Title: Alone
Rating: PG-13
Author: Lea Cohodas
Author's E-mail: queen_of_the_borg@fcmail.com
Description: Harry teaches Seven of Nine about humanity, and the art of
"irrelevance'

                       Alone: The Diary of the Borg
"Daily Log; Seven of Nine. Stardate 5346.76.
Today I will attend to my duties in the astrometrics lab. I will then
require a nutritional supplement. During this time I will attempt to
participate in the activity which humans call "socializing". Ensign Kim
and Lieutenant Paris have invited me to join them for the evening meal.
I doubt that Lieutenant Torres will be pleased. Ensign Kim has resumed
his advances, though I assume my straightforwardness has frightened him
somewhat. This was not the desired outcome, but it will suffice. He
works more efficiently when motivated by fear.
End Log."
Seven of Nine activated the door controls and stepped out of the "Borg's
Bay" as Ensign Kim had colourfully called it. She walked with the
impatient, yet monotonous clip of someone who had more important things
to do, but did not know what they were. She heard a commotion in one of
the Jefferies tubes, investigation revealed that the source of the noise
was Lieutenants Paris and Torres, engaged in a pointless human activity
that her texts called kissing. Seven thought it wise not to disturb
them, and continued on her way. In the astrometrics lab she would begin
studying the data given to them by Starfleet Command. Many crewmembers
had experienced a sense of loss at Arturis' trick. She did not. She had
felt trepidation when the Alpha Quadrant seemed only a step away. Now
she wondered. Could contact with billions of life-forms fill the void
her detachment from the Collective had left? Ensign Kim had thought so,
but his enthusiasm often blinded him to the truth. Truth. The words
stopped her dead in her tracks. Well not really, not dead, and she made
no tracks. In fact, she walked right into astrometrics. With the
obligatory nod at the various crewmembers, she began her work. And then
she experienced something she never had. Distraction. As much as she
tried to concentrate on the Starcharts before her, her mind kept
drifting back to that one word. Truth.
Before Voyager, truth was the Collective. But in human terms, there
really was no truth.
Seven made a half-hearted query to the computer, but her mind had tuned
out before the response was given. As a Borg, truth was unavoidable. The
Collective could not lie, not when she could hear it's thoughts. But
now, social pleasantries were untruths. Seven remember painfully how her
derogatory, yet truthful comment on the behaviours of the Ensigns
Delaney had caused even more enmity from the crew.  Seven's face flushed
with righteous indignance. They had no right to get upset. Jenny Delaney
*was* a slut! As was her sister. She remembered the doctor's heated
remark about a realm between thought and expression that was begging for
her acquaintance. It was that blatant stating of facts that had caused
Ensign Kim to fear her.
She realized it with a shock that would have literally floored her, if
she had not grabbed the rail to steady herself. A few people offered
assistance, but she waved them off with as much nonchalance as a Borg
could muster.
She *enjoyed* the Ensign's attentions. She was comforted to walk into a
room and see him their. She was, if the feeling could be put into words,
*flattered*. He had made Voyager a more livable place. From his
suggestion to play music at night to combat the silence without the
Collective, to his defense of her when she was insulted by an anti-Borg
crewman. He had always been there for her. And he had tried to get
closer. And she'd scared him away. He didn't even try to get a lot
closer. If she knew the Ensign it would be months before he ever tried
anything. While he was not efficient, he was *nice*. Nice. Another word
just full of contemplation. Niceness was irrelevant. But it felt good.
Just as ambivalence from other crewmembers hurt her. With renewed effort
she tore her mind away from contemplation and focused on her task. There
was time for humanity. But during work as boring as this was, it paid to
be Borg.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Hours later, Seven of Nine briskly out of Astrometrics. Her step was
confident, and she enjoyed the feeling of her body-suit conforming to
fit her movements. She arrived shortly at the Mess Hall. A horrific
stench hit her as she stepped in. The annoying Mr. Neelix bounded up.
"Good day, Seven! Would you like to try my specialty, sauteed slime-
eel?" He held up a mass of tentacles and mucus. She was about to tell
him precisely what she thought of his "culinary delights" when Ensign
Kim appeared at her elbow.
"Uh..Neelix? I don't think Seven is hungry right now."  Seven
experienced gratefulness and affection toward the Ensign. He took her
hand and led her toward a table. Lieutenants Paris and Torres were
already seated. Paris looked up as she joined them.
