and forty-seven percent efficiency.  Have you thought about what your Borg afterburner will do to their components?  Or about fuel consumption?  And besides, I don’t even know how the damn thing works.” 

“I will explain.”

“You’ve already explained.  I don’t understand it.  Not even Vorik understands it.  And if we don’t understand it, we can’t repair it if it malfunctions.  I’m not putting anything in my engines that I don’t understand and can’t fix.”

Seven sighed in exasperation.  “Your attitude to Borg technology is irrational.”

“Thank you for your opinion, Seven.  I’ll give it all the consideration it deserves.”

“Unlikely.”

PetaQ!  She almost said it—almost shouted it.  Only the thought of more anger management sessions with Tuvok held her back.  She glared at Seven, who looked back, steadily, impassively.

B’Elanna turned back to the panel she was closing.  Bitch.  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath.  Well, look who’s talking.

“We’re done here,” she said, snapping her toolkit shut.  “Let’s get back to Engineering.”

They crawled back down the Tube.  B’Elanna took the lead, and enjoyed not hearing or seeing Seven of Nine until they emerged in Engineering’s Level One.  She was much calmer as she stood up and dusted herself off.

Seven emerged behind her.  “What is next on the schedule?”

“Recalibrating the Bussard Collectors.”

“That will take at least three hours.  You will require my assistance.”

“Seven, I have plenty of staff—“.

“I suggest you delay for thirty minutes.  I have an appointment with the Doctor for my weekly medical maintenance this afternoon.  I will go to Sickbay now, and we will begin when I return.”

“Fine.  See you in half an hour.”

Seven nodded and turned to leave.  She had taken only a few steps when she stopped and studied her reflection in a wall panel.  Her appearance was imperfect.  She tugged on the sleeves and shoulders of her bodysuit, then reached up and back to adjust her hair twist.

B’Elanna stared.  Seven of Nine, She-Wolf of the Borg, was preening herself for her visit to the Doctor.  B’Elanna crossed her arms and leaned back against a console.

“Seven.”

“Yes,” said Seven, distractedly.

“What are you doing?”

“I am…” What was she doing?  Seven looked over, saw that B’Elanna was looking at her, and dropped her arms to her side.  “I am repairing my appearance.”

“Why?”

“I….” For weeks now, Seven had been making her appearance as pleasing as possible before she saw the Doctor.  Ordinarily, however, she did this in the Cargo Bay, when no one was around to see her.  She suddenly felt foolish and self-conscious.  “I have observed that Voyager’s crew take great pains with their hair and clothing,” she said lamely.

B’Elanna nodded, but said nothing.

“Starfleet uniform regulations are strictly observed.  Neatness and good grooming are encouraged and rewarded”

B’Elanna raised her eyebrows and nodded again, but still said nothing.

Seven flushed.  “Excuse me,” she said, and walked away quickly.

Hah.  It was petty, but it made her feel better.  Seven was easier to take these days, but she could still be infuriating to deal with: when she made up her mind about something and went into Borg mode, there was no reasoning with her.  Resistance was futile.

Crewman Harper came over.  “What was that all about?”

B’Elanna gritted her teeth.  Harper was the biggest gossip in Engineering.  Pretty soon everyone on the ship would know that she’d been fighting with Seven, again.

“Where’s that report on the bioneural relays I asked for, Crewman?”

“Right here, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you.  Dismissed.”

Seven rode the turbolift to Sickbay, slowly recovering from her embarrassment.  She glanced around, discovered she could see herself in the control panel.  She looked closely at her dim reflection.  Her hair was still far from perfect.  She could not possibly let the Doctor see her in this condition.  She was reaching to fix it when the turbolift halted.

The doors opened.  Seven straightened, clasped her hands behind her back, and looked straight ahead.  Ensign Kim boarded the turbolift.

“Hey, Seven.”

“Ensign.”

“Bridge.”  The turbolift resumed its journey.  “Where are you headed?”

“Sickbay.”

“Ah.”

 “I am reporting for my weekly medical maintenance.”

 “Oh, yeah?”

 “It is not a social call.”

“Uh…OK.”

The turbolift arrived.  Seven stepped out, letting the doors close on Harry’s confusion.  She looked up and down the corridor.  No one else was around: she could still make emergency repairs.  But there were no reflective surfaces in sight.

What was it Lieutenant Torres would say?  To hell with it.  She walked into Sickbay.

Strings and woodwinds played softly in a minor key, while a tenor lamented:

Que d’appas!  Que d’attraits!  Sa grace enchanteresse,
M’arrache malgré moi des pleurs et des soupirs!
Dieux!  quel égarement, quelle vaine tendresse.

The Doctor was sitting in his office.  He looked preoccupied and unhappy.

“Doctor?”

He didn’t hear her.

          Ô Vènus, ô mère des plaisirs,
Étouffe dans mon coeur d’inutiles desirs.

She started to walk toward him, and then hesitated.  “Doctor?”

He looked up, startled, and said something she couldn’t hear.  The music stopped.  He smiled, stood up, walked out to meet her.  “Seven!  You’re early.”

“I will be required in Engineering at the hour of my appointment.”

“Well, then, let’s begin.  Sit up on the biobed, please.”  She complied.  He scanned her with a medical tricorder.  “Any problems?”

“None that I’m aware of.”

“How are things in Engineering?”

She considered while he checked the lymph nodes in her neck.  The Doctor encouraged her to complain, but most of her complaints concerned other members of the crew.  She had learned that these needed to be phrased carefully.

“The Chief Engineer does not approve of my plan to augment the impulse engines with Borg technology.”

“Oh?  Well, I’m sure she has her reasons.”

Seven said nothing.  The Doctor raised an eyebrow.  “You two didn’t come to blows over this, did you?”

“No.  Our conflict was strictly verbal.”

“Well, that’s a relief.  Say ‘ah,’ please.”

“Aaahhh.”

“Thank you.”

“What were you listening to, Doctor?”

“Sorry?”

“Just now.  When I came to Sickbay.”

“Oh… a minor work by Rameau.  Have you studied the Baroque period yet?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think?”

“I enjoy it more than many.  It is very…restrained.  Dignified.  Elegant.”

“Do you have a favorite composition?”

“Yes.  ‘La Gamme’ by Marin Marais.”

“ ‘The Scale’?  Sounds very orderly.”

“Yes.  It is subtitled, ‘in the form of a little opera.’”

“I like it already.  Lie back, please.”  He activated the bio-scanner.  “Computer, play ‘La Gamme’ by Marin Marais.”

At first, the Doctor was disappointed: there was no singing; it was a piece of chamber music.  However, it grew on him quickly as he scanned.  “Seven, this is lovely.  You have excellent taste.  What is it you enjoy about this?”

