Work Text:
There was a curious concept in Starfleet regulations known as “off-duty.” The idea appeared to be that one was given a certain set of rules and responsibilities to adhere to, but that these could be and indeed would be suspended at regular intervals, at which point they ceased to be pertinent to the individual who, perhaps only seconds before, had spent their every moment relentlessly pursuing them. An officer ceased to be an officer, a serviceman no longer served, they instead became other beings primarily dedicated to rest and leisure. Yet, at the mere sounding of the hour or alarm, they seamlessly reversed this fundamental transformation, slipping back into their ethics and principles with their uniforms. They would insist and, indeed, would even convincingly demonstrate that this evident transience did nothing to undermine the strength of each set of values.
It was, Tuvok felt, a concept that could only have been created by a species like humans. A species who practically revelled in contradiction as a matter of course. To a human shifting from state to state at whim was encouraged, and fixating on one single aspect was considered almost unhealthy. There existed entire courses on dividing the self thussly for the betterment of mental health, several of which he had had to attend as an officer. But Tuvok was not a human and could not don or shed personas with wild abandon. He was at all times a Vulcan, a father, Voyager’s chief tactical officer, a botanist, and chief of security, and all other parts of himself, or else he was nothing at all. However, he would concede that while these aspects were all constant they each waxed and waned in his attention to varying degrees depending on the circumstances.
Currently, for example, he was technically “off-duty” in his capacity as chief of security, but that fact did not prevent him from noting to himself, as though mentally preparing a future report, that it was exactly 0227 hours when he entered cargo bay 2 to begin what was not, technically, an investigation.
The concept of “off-duty” may have been a paradox of human absurdity, but “off-record” was a far simpler one.
Tuvok stepped into the vast room and waited for the doors to slide shut behind him before entering deeper. The occupant was exactly where the sensor report had said she would be, at exactly the console that had originated it. He approached that console, assumed his off-duty security officer stance, and spoke.
“Seven of Nine.”
“Lieutenant Commander.” She did not look up, hands dancing over the screens with a precision that was just slightly too efficient to be graceful.
Tuvok paused for a pair of seconds, to see if she was going to continue of her own accord, and was quietly gratified when she did not. Prevarication was one human flaw she had yet to absorb, at least.
“You have attempted to access restricted files.”
Her head tilted a degree or two, implants catching the light, but otherwise she continued, hands at the controls, eyes fixed on her work. “You are only partially correct. I have attempted nothing; I successfully accessed the files you refer to several minutes ago.”
Tuvok was a Vulcan, and so any emotional response he may have had to that correction was carefully quarantined away. “You are aware,” he intoned, clasping his hands behind his back, “that restricted files are restricted precisely to prevent unauthorised access.”
“I am aware of the purpose of the process, however, in this case the files were restricted in error. Therefore I saw no need to abide by it.” The young woman finally looked up at him, meeting him with a steady gaze. “Surely you appreciate the logic of my actions?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”
Her shoulders dropped ever so slightly as she glanced away, a minute sign of frustration. It was, he could presume, deeply tedious for someone used to sharing both process and conclusion with a mere thought to be forced to lower herself to verbal communication, and that, too, was something he could begin to appreciate. In his many years with non-telepathic species he had more than once yearned for the convenience of simply depositing information into another mind and moving on.
“The files contain data that can only benefit the entire collect- ship. It has no reason to be restricted. Most likely one of your crew misunderstood a task they were given or failed to perform it correctly. I have corrected the error,” she finished, graciously.
Tuvok took a moment to consider her summation, stepping around to view the active screens of the console under her fingers. “These files contain the personal medical information of the crew.”
“Correct. Knowledge of the strengths and weaknesses of each individual is necessary to correctly assign tasks.” Even under all that Borg precision he could hear the expectation of praise.
He watched the dense lines of text fly by, faster than any ordinary human could have read them. Almost faster than a Vulcan could. “During his tutelage, has the Doctor ever informed you of the concept of ‘doctor-patient confidentiality?’ Or, more broadly, privacy?”