"Hey, Seven. We convinced Neelix we were allergic to seafood. We don't
have too many replicator rations, but if you could add in one or two we
could get a pizza."  Torres joined in,
"How many do you have to spare?"  Seven accessed her memory, did a few
quick calculations, and got her answer,
"I currently have 394 unused replicator rations." Her comrades jaws
dropped. Seven accessed her memory again. She though back to a lesson
the Doctor called 'generosity'. She added,
"You may use them, if you like. It is preferable to Neelix's cooking."
Ensign Kim laughed. Seven realized that comments about food were often
funny, and filed that away for future use. Paris was the first to
recover,
"Well then, Seven, since you are the primary donor, it's your choice.
What kind of pizza do you want?" Seven considered it for a moment.
"Pizza," She said speculatively, more to herself than the others, "A
round flat portion of dough covered with tomato sauce and cheese. A
number of other toppings can be added." She faced the group,
"Would pineapple be agreeable?" They nodded, and the request was made
for one large pineapple pizza, and, added as an afterthought by Paris,
four glasses of wine. Idle conversation ensued. Seven remember the scene
she had witnessed in the Jefferies tube.
"Lieutenants, may I have a word with you?" Paris shrugged, Torres
gestured for her to proceed. Seven hesitated and looked pointedly at
Ensign Kim. Torres interjected,
"Anything you have to say, Harry can hear too." Seven nodded,
"Very well. Lieutenants Paris and Torres, I witnessed an intimate moment
between you in the Jefferies tube this morning. I did not know if I
should report this to the Captain. I do not want to provoke Lieutenant
Torres' temper again." Ensign Kim chuckled, and Lieutenant Torres
reddened slightly. Lieutenant Paris addressed her.
"Well, Seven, technically you should report this to the Captain. But I'm
asking you as a friend to just let this one pass." One of Seven's
eyebrows raised. It was a reflexive gesture, and while she knew it
annoyed others, she could not curb it.
"A "friend", Mr. Paris?" She had known of Kim's attempts at friendship,
but after his initial offer of support, Paris had not pursued the
matter. She assumed it had to do with Torres' dislike of her.
Understandably, she was surprised when it was Torres who answered,
"Yes, Seven, we think of you as a friend. An irritating friend, but a
friend." Seven was stung, she heard the light tone of Torres' voice, but
only the words registered. "Irritating"? Mr. Neelix was irritating, and
she had no desire to be like him. Paris must have seen the hurt look on
her face because he interjected smoothly.
"Hey, what are friends for if you can't bug them?" Seven rose quickly,
"I did not wish to "bug" you. I'm sorry. I must go." She exited the Mess
Hall. Her feelings were hurt, and her delicate self-esteem damaged. She
was vaguely aware of Ensign Kim following her. She reached Cargo Bay 2
and engaged the privacy lock. Almost immediately, she could hear the
Ensign's voice calling her. She ignored it. She had opened a window in
her wall of Borgness, and they had thrown a grenade through it. Ensign
Kim overrode her lock and stepped into the room. She viewed this with
the disdainful disinterest of a Borg drone. He walked over and stood
beside her. She called upon the drone rules:
"If it's not a threat, and you can't assimilate it, ignore it." And so
she did. The Ensign tried frantically to rouse her. IT would not work.
Until he hit upon the words that had been said so many times, yet were a
surprise each time.
"It was just a joke, Seven. I'm sorry." Her Borg demeanor cracked. She
expected sadness, or annoyance. Instead she experienced something
completely different. Rage.
"A joke!" She roared. "Why do you humans do such pointless things?" She
jumped up and began to pace,
"Can't you see that I'm not laughing? Why, Harry?" She broke off her
tirade, realizing her slip. A grin broke his face,
"You called me 'Harry'." She felt a flush rise to her face.
"I'm sorry, Ensign. I know you have," She searched for the word,
"feelings, for me. I believe I am beginning to reciprocate them."  He
smiled at her. Walking slowly over, he enfolded her in his arms, waiting
hesitantly to see how she would react. She reacted well. Though just
before she relaxed in his embrace, he could have sworn her heard her
murmur,
"Resistance is Futile."
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
They stood like that for what seemed to be an eternity. A quick check of
time revealed it to have been mere minutes. They broke apart.
Embarrassment colored the Ensign's face. Seven was calm and cool as
usual. Moments of awkward silence between them passed. They spoke:
"Ensign—"
"Seven—" They stopped, Kim chuckled nervously.
"Ladies first." Seven merely nodded.
