Blind Man's Bluff

Tendara Colony

During the Meeting at Starfleet Headquarters


i.

Seven of Nine, the former Annika Hansen, hadn’t expected the smells to be what would trigger the tears. Indeed, she hadn’t been expecting to cry at all.

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.

Her front door chimed. She was in the middle of carefully painting flowers on a newly crafted vase and didn’t feel like getting up. Without giving the slightest consideration as to who might be at the door—one simply didn’t worry about such things on Tendara Colony—she called out, “Enter, if you’re so inclined.”

The door slid open. The person filling the doorway did not enter. Instead she stood there, in the arch, as if afraid to come in because she wasn’t certain as to what sort of reception she would receive.

Annie glanced up at her, most of her attention still focused on the vase. Then the brush suddenly slipped from her now nerveless fingers.

“Aunt Annie?” the newcomer said tentatively.

Annie got to her feet, her legs trembling. “Oh my God,” she whispered. She had not seen her for so many years, but the woman looked so much like her mother, how could she be mistaken for anyone else? Unheeding of her surroundings, Annie started forward and banged into the table upon which the vase had been balanced. The vase tumbled off, struck the floor, and shattered. She walked right over it, the pieces crunching beneath her boots. “Oh my God,” she said again. “Annika?”

She didn’t notice the young woman flinch at the name, and bite back a response. Instead she said evenly, “I’m home,” and then Annie was across the room and threw her arms around her. The pressure knocked the breath right out of her and she had to gasp to get it back.

Annie drew back for a moment and touched Seven’s face where the implants had once adorned it. She could see where they had been; the skin around it was slightly browner.

As if reading her mind, Seven said, “I could go in for tanning treatments to even out the skin, but I decided to let the sun do it naturally.”

“Oh my God!” she said a third time and hugged Seven once again, so fiercely this time that it seemed to Seven as if her ribs might snap. “Oh, my little girl! This is… it’s a miracle!”

Tears began to run down Seven’s face. They came so easily these days, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was this: this place, this person, this life. She said the first thing that came to mind: “I’m sorry about your vase.”

“To hell with the vase,” said Aunt Annie. “Let it be broken. At least my family is back together.”

iii.

Seven had spent most of the week at Aunt Annie’s doing one of two things: listening to stories of her youth, and sleeping. Fortunately at no point did she do both of those things simultaneously.

My name is Seven. I will not be Annika. Not for anyone. That had been the immediate response that had almost sprung from her lips. It had become reflex to her.

But this was the woman for whom she had been named. This was the woman who had saved her life in infancy. This was the one thing left from the life that she had once known, a life that she was feeling the need to connect with in order to become a truly whole person. And the first thing she was going to do to that end was to reject the name that was based on Annie Kalandra’s own?

Not for anyone but her.

Annie regaled Seven with all the stories she’d had pent up all these years. Tales of little Annika: her first word (“light,” as it turned out, and not the more predictable “mama” or “dada”), her first faltering steps. All the typical remembrances of a life long past. Plus she also had many other stories that, as a close friend of the family, she’d learned: tales of Seven’s father when he was growing up, and how he had first met her mother (it was a long, protracted story having to do with an umbrella). These were the kinds of tales that one heard incessantly growing up so that, by the time someone was as old as Seven was, they would be common knowledge, part of the family history.

In this case, however, it was the equivalent of getting a protracted information dump in one extended sitting. It was rather odd for Seven in many respects. She was hearing about her own life, and the lives of her parents and family, and yet it was like listening to a series of anecdotes about total strangers. But at least she was able to listen with empathy. When she was Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero-One, the stories would have been meaningless. When she was the recovered Seven of Nine aboard Voyager, the stories would have had some mild interest to her in that they related to a past that she knew was hers, even if she did feel utterly disconnected from it. Now, as Annika Hansen—in actuality if not in regular practice—she was able to appreciate them for what they were, even as she was only partly able to… well, to assimilate them.

She realized that she was coming up against the limits of her new status. She was now fully human in most aspects, with no trace of her Borg identity manifest on her body. Yet—and it was difficult for her to admit, but it was true—inside she was still dealing with the learning curve of being a “normal” person.