“It ascends and descends the C major scale, with a section of music for each note.  As you say, it is very orderly.”

Captain’s Log, Stardate 53613.7.  We have made contact with a commercial vessel, manned by a race of people calling themselves the Nimians.  The ship’s master, Lume, is an independent merchant and was cautious with us at first: apparently, there’s a great deal of piracy in this sector of space.  However, we’ve managed to establish friendly relations, and we’ve even been able to trade for some raw dilithium. 

 I’ve enjoyed the chance to make first contact with words instead of phaser fire.  The opportunity doesn’t come often here in the Delta Quadrant.

“Well,” said Janeway, “that about covers it.  It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Lume.”

Lume bowed his head.  “And with you, Captain.  Please take care on your journey.  You can’t be too careful in this sector.  This area is full of vultures, vultures everywhere.”

Janeway smiled, stood up and offered her hand.  “We will.  Thank you.  Among my people, it’s customary to say goodbye by shaking hands.  Would you?”

Lume smiled and stood.  “It’s a good custom.  A friendly custom for a friendly people.”  He shook Janeway’s hand, and she was escorting him out of her Ready Room onto the Bridge when he spoke again.  “One more thing, Captain.  I’ve been considering expanding my operations, and your course has taken you through the area of space that I’m interested in.  On the other hand, we Nimians have been exploring and trading in this sector for decades.  I was wondering if you’d be interested in an exchange of star charts?  We have up-to-date maps that include information on all known spatial anomalies, and if I’m going to do business to rimward, I need to know whatever you can tell me.  I especially need to know about any signs of Borg activity.  The Borg can be very bad for business.”

“I’d be happy to help.  Though our charts probably include more information than you need for commercial purposes.”

Lume smiled.  “Are you fishing for a sweetener, Captain?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.  The Federation and Starfleet are committed to the free and open exchange of information and ideas.  Still, our astrometric sensors do require a lot of maintenance…”

“I think really detailed charts would be worth another crystal.  A small one.  I’d want to see them first, of course.”

“Of course.  I think you’ll be pleased.  Janeway to Astrometrics.”

“Astrometrics here.”

“Seven, I’m bringing our guest to the lab to look at our star charts.  I expect you to dazzle him with the detail and precision of our astronomical observations.”

“I will be as dazzling as possible.”

Lume laughed.  “Janeway out.”  She stood and motioned toward the door.  “Shall we?”
 

“OK,” said Harry, later, “looks like they’re clean.  Let’s convert them to Starfleet format.”

Seven of Nine tapped her console, examined the results.  “The Nimian Charts are in a format common to this region of space.  Converting them should not be difficult.”

“Glad to hear it.”  They worked silently for a moment.  Finally, Harry finished and said, “Computer, convert the Nimian star charts.”

CONVERTING.

“Time to completion?”

FIVE MINUTES, THIRTY SECONDS.

Harry stretched and yawned.  “Man, I’m tired.  It’s been a long day.”

Seven stood silent, lost in thought.  Then, she said, “Computer, identify the source of the following passage.”  She pitched her voice low and sang: “Ô Vènus, ô mère des plaisirs, etouffe dans mon coeur d’inutiles desirs.”

“What was that?”

“Something the Doctor was listening to in Sickbay.”

PYGMALION.  A BALLET IN FIVE SCENES.  COMPOSED AD 1748 BY JEAN-PHILIPPE RAMEAU.  LIBRETTO BY BALLOT DE SAUVOT.

“Ballet?” asked Harry.  “Sounded like opera.”

“French composers of this period often combined the two.  Computer, describe the scenario.”

A SCULPTOR, PYGMALION, HAS CARVED A STATUE OF A WOMAN, AND FALLEN IN LOVE WITH HIS OWN CREATION.  AT THE BEGINNING OF SCENE THREE, HE PRAISES THE STATUE’S BEAUTY AND ASKS THE GODDESS VENUS TO STIFLE HIS VAIN DESIRES.

Seven frowned.

Harry didn’t notice.  “I didn’t know you liked French music.  I was playing Boulez’s “Double Shadow Dialogue” just the other day.  Have you heard it?”

“No.”

“It’s a pretty challenging piece for two clarinets, one live, one pre-recorded.  Of course, I—“

CONVERSION COMPLETE.

“OK,” said Harry, “let’s see what we’ve got.”  The Nimian star map filled the Astrometrics viewscreen.  “Hmm,” said Harry, rotating the image, examining some sections closely.  “Not quite up to Starfleet standards, but pretty thorough.  What do you think?”

“They are adequate for navigational purposes.  They will need to be supplemented with observations from the astrometric sensors.”

“Yeah.  Well, my work here is done.  You want to go grab a late-night snack?”

“I do not require—no.  No, thank you.”

“OK.  Good night, Seven.”

“Good night, Ensign.”

Seven continued to study the Nimian astrometric data until Megan Delaney arrived for her duty shift.  Seven returned to Cargo Bay Two, considered regenerating, then went over to her workstation instead.

“Computer.  Display the libretto for Jean-Philippe Rameau’s Pygmalion.”

She read it through quickly.  It was baffling.  Like most of the Doctor’s musical dramas, it made no sense to her at all.

“Computer.  What was the source material for this work?”

OVID. METAMORPHOSES, BOOK TEN.

“Display text.”  She began to read: Quas quia Pygmalion aevum per crimen agents Viderat, offensus vitiis, quae plurima menti Foemina Natura dedit…

B’Elanna reclined against Tom on the couch, enjoying his warmth.  “He still hasn’t said anything to her?”

“Not a word.  I’m sure of it.  More wine?”

“Yes, please.”  She held her glass out.  “You said this is Bajoran?”

“Bajoran spring wine.”

“It’s nice.”

“I thought you’d like it.  I’ll say one thing for the Doc, though; he’s got staying power.  A lesser man would have given up by now.”

“You never gave up.”

“I was highly motivated.  Besides, I said a lesser man.”

“That’s what I love about you, Tom: your modesty.”

“Thanks.  What about Seven?”

“You know,” said B’Elanna, thoughtfully, “I think she’s starting to come around.”

“Yeah?  I know it really shook her when the Doc almost left to join the Qomari.  I think she just took it for granted that he’d always be there.”

“Well, she doesn’t anymore.  I caught her fixing herself in Engineering today, before she went for her check-up.”

“Are you serious?  Miss your-opinion-is-irrelevant?”

B’Elanna sipped her wine.  “Mm-hmm.  And that’s not all.  Have you noticed…”

Seven continued to read, the lines of text flashing by quickly on the monitor.

HIGGINS.  You never asked yourself, I suppose, whether I could do without you.

LIZA [earnestly] Don’t you try to get round me.  You’ll have to do without me.