"Ensign, I have admitted my feelings for you, but that does not mean
I wish to act on them. I do not engage in pointless activities." Her
face softened almost imperceptibly. "However, I do wish to learn about
humanity from you." He said nothing. She tried a smile. He nodded.
"Very well, I can hold back. You wish to learn about humanity, that
includes a lot of pointless activity. Meet me in holodeck two. 1900, and
wear something casual. We're going dancing with Tom and B'Elanna." With
that said, he turned and was out of the Cargo Bay in seconds.
And he'd left her with a lot to think about. Love. Friendship. Humanity.
And although she was ashamed to even think it, the thing she was most
worried about was what to wear. She didn't own any casual clothing. The
Ensign...Harry, she forced herself to think of him by his name, had been
quite adamant about his request for a change in clothing. Perhaps she
would ask B'Elanna. Seven knew the Lieutenant was not fond of her, but
compared to the rest of the women on this ship, she was downright
friendly. Seven briefly considered asking the Captain, but was afraid of
starting yet another pointless argument.
*Seven of Nine to Lieutenant Torres* B'Elanna's voice came through
almost immediately, accompanied by a mechanical humming noise.
*Torres here* Seven could hear Tom's voice in the background, though
that seemed out of place. The thrumming sound was generated by the warp
core, but Tom was not an engineer. Seven proceeded.
*Lieutenant Torres, I need your help with something. It is a personal
matter.* A pause, and then
*Does this have do with the double-date tonight? Harry just informed me*
Seven hesitated, even now, it was hard to ask her for help.
*Yes it does Lieutenant. When can we meet?* Another pause, some quiet
conversation, then
*I'll be with you right away Seven. Go to my quarters. I'll leave it
unlocked, just wait for me.* She signed off.
Seven did as told. As usual, stares greeted her in the corridors. Both
the open, lustful stares of the male crewmembers, or the disgusted hate
that some still viewed her with.
'Lieutenant Torres' quarters are only a few steps away' She reminded
herself as yet another crewman insulted her with their eyes. The bland,
Starfleet issue door had never looked so welcoming. It was unlocked, as
promised. Upon entry, Seven made two observations. One: Torres' quarters
felt more like a home than her Cargo Bay did. And two: Lieutenant Paris
had almost a many personal items in there as Torres did. Home. Another
word to ponder. Seven was frustrated. Her human side kept making
observations, decisions, and questions that perplexed her Borg side to
the point of insanity. Each sight, sound or action provoked new feelings
in her. Where a drone would have stoically swallowed Neelix's food, she
found herself refusing it for irrelevant reasons such as taste. Where a
drone would have looked disdainfully at any crewmember who judged her,
she found herself wounded to the core.
Thankfully, Torres interrupted her musings before they got to
disturbing. An uncharacteristic smile was on her face as she bounded
into the room. Seven was forever amazed at how many ways a human could
express emotion. The smile on her face, the bounce in her step.
Obviously the Lieutenant was excited about something.
"Hi, Sev!" She called brightly. Her eyebrow (damn that eyebrow!) rose
questioningly at the name,
"Sev?" She asked, careful not to make her voice too cold. It seemed to
disturb Torres the most.
"It's a nickname. A term of affection. Something friends give to each
other." Seven thought it wise not to question this newly proclaimed
friendship. In her experience, humans did not like to linger on subjects
all that long.
"Ah, just as you sometimes refer to Lieutenant Paris as a 'pig'. Though
how he is related to a barnyard beast still eludes me." Torres barked a
short laugh. Seven realized that Torres must get much of the same
attention as she did from males. The Lieutenant was, by human standards,
quite pretty.
"No, no, Seven. I call Tom a pig when he acts....juvenile. I pretend it
bothers me." Her voice lowered conspiratorially,
"I actually kinda like it."  Seven was surprised. She did not know
duplicity was present in human interpersonal relationships.
"Very well, B'Elanna. May I call you B'Elanna?" A nod. "Returning to the
subject at hand. I require off-duty clothing for tonight's excursion. I
believe you possess knowledge of such things." B'Elanna looked
surprised, but it was quickly covered. She walked over to the
replicator.
"Computer, display 24th Century Casual Clothing. Female." The display
winked into existence and Seven strode over to view it. She pointed at a
few items that interested her. B'Elanna replicated them. They tried on
various outfits, after a few moments, Seven realized the Lieutenant was
designing clothing for herself as well. An hour later. The problem was
solved. Next came hair. According to B'Elanna, her efficient twist had
to go. It was replaced by something referred to as a "French Braid"
Wisps of golden hair curled softly around her face. It was satisfactory.