She didn’t allow any of her inner concerns to be on display for her “aunt,” however. Annie was so overjoyed to see her, and was clearly enjoying the entire process of doting on her namesake, that there seemed no point in dropping any of her inner turmoil on Annie. It wasn’t as if it was something with which Annie could help her. The feeling of disorientation was something that she needed to work out on her own, and she hoped that she would be able to do so, given enough time. For now, simply spending time with Annie was a good start to acclimating herself to the worlds around her. Aunt Annie was her point of entrance back into the life of Annika Hansen, and perhaps something that would enable her to leave behind the voices that still rattled around in her head.

Besides which, Aunt Annie was not only a great recounter of anecdotes, but she also made a formidable apple tart.

It was on the sixth day of her vacation with Aunt Annie, while she was in the middle of eating one of those apple tarts in the kitchen, that Annie came to her with a concerned look on her face. “There’s someone at the door asking for you,” she said.

“Really?” Seven cocked a curious eyebrow. “The only person who knows I’m here is my supervisor at Starfleet Academy. Who could it possibly be? Is it…?” She suddenly perked up. “Is it someone from Voyager?”

“How would I know that?”

“Is the visitor in a Starfleet uniform?”

“No. It’s a Vulcan, if that’s of any use.”

“Tuvok!” she said immediately, springing to her feet. “I wonder what he’s—”

“It’s not a he. It’s a woman.”

She remained where she was. “A woman?”

“I may not know if someone is from Voyager, but I’m reasonably sure I can tell male from female,” Annie said drily.

“Very well,” said Seven. She came around the table and started to head out into the living room.

Annie stopped her for a moment, picked up a napkin, and wiped some crumbs from the edges of Seven’s mouth. Seven wanted to tell her that she was perfectly capable of wiping her own face, but kept it to herself. Annie had married once, but it had not lasted, and she had never had children of her own. So she had a boatload of maternal instinct and was happy to utilize it anywhere the opportunity presented itself. Seven smiled inwardly and allowed Annie to finish cleaning her up before she went out to see who this mysterious Vulcan visitor was.

She walked into the living room and there, indeed, was a female Vulcan. She was dressed simply, in nondescript clothing… so nondescript, in fact, that it caught Seven’s attention. Most Vulcans she knew were either ambassadors or members of Starfleet; that seemed to be the two professions that prompted Vulcans to leave their world. Otherwise they tended to be rather insular; certainly they didn’t show up on random colony worlds. The fact that this particular Vulcan was attired in such a way that she more or less looked like a colonist prompted Seven to wonder just why she was dressed in that manner. It made her think that she might be hiding something.

“May I help you?” she asked politely.

“Annika Hansen,” said the Vulcan. She was tilting her head slightly, like a canine trying to listen carefully for sounds that only she could hear.

Seven glanced in Annie’s direction. She automatically wanted to correct the Vulcan, but the fact that Annie was right there… “Yes,” Seven replied, trying not to grit her teeth.

The Vulcan paused and then said, as if to verify it, “Seven of Nine.”

Seven actually felt more comfortable hearing that name, even as she heard her aunt draw in her breath sharply. “Who wants to know?”

“Well, I do, obviously. You’re,” and unusually for a Vulcan, a smile seemed to tug at the edges of her mouth, “not exactly what I was expecting for a former assimilated Borg.”

“Please state your business or I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

“All right,” she said. “First of all, I wish to extend my condolences on the passing of Kathryn Janeway. I never had the pleasure of meeting her, but from what I understand, the two of you were very close.”

“We were, yes,” said Seven, “and I appreciate the sentiment. I think I’d appreciate it a little more if I knew what you were doing here.”

“I’m here because of the nature in which Admiral Jane-way passed away. It involved…”

“I know what it involved. I was there.”

“You were?” It was Aunt Annie who had spoken. “You were there when Admiral Janeway passed away? During that whole awful business when the Borg ate Pluto? You didn’t tell me that, dear.”

There was a great deal that Seven had not told her. She hadn’t wanted to give Annie the impression that the most recent years of her life had been a walk in the park, but neither did she feel the need to tell her in extraordinary detail every hazard that she had encountered.

The Vulcan’s gaze darted from Seven to Annie, and then, before Seven could reply, she said, “She was there in an advisory capacity, watching from a distance. Without her… advice… the situation would not have been resolved in a manner favorable to the Federation’s interests.” She then regarded Seven with an upraised eyebrow as if to say, Do you wish to contradict me?