Humans often spoke of feeling a chill in the air at certain social junctures. It was absurd, but Tuvok understood what the phrasing was intended to convey as he watched Voyager’s newest permanent passenger. “Privacy.” Seven turned away from the console, towards him. “The practice of obscuring the truth for the benefit of the personal ego. I did not find it compelling.”
“Many of your shipmates, however, do.”
“The Borg have no need for such things. They are inefficient. The knowledge concerning each member of this crew can only benefit the whole, and the information about their injuries, illnesses and recoveries should be shared.” Seven of Nine could sometimes appear almost Vulcan in her affectations, or at least that was what several of the crew had told him. Tuvok could not see it. Clearly the Borg had no need for any training in emotional control and repression, and the slight twist in her brows and the tension in her fingers would have been considered a screaming tantrum in most Vulcan children. “To withhold it for the sake of individual pride is a waste.”
There was a kind of logic there, he had to admit, and he would need to keep his tone and words very careful. “When you were first disconnected from the Borg, you were under medical care for some time,” Tuvok mused.
“Correct. That information, too, should be shared.” She turned to him, her jaw tilted up a few degrees in what looked to his eyes as something very close to pride. “The data accumulated during that time could be invaluable should anyone else ever attempt such a separation in the future.”
“There were certainly many unexpected problems.” Tuvok turned, walking back around the console and eyeing the towering cargo containers. “Your implants caused a considerable amount of damage to your own body, as I recall. You were almost destroyed by your own… perfection, as it were.”
Seven hesitated only for an instant. “Those were predictable rejections. With the aid of the Doctor and your former crew member I quickly adapted.”
“You were highly emotionally erratic. There were several instances of violent outbursts.” As security chief, he had of course logged each one meticulously.
“It was a… confusing time, I was unsure how to… The Doctor has informed me that during times of significant change it is common for individuals to suffer-”
“You also injured several crew members and attempted to deliver the entire ship to the Borg.” Tuvok paused, turning back to meet her gaze. “Would you like that information to be publicly available, as well?”
The young woman blinked, looking aside.
He paced back around the console. “You are now a competent and civil member of this crew, and you show great promise for the future. Your actions have bettered the ship, assisted in our journey home, and saved many lives on multiple occasions. But none of that would be evident to a stranger reading your medical records. They would only have the information to make an assessment of you from your weakest, most vulnerable and most… compromising moments.”
She covered a wince. “You are implying that the data alone is reductive. That consuming it could cause me to make judgments of the others that were limited.”
Tuvok gave a slight nod. “Indeed. And they may be uncomfortable with the knowledge that you had done so.” He intoned that sentence with careful emphasis, watching her face.
It appeared to work; Seven paused for several seconds, micro-expressions flickering. “Could this lead to a breakdown in the social cohesion of the group?”
“It may. I am sure that you have observed that a primarily-human crew has a perilous amount of cohesion at the best of times.”
“That is… accurate.” She nodded. “Then I will not put it in further jeopardy. I will enquire with the Doctor as to the best way to assimilate this information without compromising ‘privacy.’.” She raised her head, meeting his gaze. “Thank you, Commander.”
Tuvok inclined his head, then turned on his heel, back towards the door, content that the matter was resolved.
He made it three steps.
“The information that I had already assimilated; how should I proceed? I possess an eidetic memory and cannot simply delete the data.”
He did not turn back. He almost convinced himself not to stop walking at all. “I would suggest that you endeavour to ignore it as best you are able, and any conclusions you may draw from it about your fellow shipmates.”
“And if I have… questions?”
Dread was another emotion he did not entertain. “The medical database is very comprehensive.”
“And if those questions concern the individuals themselves?” From anyone else her tone would have been considered, but from her the words were practically rushed out at him. “If I require their personal input to rationalise information and actions that otherwise seem…” She trailed off for just a moment. “Illogical?”
Tuvok exhaled slowly. He was quite aware that he could simply continue on his way, leave the cold green glow of the cargo bay, through the grey doors and back out into his other duties. There were other members of the crew, even fellow officers, for whom that was not an option. They would follow, in their persistent human way, until they had an answer they were satisfied with or until they became frustrated with their own endeavour. But Seven of Nine was unlikely to do so. She would not chase him. She would be unlikely to attempt a repeat of the question at a later date, assured that consistent inputs would receive consistent outputs.