HIGGINS [arrogant] I can do without anybody.  I have my own soul: my own spark of divine fire.  But [with sudden humility] I shall miss you, Eliza.  [He sits down near her on the ottoman].  I have learnt something from your idiotic notions: I confess that humbly and gratefully.  And I have grown accustomed to your voice and appearance.  I like them, rather.

LIZA.  Well, you have both of them on your gramophone and in your book of photographs.  When you feel lonely without me, you can turn the machine on.  It’s got no feelings to hurt.

HIGGINS.  I can’t turn your soul on.  Leave me those feelings; and you can take away the voice and the face.  They are not you.

Seven’s eyes widened.

Tom laughed.  “You’re kidding!”

“No, really.  Watch for it the next time you see them together.”

“Well.  Looks like the Doctor’s persistence is paying off.”

B’Elanna scowled.  “I hope so.  She seriously needs to relax.”

“Oh?”  Tom nuzzled her neck.  “How about you?”

“Well…I have been feeling a little tense lately.”

“Anything I can do?”

“What did you have in mind, Ensign?”

“Oh…this.”

“Mmm.  That’s a good start.”

“And this.”

“Even better.”

“How about this?”

B’Elanna growled softly.

Seven switched off the monitor, and stood there.  She was having difficulty ordering her thoughts.  Finally, she decided that what she needed was to regenerate.  She set her alcove, stepped into position, and slipped into dormancy.

The next morning, B’Elanna stared at a readout, trying to burn holes in it with her eyes.  It had been a frustrating day.  And it was still just starting.

“Come on,” she said, tapping her finger on the console.  “Come on!  Oh, for God’s sake, Computer, end task!”

TASK ENDED.

“Computer, run a level three diagnostic on the engineering sub-processor.”

WORKING.

“Lieutenant Torres.”

B’Elanna shut her eyes.  Oh, no.  “It’s your day off, Seven.  Captain Janeway has talked to you about this.”

“Many times.  I am not here to work.  I would like to have a word with you.”

“I’m a little busy right now.  Is it important?”

“Yes.  No.  It—it is a personal matter.”

B’Elanna turned and stared.  “A what?”

“A personal matter.”

“Seven, do I look like the Ship’s Counsellor to you?”

“No.”

B’Elanna blinked.  “Why don’t you take your personal matter to the Doctor, or the Captain?”

“I require your unique insight.”

Was Seven making fun of her?  B’Elanna looked at her closely for a moment, then turned back to her workstation.  The diagnostic was in progress: she couldn’t do any work until she had found and fixed the problem with the computer…

“Please, Lieutenant.”

B’Elanna turned back to Seven, somewhat surprised.  She couldn’t remember Seven ever saying please for anything.

“All right.”  Then, noticing that Crewman Harper was working nearby, she stood and said, “let’s go up to Level Two.”

They rode the lift up in silence, and walked aft.  “All right,” said B’Elanna, “what’s the problem?”

“I am—.”  Seven hesitated.

“Well?”

“I am in love.”

For a moment, B’Elanna said nothing.  “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I have—‘fallen in love’.  I have developed romantic feelings for another member of Voyager’s crew.”

“I see.  Who’s the lucky—crewmember?”

“It is—it is the Doctor.”

“Oh.  Well, that’s a relief.”

“Explain.”

“Seven, the Doctor’s crazy about you.  He has been for months.  Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

“I—have noticed certain changes in his behavior.  But I was unsure.”

“Well, be sure.”

“What should I do?” 

What is this—Ask Aunt B’Elanna?  “Look, Seven, I really don’t think I should be giving you advice on your love life.  Wouldn’t you rather talk to the Captain about this?

“Please, Lieutenant.  I am—embarrassed.  It is easier to talk to you about this.  You are my colleague”

B’Elanna took a deep breath.  “OK, fine.”

“How should I proceed?”

“That depends.  The two of you will have to talk about this.  You can’t go on the way you have.”  She thought for a moment.  “Do you want to pursue some kind of relationship with him?”

“Yes.  No.”

“Well?”

“The prospect of a romantic relationship with the Doctor is—daunting. But also very—appealing.”

B’Elanna nodded.  “That sounds about right.  All I can say is, you’re going to have to make the first move.  The Doctor won’t do anything unless he gets a loud and clear signal from you first.”

“Explain.”

“He’s convinced you don’t want him.  Did you say something to him about finding no compatible mates on Voyager?”

“Yes.  At the end of my social lessons on…“

“Seven?”

“That is when it occurred.  When he…“

“Yes.”

“I never considered the Doctor, then.”

“Well, good.  It wouldn’t have been appropriate.  Things are a little different now.  But he’s convinced that you’re happy with the way things are, and he’s been suffering nobly for a long time now.  Well, not so nobly, sometimes.”

“Was he going to leave Voyager because of me?”

B’Elanna was a little taken aback.  “You mean, to go to Qomar?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know.  I suppose…his feelings for you might have had something to do with it.”

“He said it was his chance to find love.  I thought he meant the adulation of his ‘fans.’  I never thought—“

“Seven?  Are you all right?”

She wiped at her eyes.  “My ocular implant must be malfunctioning.”

B’Elanna stood quietly and let Seven wipe her eyes.

Finally, Seven spoke again.  “What should I say to him?”

B’Elanna shook her head.  “I don’t know.  I’m really not very good at this kind of thing, Seven.  I haven’t had many partners.”

“How did you proceed with Ensign Paris?”

“Uh—I really don’t think you want to try something like that.  Tom and I were adrift in space with our oxygen running out.  I thought we were about to suffocate, so I just blurted out that I loved him.  I don’t even remember exactly what I said.”

“I understand he pursued you for quite some time.” 

“Yes.  Yes, he did.  I didn’t make it easy for him.”

“Why did you relent?”

“Well—I thought we were going to die, Seven.  I had to say something.  I couldn’t die without letting him know how I felt.”

Seven said nothing.

“Look, just don’t wait too long, OK?  This is hurting him, and it looks like its hurting you.  Don’t wait till your dying breath like I did.”

“I will see him today.”

B’Elanna smiled.  “That’s the spirit.  Tell him resistance is futile.”

Seven smiled back.  “I will.  Thank you, Lieutenant.  You have been very helpful.”

“Yes, well, don’t make a habit of it, OK?”

“I won’t.”

They rode the lift back down together.  Seven walked out of Engineering.  B’Elanna looked at the workstation she had been using, and frowned.  The level-three diagnostic was still in progress.

 “Lieutenant—“

“Harper, the auxiliary plasma vents need to be purged.  See to it, will you?”

“Now?”

“Now.”

A little while later, Seven was walking nervously toward Sickbay, wondering what she was going to say, wondering why she was so anxious.  She spoke with the Doctor almost every day.  She enjoyed speaking with the Doctor.  Why was this so different?  Why was this so difficult?