The Lieutenant...B'Elanna, she reminded herself, was wearing a short
black skirt and red satin shirt and heels. They left together and joined
Harry and Tom on the holodeck as planned.

Harry thought he felt his heart skip a beat as Seven entered the
holodeck. She was stunning. Radiant. Gorgeous. A living Goddess.
She wore something he would have never expected. A surprise. It was a
dress. Silver-blue, long and decidedly un-Borg. Harry approved.
"Seven! You look...." He could not generate the appropriate description,
Seven noted. Was this a compliment?
"I look satisfactory." She stated, helping him cover his lapse.
"More than 'satisfactory'. You look great!" Seven noted that Lieutenant
Paris made similar observations on Torres' clothing. He managed it
without fumbling. Perhaps he was accustomed to such things.
"What simulation will we be running?" She asked, surprised at how eager
she was to start wasting time.  Lieutenant Paris requested,
"Computer, run program Paris-Dance-3 authorization Paris-57-Beta."
*Confirmed*. The black and yellow grid of the holodeck disappeared, to
be replaced by a mirrored room. Music filled the air. Plenty of bass and
a primal beat. A delicate melody twined itself around the beat of the
drums. The clear notes of a flute interwove.  Tom took B'Elanna in his
arms and they began swaying with the music.
Seven did not object as Ensign...Harry, took her hand and began to teach
her the irrelevant activity humans called dancing. She caught on
quickly, enjoying the way her body seemed to connect with the music.
Harry found his rhythm as well and soon they looked as though they were
trained professionals. The delicate melody guided their steps. The drums
gave them the beat. It was....interesting....
Harry spoke.
"Thank you for coming, Seven. Even though dancing is irrelevant." A hint
of laughter was in his voice. She smiled against his shoulder.
"Relevancy is only a matter of degree. If you believe this necessary for
my humanity, I trust you not to lead me astray."
"Good. Then you'll believe me when I say that perhaps dancing isn't
irrelevant." She nodded. She was somewhat at a loss for words, something
she had not experienced before. And while confusion was not a pleasant
sensation, she knew Harry was right. She had a lot to learn.
"You know, Seven, the Borg have assimilated the knowledge and the
strength of thousands of species, but they have yet to gather the thing
most needed for a species to survive. Individuality.
You are Seven of Nine Terciary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero-One. An
individual."  For some strange reason, this meant something to her. Not
the words, or even the meaning, but the name.
"You remembered!" She said, as happily as a Borg could manage.
"Remembered what?" he was genuinely confused.
"My name. No one else remembers my full name. It is...frustrating.
Imagine if everyone referred to you as Harry, yet no one ever remembered
the "Kim". It bothers me. I don't know why, but it does."
He might have smiled, he might have frowned. She could not see his face.
But when he spoke, it sounded apologetic.
"I'm sorry. Humans may be good at some things, bbestorgiveness takes a
while. People still think of you as a drone, a killer of millions. Even
though they know, that if they were assimilated, they would be the same.
They think you should have fought back, as we did at Wolf 359. Everyone
seems to have conveniently forgotten that you were only a child. In some
ways, you still are." She stiffened in his arms.
"I am not a child!" Her response was vehement, angry, and just a bit
sad.
"I'm sorry," He said contritely, "I know you're not. But it seems like
it sometimes. All that knowledge in your head, but you don't know how to
express your feelings. And," he said gently, "I think you're a little
too proud to show that you have them." Her response was less violent
than he had predicted. Instead, she reacted with resignation.
"I do have feelings. I suppose I do not want to show them. People hate
me. It hurts sometimes."
He stroked her hair soothingly.
"Maybe that's why you spark my protective instincts. Don't worry, if
anyone bothers you again, I'm sure we can take them." She jerked away,
shocked.
"You would hurt your fellow crewmembers?" He laughed softly,
"No, that was meant as a joke. But seriously, you don't mind if I stand
up for you? You won't be angry?" She shook her head,
"No I will not be angry. After all, anger is irrelevant."
Harry realized this was her subtle sense of humour exhibiting itself
again. He noticed her attention was elsewhere, and followed her gaze to
Tom and B'Elanna, dancing together. Completely oblivious. They were
considerably quieter, due to the general activity of their mouths.
"What they are doing, "kissing" it is called. Is that part of humanity?"
He chuckled at her not-quite-suppressed eagerness.
"Don't worry, Seven. That can be tomorrow lesson. Because after
all....."
"Resistance is Futile!' They chorused together. Seven smiled.

The End