She would simply store that question in her perfect memory, to analyse with her imperfect Borg judgement.
Tuvok turned back. “Was there a particular question you had in mind?”
Her shoulders dropped in a minute release of tension. “Before you entered, I had already completed an analysis of your records. According to the database, you regularly undergo what appears to be unnecessary medical treatment.”
“‘Unnecessary’ is a… loaded term. Many individuals seek interventions purely optionally, such as cosmetic alteration or artificially inducing reproduction, to stimulate the growth of hair or the pigmentation of scales. At least one species even alters bioluminescence purely to signal their profession through artificially altering their biochemistry. Necessity is subjective.”
“Cultural phenomena account for a great many examples of frivolous, pointless behaviour. But when there is no cultural need for the procedure, why undertake it?”
He considered walking back towards her, but decided that the gesture could be read, even by a heavily-altered human, as defensive. Instead Tuvok wandered towards the Borg alcoves set into the wall, watching the flickering green of the panels. “You are referring to my monthly hormone replacement.”
“You have been prescribed it regularly for no discernable reason.”
Tuvok watched the inscrutable Borg language flash across the screens. “On the contrary, the reason is simple. I previously possessed an artificial organ that fulfilled the function, but when I went undercover with the Maquis there were concerns that under certain scans it had the appearance of a crude bioweapon. I concurred that it was simpler to have it removed and later replaced by the original Vulcan specialist. However, she remains in the Alpha Quadrant, and we do not.”
“But the original also served no purpose.”
“It is not uncommon for Vulcan men to suffer from deficits of certain hormones. Many races also-”
“But your deficit is natural.” Seven’s patience appeared to have finally run dry. Her voice had risen a few octaves in exasperation and when he turned towards her, her perfect posture was particularly rigid. “Your body does not produce them because it is… female. You are medicating a condition it does not have.”
Explaining these things to Vulcans could be difficult enough and to humans it could be downright trying. Tuvok was unsure how one would go about it with a member of the Borg. “The… condition is not physical. I have chosen to alter my body to conform to that of a Vulcan male.”
That minute frown, barely a twitch of eyebrow and jaw. “I do not understand. Is this subterfuge? This crew does not partition responsibility or role based on gender; such a ruse would be pointless.”
There was just the slightest twinge of ire at that. Tuvok observed the emotion for a moment, reassuring himself that he was detached from it in thought and action, noting with some concern the thin tail of shame coming from it. He would meditate on that, later. “It is no ruse. Quite the opposite; to allow anything else would be dishonest.”
Seven raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”
Some of the cargo containers were slightly askew. Not dangerously so, yet, but careless. He walked over to correct them. “My parents had many expectations of me; that I should join Starfleet, that I should represent our species as best possible in order that we might all be a part of what they believed would be the future of interplanetary community and development. At the age of five, they told me that there were certain choices that must be wholly my own, and instructed me to meditate on them. What branch of study I should undertake, what creative pursuits I should engage with, what sort of individual I should be, as opposed to the kind of Vulcan that had already been decided on. I considered these questions for several years, and at eight years old, I informed them of one of my answers. The individual I would become would be a man.”
Some of the irritation had abated. Now Seven looked more confused than irked. “But in your culture gender is largely arbitrary. Your species’ sexual dimorphism is limited. There is no reason to desire to be any one over any other when the differences are negligible.”
The containers were properly aligned. “Just as there is no logical reason to choose to play a musical instrument over painting, or botany over theatre, or security over medical. No logical reason for either over the others but that which draws on our innate nature.”
“In the Borg it is irrelevant. Unless the body or brain of the drone is uniquely suited to one task or another there is no need to distinguish them in any form. If this is true in the collective, then it is true in the unassimilated species, as well. If they are interchangeable and there is no significant advantage, why take the effort to enact physical changes?”
“The advantage is not physical. It is psychological. I know, more than those who have never considered the choice, that I am as I have made myself. Though we all may be beholden to outside forces beyond our control, genetics, species, expectations, the times and the places in which we find ourselves, there is no Tuvok if I do not create and maintain him. The… comfort, is in knowing that I have made myself in an image of my choosing, for the betterment of my goals, my ideals and those around me.” He looked aside at her. “Just as you have made yourself. As there was no Seven of Nine as she exists distinct from any other drone, before you constructed her.”
