"It is impossible to get details," Saval tells me patiently, "without a high-resolution active scan. Given the reaction to Vice Admiral Shohl's tricorder, sir, that might prove hazardous."
I pace irritably from the science console to the command chair and back. "Can't help feeling we should be doing something," I mutter. "What's Gladys Pugh up to?"
"No detectable activity from the Goroke, sir," says Jhemyl.
"Doesn't mean anything. I wouldn't trust that unpronounceable as far as I could spit a rat into a headwind. Do we have anything on ground-level activities? What are they doing down there?"
"Sir," says Tallasa in her I must be very patient voice, "you told us to remind you about the need not to take any incautious action."
"Right. Right. Right. Don't want to accidentally open any gates to Gre'thor. This ain't no upwardly mobile freeway and all that. Right, got the message." I sit down in the command chair and sulk.
"Passive imaging at this distance shows some movement on the surface," says Saval. "Infrared radiation roughly consistent with humanoid life forms - number indeterminate, but definitely active in the vicinity of our landing parties." He adds in very nearly a sympathetic tone. "I realize this is very incomplete information, sir."
*/*all species should be subject to full analysis and assessment prior to assimilation
---data systems of unassimilated vessel not adequate for task
---face it you don't have a cat in hell's chance*/*
What was that?
"I said, sir, that I realize -" Saval begins.
"Oh, God. Not you. Out-loud voice, sorry." I clutch at the metal and plastic that's built into the side of my head. "Two of Twelve, she's -" I break off, blankly, because I'm not sure how to describe what Two of Twelve just did.
Saval and Tallasa start shooting meaningful glances at each other. I'm going to wake up sedated in sickbay if I'm not careful, and I hate waking up unconscious. Um. If that's the right way to put it, which I guess it isn't.
"OK, OK, OK," I say quickly. "I'm going to sickbay, voluntarily, of my own free will and without everyone shouting at me. Sure it must be time for my ten thousand mile service anyway." I stand up. "Tallasa, you have the conn. I want to be kept informed if anything happens worth being kept informed about. OK?"
"Yes, sir," says Tallasa. I get the feeling that she might tell me if the ship blows up, and any lesser crisis she will deal with by herself. Fine by me. I head for the turbolift.
---
Sickbay is pretty quiet, with one medic on duty, a small Trill */*species 2786*/* woman with mousy brown hair. She looks up as I approach and says, "Oh. Hello, stranger."
OK, so, she's not big on military protocol. Neither am I, so I can deal with that. "Hi," I say. "Remind me who you are, again?"
"Zodiri. Get on the bio-bed and let me run some scans."
I bridle a little at that. "I haven't even said what the problem is -"
"Whatever it is, I'm going to have to run some scans, so get on the damn bio-bed and save us both some time."
I get on the bio-bed and save us both some time. Two of Twelve makes random data-processing noises as the sensor fields tickle my Borg circuitry. "All right, checking you against human baseline," says Zodiri, as she does medical stuff at the bedside console, "cross-referencing Borg survivor data, uploading records of your last physical... short pause while those are translated from the original Sanskrit... you do know you've got multiple medical issues, yes?"
"Uh," I say, not being able to come up with a witty rejoinder.
"I know, I know," says Zodiri, "you're far too busy for the routine stuff, so you can't be bothered with regular checkups, you just muddle on through, self-medicating with adrenaline and Saurian brandy. Bloody marvellous. All right, you check out no more abnormal than usual. You still have too much Borg junk in your body, your brain wave patterns are still borderline manic, you are still experiencing auditory hallucinations, you are still anaemic and have a worryingly low BMI. Presumably, you're still not going to do anything about any of this, so why the hell are you pestering me?"
Not thinking much of her bedside manner so far. Never mind. "Two of Twelve has started acting weird," I say.
"Two of Twelve being the name you give to the auditory hallucinations coming from your residual Borg neural circuitry," says Zodiri. "Some people would just get a pet, you know. What's new about these, then?"
"She just told me I didn't have a cat in hell's chance of finding out what's going on, planet-side," I explain. "That is not normal Borg-programming-directive language."
"Hmm," says Zodiri. "All right, that's an interesting wrinkle. New development?"
"Yes," I say. "Wait. No. Back at Spacedock... 'you and me both', she said."
Zodiri nods pensively for a while. "It might be a good sign," she says, eventually. "If -" she makes air quotes with her fingers "- 'Two of Twelve' starts to develop a human personality, it might be 'her' neural pathways being suppressed and reintegrated into yours - which might mean that 'her' voice will disappear and 'her' personality will become yours. Not that your personality is anything to write home about, but, medically speaking, it'd be an improvement."
"Thanks a lot," I say. "Is this personal abuse part of the new Starfleet Medical training?"
"If you want to feel better about yourself as a person," says Zodiri, "go see one of the counselors. Assuming you can find one who doesn't scream and hide in a cupboard when they see you coming. Me, I'm just here for the medical stuff."
"Right. Well, I hope you're good at it," I mutter. "I suppose I'd better check in with Doc Haskell sometime soon, make sure he's up to date -"
"I don't think he'll be worried," says Zodiri. "If everything's gone to plan, he's enjoying his retirement in Bermuda right now, fishing for sharks by day and chasing beach bunnies in the evenings."
"He's what?. My chief medical officer quit? Why does nobody tell me this stuff? OK, who's the CMO now?"
"You're looking at her," says Zodiri. "If you don't like it, you shouldn't have signed the paperwork."
"Oh, God, I sign anything Tallasa puts in front of me. Saves time." I turn my head and take a good hard look at my new CMO. I want to be sure I recognize her if she comes up on me in a dark alley any time.
"Commander Tallasa," says Zodiri, "has sound judgment. You should sign whatever she gives you. I'm just glad someone on the bridge has some sort of sense. Anyway. If you're seriously worried about this development with the voice in your head, you'd better come back here on a daily basis so I can do some neural scans. It'd be good to have some idea of what's going on in your head."
"I don't know about that," I say, sitting up. "The inside of my head is a messy place, sometimes. I'm just worried...."
Zodiri sighs. "What about, exactly?"
"If I knew exactly, I wouldn't be so worried. I just feel...." I press my fingertips against my forehead. "Like Two of Twelve's wiring is getting worn out, and the crazy is starting to leak into her. That mechanical Borg voice in my head, I'm sort of used to the way it's so... predictable. If Two of Twelve is starting to crack under the strain too...." I sigh. "There was a crack in his head and a little bit of the Dark World came through and pressed him to death."
"Rudyard Kipling, 'The Phantom Rickshaw'," says Zodiri. Surprise must have shown in my face, because she adds, "What, you think you're the only person who's ever read a book?"
"Didn't think Trills read Kipling," I say, swinging my legs off the bed.
"I was educated on Earth," says Zodiri. "Besides, I made a point of following up your quotations. They used to drive Haskell mad, you know. No wonder he prefers sharks and beach bunnies." She shakes her head. "I wish I was with him, actually."
"You know what?" I say. "It's beginning to sound pretty appealing to me, too."
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