Falsus In Unum

[Seven of Nine]

"Our stay on Voyager has been most unpleasant, Commander. Captain Janeway and yourself have only served to make the situation worse. You're completely unaccommodating."

The humanoid Infarii trader spread his arms wide, gesturing at the corridor around them to indicate the ship as a whole. His eyes filled with the utmost warmth and fond regard as he continued; "We dislike you all."

Commander Chakotay grinned obligingly as he spoke, the visitor's words absurdly well-received. "I must say, we're beginning to dislike you, too. I'll be glad to see you and your people return to your ship."

The conversation was jarringly incongruous with their amiable body language. "Yes, indeed. We eagerly anticipate leaving your vessel." The Infarii's tones of pure enthusiasm reverberated down the halls as the envoy moved on.


Seven of Nine passed the group without inclining her head in acknowledgment. Her long stride held a certain haughty purpose that seemed to automatically deny interruption. Whether she was urgently reporting to the bridge, or returning to Cargo Bay 2 to regenerate, she moved as if delay would not be tolerated.

It was safe to assume this was a remnant of her years as Borg, when the completion of tasks was paramount. Time spent navigating from one task to the next was considered wasted. While it was not very Borg to rush (try 'steadily advance with ominous certainty'), maximizing efficiency was a constant priority. Instinctively, Seven applied the same rationale here. She believed the ship's function would improve as corridor etiquette decreased.

That, or she was masking unease with her best cold shoulder. Truthfully, she was having difficulty adapting to the Infarii presence on board. The Borg had not encountered the species before, and while that was good news for them, Seven didn't enjoy feeling uninformed.

After responding to a lone vessel's distress call, the wayward USS Voyager had discovered a crippled freighter trying to limp back to friendly space; with it a first contact opportunity they couldn't pass up. After a dicey start, they'd entered into trade negotiations of a sort -- which was when an odd translator malfunction reared its head. The Infarii seemed to receive and communicate insults as compliments, and vice versa. Needless to say, it was causing a good deal of confusion and it hadn't been fixed yet. The real difficulty lay in knowing what would translate accordingly, and what might actually offend.

Seven had no intention of finding out. Deception was an aspect of human behaviour she found particularly tough to grasp. She was blatantly obvious whenever she tried to lie. She wasn't much better at 'playing along'. Brutal honesty could be considered one of the Collective's better qualities. It was perceived superiority that enabled this directness. If they required subterfuge to smooth their assimilation of most species, the customary hail would not be so presumptuous.

"Deck 5," Seven instructed imperiously, stepping into the turbolift. She was headed for sickbay, since alien distress calls were insufficient reason to reschedule her regular maintenance.

The former drone managed to reach her destination uninterrupted, which was a small mercy under any circumstances. Too many people were mysteriously late for their appointments with the Doctor. In his position, she would have found it annoying. As it was, she paid particular attention to being punctual.

As she entered, she cast an evaluating glance at the familiar surroundings. She fully expected the EMH's program to be active. When it came to occupying time in a variety of fulfilling ways, the Doctor was considerably more adept than Seven herself.

[Mae]

Humming softly to himself, the Doctor leaned back in his office chair, one leg crossed over the other and a blinking datapad in his right hand. The other was attached to the limb that was draped across the back of the chair, rather limp in its form and for all intents and purposes unimportant at the present time. The tune that was emanating in fine intonation, if soft in volume, was yet another the Doctor had discovered in Voyager's databanks and quickly taken a fancy to. After another few moments, the EMH paused in his humming to read aloud what was written on the datapad.

"Three of Eight stood there for a moment, apparently taken aback by Tulak's perceptiveness of her morality. But as she hesitated, Tulak nodded to Kymble and, drawing his phaser, pointed it at her with determination burning in his eyes."

The Doctor stopped suddenly, eyeing the offending phrase with distaste. "No, no," he muttered, rather annoyed. "That's not right at all. It needs to flow..." He ran the words over again in his mind, flipping them, jumbling them, and mixing them up with a few other tidbits of language. His lips moved silently as he furrowed his forehead in concentration. It was a minute or two longer when, with a little exclamation of delighted surprise, the Doctor leaned over his desk and happily added the necessary words.

Datapad having been satisfactorily enhanced, he relaxed against the back of his chair. "... pointed it at her with a nasty light of determination searing from the pupils of his eyes. Ah, but of course. Much better." With a contented smile pasted on his face, the hologram placed his work back on the desk, rose, and strode out from his office. No need to rush things; the chapter would be completed when the mood took him.

It was while running through scans of the neural patterns of the recent alien visitors that the door hissed open, and the Doctor looked up to see Seven coming in. He smiled broadly at her between interested glances at the scans.