She drew back at that. “I… have only followed the directions laid down by the Captain and the Doctor.”
“And have you followed each of them to the letter? Have you found your own impulses to pursue? Did either of them, for example, instruct you to try and better understand the capabilities of the crew through their own medical records?”
“I…” She glanced down at the console. “They did not.”
“Then even a Borg is not an empty shell, animated by the thoughts and desires of others,” Tuvok mused. “That will be an interesting argument to present when I return home, assuming I have your consent to bring it. There are Vulcans who would agree with you that my logic is faulty, and they can debate quite tirelessly.”
“Logic that is not absolute is surely meaningless.” She shook her head, then paused. “I did not make the choice to be female, myself. I had not considered it, or… how this crew may react to me if I were otherwise, or chose to be. So much of their time is spent on trivial sexuality that perhaps it might offer some-” She paused again, looking at him. “You have children, correct? And a mate?”
“I do.”
Seven nodded, her gaze slipping away again. “Yet another complication. The Doctor’s lessons will be endless.”
“We have a long journey ahead of us. There will be plenty of time to learn.” Tuvok turned back towards the doors, his steps ringing out. “But for the moment it is very late, so you will have to excuse me if I cut this lesson short.”
“Understood. If I have more questions at a later time…?”
“I will be available, should you find me off-duty.” The doors slid open with a soft hiss and he prepared to step over the threshold, then paused. “But I would prefer that you kept this conversation confidential. There are certain members of this crew who are particularly… illogical in their reasoning concerning these matters.”
Seven glanced up from her console. “Privacy?”
“Indeed.”
Tuvok made his way back to his quarters. The hallways were quiet at this time of night, and there was nobody in the turbolift to see him frown slightly, halt the lift and redirect it.
Captain Janeway, by all reason, should not have been awake, but when he called at her quarters she answered his call within seconds. She was, to her credit, at least in her sleepwear, though the state of her hair made it clear that it had not yet seen a pillow. That concerned him. Concern was an emotion he often struggled to repress when it came to her.
“Tuvok!” She looked up at him from her position on a chair beside her coffee table, closing the book in her hands and standing. “Tell me it’s not an emergency.”
“No.” He gestured for her to sit back down. “But if I have disturbed you…”
She smirked up at him as she settled back into her chair, indicating the empty one for him. “Now, you are very well-aware that you haven’t. I know, I should have been in bed hours ago, and I meant to!” She waved to her bed, as though its presence were proof of her noble intentions. “I was just getting settled with a cup of cocoa when Harry told me they’d found a fascinating little pulsar on long-range scans, and then I recalled this charming little novel Chakotay recommended to me that I replicated weeks ago and hadn’t touched, and then…” Casting around for a moment, her gaze eventually came to rest on Tuvok. “Well, then my chief tactical officer arrives with what could be anything from a hostile alien incursion to a mess hall brawl to report. Honestly, Tuvok, how do you expect me to rest?”
He weighed her argument, settling into the familiar chair. “I take full responsibility for the inevitable harm to your performance tomorrow morning.”
“Hmph!” The Captain shook her head. “You think I don’t know that if I’m declared unfit for duty, you only have to get rid of my first officer to take my place? This has all the makings of a mutiny. I’ve always been able to see right through you, Tuvok.”
“I assure you, I have no such ambitions.”
She leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. “No?”
Tuvok steepled his fingers, glancing out the windows into the vast black of space as he contemplated. “It would be inopportune to take command of a ship in such an unpredictable and perilous situation. Logically, the best moment to seize command would be once you have returned the ship safely to the Alpha Quadrant.”
Janeway gave a smile that turned into a chuckle. “Oh, by then you’ll have your own, I’m sure. A crew as distinguished and accomplished as this, who’ve faced challenges and overcome trials most admirals couldn’t hold a candle to? They’ll be desperate to put you in command. Even Naomi Wildman will be fighting off requests with a phaser.”