I will adapt, she told herself sternly.

Her resolution took her as far as the Sickbay doors, where she stopped.  She cleared her throat, adjusted her bodysuit.  She had taken the precaution of wearing her plum-colored suit, the one the Doctor had remarked upon: you look especially lovely today, he had said.  She tried to walk forward, tried again, failed.  Her hands balled into fists.  She took a deep breath.

“Lieutenant Torres?”

“Yes?  What is it, Nicoletti?”

“Did you start a level three diagnostic of the engineering computer?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the program’s not responding.”

B’Elanna stared.  “The diagnostic program’s not responding?”

Nicoletti held up her hands in helpless frustration.  “I can’t even stop it, it’s completely frozen.”

Something was seriously wrong.  “All right, let’s check--.” 

The lights turned red and the containment alarm went off.

“Emergency shutdown! Get the warp core off-line,” yelled B’Elanna.  “Move!”

This is ridiculous, thought Seven.  She squared her shoulders and strode into Sickbay.

It was empty.  The Doctor was inactive.  She felt both disappointment and relief.  She had a little more time to consider her words.

Why is the Doctor off-line? she wondered. 

“Whoa…” said Tom: the helm display had just gone blank.  “What the hell?”

Captain Janeway frowned.  “Tom?”

“Captain…”

Displays and consoles went dark around the Bridge.  On the view screen, the stars were no longer streaking past.  Voyager was dropping out of warp.

“The warp field has collapsed,” said Chakotay.  “Engineering, report!”

“Main computer is off-line,” said Tuvok.

“Manual overrides!” Janeway shouted, leaping to her feet.

Seven took another moment to collect herself, then, “Computer, activate the EMH.”

Nothing happened. 

“Computer?  Activate the EMH!”

Still no response.  Seven checked the Sickbay workstation.  It was dark.  What was happening?

Torres hit her combadge.  “Engineering here.  Our computers have crashed.  I’ve shut down the warp core and switched to auxiliary power.”

On the Bridge, Tuvok’s fingers flew over his console.  “Restarting main computer in safe mode.”  He paused.  “No response.  BIOS is down.  Activating emergency diagnostic unit.”

“Is it a virus?”

“Stand by…Yes.  It appears that every primary system has been infected.”

The Captain looked grim.  “All hands, battle stations.  Information warfare protocols.”

Chakotay nodded.  “Status reports, all decks!”

Informationwarfare?  Back in Sickbay, Seven felt a surge of anxiety.  The Doctor’s holomatrix was only a complicated piece of software.  If his program had been affected….

“Sickbay, report.”

“Seven of Nine to the Bridge.  I am in Sickbay.  Sickbay computers are off-line.  The Doctor is off-line.  Stand by.”

Seven reached down, pulled out the EMH backup module, and carried to the Doctor’s office.  She took the Doctor’s mobile emitter from its container and inserted it into its slot on the backup module.

“Download.” 

When the module indicated the download was complete, she removed the mobile emitter and held it out at arm’s length. 

“Activate EMH.” 

The Doctor appeared at her fingertips.  “Pleasepleaseplease state the naaaaaaaa….” He sputtered and dematerialized.

Doctor!

“Seven, what’s happening down there?”

Seven stared helplessly at the mobile emitter.  “Commander, both the Doctor and his backup have been compromised.  I can’t activate either of them.”

“Status,” said Janeway.

“All decks have reported in,” said Chakotay.  “Computer failure is ship-wide.  Warp core is off-line.  EMH is off-line.  We’re running on auxiliary power.  No casualties.”

“I have identified the source of the infection,” said Tuvok.  “It is the astrometric sub-processor.”

“Astrometrics?”  Janeway thought for a second.  “The Nimian star charts!”

“Picking up a ship approaching on long-range sensors,” said Harry

Nowwhat, thought Janeway.  “Can you identify it?” 

“Just a moment.”  He slowly made the adjustments that the computer would have made in a second.  Finally, he looked up.  “It’s the Nimian ship.”

There was a pause.  “I believe,” said Tuvok, “we have found the vector for our computer virus.”

Janeway’s jaw tightened.  “Time to intercept?”

“About thirty minutes,” said Harry.

They had a little time.  “Engineering, Sickbay, listen in.  All right, what are our options?”

Harry shook his head.  “There’s no way we can retrieve everything before the Nimians arrive.”

“I concur,” said Tuvok.  “Standard procedure is to discard all the corrupted files and replace them with secure copies.  However, the loss of the BIOS complicates matters.  It will take approximately three hours to complete the replacements.”

“The Doctor,” said Seven.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow.  “Correct.  We do not have a secure copy of the Doctor: since we allowed his personality to develop, we have relied instead on his backup module.”

Janeway started to pace.  “What are our capabilities?”

“We can’t go to warp,” said B’Elanna.  “I can’t maintain a stable warp field without the main computer.  We have impulse engines and auxiliary power.”

“We can fly the ship manually,” said Tom,  “but with the autopilot off-line, she’ll be slow and clumsy.  Don’t ask for too many attack patterns or evasive maneuvers.”

Janeway stroked her throat.  “Defensive systems?”

“We can raise shields,” said Tuvok, “but they will fail quickly without the computer to redistribute them.  Similarly, we can fire phasers and photon torpedoes, but accuracy will suffer without computerized fire control.”

“We’re sitting ducks,” said Chakotay.

Harry frowned.  “I still don’t see how this weapon got past our antiviral software.  Seven and I scanned those files thoroughly.”

“Starfleet is much too impressed with its information defenses,” said Seven.  “The adaptive algorithms you employ to anticipate and forestall potential threats are efficient, but far from perfect.”

“Agreed,” said Chakotay.  “The Maquis used an Obsidian Order toolkit to break into Starfleet’s computers on a number of occasions.”

“I’ve done it myself,” said B’Elanna.

Janeway was a little surprised and unsettled by this.  She sometimes forgot that her First Officer and Chief Engineer had a past.  “Let’s stay focused.  What can we do?”

“We cannot escape,” said Tuvok.  “We can fight, but we will probably be defeated.  We can attempt to negotiate.  We can surrender…”

“No. Unacceptable.”

“Captain,” said Seven, “I have another alternative.”

“Go ahead.”

“I can take the place of the main computer.”

There was a surprised pause.  “Explain.” 

“After we were contacted by Starfleet Command, the Doctor investigated the service record of Lieutenant Reginald Barclay and shared his findings with me.  On Stardate 44704.2, while under the influence of an alien probe, Lieutenant Barclay constructed an interface that allowed him to link his brain directly to the main computer of the USS Enterprise.”