"Ah, Seven," he greeted her cordially. "Back for a little check-up, hm?" He circled around the computer he had been looking at and waved her towards a seat on one of the medical beds. "Occipital implant hasn't been playing up again, has it?"

[Seven of Nine]

Seven was momentarily stymied by the Doctor's questioning intonation. "This is the scheduled time for my maintenance session."
It never occurred to her that he wasn't really asking.

At his gesture, she cut across sickbay to the biobed, perching on the edge with familiarity that wasn't quite fluid.
She preferred to stand, but that was impractical for the purposes of the examination.

"'Playing up' is an inaccurate description," she sounded mildly frustrated by the recurring malfunction. Seven may have developed a distinct personality, but there was no reason her remaining Borg implants should do the same. "The internal microfibres may be slightly misaligned."

As her progression towards humanity continued, occipital implant problems persisted. It was also the first of her implants to demonstrate strain when she failed to regenerate regularly. Left unchecked, the resulting pinched sensation was an unpleasant reminder. As a drone, she would have had another implant to facilitate self-diagnosis and repair. Now, she was not always aware of a problem until it became critical. This created a certain level of dependency on the Doctor, but she allowed that relying upon others was part of being human.

Her posture was particularly rigid now that she was seated, deliberately being still so the Doctor could take accurate readings. She raised her left hand pre-emptively, predicting the path of the tricorder scanner before he'd even begun. It this juncture, it was usually up to the EMH to facilitate conversation. This time, she became aware of being needlessly abrupt.

"How are you?" Seven couldn't match the casual, effortless tone those words acquired with anyone else. In her care, each word was strongly enunciated; a sure sign that she'd chosen a phrase she didn't find natural. The question was imprecise, yet enduring as an expression of interest. She was attempting to use it more often. She thought her social mentor would approve.

[Mae]

Though his back was to her as he retrieved a medical tricorder, the Doctor smiled to himself, just a little smugly. Perhaps his social lessons with Seven were not going so badly after all, if she took the time and obvious effort to ask something that came unnaturally to her. "Very well, thank you," he answered brightly, turning and adjusting a few settings on the tricorder.

As he began scanning the various implants, rather startling reminders of what Seven had been through most of her life, the EMH looked at his patient carefully. As a Doctor, he was very much concerned with the former drone's mental and emotional well-being as well as her physical health. "I appreciate your asking, Seven," he told her thoughtfully, glancing at the readings. "I know how difficult it is for you to make, well, casual conversation. Small talk, if you will. "

A few high-pitched beeps from the tricorder and his eyes dropped to analyze the data. After a moment, he let out a little, relieved sigh. Not that he had expected anything to be seriously wrong with Seven's occipital and ocular implants, but there was always that small chance that the problem was more serious than it originally appeared. It was one of the worse fears of any medical professional.

"Nothing to be worried about," the hologram informed Seven a second later, his tone assuring. "Just like you predicted -- a few microfibers drifting out of place here and there." He picked up a small tool and, inserting it into the device just above his patient's eye, deftly corrected the issue. "The discomfort should subside fairly quickly. But let me know if something comes up again. Reoccurances are never good."

The Doctor turned away to replace the tricorder, but suddenly faced her again. When he spoke, his tone was more hesitant. "Seven... I was wondering how you would feel about a little --- social outing later this evening. I talked with Captain Janeway, and apparently many of the senior officers are having a sort of casual dinner tonight. The Captain would be pleased if you would join them."

(I hope everyone's ok with this dinner idea. I made it up on the spot, but it might help to get more people into the roleplay.)

[Seven of Nine]

Seven was satisfied with the Doctor's response to her question, though her impassive expression didn't vary in the slightest. Clearly she'd been right to make the inquiry, no matter how awkward it sounded. The Doctor was a highly motivated and generally optimistic individual, but his mood had the potential to fluctuate -- according to her observations, just like most anyone else.

She wondered if the Doctor's appreciation was entirely to do with her personal development. Perhaps his other patients weren't being sufficiently courteous? His complaints were often exaggerated, but she didn't doubt he experienced intolerance at times. No one seemed to bear him any genuine ill-will, but prejudice was a difficult thing to circumvent. Seven was not immune to it herself. She would never be entirely neutral in her feelings for Species 8472.

The former drone would have liked to dismiss small talk as easily as corridor etiquette. Unfortunately, it was proving to be an important skill. She listened attentively as the Doctor confirmed her assessment.

"I was not worried," Seven returned coolly, making it clear that reassurance was not required. She wouldn't worry until her visual acuity had been affected. Even then she'd term it inconvenient, not a cause for concern.