“Perhaps. But I think my talents are better served elsewhere.”
“Ah, I see. Then I’ll spare the counter-uprising for another day.” She was still smiling. “But what brings your talents to me tonight?”
“I had wondered if you might spare a moment to assist me with something.” Tuvok began unbuttoning his uniform.
Janeway stared at him for a moment in open bafflement, then leapt up. “Damn! Is that today? I’m sorry, Tuvok, the months go by so fast, sometimes-”
“It is a little early. But if you have no objection?”
“Of course not. I have them right here, somewhere.” She darted to the other side of the room, bending down to pull a med kit out from under her bed. “Let me just… there.” She sat up, adjusting a hypospray.
She stood and approached him, a medical tricorder in her other hand. Tuvok had removed his clothes enough to expose his left arm and shoulder, and began to slip back into them as soon as he felt the slight cold sting of the administration. “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He heard the beeping of the tricorder. “Seems to be integrating as normal.” She returned to her chair, yawning as she sat back. “I haven’t even offered you tea. May I?”
“If you would prefer to retire, I can-”
“Half an hour, isn’t it? To make sure there are no… adverse effects.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “Vulcan hormones can be… volatile, if there is even a slight difference in the proportions.”
“Tea, then.” She smiled as she stood, her dressing gown waving in the air as she walked to the replicator.
Tuvok watched her back, folding his hands together again. “We have been doing this for some time, with no ill-effects at this dosage. It may be acceptable to assume that the dose is correct and stable, in which case I could administer the medication myself.”
“You might be right. It’s possible that there’s no risk to your health, and I’d certainly trust you to know if that changed.” A china cup materialised and Janeway lifted it carefully. “Is that what you’d like to do?”
He took the cup. The aroma of the tea suffused the air, floral and subdued. His arm ached gently. “It would be a logical course of action. And I would monopolise a little less of your time.”
“That is true.” She dragged her chair around to sit beside him, sighing as she sat back and reaching for her book. It was a long moment before she spoke, watching him sip his tea. “But I would hate to give the Doctor even more reasons to accost me in the hallways, so I’m afraid I must ask you to continue imposing on my time. Besides,” she said, smiling, “it gives me an excuse to impose on yours. I don’t always need there to be a security issue or a tactical briefing just to talk to an old friend.”
The human understanding of companionship had always seemed pale and flimsy by comparison to their Vulcan equivalent. But, sometimes, sitting beside this particular human in some quiet place, doing nothing of particular importance, he felt that perhaps his parents had been right about the importance of cross-species relations after all. “Understood, Captain.” He settled back in the chair, taking a sip of the tea. She was grinning again, he could tell without looking.
“Though speaking of security, while you’re here, did you find the source of that unauthorised access?”
“A minor misunderstanding concerning our newest crewmate.”
She sighed. “Seven. I thought it might be.”
“The situation was resolved without incident. As her motivation was only curiosity and she did not perceive her error until it was explained, I see no need for disciplinary action.”
“Thank you,” she said, softly. “She needs patience. Individuality, humanity, all of this, it’s difficult for her to understand. She’s still learning.”
“As we all should. There is no mastery, only eternal study.”
“That’s one way to put it.” She yawned again. “Pardon me. Damn pulsar. I’ll tell Harry to wait until at least 0600 hours to send me any future tempting astronomical phenomena.”
No amount of study would ever make the perpetual concern truly abate, Tuvok suspected. He could only attempt to mitigate it through action. “It is very late, and you humans require more sleep. Perhaps we should make this brief.”
“There’s still twenty minutes left and I can just imagine the lecture the Doctor will give me if I ignored the health of my crew just to sleep.” She picked up her novel, opening it to a marked page. “But if I happen to doze off and you are hit with an artificially induced pon farr, could you take it to Chakotay instead? And tell him this is a good book.”
Tuvok resigned himself to being the object of concern in turn, watching the stars flow by the windows. “Unfortunately, I would be in no condition to offer literary criticism.”
“Well, at least make sure Harry completes his scans on that pulsar once the hormonal frenzy passes.” Captain Janeway glanced up, following his gaze to the void beyond. “I think I’m going to feel like learning something in the morning.”