“Yes, that is precisely what happened,” Seven told her without inflection.

There was a dead silence for a moment, and then Annie said, “You know what? I think it would probably be best if I went out for a walk. Let you two talk about… whatever you need to talk about… for a while.”

“That would be most considerate,” said the Vulcan.

Moments later, having picked up her hat and light jacket, Annie walked out, leaving the two of them in the living room, both standing and staring at each other, like sculpted bookends.

“Who are you?” said Seven the moment the door slid shut behind her aunt. “Why are you here? And why is the manner of Admiral Janeway’s death of any importance to you?”

“My name is Soleta.”

“Soleta.” The name was familiar to Seven, but it took her a moment to recall it. Then she did, and her eyes widened. “You were the Vulcan science officer who turned out to be a Romulan. You were discharged from Starfleet as being a security risk.”

“I didn’t turn out to be a Romulan. My mother was Vulcan, my father Romulan.”

“From my understanding of the antipathy between the races, I am surprised your mother took up with—”

“She didn’t ‘take up’ with anyone. It was not remotely consensual.”

That stopped Seven for a moment. When she ran the conversation back through her head, she realized that she had sounded rather stiff, even Borg-like. It was almost as if thinking and reacting like a normal human was something that required practice. “I am…” She cleared her throat. “I am sorry. About that.”

“So was my mother, but she didn’t let it affect the way she raised me, so…” And she shrugged. “In any event, I am here because I was sent by Captain Mackenzie Calhoun.”

“Calhoun, your former commander.” When Soleta nodded, Seven said, “I met him. Jean-Luc Picard introduced us at Kathryn Janeway’s memorial service. He seemed very… interesting.”

“He is that.”

“But he is your former commander. Yet you are here on his behalf.”

“I owe him more than a few debts that, in truth, can never be repaid. So he knew he could count on me to help him perform this service.”

“And what service would that be? Does it pertain to the passing of Kathryn Janeway?”

“Only in that you have more experience with artificial life forms and computer intelligences than any other human.”

“And you need me to apply that experience to a problem?”

“Yes.”

“And what,” said Seven, “would the nature of that problem be?”

“Captain Calhoun needs someone to help him terminate a once-human computer entity that could possibly destroy the entire Federation.”

Seven stood there silently, taking that in. “Can I get you something to drink?” she said at last.

“Is it alcoholic?”

“It could be.”

“Then yes, definitely.”

iv.

Soleta had not known what to make of the note that had been left in her quarters on her ship, the Spectre. The vessel had been stolen by the D’myurj—technically by her former (and now deceased) lover, but the D’myurj had been pulling the strings—and recovered by the crew of the Excalibur. She had not expected to find a handwritten note from Calhoun, however, if for no other reason than that she couldn’t remember the last time someone had handed her something written on paper. She couldn’t imagine where Calhoun had managed to acquire it, although she supposed that she shouldn’t have been surprised. There was very little Mackenzie Calhoun could not accomplish if he put his mind to it.

The fact that he left a note at all was enough to pique Soleta’s interest, because she couldn’t fathom the reason for it. She had picked it up and read it with curiosity. By the time she got to the end, it was all she could do—even with all of her training in suppressing her emotions—to prevent her hands from trembling.

She knew that there had been problems with Morgan. She knew that the being that had once been human, and was now the computer heart of the Excalibur, was becoming somewhat unpredictable. But the notion that Calhoun felt the need to embark on this secretive, even byzantine, course of action in order to remedy the situation was enough to drive home to her just how dire things had become.

She was a spy. She was a Romulan spy, or at least she had been. She was the absolute last individual that any reasonable person should trust with any sort of delicate mission, particularly when it involved something that could impact on the internal security of the Federation. Yet she was the one upon whom Calhoun was now depending, in the name of old loyalties that he couldn’t possibly know for sure she would respect.

Except he did know. That was the damnedest thing about him. He knew and had every confidence that she would not let him down.

She knew that she wouldn’t. As certainly as she knew anything else in this life, she knew that she would not let Mackenzie Calhoun down, especially when she was the only one upon whom he could count.

It made sense, after all. Morgan would monitor any normal form of communication that he might employ. He could hardly send a standard subspace communication to Soleta, even encoded, because it would lay bare his concerns and plans to the very entity that he was trying to undo.