While he corrected the displaced microfibres, she remained still, chin aloft. Her first instinct was to flinch at any contact to her Borg components, but the Doctor was completely familiarized with her occipital implant. It took unusual circumstances for this process to unsettle her.

When he placed the tricorder away, she anticipated the conclusion of the appointment, sliding off the biobed and standing to her full height. By the time he turned around, she'd fallen into her natural stance; hands clasped behind her.

She caught the hesitation in his tone and felt a stirring of apprehension. It proved justified. Releasing a breath she wasn't aware of holding, she gave a curt nod. "If the Captain believes my presence is appropriate." There was an 'I will comply' hiding between the lines.

No matter how many social scenarios Seven covered on the holodeck, the real thing was still a loaded minefield. The senior staff were more accommodating than the wider crew, likely because of her level of daily interaction with them -- but she was unsure whether their Infarii guests would still be on board. If so, the Captain Janeway would probably invite them as well.

((OOC: I think it's a great idea! It would give Sky a way in, at the very least.))

[Mae]

Resisting the urge to let out an exhasperated sigh, the Doctor looked at her fully. "Of course your presence is appropriate, Seven," he told her ephatically, "but it's more than that. I feel, and I'm sure that Captain Janeway agrees, that some casual interaction with other crew members in an environment other than your day-to-day routines would be highly beneficial. It might give you the chance to discover more of your humanity. And as your physician, I would highly recommend attending."

After a moment, the Doctor's expression softened slightly, into more of a smile. "Please, Seven. It would please me no end if you would agree to go, but only of your own will. Not because the captain believes your presence is 'necessary'. Don't you see? She doesn't want your presence -- she wants you. Interact a little, discuss your hobbies, your likes, even your dislikes if you feel comfortable enough."

Then his expression became hesitant. "I would go with you, but, as you can guess, a hologram at a dining table wouldn't be very... well, not very normal, if you take my meaning. I can't exactly join you, now can I?"

[Seven of Nine]

This proved to be something of a well-intentioned tirade to which Seven could only listen, looking reluctant even as she absorbed the information. She knew he generally said these things for her benefit, but she wasn't easily convinced, as a rule. She couldn't immediately discern the difference between being present and being present as herself. She reasoned that if she were being natural then she would minimize extraneous interaction, instead of increasing it. The Doctor seemed to have other ideas.

She met his encouraging smile with her usual cool countenance, suppressing the apprehension that had been lingering over the conversation ever since this topic arose. "I will socialize to the best of my ability." This was the closest response to what he wanted to hear that Seven felt capable of actualizing. As much as she abhorred failure, she did not predict the evening going well.

It seemed the Doctor saved the part that surprised her for last. "You will not be attending?" Judging from her faintly perplexed expression, Seven hadn't considered that possibility. She was not overly concerned with dinner table etiquette. "If you have accurately assessed the situation, the consumption of liquid and nutritional supplements is inconsequential. You could still participate socially."

[Mae]

"No, no," the Doctor replied, his voice taking a slightly agitated tone. "I'm sorry, Seven, but I just wouldn't feel comfortable in that kind of a situation. It's not that I don't like the company of the crew..." He struggled briefly for the right words. "Let's just say a hologram would be highly out of place."

It was the truth, for the most part. Even though he could carry on a conversation as easily as any of the officers, and far more adeptly than Seven of Nine, there was still something lacking. He would feel much more than slightly awkward if he were to join the dinner guests but remain unable to participate in the activity of actually eating. It was times like these when he felt his EMH status most keenly.

"And besides," he added briskly, putting an encouraging smile back on his face, "this is a chance for you to, as you put it, socialize, and this time without my assistance. Let's see how you do, hm?" He looked at her fondly, as a teacher might regard a favorite pupil who needs just a little more assurance.

[Seven of Nine]

Seven assessed his tone correctly, but other people's agitation didn't generally hinder her in the least. "I will not feel comfortable either. That is insufficient reason for me to avoid this activity. Explain why your discomfort is more significant than mine." She resembles the fictional Three of Eight only insomuch as his being a hologram is an irrelevant consideration to her. In this case, it was not working in the Doctor's favor.

Her expression hasn't precisely soured, but she may have lifted her chin a little to look that slightest bit superior -- very Borg. If he still refused, Seven would attend the dinner nonetheless; determined to be as good as her word on that count. She was certain, however, that the Doctor's absence would be remarked upon.

"I am capable of socializing as though you are not present when you are. I could ignore you entirely and you could refrain from dispensing advice." She derailed the conversation briefly: "I trust I do not have to alter my appearance for this occasion."