Janeway nodded.  “I’ve heard of that incident.  That was how the Federation made first contact with the Cytherians.”

“Correct.  Later, on Stardate 46271.5, the Enterprise’s Chief Engineer and the android Lieutenant-Commander Data experimented with a similar interface, to allow Data’s positronic brain to act as an emergency backup in the event of a ship wide systems failure.  I have studied their results.  I believe we can connect my cortical node to the ship and use it to operate key systems until the main computer is back online.”

“Seven, “ asked Chakotay, “how exactly are we supposed to connect your cortical node with the ship’s systems?”

“You must reactivate my cervical socket.”

Captain Janeway looked appalled.  “Your what?”

“The input/output port embedded in the back of my neck.”

“Oh—I thought—never mind.  Continue.” 

“My cervical socket will allow you to access my cortical node and download whatever software you require.  It will then allow my cortical node to operate ship systems as if it were the ship’s computer.  My cortical node does not have the power of the main computer’s processor, or even Commander Data’s neural network; but it should be able to sustain warp drive, autopilot, shields, and weapons.”

“Should?” said B’Elanna.  “Seven, have you tested this idea at all?”

“No.  However, my cervical socket was designed for such purposes, and I used it on a number of occasions when I was drone.  I am confident that my plan will succeed.  I will require Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Paris to assist me in Sickbay.”

“Captain, said B’Elanna, “I’m opposed to this.  Tom and I aren’t qualified to work with Borg cyber technology.  The only person who is qualified is off-line.  If something goes wrong, I’m not sure we’ll be able to diagnose the problem, let alone correct it.”

The Captain nodded.  “Tom?”

“I agree with B’Elanna.  Seven’s cortical node is more than just an onboard computer: she needs it to regulate her remaining implants.  If anything goes wrong, the consequences could be life threatening.  I’d be a lot happier with this plan if the Doctor was holding the laser scalpel.”

“Your concerns are unwarranted,” said Seven.  “The interface will be a simple procedure.  ‘If anything goes wrong,’ you can disconnect me.  In any case, there is more at stake here than my life.”
 
“All right, Seven.”  The Captain turned to Tuvok.  “What are our chances against the Nimians with the main computer down?”

“Poor.  The Nimian vessel is heavily armed.  It will defeat us easily.”

“And if we go with Seven’s plan?”

Tuvok considered.  “If the interface works as she predicts, the odds in our favor will improve dramatically.”

“Chakotay?”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice.  We can’t run, and we can’t fight the Nimians with manual controls.  If Seven’s plan works, we have a chance.  If it doesn’t, we’re no worse off than we are now.”

“Agreed.  Tom, B’Elanna, go to Sickbay and hook up Seven.  Chakotay, Harry, you concentrate on retrieving the Doctor’s holomatrix.  The quicker we get him back online, the safer for all of us.  Dismissed.  Ensign Jenkins to the Bridge.”

Tom hurried away.  Chakotay joined Harry at Operations.  “Where do we start?”

“Well, here’s what the Emergency Diagnostic says.”

Chakotay studied the readout.  “That looks bad.”

“Yeah.  But the good news is, the EMH holomatrix was designed to be self-repairing.  The first steps will be the hardest: once we get him back on his feet, he’ll be able to retrieve himself faster than we can retrieve him.”

“Physician, heal thyself?”

“Exactly.”

“OK, then, let’s start with something simple.  Here: the basic heuristic algorithms.”

“Beginning disinfection.”

Seven sat on the biobed, watching Lieutenant Torres prepare a portable workstation.  Ensign Paris was behind her, getting ready to expose her cervical socket.  Torres was visibly upset.

“Lieutenant.”

“What?”

“You are still opposed to this procedure.”

“Yes.”

“Because you don’t understand it and can’t fix it.”

“Something like that.”

Tom spoke as he attached a cortical monitor to her temple.  “We’re just worried, Seven, that’s all.  Neither of us has ever done anything like this, and these aren’t exactly ideal circumstances.”

Seven thought for a moment.  “Do not worry.  You are both highly efficient officers, and my cervical socket is a proven piece of technology.  The Borg have employed it, with only minor modifications, for over a century.”

“If you say so.  Can you feel this?”

“No.”

Tom sighed.  “OK.  I’m making the incision.” 

 “Captain,” said Tuvok, “the Nimian ship is hailing us.”

 “Onscreen.”

Lume’s face filled the view screen.  “Captain Janeway!  I’m so pleased to see you again!”

“Mister Lume.  You’re off course.”

“Yes, luckily for you.  Our sensors indicate that you’re having some difficulties with your computer.”

“It’s nothing serious.”

“Really?  From where I sit, you seem to be adrift.  Why don’t I transport some of my crew to your vessel—to help with repairs.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Lume’s smile broadened.  “I insist.”

B’Elanna finished aligning the optical impulse pin, and pressed the socket’s activation switch.  It clicked.  A tiny green telltale lit up.  It was active.  She set down her tools, plugged one end of an input/output cord into her workstation, and compared the other to the hole in the back of Seven’s neck.

“Seven,” she said, “the plug won’t fit: the socket isn’t large enough.”

“It will adapt.  Press the plug firmly against the socket and stand by.”

B’Elanna stood by.  Suddenly, the socket grabbed the plug and sucked it in. Oh, God!  B’Elanna jerked her hand back.  She felt slightly ill.  The plug snicked into place.

“OK, you’re…you’re connected.”  B’Elanna turned to the workstation and tapped out a series of commands.  “Establishing computer linkup.”  Borg computer language flowed across the screen.  “Interface complete.”

“Load and run the control systems software,” said Seven.

“Downloading.”

Seven winced.  Something was wrong.  She should not be experiencing discomfort.

“Everything all right, Seven?”  Tom opened a medical tricorder and scanned her.

“Yes.”

“Download complete,” said B’Elanna.  Her finger hesitated over the ENABLE button.

“I am ready,” said Seven.  “Begin.”

She gasped.  Her mouth and eyes opened wide.

“Really, Mister Lume, we don’t require your assistance.  We’re merely studying some nearby gaseous anomalies.”

“Captain, let’s drop the pretences, shall we?”

“All right.  You first.  Is piracy your chief occupation, or just a sideline?”

“Piracy is such an ugly word, Captain.  We’re in the salvage business.  We’re just a little more pro-active than most dealers.  But to answer your question, it’s our chief occupation.  And a very profitable one, at that.”

“Risky, though.”

“Yes.  But as you’ve discovered, we’ve become experts at risk management.”

Seven of Nine was Voyager.  She and the ship were one.

She was powerful, and beautiful.  Her skin was smooth, and stronger than steel.  Energy surged through her conduits.  Information flowed through her bioneural circuitry.

She was a goddess.  Lightning flashed from her eyes, and her voice could be heard across the cosmos.  She could fly between the stars, and destroy whole worlds.