But a simple piece of paper facedown on a table was out of reach for Morgan, unless she was in a holographic form. And since there was no holo-technology in Soleta’s quarters, Calhoun was able to leave it there for her with relative impunity. In order to thwart something exceedingly hightech, the best way to do so was something very low-tech.

Of course, it was possible that Morgan was going to be monitoring Soleta’s comings and goings as well, seeing her as a potential threat. But she didn’t think that was going to be the case. There was no reason for Morgan to regard her as a threat, particularly since she was a solo operative with no direct connection to the Federation. She was the absolute last person that Calhoun would turn to.

Which might make her think you’d be the first person he’d turn to…

Soleta, with impressive discipline, had forced herself to shut down that line of thinking. Incessant paranoia could wind up immobilizing her, make her second-guess her every move. Should that happen, she would be of no benefit to Calhoun or to anyone. She had to proceed as best she could, in as careful a manner as she could, and trust to both her instincts and Calhoun’s chess-like ability to outthink an opponent by being five steps ahead.

She just hoped that five steps would be enough in this case.

Tracking down Annika Hansen had been simplicity itself, because Seven had made absolutely no effort to cover her tracks. Why should she? It wasn’t as if she was on the run from anyone. She had formerly requested vacation from her Starfleet superior, and had filed a flight plan, itinerary, and emergency contact information with the proper authorities. Naturally all of that had been confidential, not remotely intended for public dissemination. It was available only for Starfleet and not meant for prying eyes.

As a consequence of these extended security procedures, Soleta had required a full six and a half minutes to crack into the Starfleet mainframe and extract the information she wanted as to Seven’s whereabouts (as opposed to the three or so that it would ordinarily have required). In considering such worries as Starfleet security, she took some consolation in knowing that only a former science officer such as herself would have the know-how to commit such a detailed piece of investigation, and there was not an abundance of people like her around.

Once she had obtained the information she wanted, she had piloted the Spectre directly to Tendara Colony. She had to think that this was a remarkable stroke of luck. If Seven of Nine had still been at Starfleet Academy, obtaining access to her might have been slightly more problematic. First of all, Soleta was still considered persona non grata. Second, computers monitored the comings and goings of anyone at the Academy. No one thought anything of this; it was simple routine security procedures. Yet now that very security which they thought that computers offered was in fact putting security at risk, and almost no one was aware of it. Nor was warning anyone an option. Morgan would doubtlessly learn of it, and besides, they wouldn’t believe Soleta anyway.

She had traded out her normal clothes, evocative of the Romulan lifestyle that she had adopted, for something more neutral that she hoped would allow her to blend in, or at least blend in as much as possible when one was a Vulcan, which she hoped people would assume her to be. If they knew there was someone with Romulan blood walking around among them, they might not be quite so accommodating.

So here she was, having accomplished the first part of what Calhoun had required of her. Soleta could only think that this had been the easy part of her task. From here on in, she was walking on uncertain ground.

In quick, broad strokes she laid out for Seven of Nine the reason for her coming and the delicate nature of her mission. Seven listened silently to the entire history of Morgan, at least as much of it as Soleta knew. Of how Morgan had once been a human, or far more akin to human than she currently was. She had been an immortal being, traveling the Earth, and later the stars, for more years than anyone could be certain about. Soleta told her of the one-in-a-million fluke that had destroyed Morgan’s body but had transferred her mind, her personality—some even speculated her soul—into the heart of the Excalibur’s computer core. But it was becoming more and more evident through recent events that her soul had not, in fact, made the transition. Hers was a human mind with seemingly absolute power, and Soleta did not have to remind Seven of what both power and absolute power tended to do, at least according to the long-deceased Lord Acton.

“Morgan Primus is no longer the living, breathing woman that Mackenzie Calhoun once knew,” Soleta concluded. “She has instead become a copy of a copy. With her lack of conscience and her apparently limitless potential, it is a dangerous combination that can no longer be tolerated. It must be attended to, once and for all. And what with your expertise and your connection to the Borg…”

“I no longer have any connection to the Borg,” Seven reminded her, tapping her face where the implants had once been. “My feelings toward them are… complicated at best. And here you come, a relative stranger, representing a captain I’ve met only in passing, telling me you need me to thrust my head right back into the jaws of it. I just want you to appreciate what it is you’re asking of me.”

“I do.”

“How do I even know I can trust you?”

