“When I was with Riley…the former Borg drones…” Chakotay stumbled through his words carefully, “They used a neural link on me, to heal my injuries. They had to, otherwise I would have died.”
“Did they assimilate you?” Sara asked, bewildered. For all of his explaining she couldn’t get to the real reasoning behind it.
“No,” he answered quickly, too quickly almost. “They attached a cortical stimulator to the base of my spine. But what was the worst part was that I…I heard them.”
Her expression changed from open surprise to quiet sympathy.
“Their voices, their memories, all of them, the five or ten that were surrounding me…I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t make them be quiet. It wasn’t startling, I don’t know what I expected but they communicated with such a rhythm that it wasn’t bad, it wasn’t chaotic and it didn’t bring any displeasure, but it…”
Chakotay stopped, knowing he was babbling. Sara’s hand reached over and covered his, the small fingers looping over larger, darker ones.
“Do you still hear them?” she asked curiously.
He thought a moment and shook his head. “No…I haven’t since they severed the link. But when they did, even after all that had happened…I felt…”
“Empty?” A knowing smile on her face.
Chakotay relaxed. She understood. “You hear voices, don’t you.”
“Yes.” Sara told him quietly, almost sad in a restrained way. “Every day, for all my life. Before I knew what they were.”
“You remember that?” He couldn’t help but be surprised.
“I remember everything,” another sad statement. A reminder.
“Do you hear…me?”
Sara’s lopsided smile tilted her features at the bleak look in his eyes. “Yes. I think sometimes I hear you more than some others, though not always.”
“What does it feel like?”
She cocked her head, thinking. “There isn’t any way to describe it, unless…perhaps it could be likened to a symphony before they start playing the same music. In the moment before performance, practicing, tuning, each to their own and collectively making a noise. And yet there is nothing that could put words to what I feel at times.”
“You can’t stop it.”
“No,” she agreed ruefully. “I can’t. There isn’t any means of modern medicine or technology that could suppress it.”
“Somehow I feel lucky,” Chakotay told her, looking down at his hands. “Together, their voices were one, connected, their thoughts the same. Instead of discord I heard harmony, a musical selection of notes and cords put together for that purpose. And all they had to do was sever the link, and it was gone. The voices, the presence of everyone else with me. But you don’t have that luxury.”
“I don’t think of it as a luxury. But I’ve had close to 17 years to realize and accept what I am. You had minutes if not seconds to make the choice, to allow them to be part of your life and your mind.” Pushing past the stunned facial cast she continued. “They used their means of communication for manipulation. I’m not like that. My telepathy is something I never had a choice in, not something that was installed by circuitry. But it still works the same way, I suppose. Not that I would or could ever find it in me to do what they did.”
“Somehow I don’t think I could ever picture you doing that,” Chakotay quietly assured his young friend. “But I thought…there’s no one on board who understands…who could understand.”
“Tuvok and Kes might,” Sara offered, an empty statement and they both knew it.
“Vulcans, Ocampans, Betazoids…but their telepathy is accepted, as it comes by culture.”
Neither knew how to respond to that.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly.
“There’s so much,” he blurted out. “So many things, to talk about, to say, to try and sort through. It’s all such a mess in there.” He grinned, even though inside he was shaking.
Curiousity overtook Sara, staring at him for a long moment, her limpid blue eyes finally widening slightly. She went to the replicator and keyed in a sequence, then turned.
A soft-covered book was in her hand, the other holding a fountain pen, she returned to the second-in-command of Voyager and slipped it to him. “I take it you've seen something like this before?”
He gazed at it, felt the suppleness of the red leather under his hands, the pliable bending. He traced the satiny black ribbon page-marker between thumb and forefinger, gently grasped the smooth hardness of the pen. “Yes.”
“If you can’t talk about it, write about it.” Sara spoke to her friend, giving him strength and courage in the quiet hum. “It can be yours and yours alone, if you want it that way. Or if you want, you can use it to find a starting place. The choice is up to you. Either way -- I doubt our friendship will change.”
The last was said in jest, her normal half-smile curving into something more by just a bit. Chakotay nodded, grasping both, and stood to leave her.
“I’m here whatever you decide. Or if you need help with anything.” Sara’s last words echoed through his ears as they escaped her mouth.
Part of him was grateful she hadn’t communicated telepathically. He was on shaky ground where that was concerned. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” the soft tones of her voice followed him out the door, and to his quarters, where he sat to do as she had suggested.