And yet—

She was bound, helpless, utterly at the mercy of her crew.  She couldn’t speak.  She couldn’t move. 

She was a slave.

Adrone.

“…trembling.”

It was exhilarating and terrifying.

“Seven?”

From across a far distance, she heard them.

“Seven what’s wrong?”

Seven seemed to come back to them.  She blinked, trying to focus her eyes.

“Where were you just now?” asked B’Elanna.  Tom was examining the readouts from her cortical monitor.

“I…I am experiencing some unexpected sensations.  I am fine.  Are the programs running?”

“Yes.”

“Then we should proceed.”

“Captain,” said Lume, still smiling, “I’ll make you a deal.  I was going to sell your crew to the Mag’reshi, but it’s really your ship I want.   You and your crew are free to go.  Take your escape pods and whatever you can carry.”

“That’s a generous offer.  Pity I can’t accept it.”

“Captain, be reasonable.”

“Worried about your profit margin?”

“Not at all.  I can make a profit selling Voyager for scrap.”

“I’m glad you won’t go to all this trouble for nothing.”

Lume stopped smiling.  “I don’t enjoy killing, Captain.  Don’t force me to kill you.”

“Shut him off.”  Lume’s face vanished, replaced by the star field.

“The Nimian ship is approaching weapons range.  They are powering meson beam projectors and arming tachyon missiles.”

“Shields,” said Janeway.  “Ready phasers.”

“Sickbay to Bridge.”

“Report.”

“We’re up and running here, Captain.”

“Tuvok?”

“Shield control is on-line.  Fire control is on-line.”

“Helm on-line,” said Jenkins.

“Engineering to Bridge.  The engineering computers are back on-line.  We are restarting the warp core.”

“Skip the checklist, Nicoletti.  We need warp drive now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Full impulse.  Evasive maneuvers.  Chakotay?”

“It’s coming along faster than we expected, Captain.  We should have the Doctor back on-line shortly.”

“Hurry.  We’re going to need him soon.”

“The Nimian ship is firing,“ said Tuvok.

The ship rocked as a meson beam hit the shields and exploded.  In Sickbay, Seven gasped again and doubled over, clutching herself.

The pain!

The meson beam had cut her like a whip.

Her.  Voyager.
 

“Seven?  Seven!  Come on, sit up—there, we go…”

Seven looked confused, uncomprehending. 

“What happened?” asked B’Elanna.

Tom scanned Seven again with his tricorder, making slow circles around her head with the feinberg.  “I’m not sure.”

“Tom, she’s bleeding!”

Blood was dripping out of Seven’s left nostril, down her lips and chin and onto her clothing.

“Shields are down to ninety-four percent.”  The Bridge crew was thrown to one side by another hit.  A science panel exploded in a shower of sparks.  “Eighty-three percent.”

“Return fire,” snarled Janeway.  “Full phasers.  Arm photon torpedoes.”

“Returning fire.” 

“Engineering to Bridge.  The warp core is on-line.”

“Helm.  Warp nine.  Engage.”

Voyager shot ahead at warp nine.  The Nimian ship pursued immediately, firing a volley of tachyon missiles at its prey.

In Sickbay, B’Elanna felt the ship surge into high warp, and then was thrown against the biobed as the Nimian missiles hit the shields.  What the hell is happening?  She was suddenly furious: she should be in Engineering, not in Sickbay wiping Seven’s bloody nose.

Seven was groaning in pain.  B’Elanna’s anger disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Seven looked awful.  Blood was now oozing from both her nostrils.

“Tom!”  She held a cloth to Seven’s nose, pinching it shut.  “What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know!”  Tom loaded a hypo spray, gave Seven an injection, and went back to scanning.  “I can’t find a cause.  There must be something wrong with the interface.”

“Damn it!  Qu’vatlh!”  I knew we were going to botch this.  I knew it.  “I’m pulling the plug.”

“No!”  Seven grabbed at the collar of B’Elanna’s jumpsuit, pulling her back from the workstation. 

“Seven!”

“You must not disconnect me!  Voyager will be destroyed!”

“Seven,” said Tom, “Seven, this is killing you!”

“My life is irrelevant.  The Collective must survive.  Voyager m—oh!”  Voyager shuddered from another direct hit.  Seven doubled over again, wracked with pain.  She struggled to breathe.

She was wounded.  Voyager was wounded.

The explosions of the Nimian weapons burned her like fire, a fire hotter than the heart of a sun.

The pain!

“Easy, easy.”  Tom helped her down onto her side.  She was gasping for air.  He gave her another injection.  The ship was hit again, knocking Tom and B’Elanna off balance.  Seven curled into a fetal position and screamed.

“Firing torpedoes.”  Tuvok studied the results.  “Three direct hits.  Their shields are weakening.”

“Fire at will!”

“Firing.”

“Tom!”  B’Elanna looked desperate.

“B’Elanna—Paris to Kim!”

“Kim here.”

“Harry, we could really use the Doctor down here!”

“Almost there.  Stand by.”

“Ensign Paris!”

Tom looked up.  Four crewmen were carrying in a fifth: his face and uniform were torn and bloody.  Tom looked desperately back and forth, from Seven to the wounded crewman.  Then he grabbed the med kit and hurried away.  “B’Elanna, watch her!”

“Tom?  Tom, I’m not a nurse, I don’t know—“

“Lieu—tenant.”  Seven had rolled onto her back and was staring blindly up at the ceiling.

B’Elanna wiped Seven’s face and took her hand.  “You’re going to be all right.  You’re doing fine.”

Voyager was rocked again.  Seven grimaced, rising to a half-sitting position.  Suddenly, B’Elanna’s hand felt like it was caught in a shuttle hatch.  “Oh God, Seven, my hand!”  She tried to pull herself free.  “Let go, let go!”

Seven fell back and released her grip.  B’Elanna cradled her injured hand. Stupid, stupid, what was I thinking.

Seven blinked at Torres, trying to focus.  Her eyes were bright red.  “You are—you are damaged.”

“No, I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

“Lieutenant.  You must—restrain me.”

“It’s all right, really.”

“No.  I’m afraid—I may try to disconnect myself.”

“Seven—”

“Lieutenant, please.”

B’Elanna turned.  “Tom?” she called, desperately.  More casualties were coming in.  Tom was treating a horrible-looking burn case; he didn’t hear her.  She turned back.  Seven looked up at her from the biobed, pleading.

“All right.  All right, Seven.”  She activated the bed’s restraining field.

Another hit.  Seven fought against the force field and screamed.  Blood trickled from between her eyelids.

“Shields down to thirty-four percent.  Hull breach on deck eight.”

“Keep firing.  Reverse angle.”