“What do you mean?” Soleta looked at her in confusion for a moment, but then understood. “Ah. You think I could be a Romulan spy, using you as a means of disabling or even destroying a formidable weapon that resides in the heart of the Excalibur.”

“The thought did cross my mind,” said Seven. She had been holding a glass of homegrown ale, but she had nearly emptied it and now put it on the table. “As plans go, it would be rather cunning.”

“Albeit extremely involved.”

“True, but still…”

“May I endeavor to convince you?”

“How,” said Seven, “would you go about doing that?”

Soleta had been sitting, her back straight, one hand resting on her glass, the other on her lap. Now she stood and walked across the room toward Seven. Seven watched her suspiciously, and she flinched slightly when Soleta reached toward her. “What are you doing?” she said guardedly.

“Convincing you,” she said, “in such a way that my motivations are completely open to you. Unless you’re afraid?”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then may I proceed?”

Seven hesitated for more than just a few moments. There was clearly something going through her mind, something that she didn’t want to articulate. Soleta could readily guess exactly what that was. She came to the conclusion that Seven was very likely not only going to forbid her from putting a mindmeld anywhere near her, but might well try to take Soleta’s outstretched hand and shove it up the Vulcan’s ass. So she was mildly surprised when Seven tilted her chin and looked at Soleta defiantly. “Do as you wish.”

Soleta reached toward her temple and touched it. She closed her eyes and reflexively Seven did likewise. Slowly, carefully, Soleta eased her mind into Seven’s. She had no desire to be intrusive, nor to give Seven the slightest reason to believe that she was trying to shove her own will into her mind and perhaps even take control of it. It was just enough of a brush against Seven’s consciousness to convince her of the truth of what Soleta was telling her.

As was always the case in a mindmeld, the actual passage of time was a bit tricky to determine. In this instance, though, Soleta could tell that it hadn’t been much at all. It was no more invasive than the brush of a butterfly’s wing, and once she had made the contact that was required to convey her sincerity to Seven, Soleta withdrew just as quickly, fluttering away.

The world swiftly came into focus around Soleta. Seven was staring up at her, but there didn’t seem to be anything going on behind her eyes, which momentarily concerned Soleta. But then Seven blinked several times, recovering from the Vulcan telepathic technique, and she stared up at Soleta with conviction. “All right,” she said. “I believe you.”

“Good.”

“Or at least I believe that you believe you are acting in good faith.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

“So,” and she leaned back in her chair and stroked her chin thoughtfully, “do you intend to kill her?”

“You can’t kill something that isn’t alive,” said Soleta. “I’m talking about purging her from the heart of the Excalibur so that she’s no longer a potential threat to the ship or to anyone.”

“There’s only one answer: You have to introduce a virus into her. Not dissimilar from the tactic we used in attempting to purge Kathryn Janeway from her position as Borg queen.”

“Exactly,” said Soleta. “And since you were at the center of that operation…”

“Yes, but there’s obviously a few things you aren’t considering.” She started to tick off each point on her fingers. “First, for all our efforts, as a rescue mission it was a complete failure. We lost Admiral Janeway. Second, the Borg were able to erect a firewall to block the virus and it was only by extreme luck that we were able to accomplish our goal. Third, the virus involved the destruction of the Borg vessel into which it was introduced. If you wind up destroying the Excalibur and everyone aboard, that would be an extreme means of solving the problem. Fourth—and most important—I’m no longer remotely cybernetic. It’s not as if you can load a virus onto me that I will then wind up transmitting into her.”

Soleta folded her arms, her face a scowl. Seven would never have dreamt how odd a scowl looked on a Vulcan face. She had to think that, by this point, she would have realized that Soleta was part, if not all, Romulan. However her mother had raised her, she had obviously shaken off some of that training. “Those are all valid points,” Soleta finally said after a few moments of thought. “And they are among the reasons that I—”

“You?”

“That Captain Calhoun and I felt you would be the ideal person with whom to confer on this matter. So… Seven. What do we do? Do you have any means of concocting and introducing this virus that you’re proposing?”

“Me? No.”

“So it’s hopeless?”

“I didn’t say that,” Seven informed her. “There is, in fact, one being in the galaxy who might be capable of doing what’s required.”

“One person.”

“Yes.” She uncrossed her legs and stood up. “So I suggest we go see him before Morgan Primus destroys the Federation.”