The Nimian ship was continuing to close.  It yawed suddenly, as one of Voyager’s torpedoes exploded against its shields, but quickly straightened itself.  Its missiles stretched out for Voyager.

“That’s it!”  Harry slapped his combadge.  “Kim to Sickbay.  The Doctor is on-line!”

B’Elanna jumped to her workstation, entered and enabled the necessary commands.  “Come on,” she snarled, “COME ON!”

The Doctor materialized. 

In Seven’s mind, a bright point of light appeared.  She felt him, within.

“Please state the nature of the—.”  The Doctor stumbled as Voyager shook.  “—Medical emergency.”  He looked around, confused, alarmed.  Sickbay was full of casualties.  Were they in a space battle?  Why hadn’t he been activated before now?

“Doctor!”

He saw B’Elanna and Seven, Seven, writhing on the biobed, weeping blood.  He started toward her, then hesitated, his triage subroutines taking over: so many burned and wounded…

Tom waved him away.  “Go, Doc!  I’ve got this!”

He rushed to Seven’s bedside.  “What’s going on here?”

B’Elanna explained as quickly as she could.  The Doctor studied Seven’s cervical socket and the readings from her cortical monitor.  “All right.  Hand me the—hand me that instrument there.”

“Doc…tor.”

Seven?

The Doctor shook his head, as if to clear it.  “Keep still, Seven.  I’m adjusting your cervical socket.”

“Do not…do not…disconn…“

“Keep still.”

She felt him, within.

Doctor—the pain—

Hold on, Seven.

I can’t—

Yes, you can.

I’m failing—I’m—

You’re not failing.  Hold on, Seven.  Hold on to me.

She felt him, within.  He was bright, and warm.  She reached out to him with her mind.  His brightness and warmth suffused her, enveloped her.

Hold on to me.

She held on.

And then—

It was gone.  The pain was gone, then the memory of the pain.  Seven began to panic: had they disconnected her?  No.  The plug was still there, in the back of her neck.  She relaxed.  She still felt the ship’s systems, in her mind, but they were distant, separate, no longer a part of her.

Her vision cleared.  The Doctor and Lieutenant Torres swam into focus, looking down at her.  The Doctor was closer.  He was performing repairs to her eyes.

“Doctor.” 

He finished his work and smiled at her.  “Any discomfort?”

“No.”  She blinked and sniffed, wiped her nose with her hand: it came away bloody.  Blood was drying black on her face, in her hair, on her plum-colored suit, the one the Doctor liked.  “I apologize for my appearance.”

“Here,” he said, picking up the sonic scrubber, “let me.  Close your eyes.”  He waved the scrubber back and forth; the blood puffed into dust and vanished.  “Good as new.”

“Thank you.”  She tried to open her eyes again, but couldn’t quite manage it.  All of a sudden, she was extremely tired.

Voyager shuddered again.  “Doc,” called Tom.

The Doctor looked up.  Another crewman was being helped into Sickbay: the man had a tourniquet tied tight around his upper thigh; his trouser leg was soaked and a reddish piece of bone was poking through the fabric.

 “Seven, I have other patients to attend to.  Call me if the pain returns.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Doctor,” said B’Elanna, “I should be in Engineering.”

“Yes.  No.  Wait.”  He took her by the wrist.  She winced.  “What happened?” he asked, scanning her injured hand.

“A…door,” she said.  “It’s nothing serious—“

“Sit down there until I finish with Crewman Jalal.”

“Doctor—“

“Now, Lieutenant.”  He turned his back on her and went to treat Jalal’s broken femur.

Torres was about to disobey when the Captain’s voice came over the intercom.  “All hands, stand down from red alert.”

The Nimian ship must have broken off pursuit.  B’Elanna huffed, pushed her hair from her face, and finally sat down, nursing her hand.

It had been a frustrating day.

The Doctor checked the readout on Seven’s alcove.  Good: her regeneration cycle was proceeding normally.  A scan with his medical tricorder told him that her vital signs were normal as well.  He folded the instrument and looked up at her face.  She looked peaceful, unmarked by the day’s events.  He looked down at her hand, the left one closest to him, the one with the exoskeleton, her Borg hand.  He wanted desperately to touch her, to hold her hand: he even started to stretch out his own.  Then, he checked himself, sighed, and gently took her wrist instead, checking her pulse.  Normal. 

Ô Vènus, he thought sadly, ô mère des plaisirs, etouffe dans mon coeur d’inutiles desirs. 

There was no reason for him to remain.  He left the Cargo Bay.

As he walked down the corridor to the turbo lift, he met Tom and B’Elanna coming the opposite way.

“Doc,” said Tom, “we were just coming to see you. How is she?”

“She’s regenerating.  She’s going to be fine.  She just needs rest.”

“Great.  She really scared us back there.”

“So,” said B’Elanna, “what did I do wrong?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The problem was with her cervical socket, wasn’t it?  I connected her.  I must have done something wrong.  Was the optical impulse pin misaligned?”

“No, Lieutenant, the pin was aligned properly.  You did an excellent job.  You both did an excellent job.”

“Well—what, then?”

“The problem wasn’t with the socket: the problem was with Seven.  Had she still been a drone, her plan would have worked perfectly.  Unfortunately, Seven sometimes forgets that she’s no longer a Borg drone.  The socket hadn’t been activated since we severed her link to the Collective.  It required extensive adjustment to adapt it to her altered physiology.  I could have told her that, if she’d asked me before proposing her little scheme.”

“You were kind of unavailable, Doc,” said Tom.

“Yes.”  He looked miserable.

“Well,” said Tom, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “I’m exhausted.  I need to do some regenerating myself.  B’Elanna?”

“Good night, Doctor.”

“Good night, Lieutenant.  Ensign.”

The Doctor had taken only a few steps when he heard B’Elanna call to him.  “Doctor?”

“Yes?”

“Did Seven get a chance to speak to you before your program went off-line?”

“I don’t think so.  I don’t remember her coming to Sickbay.  Was it important?”

She shook her head.  “I couldn’t say.  If it was, I’m sure she’ll mention it.”

Time passed.  Voyager’s corrupted computer programs were retrieved or replaced.  Log entries were made, and the ship continued its long journey home through the Delta Quadrant.

“Lieutenant Torres.”

B’Elanna looked up from the engineering station where she and Harper were working.  “Seven.”

“I wanted to thank you for your assistance during our recent conflict with the Nimians.  You were efficient, as always.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I also wish to discuss the Fornax.”

B’Elanna sighed.  “Seven—“

“I was wrong.  I conducted some simulations, and found that prolonged use of the Fornax caused serious damage to many of the impulse engine’s components.  Also—.”  She paused.  “I now realize that it would not be wise to install a system that only one crewmember is qualified to repair.  Your attitude was not irrational.  I apologize.”

“Oh.  Well.”  B’Elanna had never been good at accepting apologies.  “It might be useful.  For emergencies.”

Seven held out a padd.  “You may review my findings if you wish.”

“Thanks.  I’ll have a look.”

Seven started to leave, then stopped.  “Lieutenant?

“Yes?”

“Thank you also for your assistance with…that other matter.  I believe I know how to proceed.”

“Glad I could help.  Good luck.”

Seven left.  Torres went back to work at the console.  After a moment, she looked over at Harper.  “Well?”

“I didn’t say a word!”

“Good girl.”

The Doctor walked toward Cargo Bay Two, humming, smiling and nodding to the crewmembers he passed.

“Jalal!  How’s your leg?”

“Fine, Doctor.  Thank you.”

“Good, good.  Stay off the cricket pitch for a few more days, though.”

“I will, Doctor.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be batting a century in no time.”

The Doctor had good reason to be happy.  Seven had regenerated for three whole days after the Nimian incident, and missed their weekly singing session.  However, she had said she was looking forward to seeing him tonight, when her work in Astrometrics was complete.  He arrived, and was about to signal for admission when he paused, listening.  He could hear Seven warming up through the door.  His smile broadened.  He pressed the doorbell.

The doors opened.  Seven put down a padd and stood at ease as he walked in.  The Doctor noticed she was wearing a new plum-colored suit: he’d always thought that color looked especially good on her. “Doctor,” she said.  “Good evening.”

“Good evening!” he replied.  “Shall we get started?”

“In a moment,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Yes.  Before we start, I would—like to thank you.  For your assistance during our recent conflict during the Nimians.”  Behind her back, where the Doctor couldn’t see, her hands were clasped tightly together.  She hoped her trembling wasn’t visible.

If he had noticed either her trembling, or her hesitation speaking, he gave no sign.  “You’re welcome.  Any time.  Well—hopefully, not soon.”

She smiled slightly.  “Agreed.”  She paused.  The Doctor raised his eyebrows.  She took a deep breath, wondering, not for the first time, why this was so difficult.

“Doctor, there is something I would like to share with you.”

“Please.”  He looked suddenly concerned.  “Is something wrong?”

“No.  No, you—you have encouraged me to—cultivate an emotional response to music.  To identify pieces that make a strong impression on me, and express what I am feeling.”

“Yes?”

“I have found such a piece.  A song.  An air, from a ballet.  I would like to sing it for you.”

“That’s wonderful!  I’d love to hear it!  Anything I know?”

“Yes.  Yes, I believe you know it quite well.”

“Really?  I’m all ears.”

“Very well.  There is a certain amount of physical performance involved.  Do not be alarmed.”

“As you said, it’s from a ballet.”  He stood waiting, expectantly, eagerly.

“Yes.”  She assumed the stance she took when she was regenerating, with her arms by her sides, closed her eyes, and took another deep breath.  “Computer,” she said, “begin playback.”

A single flute, some strings, the tinkling of a harpsichord.  It took the Doctor a few seconds to recognize the music.  Then, his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.  Rameau. Pygmalion.  Scene Three.

Que d’appas! sang the unhappy sculptor, Que d’attraits!  Sa grace enchanteresse,
M’arrache malgré moi des pleurs et des soupirs!

He was horrified.  She was going to sing the Statue’s part for him. 

Oh, no.  Oh, Seven, why?  Why this?

Sickbay.  He’d been listening to it in Sickbay, when she’d walked in unexpectedly.  She’d heard it, and assumed it was one of his favorites.

Oh, Seven.

He closed his eyes.  He felt like he’d been stabbed.  He opened his eyes again, and steeled himself to listen.  Seven had learned to sing this air for him.  She thought she was thanking him, giving him a gift.  She couldn’t have known what this music meant to him.

Seven opened her eyes, took a deep breath, raised her arms, and looked at her hands in surprise.  Pygmalion was singing, what marvel is this, what god, in what power are my senses ravished by a dream, as the statue came to life.  The Doctor suddenly remembered that Annika Hansen had wanted to be a ballerina when she grew up.

Seven spread her arms toward the cargo bay walls, looked around in wonder, and began to sing. 

Que vois-je?  Où suis-je?
Et qu’est-ce que je pense?
D’où me viennent ces mouvements?

Her singing was flawless.  The Doctor blinked back tears, regretting the modifications he had made to his emotional subroutines.

On and on she sang, asking, what was she to believe, and what power enabled her to express her feelings?  Then, while Pygmalion was calling on Venus, she turned and looked at the Doctor, surprise on her face.

Ciel!  quel objet?  Mon âme en est ravie;
Je goûte en le voyant le plaisir le plus doux,
Ah! Je sens que les dieux qui me donnent la vie
Ne me le donnet que pour vous.

Forme alone, thought the Doctor.  Oh, Seven…

She held out her arms to him, singing, how happy she was, to see in his eyes what she felt in her soul.  As she sang, she felt a sudden uneasiness.  The Doctor looked unhappy.  What was wrong?  He wiped holographic tears from his eyes and smiled at her.

She smiled in return.  As Pygmalion responded, she let her arms fall, and walked slowly towards the Doctor.  Now the Doctor looked surprised, and uncertain.

What… he thought.  What’s happening here?  Seven?  She can’t—

Mon premier désir de vous plaire.
Je suivrai toujours votre loi.

She stopped close to him, putting her partly artificial left hand on his heart, and taking his hand in the other.  The Doctor jumped when she touched him, but he did not pull away.  He stared, astonished.  Could it be?

“Prenez soin d’un destin que j’ignore,” she said softly.  “Tout ce que je connais de moi, c’est que je vous adore.”

The Doctor was speechless.  Seven’s eyebrows went up.  “Doctor?”

 “Quel…quel prodige?” he stammered, echoing Pygmalion.  “Quel dieu?  Par quelle intelligence, un songe a-t-il séduit mes sens?”

Seven smiled again and moved closer to him.  “This is no dream, Doctor, I assure you.”

“Seven, I…I…”

“Kiss me, Doctor.”

Hesitantly, he complied.  As their lips met, the music swelled, and the chorus sang out joyfully:

L’amour triomphe;
Annoncez sa victoire!
Ce dieu n’est occupé quà combler nos desirs.
On ne peut trop chanter sa gloire,
Il la trouve dans nos plaisirs!
 

THE END

NOTE

Jean-Philippe Rameau (1683-1764) was the greatest French composer of the Baroque period, and one of the greatest opera composers of all time.  An excellent mid-priced recording of his ballets Pygmalion and Nélée et Myrthis, performed by Les Arts Florissants directed by William Christie, is available from the French classical music label Harmonia Mundi